by Pam Binder
He gave a curt nod. “You let your hair down.”
She laughed again. “I suppose I did.” Seconds ticked by. He stood as though rooted to the ground. He was tall, straight, and as solid as an oak. A man you could depend on. A man you could build a life with. “I wonder what he does for fun.” She thought she’d said it to herself, but when his head jerked toward her with a smile, she realized she’d voiced her thoughts aloud.
His gaze warmed. “I play rugby. But my father says I need a hobby that doesn’t include broken bones and bruised ribs. How about you?”
Irene bit back a smile. “No time. I work. Of late, I’ve been thinking I should rethink that philosophy. It’s time I found a hobby, too.” She brushed her fingers over the seams on the stone ledge. “Our kiss…”
He moved in closer and covered her hand with his. “I had the advantage. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you move to defend the waitress in the café from the bottom feeders who were harassing her. You were fearless.”
The compliment was sincere. She could tell it in his gaze. People had said good things about her over the years: hard worker, efficient, organized. Never fearless. She liked the possibility that she’d tapped into a new strength. Was it this place? Stirling Castle was so far removed from her life in the States and who she was that it felt like she had the chance to become the person she’d always wanted to be.
Her pulse quickened until she could feel it vibrate through her. Out of breath, she lifted her head until their gazes locked. Instinctively she knew Logan wouldn’t make the first move to kiss her. He stood waiting as though he could wait for an eternity.
In the background, music and laughter defined the boundaries of the room while the promise of love beat around her. She moved to meet him as he bent toward her, closing the distance.
Their lips parted and touched.
If the first kiss they’d shared was the spark of awakening, the second was an explosion. Her world spun in all directions at the same time as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He gathered her against him and deepened the kiss.
Chapter Twenty
This was Lady Roselyn’s favorite time of the evening. The kitchens were quiet, and the guests were busy getting to know one another. On the far side, a wall was devoted to a walk-in hearth, where lamb stew bubbled happily in an iron pot. A baking oven stood nearby, and pies cooled beneath an open window.
The fragrance of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves drifted through the air as Lady Roselyn broke off a corner of pie crust and popped it into her mouth. The butter-rich flavor was therapeutic. Chocolate would have been better, but it wasn’t available in thirteenth-century Europe. It would take a few hundred years for it to cross the Atlantic. First, Cortez had to discover it in the New World. He’d introduce it to the court. After his presentation, the one that began with Montezuma drinking it before he visited his harem and ended with the number of wives, concubines, and children Montezuma had, the court would declare chocolate a powerful aphrodisiac. The next step, quite predictably, was the decree that it was too dangerous for women to consume, which of course only made everyone want it more.
She sighed, wishing she had smuggled a dark chocolate bar with sea salt and caramel into her purse, but, as head matchmaker, she couldn’t break the rules. She dusted off her hands and turned toward Bridget. Her sister was attacking the dough as though it were the enemy.
“Something is wrong,” Bridget said. “I can feel it.”
Lady Roselyn reached for another piece of pie crust. “You worry too much.”
“Isn’t that what I should be saying to you?” Bridget rubbed more flour on the rolling pin and bent again over her task. “We’ve invited too many this time. The limit is five. We have seven.”
“You’re the one who kept adding sprinkles to everyone’s hot cocoa.”
Bridget wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, smudging flour over her face. “What was I supposed to do? You know the rules. I couldn’t refuse anyone, once Fiona suggested sprinkles to them. Besides, how was I to know that everyone who asked for them would also agree to the Matchmaker Tour? That’s never happened before.”
Lady Roselyn pinched off more crust. “Well, it’s happened now, and we’re going to have to live with it. All we have to do is get through the staged attack on the castle and the wedding later this evening. Are Caitlin and Angus ready?”
Bridget lined another pie plate with the newly rolled-out crust and filled it with sliced apples. “Define ready. Caitlin is threatening to call it off. When she participated in our kissing game, she sent a clear signal. She said Angus lied to her about his relationship with Julia. We don’t know if Caitlin was just trying to make Angus jealous or if this is the beginning of the end. Fiona is with her now, trying to repair the damage, but you know Fiona. If she has the slightest doubt of a couple’s love or commitment, she’ll persuade them to at least slow things down. She might even ask them to postpone the wedding. One more thing. Fiona and Liam aren’t speaking. Again.”
“Fabulous.” Lady Roselyn heaved a sigh. “Their arranged betrothal has been a problem since it was first announced. First things first. If we survive, we’re going to have to change how we select our couples, or at the least choose less volatile locations. There has to be a better way of selecting the groups, as well. Seven is too unwieldy. We can’t keep track of them all: they keep wandering off, or falling in and out of love. Why can’t everyone be more like Sean and Ann? Now, there’s a couple who understands what it takes to sustain a relationship. We need our happily-ever-after ending. We need a wedding. What are we going to do if there isn’t one?”
Bridget finished the lattice-work top on her pie, set it aside, and went over to the window to see if the pies there had cooled. “We could ask for an extension.”
Lady Roselyn heaved a sigh. “The enchantment on this castle doesn’t work that way.”
Bridget put her hands on her hips. “That’s odd. I could have sworn I made more pies. Three are missing.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The library was darker and colder than Irene remembered, or maybe it was the anticipation of locating the portrait Logan described that made it feel more foreboding. Regardless, she loved that he’d found an excuse for them to steal away from the group. Irene blew on her hands to warm them as Logan added another log to the fire.
He brushed off his hands and eased away from the hearth. “Are you ready?”
She fought the impulse to shake her head. When he patiently waited for her response, as though he’d guessed her unease, she felt familiar warmth settle around her. Somehow he’d suspected her apprehension. It felt as though she’d known him much longer than a handful of hours. She wanted to ask him if he felt the same, or was it crazy to believe in the possibility of soulmates. She settled on a safer question.
“What do you think it will mean? That is, if the likeness is as similar as you say?”
Logan took both her hands in his and smiled. “I know you’re trying to prepare yourself for any scenario. Very analytical. If I were to narrow down toward a potential occupation for you, I’d say you were a research scientist, lawyer, accountant, computer programmer, writer… Am I getting warm?”
She mirrored his smile, impressed at his guesses. “I thought we weren’t to tell each other our occupations.”
He squeezed her hands. “I couldn’t help myself. It’s part of my curious nature. This portrait that looks so much like your mother also started me thinking. Maybe we have to live with the fact that we might never find an explanation for everything. Like why people are afraid of clowns or enjoy the thrill of swimming with sharks.”
Irene reached up and kissed him lightly. “Just for the record, I love clowns but draw the line when it comes to swimming with sharks. You’re quite the philosopher.”
“Me and Snoopy.” His grin grew serious. “It’s okay to change your mind about finding the portrait. I mean, I’m sure I’m overthinking the resemblance.”
�
��Except that the woman was also wearing earrings that resemble my pendant.”
“A puzzle.”
“Or the beginning of a nightmare.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The good news was that torches were set in wall sconces along the corridors. The bad news was that because all the corridors looked the same, Irene was concerned they were walking in circles.
Afraid of getting lost, she employed a trick she used when visiting a new city. Most people kept track of street signs. Irene had a different method. She studied the fashions in the display windows. This strategy was particularly effective when you visited a country where you weren’t familiar with the language on the street signs. Usually no two displays in shop windows were exactly alike, and the same could be said of the portraits in the corridors.
While the facial features began to blur, the clothing of the men and women pictured was distinctive. As varied as the people in an international airport, the clothes ranged from unadorned muted colors to finery with elaborate headdresses that rivaled those worn by King Henry the Eighth or his daughter Elizabeth the First and her cousin Mary Queen of Scots. The frames surrounding each portrait were as diverse as the subjects themselves, from simple wood frames to ones carved and gilded with gold or silver.
When they rounded a corner, Logan quickened his pace. His expression lit up like a boy who’d learned he was going to meet his favorite rugby player. “Here we are.” He lifted a torch from the wall sconce and brought it near the portrait of a woman. She wore a gown with long sleeves embroidered with sprigs of lavender and earrings shaped like snowflakes.
“What do you think?” Logan said.
The whisper of a chill brushed her skin. “Can you bring the torch in closer?”
When he did, it cast a beam of light over the portrait while plunging the surrounding area in shadows. The portrait was surrounded by a wide silver frame, etched with the same images embroidered in the woman’s gown.
Irene moved in closer. The woman was in her mid-twenties, lovely, relaxed, happy. Irene reached out to almost touch the face, but she closed her fingers and pulled back at the last moment. “It’s not possible,” she whispered under her breath.
“The resemblance is just a coincidence, right?” Logan said. “Or maybe it’s one of your great-great-great-great ancestors. Did I use the correct amount of greats?”
“I’m not sure…” Irene felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her. “The resemblance is spooky.”
“Maybe the earrings are a family heirloom.”
“Maybe,” Irene repeated. She kept nodding, knowing she was trying to believe Logan’s logic. But she wasn’t sure. The resemblance was too similar. Irene touched the birthmark on the corner of her mouth, the one both her sister and her mother had. The same birthmark was visible on the woman in the picture.
She reached out for Logan. She needed an anchor. A safe place. Something solid. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think my mother was here.”
****
After seeing what looked like her mother’s portrait, Irene walked in a daze. Each corridor they traveled down looked like the last. Stone and mortar that looked newer than it should. Tapestries that were vibrant in color, not faded with age. Logan had asked her what she meant when she said she thought her mother had been to the castle. She’d deflected his question.
Irene’s intention was to return to the Great Hall and confront the matchmakers. Her mother had never traveled to a foreign country, but even if she had, she’d never have kept it a secret from her family. Why would she? This was a simple case of someone looking like her mother. Irene would explain this all to the matchmakers. They would calm her down and tell her she had a wild imagination. They would also discount Julia’s ridiculous theory of time travel. Of course, if Louise had been along, she’d have leapt at Julia’s theory. When they were children, Julia was the one claiming she saw fairy wings on the neighbor’s kittens. Irene was the practical one.
She paused, hands on hips. “Wait a second. I don’t think we went this way before. We’re lost. I don’t get lost.”
Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “I agree. None of this looks familiar.”
Irene nodded absently, reaching out to run her hand over the stone wall to her right. It was different from the others she’d seen along the way. In the center of each stone were raised images of plants, flowers, or small forest creatures. “I’ve seen a picture of this before.” She reached for the diary. “My mother made a drawing of this wall.” Irene flipped through it until she found the page.
Logan looked over her shoulder. “The caption says this is a hidden entrance to a series of passageways that crisscross behind the walls of the castle. Sounds like a great way to surprise an enemy who has infiltrated the castle, and then the opportunity for the inhabitants to escape.”
Irene turned to the next page. A series of diagrams mapped the passageways and where they led. The labyrinth of tunnels seemed to connect to every chamber in the castle. “That may have been its original intent, but it also became a common way for lovers to sneak into each other’s rooms undetected. Kings visited their mistress and queens the noblemen who caught their fancy, as they called it.”
“Caught their fancy,” Logan repeated with a grin. Old-fashioned sayings are the best, and they fit you somehow. Have I caught your fancy?”
She felt the heat of a blush warm her checks. How could she answer him without exposing her heart again?
Logan came around to face Irene, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed the curve of her face. “I put you on the spot. Sorry. I couldn’t help it. It must be this place.” He paused. “And you. I sense you’re a romantic at heart. You find the romance in everything. Everyone focuses on the monster Grendel in Beowulf, but you wonder about the hero, wonder about Beowulf and who he loved. I think the hidden walls in this castle are a battle strategy. You think of someone being able to find true love. Strangest thing. When I’m around you, I have the impulse to try on a suit of armor and defend you with my life.”
Warmed by his gaze, Irene rested her hand on his arm, feeling his muscles react to her touch. “I’ve never thought of myself in that way before. You bring out the romance in me, too.”
His lips parted, and his hand pressed against the small of her back and drew her to him, closing his eyes. The pressure of his mouth on hers brought back the excitement of their first kiss. Each time with him felt like the first time. Would it always feel this way? She shut her eyes, chasing away such thoughts. For once she wanted to live in the moment. Always before, she had tried to predict the future. On more than one occasion she’d had the location of the honeymoon and the names of her children picked out before the end of a first date. Not this time. This time she wanted it to be different.
She leaned in, and the kiss deepened, erasing all thoughts except of the man who held her in his arms.
Moments later, he drew back, kissed her eyelids and then the tip of her nose, his breath a warm caress. His eyes reflected the fire in the torches on the wall. She knew the silent question he asked. Another place, another time, she might have said yes. But the magic of Stirling Castle and the stories her mother had written about her time here wrapped around her like a warm cloak. Irene’s life had always been on the fast track. For once she wanted to embrace the idea of going slow, experiencing what it meant to be courted by someone who made her heart warm each time she thought or said his name. She wanted chivalry. She wanted her knight in shining armor.
That he’d waited for her answer made her believe the magic of the castle had spoken to him, as well. “I’m in the mood for an adventure. Would you like to explore the hidden passageways my mother mentioned?”
The slow rise of the corner of his mouth into a grin said it all as he reached for her hand. She loved that he always did that. She loved that the gesture felt so natural. Most of all, she loved that his expression said he could wait.
He scratched the back of his neck.
“Any ideas how we get this wall to open?”
Irene stepped in front of him, examining the wall and her mother’s drawings. It looked like a solid wall of stone. There weren’t any visible outlines of a door. “We could say, ‘Open sesame.’ ”
He cocked his head. “Pretty sure that’s a different story. I’m thinking there’s probably some sort of a mechanism that releases the door’s latch if you press in the right place. All we have to do is find it. Any clues in your mother’s diary?”
Irene looked closer. “There’s a drawing of a Scottish thistle.”
Logan eyed the drawing. “I’ve seen those everywhere around here. They reminded me of the same bristle-like haircut my eight-grade gym teacher had. Wait a minute.” Logan traced his hand over the raised images on the stones until he found what he was looking for. He pressed down in the center of the stone and heard a click.
The solid wall moved inward, letting out a draft of cold, stale air.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Irene kept her hand on Logan’s shoulder as they descended the stairs in single file. He held a torch that helped a little. She didn’t know which was worse, walking in complete darkness down an uneven staircase or watching shadows caused by the torchlight flicker over the walls.
Shadows crawled overhead, creating a dark canopy of gloom. Metal crashing onto stone echoed through the narrow passageway, sending the shadows into hiding.
Logan paused.
“You heard it too.”
“This passageway doesn’t feel like it leads to the chambers in the castle. We keep going down.” He held the torch higher.
“Probably just critters, running from the light,” she offered, her teeth chattering with the cold.
“You mean rats.”
“No, I most definitely mean critters. Critters are cute, like rabbits, or the mice in the story of Cinderella. Rats and spiders…” She shuddered, knowing she was talking too fast. “Rats and spiders are just plain creepy.”
