by Anne Ireland
Was she destined to die in such a cruel way? Angelina knew a stabbing fear, but then she felt the breath of air on her neck, and her body suffused with pleasure. He was here. He was watching over her. In the dream he took her hand, and then he loved her, giving her the pleasure she had never known in life.
Would Raphael come to her here? Was that why she had been brought here to marry the marquis?
He had told her to do her duty—and then she must choose.
“Tell me what to do!” she begged the empty room, but he had gone from her.
Chapter Two “I wish you sweet dreams,” Marcus said before kissing her hand as they parted late that evening. “In the morning you will become my cousin’s bride.” For a moment he held her hand longer than he need. “Raoul is fortunate indeed. Had I seen you before the contract was signed . . . but I must not. You belong to him. I would be failing in my duty if I allowed myself to indulge in fantasy. Goodnight, my lady.”
“Goodnight,” Angelina said. She left him with her father in the comfortable room and went up the winding stairs, feeling the chill seep into her bones as she sought the warmth of her own apartments. Outside, the wind was howling, and at its center there was a moaning that she thought might be the sound of a soul in hell. It was an eerie, chilling sound that sent a shiver down her spine. For a moment she was gripped by terror. After the ceremony, her father and Lord Samuel were leaving for London. She had heard them agreeing to travel together. She would be alone here, apart from the servants. Alone with the restless spirit that haunted this place . . .
Angelina lifted her head proudly. She would not give way to fear. The eerie sound was merely the wind, which entered through cracks in the old walls and whistled through drafty passages. In her own apartments, she would be perfectly safe.
Why should she not be safe anywhere in the castle? Angelina laughed softly. Her imagination was too vivid. It came from living her life through dreams for too long. In the morning she would be married, and in a week or two, her husband would come to claim her.
What was he like? Angelina put the thought from her as she went into her bedchamber. Candles were burning everywhere, banishing the shadows. She set down her chamberstick, and snuffed most of them, leaving only three at a distance from the bed. Usually, she snuffed all the candles in her room before she went to sleep, but this night she preferred to leave some of them burning.
After brushing her hair, she got into bed, pulled the covers over her, and closed her eyes. She was not sure she would sleep, but she did not intend to let the atmosphere in the castle intimidate her.
* * * *
“You are so beautiful, Angelina. I adore you, my darling. I want to be with you for always. Let me love you. Let me show you the pleasures that old bore of a husband has no idea exist.”
“Raphael, you must not.” Angelina laughed up at him. She was beautiful, so lovely that it took Raphael’s breath. From the first moment he had seen her wed to Count Frederick of Lolworth, he had known that she was the woman he had waited for all his life, but it was too late. She was married to a man who would not appreciate her. Angelina had not complained, but he knew instinctively that her husband hurt her. He was such a devil that he would crush all the life from his young and beautifulwife.
“You know it would be wrong. Frederick would be so angry. I think he would have us both killed.”
“He is a brute and has no idea of the treasure he has,” Raphael told her, reaching out to pull her hard against him. He was a tall man, powerful and strong, with long hair that touched his shoulders. The color of sunlight, it glinted in the candle’s glow, his blue eyes narrowed and intent on the woman.
The scent of her was intoxicating, arousing a throbbing desire. He knew she must be able to feel the burn of his swollen sex through her thin gown. He could feel the heavy pulsing in his loins, the desperate need to lie with her, and his mood was urgent, pleading as he looked into her lovely eyes. She was so beautiful, her skin as soft as silk to the touch, pearly pink and perfect. He wanted to see her lying naked in her bed, to drink her in, touch her, kiss every inch of her, slide into her musky warmth, and lose himself in her sweetness. His erection was so strong that he felt it would burst through his hose if he did not satisfy his hunger.
“I want you so much, my darling. I would risk the count’s anger to lie with you just once.” “No, Raphael, I cannot let you take such a risk,” she said. “You know that I love you. I wish that we had met before my father gave me in marriage to the count, but it is too late for us. I dare not betray him.”
Raphael swore and drew her close. He took possession of her lips, his mouth caressing hers, drinking in her sweetness as his body burnedwith the heat of his desire. He came in even closer, pressing his body nearer, wanting her to understand how desperate was his need. Oh God, how lovely she was! He would sell his soul to the devil for just one night in her arms. His hunger and need communicated itself to her, and she gazed at him as he released her, trembling, her face white as the tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I am so unhappy,” she whispered. “He is cruel, and I cannot bear him near me. I love you so much . . . but if I let you make love to me, he would know. He would kill us!” “He is leaving to visit his friends tomorrow,” Raphael told her and trailed his fingers over her lovely cheek. He was burning up, his passion so fierce that her eyes widened as, at last, she understood how desperate was his love for her. She gave a little whimper and lifted her face for his kiss, seeming as if she would melt into his very flesh. He plundered her mouth with his own, invading her warmth with the tip of his tongue, and felt the sweet ecstasy race through him.
“Frederick is leaving?” She gazed at him as he drew back and released her from the kiss. “I must leave with him, but on the road I shall slip away and return to you, my darling. I shall come to you in your room, and he will know nothing. Once we have lain together, you will see that you belong to me—and then we shall leave this accursed place.”
“If only I dare . . .” Angelina looked at him, the dawning of hope in her eyes. “Yes, my love. Leave him on the road, and come to me. You must take great care not to be seen, for I know his vengeance would be terrible. He frightens me, Raphael. There is something about him . . . something that I do not understand.”
“He is a brute, but I do not fear him,” Raphael told her. “I promise you that I shall protect you with my life.”
“I know you would,” she said with perfect trust in her eyes. “But I do not wish to lose you, dearest. If we could leave this place and live somewhere else, I would happily go with you.”
“I shall return, and then we shall escape him.” He took a small knife from his belt and cut the sign of the cross on his arm, then dipped his finger in the blood to anoint his forehead. “May the torments of the damned come upon me if I fail you.”
“No, Raphael,” she cried, and her eyes widened in horror as they heard a roll of thunder and then lightning rent the sky. “I fear you have brought a curse upon yourself.”
“No, for I shall not fail you,” he promised and kissed her once more. “Look for me tomorrow night, beloved. I shall come to you, and then you shall be mine.”
* * * * Angelina woke shivering. Her dream had been so vivid, but it was not the same as the one she had had night after night for weeks. It had been different in some way, as if she were there, witnessing the story of another woman and her lover . . . but she felt their torment and their fear as if it were her own. The man’s kisses had been feverish, desperate, and hungry. Angelina had responded, her body rippling with sweet desire, wanting to be one with him, but now she was alone, alone in her bed, experiencing the need his touch always aroused. Why was it that a dream aroused such hunger in her? She sighed, knowing that even if she touched herself she could never take away the longing he brought to life.
She felt cold. The candles had gone out, and the fire had burned low. Logs had been placed in a rush basket to one side of the large hearth, but she had forgotten t
o make it up before she came to bed.
She threw back the covers, slipped naked from the bed, and ran to the hearth, then bent to throw more logs onto the ashes that smoldered. She stirred them with an iron poker and then ran for her bed as they sparked and some warmth came from the embers. Suddenly, as if the wind had touched it, the logs burst into flames once more.
Burrowing down beneath the layers of covers, she sighed. Where was her lover? He had been in the dream, but he had not pleasured her that night, and she missed his touch. Her body cried out for the caresses and kisses he had lavished on her willing flesh each night. Had she lost him? Would he ever come to her as he once had?
The thought that he might not distressed her, and she cried out with need. “Please come to me . . . I want you, love you.”
“Hush, my love.”The words were like the sigh of a breeze. “Soon now . . . soon . . .” She felt a touch of air at the center of her back, and the fever ran through her, making her arch and whimper, longing for more. For a moment she thought she heard laughter, soft and husky. It was pleasant to her ear, but perhaps it was merely the wind howling in the old tower.
A single tear slid from the corner of her eye as she felt sleep claim her. “Raphael . . . my love . . .” she whispered as she drifted away.
“The choice will be yours . . . Sleep well, beloved . . .”
* * * *
Angelina woke as the housekeeper brought a tray of hot chocolate, soft rolls, and honey, which she placed across her lap.
“Did you sleep well, ma’am?” she asked looking doubtful.
“Yes, thank you, quite well,” Angelina said but felt disappointed as she realized that her lover had not come to her again as she slept. “I shall enjoy this, Mrs. Macintyre.”
“In a few moments, I shall bring hot water for you to wash, and your wedding gown.”
“My wedding gown?” Angelina frowned, for the gown she had thought to wear was hanging on the armoire ready to put on. “It is already here.”
“I have my instructions from the marquis, ma’am. He was quite clear about the gown you were to wear. It is quite exquisite. I do not think you will dislike it.”
“Then bring it for me,” Angelina said. “If the marquis wishes me to wear it, I shall oblige him . . . though he would not know, for he is not here to see me.”
“No . . .” The housekeeper looked odd and glanced away from her, in a way that made Angelina wonder. “Yet I think it would be best if you were to do as he asks.”
“Yes, I shall.” She paused in the act of buttering a roll. “I have wondered . . . Has some terrible tragedy occurred here in the past, Mrs. Macintyre?”
“Who told you? The servants are forbidden to speak of it.”
“No one has told me anything—but I have sensed it. And I heard a fearful sound . . . like a wild beast in torment.” “Heaven above! May God protect you,” the housekeeper said and crossed herself. “I should not say, forhewould be angry if you were frightened. More than one tragedy has happened here, my lady. Many centuries ago there was a terrible murder, and since then . . . the tower is said to be haunted by something. And a hundred years ago, when my great-grandmother served here, another young woman fell to her death from the tower. They say the look on her face was terrible to see—and her body was whiter than the driven snow for she had not one single drop of blood left in her.”
“Oh . . .” Angelina shivered. She felt cold, as she had in the night, though the fire was blazing, for the housekeeper had made it up. “Well, I suppose it would be a fearful thing to fall and bleed to death. Many old houses and castles have similar stories. If there is nothing more, I have nothing to fear, for I shall be sure to stay away from the tower.” “Yes, ma’am. You do that, and I am sure you will be safe enough.”
Angelina was thoughtful as the housekeeper left her to the enjoyment of her breakfast. She was sure there was a deeper mystery here, but Raphael was here. He had promised that it would not be long before they were together—and he had told her to do her duty. Her duty was clear. She must marry the man her father had sold her to and accept the consequences. All she could hope was that her lover would come to her that night.
* * * * The wedding ceremony took place in front of no more than a handful of guests. A lavish feast was provided, which Angelina thought wasted on so few, though those who had attended had brought her some pleasing gifts and pressed her to visit when she had settled in. She nodded and smiled, behaving as the lady of the house and making her guests welcome, but they all departed before the light waned and the night descended.
“Well, daughter,” her father told her and then smiled and kissed her goodnight, “I shall leave early in the morning so will say good-bye now. I am satisfied that all is as it should be. You have servants to care for you and decent neighbors, though few enough took the trouble to attend your wedding . . .” He frowned as his gaze went over her. “What made you choose such a gown? It is like something from another century . . . plainer than I like for your wedding. The marquis settled several thousand pounds on you. You should try to do him credit, my dear.”
Angelina looked down at her gown. It was very simple but had clean, elegant lines and flowed like a medieval gown might, trimmed only with a thin band of silver braid and fashioned of white velvet.
“I liked it, father. I know it is not as lavish as the gown I wore for my first wedding, but it is suitable I think—and the marquis sent it for me. He requested that I wear it this morning.”
“In that case, you did well to obey him,” her father said and kissed her. He rubbed at his neck. “You must take care that your servants clean the chambers well, daughter. Something bit me last night. I have a red mark on my neck, though I have not taken ill, so it could not have been a snake.”
Angelina looked and saw two tiny pinpricks in his skin. “It must have been a rat, father. You should have the servants look under your bed this evening and make sure that nothing unpleasant is lurking there.”
“Well, if it was a rat, I hope I do not sicken for anything,” her father said. “You must have the place thoroughly cleaned and get a cat or dog to chase them away.” Angelina agreed that she would follow her father’s instructions and bid him goodnight. She would not miss him, for she was used to livingalone. Her father only visited her when he wanted something of her.
Lord Samuel would also leave early in the morning. She would be alone in the castle, apart from the servants—and Raphael.
Surely he would come to her tonight?
* * * * Angelina watched from the gallery as her husband departed with twenty of his men-at-arms and ten servants. She could not help thinking how handsome Raphael looked—and how sour was the expression of her husband. Why had he married her when he did not love her? Was it merely because he could? Her beauty had brought her many suitors, but Frederick had paid her father the highest price. He was so harsh and cruel, and she dreaded the nights when he came to her bed.
Tonight, Raphael would come to her, and they would lie together. Tonight she would know the sweetness of loving. Her body burned for Raphael’s touch, and she felt the moistness between her thighs as she remembered his passionate kisses. If his kisses aroused such desire in her, what would she feel when he loved her in her bed? She could hardly wait, but she knew she must show no sign of impatience. Her serving women would light her to her chamber as usual, helping her to disrobe and to dress in her night rail. Only when they had all gone would Raphael come to her through the secret passage.
* * * * Angelina woke suddenly. As the night before, she was aware that the room was very cold and the fire had burned low, though she was sure she had made it up before going to bed. The candles had gone out, and so she heard rather than saw the door of her chamber close. Had someone been in her room?
As she pushed herself cautiously up against the pillows, she heard a sound from outside. Surely that roaring sound was the sound of someone in torment? Yet she sensed that whatever had made the noise was hardly human. It mus
t be an animal caught in a trap. She would ask the servants in the morning and give orders that any traps in the area be dismantled.
She rose and made up the fire, then moved about the room lighting more candles so that the light reached even into the dark shadows.
“Where are you, Raphael?” she whispered.
There was no answer, no touch of air on her skin to heat her and bring her to a fever pitch of desire. Why? Why had her dream lover deserted her?
She recalled the most recent of her dreams and wondered. Something told her that her new dreams were replaying the past, going through things that had happened long ago.
Was that what was happening? Her dreams were so vivid, as if she were actually the girl in them . . . as if her pain, her desire, and her fear were Angelina’s own.
What had happened the night that Raphael was supposed to come to the girl in her dreams? A slither of ice trickled down her spine. Instinctively, she knew something bad had happened somewhere in this house. She did not thinkit was here in her room . . . No, it was in the tower. Of course it must be.
Mrs. Macintyre had warned her from the start that she must not be tempted to visit that lonely place. The rest of the castle had been cared for and renovated, filled with beautiful things, but the tower was a ruin. It looked as if no one went there—why?
What was the mystery it had held, perhaps for centuries? Angelina remembered something that had happened the night before she left her previous husband’s house, when she had thought that her lover spoke to her. She had not taken much notice of his exact words, but now they seemed to echo in her mind.
