Scent of Scotland: Lord of Moray #1 (Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance)

by Mac Flynn

He smiled and bowed his head. "Very good, but first let us attire ourselves in warmer clothes." He moved to the door, but I did not follow.

  "Where are we to go?" I asked him.

  Lord Moray paused at the entrance and turned to me. "Do not fear that I mean for us to brave the storm outside. We will remain indoors."

  I frowned. "But the attire-"

  "We are to go to the dungeons beneath the castle," he explained.

  I felt the color drain from my face and my grip on the knife tightened. I stepped away from him and shook my head. "If that is where you mean to take me then I will not follow you."

  "Would you have us continue our fruitless conversation, or would you rather have your answers?" he returned.

  "I would have my answers where I might better judge a route of escape," I retorted.

  Lord Moray sighed and moved to the side of the door where hung a rope. He pulled the rope, and in a moment a male servant appeared. The man was old, of an age around sixty, and most of his gray hair had fallen out long before I was born. He wore a neat suit with a trim vest and pants, and trained his eyes on the floor.

  "Fetch me a pistol," he commanded the man. The servant bowed and left.

  My heart quickened and I pointed my knife at the man. "If you mean to kill me then I will damage you before I die," I warned him.

  He did not reply, but his eyes narrowed. The servant returned with the pistol and a box of bullets. The lord loaded a single shot into the small, ivory-gripped weapon, and waved away the servant. When we were again alone he grabbed the barrel of the gun and held out the grip in my direction.

  "Will this serve to assuage your worries?" he asked me.

  I blinked at him. "You. . .you mean to give me the pistol?" I wondered.

  He gave a nod. "I do. If a knife is inadequate protection than surely a pistol will provide you with more comfort."

  I frowned, but crept towards him one foot at a time. He stretched his arm, and at two feet I stopped and snatched the pistol from his grip. The weapon gave easily, and I fumbled with the grip for a moment before I turned the barrel towards him.

  "Now you will release me and return me to my home," I demanded.

  He sighed and pulled the rope. The servant reappeared.

  "My coat, and a warm cloak for the lady," he ordered the servant. The servant did as was bidden and left us. I glanced between the servant and the lord, and frowned.

  "Did you not hear me?" I questioned him. "I wish to-"

  "-be taken home. Aye, I heard you," he assured me. The servant returned with the lord's furry coat and a green cloak with an interior woolen lining. The lord attired himself in the cloak with the servant's help, and the old man moved over to me. He grasped the top ends of the cloak and held the cloak out for me.

  "If you would turn around, my lady," the servant requested.

  "And allow you to steal the pistol? Not likely," I retorted.

  Lord Moray chuckled. "You will not find a more honest fellow than in Swain," he assured me.

  Swain smiled and held the cloak closer to me. "If you would, my lady. Your own cloak does not suit your pretty cheeks."

  I pursed my lips, but lowered the pistol. "Very well, but remember that I still hold a knife," I warned him.

  Swain bowed his head. "Aye, my lady."

  I turned and in a moment the cloak was draped around my shoulders. Swain clasped the top corners together in front of me with a shiny clasp and stepped back. I looked down at myself and noticed the glistening clasp. The metal was gold and held a scene of a stag hunt on its face. The details were so fine that I could see the hairs between the antlers of the beast. I brushed my fingers against the engraving and wondered at the smooth feel of the scene.

  "If you would follow me, and keep the pistol close at hand," Lord Moray broke my reverie.

  I turned and saw that Swain was gone and the lord stood beside the open doors. He swept his hand towards the entrance and smiled at me.

  "Ladies first," he offered.

  I frowned and shook my head. "You know the way. I am a stranger in your home," I reminded him.

  "Perhaps not for long, but I will agree to the temporary neglect of custom," he agreed.

  Lord Moray led me into the entrance hall and we turned into the west wing. The walls were as white as the snow that fell on the grounds, and as clean as the window panes that granted us a view of the coming storm. A wind blew past and picked up the soft flakes. There was no rest for the snow as the flakes tumbled through the air and rolled across the ground. The dark skies changed from gray to black, and the day changed to night, yet I felt little draft through the old windows. Oil lamps hung at intervals on the wall to our right and warded off the coming darkness.

  Our footsteps echoed down the long hall, but they were not alone. Many servants, dressed as Swain or chamber maids in their neat dresses, were in attendance. They stepped to the side and bowed their heads to us as we passed.

  The lord led me to the end of the passage. The hall turned to the right and stopped some fifty yards further on. The doors that lay on the either side of the hall were not as the others. They were thicker and made of some ancient oak. The walls, though white and clean, were of rough boards mixed with plaster that had been inexpertly applied. A chill emanated from the doors and I wrapped the cloak closer to myself.

  "This is the oldest portion of the castle," he explained to me.

  "Then the dungeon is not of your own design?" I guessed.

  He chuckled. "Only if I were to be of an age that rivaled Methuselah. But come."

  We traveled to the end of the hall where a door stood out from the others. It was of rough oak and very wide as though made for two to pass at one time. An unlit torch hung in a wire frame at head-height beside the door. The lord took the torch and lit it with a match from his pockets.

  "Watch your step," he advised me.

  He swung open the door and revealed a winding stone staircase. The stone walls were smoothed and damp, and dust covered all but the center of the staircase. The width of the staircase itself was only three feet and the curve was so severe that one couldn't see ahead of one self after only a half dozen steps. There were no windows so the darkness permeated every crevice and corner.

  The lord stepped into the cramped area and moved down a few steps, but I hesitated at the top. His flickering torch cast tall shadows over the walls that danced with the flames. In such a dark space my mind conjured up devils and demons that lay in wait for me. No pistol in the whole world save one blessed by a priest could save me from such monsters, and I had little faith the weapon I held was so holy.

  The lord turned to me. "Do you fear the darkness more than you despise your ignorance?" he challenged me.

  I frowned and steadied myself. "I merely wished for more steps between us," I defended myself.

  A crooked smile slid onto his lips. "I see. I apologize for my mistake."

  He turned away from me and proceeded down the stairs. I tightened my grip on the pistol and reluctantly followed him into the bowels of his castle.

  I pressed my hands against the damp wall to steady myself as the stairs wound down deep into the earth. Every step had alternating layers of dust and moss, and each footfall was a danger. The lord moved down them at a slow pace, and yet I found trouble keeping up with him.

  My demand to keep my distance was ultimately my undoing as the light from the torch invariably constantly turned the corner and cast me in near-total darkness. At some two dozen steps into the stairs my hands slipped off the slick wall. All my weight relied on the firmness of the wall, and when that vanished so did my footing. My foot missed its step and I let out a cry as I tumbled forward into the abyss. The pistol and knife fell from my hands and clattered down the stairs as I tried to catch myself. There would be nothing to obstruct my fall save for the endless bottom, wherever that lay.

  The light flew back to me and a strong arm caught me arou
nd my shoulders. I looked up into the bright light of the torch and the worried eyes of the lord.

  "Are you unhurt?" he asked me.

  I nodded my head. "I-I believe so," I stuttered. I straightened and pressed my hands against his furry cloak. It was then I realized my predicament and swept my eyes over the uneven floor. "The pistol!" I yelped.

  He chuckled. "I did tell you to watch your step," he teased.

  I whipped my head to him and glared at the man. I tried to push away from him, but he tightened his powerful grip on my shoulders.

  "I would suggest you not be hasty along these steps or you will find yourself once more in my arms," he warned me. I stopped struggling and he eased me from his grasp. "As for the pistol and knife, they have merely gone ahead of us. See?" He held the torch higher and the shining grip of the pistol reflected the glow of the light. It lay a mere half-curve ahead of us. "Your weapon, my lady."

  I moved carefully down the stairs and snatched the pistol. The knife was nowhere to be seen as he caught up to me. I swung around and pointed the weapon at him.

  "Keep your distance," I ordered him.

  He chuckled. "Then you must go ahead of me," he pointed out.

  I scowled at him, but his comment was true. He needed to pass me, so I reluctantly stepped aside. The lord brushed past me and we proceeded down the stairs

  CHAPTER 7