Once Upon A Haunted Castle: A Celtic Romance Anthology

by Eliza Knight

  “My fate is already sealed. And so is yours.”

  “What fate is that?”

  Elle stared into his eyes, not daring to tell him about becoming a glaistig upon her death. Instead, she said, “That we two should be together. It was destined to be.”

  “Aye.” He smoothed a thumb over her cheek. “I love ye. I want ye to be my wife. Will ye do me the honor of marrying this fool? This beast?”

  “Nay. I will not marry a fool or a beast.” She smiled and tickled his ribs. “But I will marry ye, Beiste MacDougall, the most kind, daring and resilient man that I know.”

  And then he kissed her hard, both of their emotions spilling out into that meeting of mouths. Their bodies clashed together and when he swept her up into his arms, carrying her through his study and into a bedchamber, Elle didn’t stop him. This was her love. This was the man she’d spend the rest of her life with. A man she’d create children with.

  And then she knew. Her fate as the glaistig was not a curse—but a blessing, because she’d be able to watch over her children, her grandchildren, and every generation to come. Her people. Her blood. Beiste’s blood. Their blood.

  Beiste disrobed her slowly, kissing every inch of her skin, memorizing every plane, and then rising to touch his lips to hers. She removed his clothing, studying the hard ridges and dips of his contoured body, running her hands over the scars he’d received in battles past.

  “Saints, my love, but ye are beautiful,” he murmured, running his hands over the outline of her naked form.

  “And so are ye.”

  “I’ve never been called such before.”

  “They are all fools who dinna see it.” She reached for him, relishing the weighty feel of his body against hers, pressing her firmly into the mattress, all hard lines against her softer flesh.

  “Perhaps we should wait,” Beiste said, sliding kisses over her shoulders and down to the valley between her breasts.

  Elle sucked in a ragged breath, her body on fire, her mind whirling. “Perhaps. But why wait for our future when we can seize it right now?”

  The man she loved gazed deeply into her eyes. “Och, love, ye have stolen my heart.”

  She smiled, reached up to graze her fingertips over his stubbled cheeks. “And ye have stolen mine.”

  Beiste kissed her then, making her heart soar, her blood pummel with excitement through her veins. Every inch of her reached out to him, tugging him closer. She clung to his back, his muscles thick and rippling beneath her fingertips. She wrapped her legs around his hips, feeling the hardness of his arousal press against the apex of her thighs. Frissons of startling pleasure coursed through her at the contact. Love so deep and swirling consumed her. Ignited her passion.

  Elle wanted more. All of him.

  Beiste ran his hands over her abdomen and down to her mound, sliding between the slickened folds. “Ye’re ready for me, love.”

  “Aye, please, dinna make me wait.”

  “But I am not ready for ye,” he teased.

  She frowned, feeling the very rigid, hard shaft. “How?”

  “I want to see ye find pleasure first. I want to taste every inch of ye.”

  “What?” This had her confused.

  And then he kissed his way down her body, his shoulders pushing her thighs wide, his hands pressing to her inner thighs, exposing her sex more to his view.

  “Beiste…” she said uneasily.

  “This, my love. This.” He flicked his tongue over her core and Elle’s head fell back, a moan rushing from her throat. “This is what I want.”

  “Aye, that…”

  He made love to her with his mouth, sending her mind and body into a tailspin of pleasure. She soared, riding higher and higher with every kiss, lick and nuzzle. Until she felt herself shatter through and through, crying out with the intensity of the sensations racking her.

  Beiste smiled, looming over her, pressing his length once more against her. He surged forward, breaking the barrier of her maidenhead. There was a pinch of pain, but she hardly felt it, her mind still reeling from what he’d done with his tongue.

  Before she could even grasp the pure delight of their union, he was moving within her. Kissing her neck, her lips. Stroking her hair. Telling her just how beautiful she was and that he could not live without her. That she’d changed him. Saved him. Taken away the darkness.

  Elle clung to him, told him how much of a gift he was to her. That she’d not thought love was possible, only to finally find him. That he completed her. Made her look forward to each day and every new adventure.

  And she meant it. She was going to cherish each and every day she had with him. Every moment of this life. Because her memories, her time with him, would help to get her through an eternity of walking the earth.

  “I love ye, Beiste,” she whispered against his ear, growing bold, and tickling his earlobe with her tongue.

  He growled in response, scraping his teeth along her neck providing her with a wicked shiver. “I love ye, too, lass.”

  “Now and forever.”

  “Always.”

  And then the time for talking was over, as they melted into one another and the pleasure of their bodies, their love, of this moment lead toward the next.

  A life away from shadow. A strength to take on their enemies. A will to live life to the fullest. A love that would last an eternity.

  The End

  If you enjoyed LAIRD OF SHADOWS, please spread the word by leaving a review on the site where you purchased your copy, or a reader site such as Goodreads or Shelfari! I love to hear from readers, too, so drop me a line at authorelizaknight@gmail.com OR visit me on Facebook: facebook.com/elizaknightauthor. I’m also on Twitter: @ElizaKnight. If you’d like to receive my occasional newsletter, please sign up at www.elizaknight.com. Many thanks!

  About the Author

  Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling indie author of over fifty sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. Under the name E. Knight, she pens rip-your-heart-out historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very naughty puppies. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.com or her historical blog History Undressed: www.historyundressed.com.

  More Books by Eliza Knight

  The Thistles and Roses Series

  Promise of a Knight

  Eternally Bound

  Breath from the Sea

  The Conquered Bride Series

  Conquered by the Highlander

  Seduced by the Laird

  Taken by the Highlander (a Conquered Bride novella)

  Claimed by the Warrior

  Protected by the Laird (a Conquered bride novella)

  COMING SOON

  Guarded by the Warrior – November 29, 2016

  The Stolen Bride Series

  The Highlander’s Temptation

  The Highlander’s Reward

  The Highlander’s Conquest

  The Highlander’s Lady

  The Highlander’s Warrior Bride

  The Highlander’s Triumph

  The Highlander’s Sin

  Wild Highland Mistletoe – a Stolen Bride winter novella

  The Highlander’s Charm

  A Kilted Christmas Wish – a contemporary Holiday spin-off

  The MacDougall Legacy Series

  Laird of Shadows (EXTENDED VERSION!) – JANUARY 2017

  The Highland Bound Series

  (erotic time-travel)

  Behind the Plaid

  Bared to the Laird

  Dark Side of the Laird

  Highlander’s Touch

  Highlander Undone

  Highlander Unravelled

  Coming soon…

  Drap
ed in Plaid

  Under the name E. Knight

  Tales From the Tudor Court

  My Lady Viper

  Prisoner of the Queen

  Ancient Historical Fiction

  A Day of Fire: a novel of Pompeii

  A Year of Ravens: a novel of Boudica’s Rebellion

  Deep Into Darkness

  A Medieval Horror/Paranormal Novella

  Kathryn Le Veque

  Part of The Lore Chronicles Series

  Author’s Note

  This is the second book I’ve written based on a poem or tale by Edgar Allan Poe, one of my favorite writers. Of course, I had to pick one of the most famous poems he’s written, The Raven, but in those stanzas, I saw something very dark and different.

  The poem, The Raven, has been analyzed and re-analyzed by scholars much greater than I. I’m not even a scholar, but a writer. The scholars have torn the poem apart, word by word, and it’s the general consensus that the narrator of the poem is slowly driven mad throughout the poem by two factors – his longing for his lost love, Lenore, and the raven, that won’t leave him alone.

  So I took those factors and wrote a story about madness and darkness, but in a different vein. Two lonely travelers, a creepy castle in the Highlands of Scotland, a nameless host of the castle, and Poe’s poem came alive for me. Better still, I created a hero and heroine that I really like, a pair that will kick off my Highlander series, The Red Lion. I really think you’ll like them, too.

  I’m very excited about this novella and twisting the elements of Poe’s poem into a story. I even threw a little hint of another of Poe’s stories, The Cask of Amontillado, into this one as well. It’s kind of dark, kind of creepy, a little ghoulish, and ALL Le Veque. Look for the various elements of Poe’s poem that I worked into this. It makes for an interesting tale.

  Read on… and enjoy!

  Love,

  Kathryn

  Part One

  You might not like what you find….

  Three Kings Inn

  Cullen, Buckie, Scotland

  December, Present Day

  “I don’t get it,” a young woman with long dark hair, pulled back into a messy bun, spoke with a hint of disgust. “That guide said he’d meet us here and take us out to the castle but it’s been almost an hour and a half. Where in the hell is he?”

  The young woman sat with a friend at the bar of the Three Kings Inn, a quaint, older establishment in the seaside town of Cullen, Scotland. It was December, a good month for travel, but the season had been rather cool. Winds whipped in from the Firth of Moray, bringing dampness and the smell of the sea with them. The entire town smelled of the ocean, that mustiness that only comes from the wet of the sea.

  The tavern, too, had that seagoing smell, but it only added to the ambiance. A big fire roared in the hearth in the main room and gave off a good deal of heat, causing the patrons to strip down out of their windbreakers and coats. The two young women at the bar were no exception; coats and purses lay across their laps.

  “I have no idea,” the brunette woman’s companion said. She was a tall woman with auburn hair, quite messy and wind-whipped. “All I know is that we’ve been sitting here getting drunk waiting for him to show up. How many beers have I had?”

  The brunette friend snorted. “One more than I’ve had.”

  “How many have you had?”

  “Eighteen.”

  They burst into giggles, finishing the last of the Belhaven beer in their glasses, looking up when the door to the tavern opened and a young couple entered. It wasn’t the guide they’d hired, an older man named Tim. Tim was nowhere to be found on this Friday, but the tavern was filling up for the evening rush.

  “Well… hell,” the brunette grunted as she motioned the bartender for another beer. “I think we’ve been stood up. You’d think my name would have meant something to Tim. How often does he get to participate in an American television show?”

  The auburn-haired companion chuckled. “I can see it now,” she said, pretending to hold a phone to her ear. “Hi. My name is Heather Monroe. I’m a freaking ghostbuster! Take me to that haunted castle!”

  Heather burst into laughter, shaking her head at her silly friend. “You’re supposed to be my producer,” she said. She, too, feigned holding a phone to her ear. “Hi. My name is Lynn York. I’m too lazy to call you so I make my host do it.”

  They continued to giggle, cracking themselves up over too much ale and the fact that they’d been stood up by a local guide who had promised to take them to Findlater Castle, about four miles to the east.

  Heather and Lynn worked for a show called “World’s Best Haunts” and part of that job was going to remote locations, following up on legends of haunted castles, homes, people, cars, buildings, or whatever else happened to sound interesting. In fact, they’d just come from Tennessee in the United States, having recently recorded a show on some allegedly haunted caves in the area. It had been cold, damp, and dreary, and the visit had been a bust, but their graphics guy and editor would make it interesting in post-production. They never worried about giving their viewers a thrill because they always did, whether or not the ghosts cooperated.

  That was kind of their song-and-dance routine, finding out of the way places and “talking” to the ghosts. Plus, Heather always made sure she looked incredibly hot, which she didn’t at the moment, but she wasn’t beyond showing cleavage to gain viewers. Male viewers. Now, she and her producer were on the hunt for Findlater Castle, rumored to house the sad ghost of a Medieval lady who literally wandered the grounds in chains, weeping for her long lost love. Many people claimed to have seen her and many more people claimed to have images of her on film. In fact, Tim the Guide claimed to have some great images of the ghost. But, since he was a no-show, it looked like they weren’t going to get to see them.

  But that didn’t matter much now, at least as long as the beer was flowing. It was late afternoon and, soon, the sun would be setting. There wasn’t much point in heading out to a remote location like Findlater Castle in the dark, even if they did want to see ghosts. They wanted to keep their lives more than that, and Findlater was surrounded by treacherous cliffs that could very easily dump an unsuspecting person off into the Firth of Moray. Besides… they could find another guide in the morning. There wasn’t any rush. They did these shows for profit, not for any real love of ghost hunting.

  So the two of them sat and giggled, discussing the fact that they’d lost their guide and, at some point, discussing the need to head back to their hotel. Heather was starting to get a significant buzz so she thought they’d better eat something before they tried to leave and ordered two burgers that were topped with pulled pork, apples, and barbeque sauce. It sounded delicious and they backed off on the ale a bit until dinner came. Meanwhile, the inn was filling up with people as Friday night came into full swing.

  It was a small place so sitting room was at a premium. Young couples had taken the tables and the spot by the fireplace, while two old men huddled on one end of the bar and another older couple sat on the other side of Heather and Lynn. It was loud because it was such a small place but it was warm and inviting, and when the burgers came, they were delicious.

  As they sat and ate their burgers, another older gentleman entered the establishment and planted himself at the bar on Heather’s left side. He had a worn coin purse, which he produced, and counted out all of his change right there on the bar top. No words were even exchanged with the bartender, who simply brought him a beer and took about half of the pile of change in payment. Evidently, he and the old man had been through this routine before. The old man carefully put his change back into his coin purse, counting it out one by one so he remembered how much he had.

  Mouth full, Heather couldn’t help but watch the old man with curiosity. He was exceptionally old and must have been bordering on senility the way he was muttering to himself. Glancing at Lynn, Heather lifted her eyebrows at the woman, a silent commentary about the state
of the old man, but she couldn’t help but look back at him with his stringy gray hair peering out from beneath his frayed newsboy cap and his stubby, gnarled fingers. There was something intriguing about him in spite of his mad mumbling and dirty appearance.

  Finally, the old man counted out the last of his pennies and put them away, catching sight of Heather, who was still watching him. Their eyes met and he winked at her as if knowing her questions before she even asked them.

  “The old woman gives me an allowance to come here,” he said in a very heavy Scots brogue. “I have to make sure I have enough for two beers. That’s all I get.”

  Those short sentences explained a lot, actually. Heather grinned. “She runs a tight ship, eh?” she asked.

  The old man nodded vehemently. “Like Nelson at the Nile.”

  Heather and Lynn laughed. “At least she lets you out a little,” Lynn said from across Heather. “That’s not so bad.”

  The old man tucked his coin purse away, shrugging. “She lets me have a little fun now and again. I’m grateful to the old cow.”

  The women continued laughing. Lynn took another bite of burger but Heather, whose mind was always in overdrive, began to ponder the little old man with the drinking allowance. From the looks of him, he had probably lived in Cullen his entire life, which meant he surely knew of the old legends in the area, Findlater included.

  In her line of work, Heather had always found the locals to be the best source of information. Her eyes began to gleam with excitement, the same gleam she always got when she was on to something. Something told her not to let this old guy get away.

  “Well, good for you,” she said, lifting her glass of beer in a saluting gesture. “Everybody deserves the chance to get out and live a little. Do you always come here?”