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“I don’t know why we need to say he’s dead,” Abigail muttered into the silence.

“Because he mustn’t trace us, dear.” Helen swallowed and leaned forward to pat her daughter’s knee. “It’s all right. If we can—”

The carriage door was wrenched open, and the coachman’s scowling face peered in. “Are ye getting out or not? It looks like rain, an’ I want to be back in th’ inn safe and warm when it comes, don’t I?”

“Of course.” Helen nodded regally at the coachman—by far the surliest driver they’d had on this wretched journey. “Please fetch our bags down for us.”

The man snorted. “Already done, innit?”

“Come, children.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing in front of the awful man. The truth was, they had only two soft bags—one for herself and one for the children. The coachman probably thought them desolate. And in a way, he was right, wasn’t he?

She pushed the lowering thought away. Now was not the time to have discouraging thoughts. She must be at her most alert and her most persuasive to pull this off.

She stepped from the rented carriage and looked around. The ancient castle loomed before them, solid and silent. The main building was a squat rectangle, built of weathered soft rose stone. High on the corners, circular towers projected from the walls. Before the castle was a sort of drive, once neatly graveled but now uneven with weeds and mud. A few trees clustered about the drive struggled to make a barricade against the rising wind. Beyond, black hills rolled gently to the darkening horizon.

“All right, then?” The coachman was swinging up to his box, not even looking at them. “I’ll be off.”

“At least leave a lantern!” Helen shouted, but the noise of the carriage rumbling away drowned out her voice. She stared, appalled, after the coach.

“It’s dark,” Jamie observed, looking at the castle.

“Mama, there aren’t any lights,” Abigail said.

She sounded frightened, and Helen felt a surge of trepidation as well. She hadn’t noticed the lack of lights until now. What if no one was home? What would they do then?

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. She was the adult here. A mother should make her children feel safe.

Helen tilted her chin and smiled for Abigail. “Perhaps they’re lit in the back where we can’t see them.”

Abigail didn’t look particularly convinced by this theory, but she dutifully nodded her head. Helen took the bags and marched up the shallow stone steps to the huge wooden doors. They were within a Gothic arch, almost black with age, and the hinges and bolts were iron—quite medieval. She raised the iron ring and knocked.

The sound echoed despairingly within.

Helen stood facing the door, refusing to believe that no one would come. The wind blew her skirts into a swirl. Jamie scuffed his boots against the stone step, and Abigail sighed almost silently.

Helen wet her lips. “Perhaps they can’t hear because they’re in the tower.”

She knocked again.

It was dark now, the sun completely gone, and with it the warmth of day. It was the middle of summer and quite hot in London, but she’d found on her journey north that the nights in Scotland could become very cool, even in summer. Lightning flashed low on the horizon. What a desolate place this was! Why anyone would willingly choose to live here was beyond her understanding.

“They’re not coming,” Abigail said as thunder rumbled in the distance. “No one’s home, I think.”

Helen swallowed as fat raindrops pattered against her face. The last village they’d passed was ten miles away. She had to find shelter for her children. Abigail was right. No one was home. She’d led them on a wild-goose chase.

She’d failed them once again.

Helen’s lips trembled at the thought. Mustn’t break down in front of the children.

“Perhaps there’s a barn or other outbuilding in—” she began when one of the great wood doors was thrown open, startling her.

She stepped back, nearly falling down the steps. At first the opening seemed eerily black, as if a ghostly hand had opened the door. But then something moved, and she discerned a shape within. A man stood there, tall, lean, and very, very intimidating. He held a single candle, its light entirely inadequate. By his side was a great four-legged beast, far too tall to be any sort of dog that she knew of.

“What do you want?” he rasped, his voice low and husky as if from disuse or strain. His accent was cultured, but the tone was far from welcoming.

Helen opened her mouth, scrambling for words. He was not at all what she’d expected. Dear God, what was that thing by his side?

At that moment, lightning forked across the sky, close and amazingly bright. It lit the man and his familiar as if he was on a stage. The beast was tall and gray and lean, with gleaming black eyes. The man was even worse. Black, lank hair fell in tangles to his shoulders. He wore old breeches, gaiters, and a rough coat better suited for the rubbish heap. One side of his stubbled face was twisted with red angry scars. A single light brown eye reflected the lightning at them diabolically.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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