I never realized how true the story was until I made the mistake of wearing it. I was then pulled into a past life where the sapphire captivated a greedy man who coveted the throne, condemning him to reincarnate endlessly under the foolish notion that he would someday rule. As a result, I was cursed too, tied to this dangerous man who stalked and murdered me in every life. My friend, Rochus, the protector of the sapphire’s magic, told me that the only way to end the curse was to either kill this man or return the sapphire to the temple. Three months ago I’d faced off against him and he had died, my fiancé’s brother, Liam O’Kelley. Now the curse was broken, but we were returning the sapphire to the Temple of Indra just in case—or rather the dagger and engagement ring which held pieces of the original stone. It was unnecessary given that Liam was dead, but better safe than sorry.
“We’re supposed to leave on Monday; we’ll never get our money back now.”
“No need to fret, love. I know how important it is to ye—to rid yerself of those cursed stones. The real work won’t begin at the castle until we’ve returned from India next month. For now, we’ll spend the weekend at an Inn—they’re kin to Sam. It’s just down the road and that way we’re nice and close to explore the castle. I’ve got to meet with my team once a day to go over the plans and after that we’ll relax. Ye lasses can moon over the documents or ye can come here with me. And Monday we’re off to roam India.”
I nodded and turned back to the cliff, beckoned by the fierce ocean a hundred feet below.
“Come closer to me, Aeval. Haven’t ye learned not to stand so close to the edge? Cliffs are not exactly lucky for ye and I wouldn’t like for ye to wind up like the banshee of Dunlace.”
“Pardon?”
“Lord McQuillan’s daughter, Sive, she was crushed against the rocks below when being rescued by her lover—her father’s enemy. A sad tale, it was, and now she haunts the castle. They call her the banshee. I’d follow ye in, to be sure, but I don’t think for a minute that we’d fare any better than the banshee and Ó Catháin.”
“No kidding.” I said, and kissed him on the neck. “Although, if I hadn’t fallen from Marguerite Island, I might never have met you.”
“Gah, we were destined to meet, Aeval. It was only ever a matter of time before we’d have locked souls.”
Leslie made a gagging noise and we both turned.
“Sorry, Les.” Cullen apologized. “This place makes me sentimental. I’ll try to refrain from bursting into sonnets.”
“Perhaps giving a tour would keep you busy,” Leslie suggested.
“Ye fancy a tour, do ye? Well, I am yer man, my Granda was from Norn Iron and the mhy not “old”ones brought me here plenty of times when I was a lad. Follow me and I’ll bend yer ears.”
We walked and listened to Cullen as he told us all about the Coastal Cliff of County Antrim and the Giants Causeway. I recognized the images from the Led Zeppelin album, my feisty absentee grandmother, Greta, had owned. She’d left most of her belongings behind at Gigi’s Lakehouse, including my mother and I, and we’d listened to that scratchy album until it no longer played.
“Aeval, where are ye?”
“Over the hills and far away,” I said, with a smile.
Cullen looked confused but Leslie smirked. She got it.
Eventually we made our way inside Castle Dunlace and traipsed through dozens of rooms, including the Lord’s chamber. There must have been fifty rooms or more, such a shame that they’d lain unused for so long. The wing we currently explored was the most intact and had obviously been utilized to some degree. The rooms were spacious and airy, and some still held furniture and brightly woven tapestries. A corner of the kitchen was still visible, although the north wall and a good chunk of the room was completely missing. Cullen said the kitchen fell away into the sea one dark and stormy night, killing much of the staff, sometime in the seventeenth century—just one of the many haunting aspects of the place. Our last stop was the north-eastern tower. Since it was separated from most of the other rooms, Cullen turned on the flashlight to illuminate the winding stairwell leading up to it.
“This place gives me chills,” I whispered as we reached the top.
“It’s not the grandest of accommodations but I’ve slept in worse.”
“Can’t you feel it—the oppression in the air?”
“Now that ye mention it, lass, I do. It must be the banshee. She was held prisoner up here for a time.”
“For what?”
“What else? Refusing marriage,” Cullen replied. “She’s the one I told ye about, who died upon her escape. The man she loved rescued her, but their boat crashed against the rocks of the mermaid’s cove below. They say her ghost still haunts the place.”
“I believe it.” I said, rubbing my shoulders. “Let’s go back downstairs.” I took a few steps and looked over at the gaping hole that was a window. “Will you put glass or bars here—it seems unsafe.” I stuck my head out the opening. “A child could fall to their death.”
“Or an adult.” Leslie said, giving me a mock shove.
Cullen smiled. “They aren’t usually so low. Sam didn’t say but ye raise a good point, love. I’ll ask him if he plans to have children roamin’ the tower and if he wants to keep them alive.”
I laughed and pinched his arm.
“Come on, I’ll take ye down below to natures very own cathedral. They call it the mermaid’s cave.”
“Mermaids cave?” Leslie questioned.
“Aye, in the dark depths below lies an enormous cave, every bit as grand as the castle itself, its vault is more than sixty feet high. When the sea enters, it does so with a mighty roarin’ sound.”
“Is it safe to go in?”
“Of course, Aeval, as safe as a sea cavern in County Antrim can be.”
“Gee, that’s reassuring.”
“The entrance to the cave is down an eroding ramp which gives it a superb subterranean feel but the cave’s length exceeds three hundred feet. Ye don’t need to go near the water if ye don’t want to. It’s a big place. It’s hard to describe just how big it is until ye’re standin’ inside it, dwarfed by the tonnes of rock overhead, and yet there is an intimacy to the space, like we’re naught but a speck of dust inside a giant’s keyhole.”
“Here we go again,” Leslie teased. “This place turns Cullen into a poet.”
Cullen laughed and led us down the stairs. “Sam says, according to the Lord’s journal, there’s a hidden room somewhere in this place. He wants us to find it.”
Continue reading Temple of Indra’s Lies.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachael Stapleton lives in a Second Empire Victorian home with her husband and two children in Ontario, Canada and enjoys writing in the comforts of aged wood and arched dormers.
To learn more about Rachael Stapleton, visit her online at: RachaelStapleton.com
TIME TRAVELING BIBLIOPHILE SERIES
Temple of Indra’s Jewel
Temple of Indra’s Curse
Temple of Indra’s Lies
Temple of Indra’s Witch
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Of course, I must thank my husband and kids for allowing me to lock myself away this past month, especially when the deadline blew in like an unexpected blizzard in Autumn. I’d also like to thank my devoted writers group who weathered this publishing journey alongside me as only a group of strong, supportive women can—listening, re-reading, slashing my darlings, and cheering from the sidelines. Specifically, Connie DiPietro, for throwing the original launch party. Only a true friend would open up her home and her heart the way that she has. Lora Avgeris, for her sharp-eyed, silver-tongued copyediting of my blurbs, and of course, Yvonne Hess, for her innate ability to ask the tough questions. Just one Tuesday night wit
h the B7 ladies (Ann, Connie, Lora, Marissa, Susan and Yvonne) and my plot holes disappear. Voila! They say that it takes a village to raise a child; well I think it takes a writer’s group to publish a book or in this case to re-publish a book. (As some of you know, the first two books in this series were previously published. This is 2.0) Many of you read the originals, and yet here you are re-reading. Thank you! Your loyalty astounds me. Giganotosaurus thanks to my Solstice family, particularly Melissa Miller and Kathi Sprayberry for discovering me, publishing me, and most importantly for enduring my nitpicky ways. Lastly, I want to thank superstar, Susan Croft, for all of the editing support provided during Sophia’s & Cullen’s adventure. Sophia may have her gifts, but none compare to that of your mighty hatchet pen.
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