She could not bear the thought of leaving Cromar behind.
For a few days after she encountered the mysterious Damian, she found it impossible to paint or draw. It was very unusual indeed. No matter that she wished to paint Cromar every day of her life. Things about the man invaded her every waking moment for a week.
His eyes.
His nose.
Heavens. His inky black hair that had flowed unfashionably long about his broad shoulders.
His incredible mouth.
No.
It would not do to think of him. What man in his right mind would wander aimlessly in castle ruins in the middle of the night?
She smiled.
Someone, perhaps, like her?
She lifted her brush to the canvas and made the first stroke.
“Elizabeth!”
She turned to see her tall, thin brother walking across the field toward her. When he reached her he grinned.
“George, I thought you were with Mr. Givens finishing your lessons?” Elizabeth squinted in the bright sun as she looked up at him.
“I was.”
“Did you leave when he was not looking…again?”
He laughed. “I didn’t have to worry this time. The old man fell asleep in the middle of my Shakespearean soliloquy.”
It was her turn to laugh, and the sensation filled her with joy. She had taken him into her confidence about her trips to the ruin. She admired how his blond hair lay smoothly combed, and how his blue eyes sparkled. He would one day be a very handsome man, but now he had the gangly appearance of just what he was—a young man not quite matured. He looked like Anne, but his personality strayed so far from hers Elizabeth had difficulty believing the woman had birthed him. She could only hope Anne and her father would not force him to marry some silly young woman who did not deserve him.
He leaned over to look more closely at her canvas. “What are you painting today?”
“Nothing as yet. I thought perhaps to paint Cromar today as it might have been many years ago.”
“Delightful. I long to see you try another landscape. Perhaps Penham Manor?” He looked at her steadily, and she turned away at the scrutiny. He had not questioned her motives for what she painted until today.
“Penham Manor is ugly.”
“That is not true, dear sister, and you know it. It is rather lovely, and everyone in the area envies us.”
I cannot. She could not feel any great love for the coldness of the manor, the impersonal way her stepmother redecorated at every whim of fashion so that nothing seemed permanent, or dear, or real. There were always guests at the manor, so the large estate bustled at all times. Sometimes, however, she wished it very quiet, with not a soul about but for her. She loved the silence, the solitude, and the quiet reflection of Cromar for just that reason. But her brother was an optimist, and she hated to disillusion him.
“I know, George.”
“Or maybe while you are in London you will find some interesting subjects to paint.”
She looked up at him sharply, a tremor of fear spiking in her stomach. “London?”
He frowned and crossed his arms. “I suppose I shouldn’t say anything.”
“But you will.”
He sighed. “I don’t think it is right what they’re planning for you, Elizabeth. Father and Mother wish to send you to Aunt Ophelia in London so you may attend parties and balls to find a husband. I overheard them speaking of it when they didn’t know I was near.”
It did not surprise her, but the lump rising in her throat felt large enough to choke her, and she had to swallow hard before replying. “I see.”
“Is that all you can say? Who is in London but old men and fortune seekers? I would rather see my incomparable sister with a young man of fortune who would take care of you.”
She smiled weakly and shook her head. “You are astute for one so young. Are you sure there isn’t an adult man inside you?” She looked at ground. “There are no such men for me, George.”
“There must be. Only last year Arabella Pellerton was married, and she was at least two and thirty.”
“She has a great deal of money.”
“Nonetheless, it did occur.”
“She probably didn’t love her husband.”
“What does love have to do with it?”
She pulled her gaze from the dark earth and made an exasperated noise. She shifted on her stool and pinned him with a fierce look. “Now you sound like everyone else. If there is anything you learn from me, it must be that you should love who you marry.”
He uncrossed his arms and clasped his hands behind him. It made him look like their father. “That may be well and good for those of lower circumstances than us.”
She could not expect him to understand. He was too young, and someday he’d marry for position, status, and money. He may love a mistress, if not his wife.
“You will do what you will, George. But such a life isn’t for me. I’ve always known it.”
After a moment’s wavering silence he asked, “How? How did you always know?”
She could not smile, though she wanted to. Some things could never be explained. She did not claim extraordinary knowledge, because to express what she felt would bring her in line for ridicule. “I explained to you about Cromar and why it means so much to me.”
“You’ve been drawn to it since you were a little girl. That tells me nothing.”
“You should be a scientist, George. You want to know the meaning of everything. I can’t explain the castle’s draw. But it is refuge for me. I must be here. I must paint it. I must feel the life left in it.”
He nodded, though his eyes showed he did not comprehend.
Affection washed into her. His combination of sagacity and innocence disarmed her. “Thank you for telling me about London. Did you hear when they plan to send me?”
“By next week.”
She sighed. “I shall have to visit Cromar tonight. It will be my last opportunity for some weeks.”
* * * *
As night deepened to onyx, Cromar lay silent.
A great rush of air blew through the castle, twisting and turning, rushing into every corner. With the tempest came a life force so strong it refused to be denied.
Just as suddenly Damian stood at the entrance. He felt his heart expand with anticipation, and he knew without a doubt what this meant.
She was coming back to him tonight.
* * * *
The lantern was heavy, but Elizabeth carried it with determination. She held her skirts so that she would not trip over the rocks that made the path to Cromar difficult. Even the unusual chill in the summer night did not disturb her as much as her emotions.
She was unhappy. She had not been able to paint Cromar as it once was. In fact, she had found herself unable to paint it in any form today. The pain of her failure had grown so large she had quickly packed up her easel and paints and hurried back to the manor.
She looked for a place to set down her lantern so she might gaze once more on Cromar, but decided to go inside instead. She went to the great hall and put the lantern on the stone floor.
Tonight was the first time she had been here without the full moon as her companion. But she wanted to drink her fill of the place every night until London. She took a deep breath so she might remember how the night smelled here.
Of damp, and earth, and times long past. Of a flower so delicate and sweet. Roses? Of something more powerful and deep than time itself. How was she going to live without coming here? How?
She turned and there in the lantern glow stood the man.
Damian.
He stood just within the circle of the lantern light.
“You,” she said breathlessly, completely taken off guard, her heart jumping in her breast and fluttering like a frightened bird.
Now she could see him well, and was astounded by what the moonlight had concealed of him the first time they met. She had thought him handsome, but now his beauty
sent a sharp, strange tug deep into her stomach. An urging. A need she had never experienced before now.
He appeared like a fantasy in the most forbidden part of her mind. His dark hair blended into the night, his solid jaw more handsome than any she could have imagined. Most of the men she knew were weaklings compared to this man. His stance, his expression, his body spoke of character and an everlasting quality she could not define. He advanced a step and bowed deeply at the waist. “Once again I have startled you. My apologies.”
Uncertain what to say, she curtsied.
“You are well?” he asked.
“Tolerably so.” She could not lie with a hurt blossoming inside her. The longer she stood there the larger it grew.
Tilting his head as if he questioned her words, he came closer until he could touch her. Her heart pounded, making her slightly dizzy. Afraid he might see her distress, she took a stabilizing breath.
“What brings you here without the moon, Elizabeth?” Her name on his lips was the most wonderful thing she had ever heard. His voice sounded husky…tender and rough all at once.
“I chose to come. I don’t need the moon.”
“For what do you seek solace?”
She had to look away or remain speechless, so she fixated on the dimness beyond her lamplight. “Do you come here every night, sir?”
“I come here when you do.”
She turned from him and walked away until she stood on the opposite end of the lantern’s circle of light. “You speak in riddles.”
“I speak only the truth.”
Her confusion rose along with a sense of fear. Not fear that he would hurt her, but an unnamed apprehension, a totally engulfing feeling. “Do you follow me, then?”
“I am here and nowhere else.” His voice sounded closer.
She turned, afraid he would be gone when she looked. Instead he stood within inches of her again. Her pulse accelerated. “Have you escaped from Bedlam?”
He smiled. “No. But I fear I have frightened you. And it was not my intention.”
She could not be comfortable with his finely lashed dark eyes gazing so intently on her. A strange trembling came over her and threatened to send her running from the castle. Something more powerful kept her there. Her fingers bunched the rough wool of her dress. “Do you live hereabouts?”
“I did once.”
“You didn’t tell me your last name.”
“Cromar.”
She inhaled sharply. “You must know all about this castle. Your ancestors lived here?”
“They did.”
When he did not elaborate, only looked down on her with those unbelievable eyes, she moved on. “I have always found this place such a comfort.”
“I gathered that. It is a strange place for a woman so young to spend all her time.”
She nodded. “So I have been reminded.”
“People do not approve.”
Her laugh sounded harsh and bitter to her own ears. “True.”
“You do not seem the type of woman to care so much what people think.”
She thought about that for several moments, and realized he was right. If she had listened to other people she would have married years ago and stopped painting Cromar. “Yes, you’re right.”
“I am glad you decided to come tonight.”
Warmth brightened her heart. “Oh?”
He smiled gently, and reached out as if to touch the smooth skin of her face, but he stopped suddenly and dropped his hand. She knew she should step back, perhaps even slap him for his insolence. Instead she wished he had touched her. It had been ages since anyone had shown her such affection.
“For so long I have looked forward to seeing you each full moon. But I find my loneliness has increased every day of the month you are not here,” he said.
“You have no wife or family who need you?”
“My family died many, many years ago.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“It was so long ago it sometimes feels as if it were a dream.” He shook his head and looked down at his feet. “But you have brightened my life.”
His words danced like sweet music in her ears. What he said was presumptuous and forward, but it seemed natural. She felt as if she had known him forever. “I came tonight to say goodbye to Cromar.”
His gaze snapped sharply to her. “Goodbye?”
“I’m going to London next week. For several weeks, perhaps. I do not know.”
He looked shocked, as if she had told him something incomprehensible and awful. “Why?”
“My father and stepmother wish me to marry, and they feel I have a better possibility of landing a husband there.”
Distaste curled his finely carved lips, and she felt a strange sense of excitement in his dislike for the idea. “These are the people who disapprove of your paintings of Cromar.”
“Yes.”
He moved away until he almost stepped into the darkness. His action broke her concentration and startled her into realizing how chilled she felt. Her cloak had come unbuttoned, and she reached up to fix it. But it did not help. The coldness seemed in her bones and in her heart.
“Perhaps it is best,” he said, turning back to look at her, but keeping his distance.
“I don’t want to go. I do not want a husband.”
“Why?”
“My life is here, with Cromar. I have everything I need. I couldn’t bear…”
“Yes?” His question came sharp. He drew closer again, his brows drawn together.
“Leaving this castle does not bear thinking about.”
“Whenever we must leave what is familiar there can be regrets and pain.”
“You don’t understand. It is more than regret, and it is indeed pain.” The words came out in a trembling fervor, and she feared she would cry. In that moment she decided he knew far more than he should. What could he do to help her in any case?
Nothing.
“Thank you, Damian, for giving me your time and listening to me.”
He smiled and bowed slightly at the waist. “It has been all my pleasure, Elizabeth. My sincere wish would be to remove your distress.”
“There is nothing to be done.”
“If you find a husband your loneliness may end.” He sounded doubtful.
“No man can replace my love for Cromar.”
He frowned, and she thought perhaps she had somehow offended him. “And there can be no man who loves you more than Cromar.”
The lantern light sputtered and threatened to go out.
Fear prickled her spine.
She was insane to be alone with a man in an isolated place such as this. God only knew what he might do.
Yet even as she berated herself, she knew she didn’t care. Deep in her heart she suspected he would never do anything to hurt her.
No, she was going to do something far more agonizing to herself.
“I must go,” she said hastily. “The hour grows very late.”
“Will you come again before you leave for London?” The plea in his voice came strong.
Even though she had planned this as her last sojourn, she couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing the castle, Damian, again. “Yes.” She lifted the lantern and started toward the door.
“Until then.” He moved with her to the front of the castle.
She turned to look back upon him, but he had vanished. As if the lamplight had been the source of his existence.
Chapter 2
A shaft of light pierced the heavy fog drifting about Cromar Castle, and inside the thick walls a moan of pain echoed.
Kneeling on the hard stone of the banquet hall floor, Damian held his head and winced. When would it end? He hated the agonizing feeling that pierced his head and racked his body every time he returned to Cromar in solid form. It was a reminder of much that had happened in the past. Horrendous nightmares lingered on the edge of his fog-enshrouded mind and threatened to render him senseless.
As always, however, the
pain stopped and what was left of his heart felt triumphant. Perhaps Elizabeth would come today and he would have a respite from the cold of night. He longed to touch her so much. To hold her and shelter her against everything and anyone who might harm her.
The moon reached its zenith in the sky, and with a weary sigh, he went about his wanderings.
* * * *
Elizabeth did not visit the castle again for several more days. Yet it seemed every waking moment something reminded her of Damian, and she had to fight the urge to go to him at night. Some would think it unseemly and improper to be alone with a strange man.
But Damian did not feel as if he were a stranger to her.
Elizabeth returned to her room late in the day and tossed her cloak on her bed. She needed to make sure she had everything for her trip to London the next day. She had a headache from enduring a day with her stepmother after they had spent part of the day visiting with an ailing vicar and his wife. Anne had been in an odd mood all day, and had refrained from barbs of disapproval toward Elizabeth, and this in itself was strange. Although a pleasant change, Elizabeth believed it had more to do with Elizabeth’s impending migration to London.
It took a few moments to realize something was amiss. Her drawings. Her paintings.
They were gone.
Usually they were lined up along one wall of her large room. Thinking perhaps her maid Ellie had moved them, she rushed to her armoire to see if they were stored inside. Nothing.
Frantic now, she rushed about the room, looking under the bed, behind her dresser, anywhere the paintings could have been hiding. Perhaps George played a trick on her. But such a cruel jest would be unlike him. She ran down to his room and searched there, but she found nothing.
Within her heart grew a large sorrow, a fear greater than anything she’d known for some time.
She enlisted the aid of the household staff to search the manor until her stepmother came upstairs to see about the commotion.
“Whatever is going on here?” Anne asked, reviewing the line of servants awaiting Elizabeth’s instructions. “Why do you have everyone assembled here?”
Elizabeth did not care at this point what her stepmother thought or did. She suspected Anne knew exactly where they were.
Meet Me At the Castle Page 2