The air coming off the water was frigid, and she was glad she’d dressed warmly. Her jeans were tucked into knee-high black boots, the sweater a dark gray wool. The gloves and scarf were cream colored, which was good, considering her hair added enough color for the whole outfit. Never one to wear a hat, she’d attracted plenty of looks due to the pastel colors. No matter what, she’d never fool around with her hair again after a breakup. As if to protest, a purple curl blew in front of her face and she sighed, tucking the lock behind her ear.
By the time the driver picked her up, she was frozen halfway through. As she slid into the darkened interior of the car, a cup of steaming tea was waiting for her.
“Thank you so much. This is exactly what I needed.”
“I figured as much. A spot of tea will warm you up a bit. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow. It’s about an hour drive to Highworth.”
An honest-to-goodness castle. She rubbed her hands together, thinking of exploring the rooms, touching objects that belonged to people long gone. Wondering about their day-to-day lives. Maybe something at the castle would help her figure out what came next in her own life.
After she checked in to the hotel, Elizabeth popped into a pub across the street. There was an open table by the fireplace and she inhaled a hearty dinner of beef stew with crusty bread and a pint to wash it all down.
Warm and full, she went back to the hotel, took a nice, hot shower, and fell into bed, eyes fluttering closed before her head hit the pillow. As she fell asleep, her last thoughts were of Highworth.
Chapter Eight
The black sedan turned a corner and Highworth Castle came into view, making Elizabeth squeal.
The driver jumped, the car swerving a bit to the left. She bounced up and down in the seat. “Sorry. I’m just so excited. It really does look like some kind of maniacal wedding cake come to life.”
The guy chuckled but refrained from commenting on his employer’s home. California had been Elizabeth’s home until she left high school. Then her grandmother inherited a house in Kentucky from an old sweetheart. A man she’d dated before she married Elizabeth’s grandfather. The man had never gotten over her grandmother, and when he passed had left her the house and plenty of cash. Elizabeth went to college in Kentucky, found a job after graduation, and worked all the time, convinced the travel bug had skipped her as well.
Living in Kentucky, winter had become her favorite time of year. The cold and the snow turning the landscape into a winter wonderland. There was nothing like a horseback ride through the snow as she watched the sky turn to fire. She’d been so busy with work that her passport had gathered dust in a drawer until she’d won the contest.
The driver parked outside the castle walls. He helped her out of the car. “We walk from here.”
As they passed through the gates, she touched the walls, a sense of déjà vu flowing through her. “I’d like walls and a gate like these to keep those door-to-door sales guys away.”
He grinned. “And archers on the battlements.”
“Exactly.”
“The walls are forty feet high and fifteen feet thick. The portcullis is closed every night, so if you’re not back by eleven, you’ll be stuck outside.”
She touched the grooves in the wall, imagining the gate slamming closed, trapping her. “What are they made out of?”
“Oak and iron.”
Unfortunately, she could imagine all too well the iron spikes on the bottom landing on the enemy. Picking up the pace, she passed the driver, ignoring the chuckle. Maybe in the spring she could come back to see the gardens in bloom. In the pictures they’d looked breathtaking. Now the landscape was sleeping, waiting to come to life again when the weather turned. The gardens were laid out in a formal design, and she itched to walk through them, positive there would be a secret garden waiting to be discovered.
The huge wooden doors to the castle opened, and an older man wearing a dark suit came out to greet them. He looked to be in his mid-seventies.
“To the rose room?”
“Thank you, Francis.”
The driver smiled at her. “I’ll take your bags up, miss. Have a lovely stay.”
“I will, thank you.”
The man in the dark suit with bright blue eyes clasped his hands before him. “Miss Elizabeth Smith. Welcome to Highworth.” He sounded very serious when he said, “I am Featherton. My family has served Highworth since ’twas built.” His eyes twinkled, “I read your essay. A lovely piece. We’re glad to have you for the week.”
“I still can’t believe I won.” To his credit, he pretended not to notice her hair. Sure, she could have gotten it colored back, but she’d run out of time and decided to take care of it one day when she was out and about or when she returned home.
She followed him inside the castle, telling herself to close her mouth and not act like a country mouse come to the city for the first time. It was as ornate and over the top inside as it was outside. There were priceless tapestries on the walls—walls covered with elaborate wainscoting and what looked like silk fabric in a vivid shade of royal blue. From the inside she almost forgot she was in a castle, which was slightly disappointing. A small part of her had hoped for gray stone walls and torches. Perhaps a big, shaggy dog in front of the hearth.
The space was luxurious, the smell of hothouse flowers scenting the air. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected. It was like being inside a mansion. The floors were tiled in ornate patterns and covered with sumptuous-looking rugs that she was afraid to step on, for fear she’d soil them with her muddy boots.
“This is the great hall. After you’ve unpacked, perhaps the lady would like to sit by the fire. Martha will bring tea and biscuits.”
“That sounds divine. This place is amazing.” There were dining tables lined up in a row with benches and high-backed chairs. Enough to easily seat fifty or more people. At the end of the cavernous room was a raised dais where she could easily picture the lord of the castle sprawled out in a chair, looking down on all that was his. Resisting the urge to shout “off with their heads,” she followed Featherton through the ornate room.
“The kitchens are there. Breakfast is served at eight, luncheon at noon, cocktails at five, and dinner at seven.” The man sniffed. “The cleaning women were here yesterday, so other than Martha and I, you won’t see anyone about.”
He opened a set of doors, through which she spied a masculine-looking study. More rugs from faraway lands, dark green walls covered with paintings surrounded by thick gold frames, and the desk. The desk alone made her drool, pulled a thread inside, unraveling a need to put down roots with this desk at its center. She wanted this desk something fierce.
“If you’ll follow me, the library is this way.”
Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away from the desk, the temptation of a library pulling her forward. Elizabeth thought she might pass out from bliss. The reality was so much more than her imagination. He opened the doors with a flourish and her dreams burst forth in full Technicolor. The room was two stories high, with an ornate iron staircase to the second floor. There were so many books, she could read one a day and never finish them all. Leather-bound volumes, old, new, books strewn about and piled everywhere. Books as far as the eye could see.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. I may never leave this room the whole time I’m here.”
Featherstone huffed. “The room is disorganized. One of the village girls left before she could finish ordering the shelves. You may read any of the books except the ones on the second floor. They are extremely old and should not be handled.”
“No problem; there are more than enough books on the first floor to keep me occupied.” She wandered over to the large windows overlooking the gardens. Cold seeped through the glass. The window seat was huge. The cushion and pile of pillows beckoned her to climb in and dive into another world. Warmth from the fireplace to her left warmed her back. All she needed was a blanket to wrap up in, a cup of hot chocolate, and sh
e could easily curl up all day reading as a fire crackled in the hearth. The only thing to make it picture perfect would be big, fluffy snowflakes.
With a sigh, she turned to stand in front of the fire. Ten people could stand in the hearth. The mantel was carved with flowers and leaves, a work of art in itself. She couldn’t wait to see the rooms upstairs. Her room.
As if he’d read her mind, Featherton spoke. “Ready to see your chamber, Miss Smith?”
“Call me Elizabeth, please.” With a last longing look at all the books, she followed Featherton upstairs, past several closed doors.
“The other rooms are currently under restoration, so please stay out of them for your own safety.” He pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “The lord’s chamber is locked and remains empty until he graces us with his presence.”
“Does he visit often?”
A look crossed his face. “No. A distant relative owns the castle and has no use for an old pile of stones.” He opened the door and stood back. “Your room.”
The room was done in varying shades of pink. The hair on the back of her neck stood up the moment she crossed the threshold. The sensation of a malevolent presence made her touch the back of her neck, as if protecting herself from a blow. The cold, creepy feeling remained as she moved around the room, but she forced her mouth to curve into some semblance of a smile.
“It’s very pretty. Do you and Martha live here at the castle?”
The dour look on his face softened. “We’ve been married almost forty years. Spent our honeymoon in Paris and then came here straight away. Our cottage lies at the edge of the woods. If you need anything, you only have to ring.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m so excited to be here.”
“I’ll leave you to unpack.” As he left the room, he turned to her. “Remember what I told you: do not enter the other chambers.”
Her hand was in the pocket of her coat and she crossed her fingers when she replied, “I promise.” Sunshine’s voice filled her head. Everyone knows if you cross your fingers when promising, it negates the promise.
The driver had left her bags at the foot of the bed. The four-poster was piled high with pink floral pillows and thick blankets. A fire crackled in the fireplace, yet her unease lingered. The walls of the room were covered in a pale pink silk, and beautiful impressionist paintings hung on every wall. Her room had its own bathroom, which she assumed was a later remodel. It boasted a cast iron tub that sat under a window.
It didn’t take long to unpack. She wandered around the room, looking at the pretty vases and trays scattered around on the tables. Elizabeth kept returning to the same spot to the right of the window seat. What had happened here? Cold hands pressed against her head. The sensation of being punched in the stomach made her fall to her knees. Doubled over, she gasped for breath even as she knew it was illusion. When she could breathe again, she leaned against the wall, centering herself.
“There is nothing here. You haven’t eaten enough today, that’s all.” She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
When she came down for dinner, the aroma wafting through the hall surprised her. It was odd sitting at a large table all by herself. Martha sang to herself as she brought the dishes out.
Seeing Elizabeth’s look, the woman laughed. “I thought I’d make Italian for your first night with us. You’ll be eating enough stews, soups, and potatoes the rest of the week.” Martha’s silver eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Oh bother. I can’t keep a secret at all. On Thursday you’ll have a proper Thanksgiving feast. We wanted you to feel at home while you’re staying here.”
Elizabeth clapped her hands together. “I don’t know how to thank you. Thanksgiving is my favorite meal of the year.” She eyed the dishes. “These look really old. I’m almost afraid to eat off them.”
“Nonsense. As long as you don’t toss them at the walls, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“They’re beautiful.” The dishes had gold edges and a floral design around the rim. The pasta was calling her name. “So delicious. This sauce is to die for.”
“Eat up. You’re too skinny.”
“I won’t be if you feed me like this all week.”
Dinner consisted of fresh bread with olive oil for dipping, along with a side salad and a Chardonnay. The pasta was divine. Bowtie noodles in a cream sauce with chicken and spinach. Martha had done an outstanding job, and Elizabeth bet she’d gain five pounds this week. After dinner she made a beeline for the library.
Curled up with a book, she blinked when Featherton poked his head in the library. She had to reorient herself to this time and place.
“We’ll bid you a good night. If you need anything, ring.” He paused in the doorway. “Highworth creaks and groans when the wind blows, but don’t let it scare you. Old places have a life of their own.”
A nervous laugh escaped. “I felt the castle breathing earlier in my room.”
“We’ll see you in the morning. Breakfast at eight.” As he stood in the doorway, he looked down the hall toward the study. “Best not to wander about at night.”
With that nerve-racking statement, he left her alone. Elizabeth finished her tea and went back to reading the book she’d found tucked back on a shelf. It was an old book by an author she’d never heard of, some kind of mystery about a killer stalking stonemasons in Scotland. The cheesecake she’d enjoyed for dessert was fantastic, and she decided when she went back home, she’d drink tea every day.
When she kept rereading the same page over and over, Elizabeth decided she’d stayed up late enough to reset her internal clock. She closed the book, deciding she would finish it tomorrow. With every step up to her room, a yawn escaped.
The castle had been updated and boasted electricity and running water. She flipped lights off as she went, the darkness swallowing the space behind her. In her room, she still had the same unsettling feeling. And while technically she’d promised, she’d crossed her fingers, which in her book negated the promise. One quick look couldn’t do any harm.
Chapter Nine
Which room to snoop in first? Elizabeth started at the door closest to the stairs. Featherton telling her to stay out should have been enough, but in her mind he should have locked the room if he really didn’t want her nosing about. The door swung open with a creak and she coughed, waving away the dust cloud. When she stepped into the empty room, a drop of water landed on her nose and she looked up to see a gaping hole in the roof. A cloud drifted by and moonlight filtered in, illuminating the stone floor. While it might be empty, this room, like hers, gave off a cold, creepy vibe.
“Well, that won’t do at all.”
The next room was also empty, though there was no hole in the ceiling and no scary feelings. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak made her hurry out of the room, yanking the door shut.
“Nope. Not that one either.”
There was one last room—the room Featherton said was locked. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? She stood in front of the door at the end of the hall, her hand poised above the handle. Wind blew across the stones, making the castle sigh, and she snatched her hand away, feeling like whatever she did next would irrevocably change her life. “Now you’re being silly. It’s only a room.”
Grasping the handle, Elizabeth pressed down, bouncing on her toes when the door swung open without a creak. Cold stone met her fingers as she searched for a light switch like she’d seen in the rest of the rooms. It was too dark to see inside, so she went back to her room, lit a candle, and placed a glass globe over it to keep the flame from blowing out. The candlelight provided enough light to see a few feet ahead of her as she stepped into the room. The drapes were drawn, so the first thing she did was to pull them open, letting moonlight spill into the room.
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
The hair on her arms and neck stayed put. Nothing made her feel like malevolent eyes tracked her every move, and, like Goldilocks, E
lizabeth found this last room to be just right.
The walls were stone on two sides, the other two finished in deep blue, as if someone had updated half of the room, gotten bored, and left. The space oozed hedonism and masculinity. The bed had curtains at each corner, ready to shut the inhabitants inside a cozy nest, keeping out the biting cold. The expanse of bed made her itch to stretch out and see how far her fingers would be from the edges. While this room didn’t have a bathroom, there was something about it that called out to her, tempting Elizabeth to sleep here tonight. The fireplace was empty. And as much as she wanted to, there was no way she could light a fire without giving away the fact she was snooping where she wasn’t supposed to be.
“If I sneak back to my own room now, no one will ever know I was here.” The room stayed quiet, waiting. Back in her own room, Elizabeth mussed up the bed so it would look like she’d spent the night. Book in hand, she padded back down the hall, into the welcoming room. As long as she removed all traces by morning, she thought she’d get away with sleeping here tonight. Tomorrow she’d try to stay in her assigned room, hoping the creepiness would move elsewhere.
The sound of thunder made her drop the book. Pressing her nose to the glass, she peered into the darkness. When lightning illuminated the grounds, she could see the storm clouds creeping closer, blotting out the moon. The next crash made her squeak. She jumped into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. They were soft, the linen worn smooth from years of use.
Between the cold and the storm, she was wide awake. A few chapters before bed would help ease the nervousness flooding through her body. The storm felt sinister as it crept closer and closer. Perhaps not the brightest idea to be reading a novel of psychological suspense before bed.
What if a crazed killer came out from a secret passage while she slept? “Rainbow Elizabeth Smith, now you’re being ridiculous.”
Forever Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 2) Page 4