Isla felt a sudden rush of protectiveness for the castle, and - she had to admit - Ethan. She fantasised about yanking open the tower door and confronting whoever it was, armed with nothing but righteous anger. It was no good though, even if she could ignore the bad feeling in her gut, her legs were like jelly courtesy of all the adrenaline. She’d be stuck on the cold, stone floor for a while yet.
She reached a hand up to her shoulder, ready to pull her phone from her bag. Maybe up here she’d have enough reception to make a call...
But her shoulder was bare. Shit. Her bag. She’d left it back in the west wing, nestled among the boxes of Ethan’s past.
Isla bit back a groan. Now not only could she not call for help, but whoever was out there, prowling about Rosehill could easily stumble across it. Her life was in that bag. Her phone, her diary, her keys. Everything.
Isla got to her feet shakily. As soon as her legs were under control, she would make a run for it.
Isla grasped the door handle and pulled. Nothing happened. She tried again, harder this time. Nothing. Isla gripped the handle as tightly as she could and wrenched it, but it made no difference. Once again, Isla was trapped.
*
At least this time, she was trapped indoors. Isla sighed and rested her head against the stone at her back. Rain lashed against the outer walls of the tower, and a draught rushed down the spiral staircase, nipping at the bare skin of her arms.
Isla peered up through the thick black at the narrow staircase twisting away from her and spiralling upwards. What was really up there? Isla didn’t think she could cope with any further nasty surprises, but there was always the possibility that the tower held something worth climbing it for, or if not, at least something to sit on other than the bare stone floor.
A pulse thrummed in her neck as Isla climbed the steep, spiral staircase. The stone steps were crooked and worn, narrowing away into nothingness at the inner edges. She concentrated hard on where she placed her feet, aware that one false step could prove lethal.
Narrow windows provided glimpses of the moonlit grounds, stretching away into the night. Isla paused in front of one. In the daylight, the view must have been spectacular, but at night it was nothing more than a sea of darkness, and Rosehill a ship, cast adrift in the storm, with Isla on board. She’d never felt so isolated. How did Ethan bear it?
The stairs became so steep Isla almost had to crawl. She didn’t generally have a problem with heights, but even so, she breathed a sigh of relief when the staircase came to an abrupt halt, opening out into a shadowy, square space with a high, vaulted ceiling. She’d made it. She was in the tower. The allegedly cursed, haunted tower. And there was nothing up here besides her.
Exhausted, Isla sank to the floor.
*
Isla was racing down a dimly lit corridor, her bare feet thumping against the floor to the tune of her own heartbeat. A presence loomed behind her, but Isla daren’t turn back to see who it was. She dived into the nearest room and pressed her back to the door.
Candles crowded the bathroom floor, and Isla moved among the guttering flames, winding her way towards the bathtub in the centre of the room. Water spilled over the curve of its rim, splashing onto the tiled floor. She shut off the taps.
Her reflection stared up at her from the rippling surface of the water, and a dark shadow passed behind her. Terror-stricken, Isla froze, as another reflection joined her own- a young woman, with dark hair and wide eyes. Isla whirled around, but she was alone in the bathroom.
Turning back to the bath, Isla gasped and clamped a hand to her mouth. The reflections were gone. The water, red. A churning crimson tide that lapped against the pale skin of Ethan MacRae’s body.
Isla jolted awake, a half-formed scream in her throat. Her neck ached and her bones were chilled. How had she managed to fall asleep? Isla shivered, the fading terror of the dream replaced by the terror of her current reality. Trapped in the tower at Rosehill.
From beneath the sounds of howling wind and rain, Isla heard something else. Something closer than the storm. In the darkness, something rustled, and she caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. A faint scratching noise came from directly above Isla’s head. Her blood turned to ice. She willed herself to look up into the rafters, her eyes struggling to make sense of the pitch-black space.
Her brain formed an image she refused to believe- the outline of a body, swaying gently. No! She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Someone had died here, yes, but over a century ago. And theirs was a tale of sadness, not horror. Isla opened her eyes and willed them to cooperate. To show her the truth, and not the frightened imaginings of her jittery mind. No body, no rope. But there was something up there...and it was moving.
Isla began slowly backing away towards the staircase, still squinting into the darkness above her head. She was almost at the stairs when it happened- a light fluttering, building to a steady thrum as the eaves came alive.
“What the-” Isla gaped up at the swirling darkness, and realisation dawned. Bats.
One of the animals swooped over her head, its wings brushing through her hair. Isla shuddered. She didn’t have anything against bats, but they weren’t exactly her favourite, especially not in such close proximity. She began gingerly making her way down the spiral staircase, trying to hold her nerve.
The lone bat dived again, this time swooping over Isla’s shoulder, into the stairwell. It zoomed ahead, careering around the curved stone like it was challenging her to a race.
Seconds later, more followed, and the narrow space filled with the beating of wings. Isla felt like she was being swallowed up by a great, living cloud. She wanted to close her eyes, but she didn’t dare. She’d probably fall to her death. She forced herself to keep them open, at least until she reached the bottom of the staircase. She fell against the door, scrabbling at the latch. When it didn’t open she banged her fists against it in frustration.
Damn this godforsaken bloody castle! When she got out of here, she was never, ever coming back. Ever. Wings brushed her cheek, and Isla cringed into the door and rattled at the handle. She would not scream. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t-
The door flew open, knocking Isla off her feet. Sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, with bats circling above her, Isla gaped up at the figure in the tower doorway.
Relief washed over her as her eyes pieced together the familiar features in the dark, but it was quickly replaced by horror when she saw the gun in his hands.
Twenty Four
“Don’t. Move.” Ethan’s voice was like thunder.
Isla couldn’t have moved, even if she’d wanted to. At the sight of the gun, both her mind and body had gone numb.
“Now. Tell me who you are and what the fuck you’re doing in my castle.” Ethan was pointing the gun almost directly at her head, and Isla stared at it in horror.
She didn’t know anything about guns, but she knew enough to know that she was facing down the barrel of a shotgun and that if it was loaded, one move would send her hurtling into whatever life lay beyond this one. She tried to swallow but her mouth was bone dry.
Ethan cocked the gun, and Isla’s blood roared into her ears.
“Stop!” she cried, her voice breaking. “It’s me. Isla.”
The blood drained from Ethan’s face.
“Fuck.”
He uncocked the gun, resting it gently against the wall beside him, then he ran one hand over his face and swore again.
Isla was still frozen in place against the bottom step. He seemed to realise she hadn’t moved, and stepped forward, holding his hand out to her. Isla shrank back.
“Isla?”
At the sound of Ethan saying her name, Isla felt the surreal fog clouding her mind dissipate. She took his hand and got to her feet. Isla teetered, her head swimming, and Ethan steadied her, gripping her arms with his hands.
“Did I hurt you?”
Isla’s skin tingled beneath his touch. “No,” she whispered, but
in truth, she had no idea if he had or not. She was still in shock. She watched dazedly as bats swooped over Ethan’s head, through the tower door and out into the corridors of Rosehill.
“The bats-”
“I amnae worried about the bats,” Ethan said sharply. “They can find their way back.”
He let go of her and bent towards the gun. Isla flinched when he picked it up. She couldn’t help it. The memory of the barrels pointing at her face was fresh in her mind.
“What are you doing?” Isla tried to keep the anxiety from her voice, but judging by Ethan’s expression, she didn’t manage it.
“You want to stay up here?” He gestured around them with his free hand.
“No,” Isla whispered.
“I didnae think so.”
Isla had thought the castle dark earlier, but that was nothing compared to what she now faced. The tower at least had been lit by pale slithers of moonlight through its narrow windows. The corridor, on the other hand, was an impenetrable blackness that went on and on. She blinked slowly, but there was little difference between the backs of her eyelids and reality.
“I can’t-”
“Take my arm.” Ethan’s voice was soft and close.
Her heart beat a warning, but she reached out nonetheless. What choice did she have?
Her hand connected with something warm and firm- bare skin, soft hair. An arm. She clasped a hand around it and felt his muscles tense under her touch.
Ethan moved slowly. Slower, probably than he would have without her, Isla realised.
“The staircase is here,” he said. “Walk behind me, and don’t let go of the bannister.”
She did as he instructed, feeling for the edge of each step before she took it. It was an agonisingly slow process, but Ethan was never more than one step in front, his broad back shielding her from a potentially fatal fall.
By the time they reached the first-floor landing, a light sheen of sweat covered Isla’s brow. “How do you do it?” she marvelled.
“I dinnae have a choice,” he said simply. And then his fingers were sliding between hers, clasping her hand gently in his.
“This way.”
It was impossible to be sure, but Isla felt like he was leading her away from the staircase. A moment later he slipped his hand from hers, and Isla tried to quell her disappointment. Hadn’t he just almost shot her? The thought did nothing for her anxiety, as she felt him move away from her in the pitch black.
“Ethan-” She hated how her voice wavered.
There was a scratch, and a hiss, and the tiniest flare of yellow. Ethan swore softly, and then the light was moving closer. A candle, bobbing towards her in a sea of black, and Ethan’s face floating beside it.
“It’s all I have.” His tone was apologetic. “I dinnae have much use for candles or torches…” He held the candlestick out towards her, and Isla took it. “There are more, in the study.”
“Where are we?” she asked, lifting the candle, and squinting into the gloom.
“My bedroom.”
“Oh.” The flame guttered with her exhale.
Ethan’s face disappeared once more, and Isla followed his movement with the candle. The feeble flame flickered, but in the hazy light, she saw him kneel before his bed, and slide the shotgun under, until it was out of sight.
“Is that safe?”
“No.” He got to his feet, his face looming up in front of her as she followed it with the candle. “But neither is the tower. What the hell were you doing?” He kept his voice low and even, but a muscle flickered in his tightly clenched jaw. “Do you have any idea what could have happened?” he continued, not giving her chance to reply. “When I think what I could have done-” something changed in his voice, and when Isla looked up, Ethan’s expression was raw.
“I was hiding,” Isla croaked.
Ethan’s brow creased. “From who?”
“I don’t know.” Isla shuddered remembering the footsteps outside the tower door. She explained as best as she could, leaving out the parts where she rifled through his old snapshots and discovered a bloodied towel in his bathroom.
“Someone was here? You’re sure?”
Isla could sense his scepticism. “Yes, I’m certain.”
He frowned. “But we locked you in. When we left…”
Isla shook her head. Impossible. She knew what she’d heard, what she’d felt...didn’t she? “But...the tower door. They locked it from the outside.”
“It wasnae locked when I got there,” Ethan said. “Are you sure you didn’t just panic? The castle is full of strange noises, Isla. Maybe the latch caught, and your imagination ran away with you-”
“No!” Isla shouted. “Ethan, I know what I heard, what I felt. There was someone here. I’m telling you.”
“Aye, alright.” Ethan held his hands up in surrender. “I believe ye.”
Did he? Isla was suddenly exhausted. “What time is it?”
Ethan shrugged. “After midnight.”
That meant she’d survived an entire night locked in Rosehill’s haunted tower, without so much as a glimpse of a ghost...only to nearly be shot by Ethan MacRae. Maybe there was a curse, but maybe it had less to do with a hundred-year-old tragedy, and more to do with why Ethan MacRae- a blind man, kept a loaded gun beneath his bed.
Isla swallowed. “I should go.”
“Go?” Ethan’s dark eyebrows shot up. “You cannae go. Not when you’ve just told me that someone broke in. They could be out there watching the place. It isnae safe.”
“I’ll be fine,” Isla said. She glanced over at the window, but beyond the pane, there was only pitch-black night, and the reflection of the flame flickering between her and Ethan. She rubbed her hands over her arms.
“No, you willnae,” Ethan insisted. “You can stay here tonight. It’s safer.”
Was it? Isla felt better, now that Ethan was here, but maybe she shouldn’t. She glanced across at the bathroom door. Whose blood was it anyway? Ethan’s? She looked him up and down but aside from his bandaged hand, he didn’t have any obvious wounds, and there’d been a lot of blood.
“I can’t stay.”
“Why not?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.
Isla’s eyes flickered to the bed. “Where would I even sleep?”
“In my bed,” Ethan said gruffly.
Isla’s breath caught in her throat.
“I willnae be in it,” he added quickly.
Isla tried not to dwell on the pang of disappointment she felt. “But where will you sleep?”
“It’s a big castle, I’ll find somewhere. Besides, I doubt I’ll get much sleep anyway.”
Isla didn’t expect she would either. Was she really going to do this? Stay in the castle she’d just been imprisoned in, with the man who’d just pointed a gun at her? The gun. There was no way she could sleep knowing that was under the bed.
“And the gun?...”
A cloud settled over Ethan’s features. “I’ll take it with me.”
Isla didn’t exactly love that idea either, but it was better than it lying there beneath her. Loaded.
“Okay.”
*
Ethan left her there, sitting on his bed, holding the single flickering candle, while he went in search of more. Isla felt ridiculous. Surely she should be the one rummaging about in the dark? But the truth was he knew his way around it better than she did. He was back in almost no time, carrying a wicker log-basket full of candles. She put down the one she’d been gripping, and set the others around the room. When she was done, the bedroom walls danced with a yellow glow, and Isla could make out the shapes of the furniture, the crimson coverlet spread over the bed and the expression on Ethan’s face. His head tilted, as he listened to her footsteps moving towards him.
“Thank you,” Isla said.
“Is there anything else you need?”
For a sleepover in a haunted castle? What the hell was she supposed to say- holy water and sedatives? Isla looked down at her dress, and for t
he first time saw how covered in dust and dirt she was.
“I need to get cleaned up, and I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
Ethan gestured vaguely to the wardrobe and bureau across the room. “Help yourself. There should be enough hot water for a bath.”
Isla remembered her dream and shuddered. “I’d prefer a shower.”
“Suit yourself.” Ethan moved towards the door, and then he paused, turning. “Lock the door when I leave.”
Isla felt her eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”
His expression darkened. “So I know that you’re safe.”
*
The floorboards creaked beneath Isla’s feet as she crossed Ethan’s room. Each square of glass in the leaded window was a jet black slice of night. Was someone out there, looking in? Isla shuddered and wrenched the heavy curtains closed.
In the wardrobe, a row of smart shirts hung from the rail, along with several exquisitely tailored suits of various colours. Isla gaped. She’d never seen Ethan wearing anything but rumpled cotton in various shades of black. Why didn’t he wear these clothes if he owned them? Or rather, why own clothes like this if he never wore them? Her hand trailed over the heavy wool of a blue tartan kilt. Isla’s stomach flipped at the thought of Ethan wearing it, and she closed the wardrobe.
She moved over to the bureau, slipped her fingers around the drop ring handles of the top drawer and slid it open. At the sight of Ethan’s underwear, her cheeks flamed. She was about to shove the drawer closed when she caught sight of something sticking out from between the neatly folded pairs of black cotton trunks. Isla gingerly slid her hand into the drawer and plucked it out. Turning it over she gasped. It was the photograph from earlier. Three smiling faces stared up at her. Isla’s hand shook. This was it- proof that she hadn’t been imagining it. That someone had been in Rosehill. And whoever it was had followed in her footsteps- rifling through Ethan’s personal things.
But telling Ethan would mean confessing she’d done the same.
Unless Ethan had put it there...but why would a blind man keep a photograph nestled among his underwear?
Isla slipped it back where she’d found it, and closed the drawer, an uneasy feeling rippling through her.
Out of Sight Page 17