Once Upon A Haunted Castle: A Celtic Romance Anthology

by Eliza Knight

  “What?”

  “My last name is also Munro. Jim Munro, to be exact. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Heather couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off the man; there were sparks flying between them, enough to start a three-alarm blaze.

  “Likewise,” she said. She just kept staring at him until she realized she was probably making an ass of herself. She pointed to the hole. “I need to call the cops or the hospital or something. There’s a skeleton chained to the wall down there.”

  His smile vanished. “There is?” he asked, now moving closer to the hole to try and see what she was talking about. “Are you sure?”

  Heather nodded. “Positive,” she said. “It looks like a really old skeleton chained to the wall.”

  He simply stood there, looking down into the hole. Then, he suddenly lowered himself down into it as his dog ran back and began running circles around the hole, barking. Worried, Heather tried to peer down into the hole to see what he was doing. She couldn’t see him at all and the dog was going nuts, barking like crazy. She finally called down to him.

  “Hello?” she said. “You’re still there, aren’t you?”

  His voice was muffled. “I’m here,” he said. “But you’re right – it looks like a house of horrors down here. I’m pretty sure that whatever is down here is really old, but I’ll have to call it in.”

  Now Heather could see his red head as he moved closer to the hole opening. The sunlight was hitting his hair again, a brilliant and deep shade of red. “Is there a police station around here?” she asked.

  His head came up through the hole. “There’s one not too far away, but I’m going to call it in to my inspectors.”

  She cocked her head. “Your inspectors?”

  He grinned. “James Munro, Assistant Deputy Chief Constable of Police Scotland,” he said. “My office is in Inverness. It’s not too far away.”

  She looked at him wryly. “How convenient,” she said, standing back as he boosted himself out of the hole easily. With his size and strength, it was hardly an effort at all. “I guess it was rather fortuitous running in to you today. I needed the cops and here you are.”

  He laughed softly. “It’s pretty lucky, all right,” he said. “I wasn’t even going to come this far today but the dog just kept running and here I am. A damn lucky meeting if you ask me.”

  His dark blue eyes were twinkling at her and Heather, never one to blush, could feel her cheeks grow hot. There was something in his gaze, something heated, and it stirred her deeply, causing her to feel rather giddy. She hadn’t felt giddy in years.

  “So now what?” she asked, pointing to the hole and hoping he couldn’t tell that she was flushing. “Do you need me to come in and make a statement? I didn’t kill that guy down there, you know.”

  James laughed softly. “I know,” he said. “Like I said, it looks like that lad has been down there for a while. It’s not unusual to discover old archaeological finds around here, but this is certainly a strange one. Who knew that Findlater had secret chambers buried beneath?”

  Heather nodded, her gaze trailing to the hole. “But he was all chained up,” she said. “I’ve seen stuff like that in the movies, but never in real life. What a horrible way to die.”

  James nodded his head, looking at her as she was looking at the hole. He’d never seen such a beautiful woman in his entire life. She was American from her accent but he didn’t care; if she was on holiday, he was going to find out what he could about her and see her again. That ghoulish scene down in that dark, dark hole was going to give him the excuse he needed to do so.

  Damn lucky meeting if you ask me.

  “Agreed,” he said. “For now, I’ll need to get your contact information so I can follow up on this. I’m going to call my office right now and get someone over here, but I may have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

  He seriously has to ask that question? If I mind? “No, I don’t mind,” Heather said. “I’m here doing some filming but we’re staying at the Cullen Bay Hotel over in Cullen. I can give you my cell number.”

  “That would be great,” he said. Then, he paused. “I should probably ask my questions while everything is fresh in your mind. Will you have time later on tonight?”

  Heather nodded, perhaps too eagerly, so she tried to slow her roll. “I should,” she said, trying to sound ambivalent. It didn’t work; she still sounded eager. “If you want to follow me back to my car, I can give you my contact information.”

  James nodded, moving away from the hole, following her back up the path. He didn’t have anything to block the hole off with so he couldn’t worry about it at the moment. Moreover, he was far more interested in the lovely figure of Heather Monroe walking in front of him. Frankly, he was thankful that his unruly dog had taken him to Findlater that day. It turned out to be a most eventful walk. The hole, he wasn’t so concerned about; Heather, he was.

  It turned out that James had two great finds that day – Heather Monroe, a woman he ended up spending the rest of his life with, and a priceless archaeological trove beneath the sunken old keep of Findlater Castle. The room with the chained skeleton in it adjoined another room, which had partially collapsed into the hillside, containing the bones of twenty-seven more people, twenty-four men and three women, and the archaeologists from the University of Edinburgh would spend the next four years mapping and studying every single body.

  A mass grave? A mass execution? No one was sure, but there were whispers that the legends of disappearing people at Findlater Castle had just become truth. The bodies ended up, eventually, being buried at St. Peter’s Church in Buckie, Scotland, including the skeleton that had been found chained to the wall and, in the same room, a pile of burnt bones that initially hadn’t been seen at all. Everything ended up in a mass grave in the churchyard at St. Peters, finally laid to rest.

  Although the legend of Lenore’s ghost lived on, the white wraith was never again seen and a new legend eventually sprung from the old stones of Findlater. This legend was of a ghost who had finally found her lover and had finally come to know peace. It was a sweet tale of lovers reunited. It was something that the old men in the taverns near Findlater, taverns like the Three Kings Inn, reluctantly spoke of when asked about the legends of Findlater.

  Somehow, ghost stories and tales of evil sounded so much better to the tourists who wanted to see an authentic haunted Scottish castle. Some of them even secretly cursed that American television hostess who had managed to poke holes in their local lore. But the truth was that even her show about the castle, and the alleged ghost, didn’t dampen the enthusiasm of the tourists who came to seek the white wraith.

  Because in the long run, it really didn’t matter. Findlater retained its tales of ghosts and angry Vikings while down the road, in an old churchyard near the sea, the bones of the host’s victims finally found their rest and among them, within arm’s reach of her lover, Lenore finally slept peacefully.

  To wander, nevermore.

  The End

  Read THE RED LION, a full-length prequel to Jamison and Havilland’s story.

  On Amazon: https://goo.gl/A15BQf

  The Raven

  By Edgar Allan Poe

  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

  Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

  While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

  As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

  “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

  Only this and nothing more.”

  Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

  And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

  Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

  From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

  For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

&n
bsp; Nameless here for evermore.

  And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

  Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

  So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

  “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

  Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

  This it is and nothing more.”

  Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

  “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

  But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

  And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

  That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

  Darkness there and nothing more.

  Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

  But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

  And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

  This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

  Merely this and nothing more.

  Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

  Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

  “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

  Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

  Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

  ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

  Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

  In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

  Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

  But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

  Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

  Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

  Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

  By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

  “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

  Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

  Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

  Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

  Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

  Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

  For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

  Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

  Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

  With such name as “Nevermore.”

  But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

  That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

  Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

  Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

  On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

  Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

  Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

  “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

  Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

  Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

  Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

  Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

  But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

  Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

  Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

  Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

  What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

  Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

  This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

  To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

  This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

  On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

  But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

  She shall press, ah, nevermore!

  Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

  Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

  “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

  Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

  Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

  Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

  “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

  Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

  Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

  On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

  Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

  Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

  “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

  By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

  Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

  It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

  Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

  Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

  “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

  “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

  Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

  Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

  Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

  Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

  And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

  On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

  And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

  And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

  And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

  Shall be lifted—nevermore!

  Kathryn Le Veque Novels

  Medieval Romance:

  The de Russe Legacy:

  The White Lord of Wellesbourne

  The Dark One: Dark Knight

  Beast

  Lord of War: Black Angel

  The Falls of Erith

  The Iron Knight

  The de Lohr Dynasty:

  While Angels Slept (Lords of East Anglia)

  Rise of the Defender

  Steelheart

  Spectre of the Sword

  Archangel

  Unending Love

  Shadowmoor

  Silversword

  Great Lords of le Bec:

  Great Protector

  To the Lady Born (House of de Royans)

  Lords of Eire:

  The Darkland (Master Knights of Connaught)

  Black Sword

  Echoes of Ancient Dreams (time travel)

  De Wolfe Pack Series:

  The Wolfe

  Serpent

  Scorpion (Saxon Lords of Hage – Also related to The Questing)

  Walls of Babylon

  The Lion of the North

  Dark Destroyer

  Ancient Kings of Anglecynn:

  The Whispering
Night

  Netherworld

  Battle Lords of de Velt:

  The Dark Lord

  Devil’s Dominion

  Reign of the House of de Winter:

  Lespada

  Swords and Shields (also related to The Questing, While Angels Slept)

  De Reyne Domination:

  Guardian of Darkness

  The Fallen One (part of Dragonblade Series)

  Unrelated characters or family groups:

  The Gorgon (Also related to Lords of Thunder)

  The Warrior Poet (St. John and de Gare)

  Tender is the Knight (House of d’Vant)

  Lord of Light

  The Questing (related to The Dark Lord, Scorpion)

  The Legend (House of Summerlin)

  The Dragonblade Series: (Great Marcher Lords of de Lara)

  Dragonblade

  Island of Glass (House of St. Hever)

  The Savage Curtain (Lords of Pembury)

  The Fallen One (De Reyne Domination)

  Fragments of Grace (House of St. Hever)

  Lord of the Shadows

  Queen of Lost Stars (House of St. Hever)

  Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood Trilogy

  The Thunder Lord

  The Thunder Warrior

  The Thunder Knight

  Highland Warriors of Munro

  The Red Lion

  Time Travel Romance: (Saxon Lords of Hage)

  The Crusader

  Kingdom Come

  Contemporary Romance:

  Kathlyn Trent/Marcus Burton Series:

  Valley of the Shadow

  The Eden Factor

  Canyon of the Sphinx

  The American Heroes Series:

  The Lucius Robe

  Fires of Autumn

  Evenshade

  Sea of Dreams

  Purgatory

  Other Contemporary Romance:

  Lady of Heaven

  Darkling, I Listen

  Multi-author Collections/Anthologies:

  With Dreams Only of You (USA Today bestseller)

  Sirens of the Northern Seas (Viking romance)

  Ever My Love (sequel to With Dreams Only Of You) July 2016

  Kindle Worlds (Kathryn Le Veque World of de Wolfe Pack):

  River’s End

  The Wedding Fountain (Bella Andre’s Kindle World)

  Note: All Kathryn’s novels are designed to be read as stand-alones, although many have cross-over characters or cross-over family groups. Novels that are grouped together have related characters or family groups.