“Everything all right?”
“Too much to drink, making me think silly thoughts. I’m fine.” She mentally smacked herself. Get it together—you’re letting your emotions and horribly overactive imagination get the best of you. You’re doing this to make Simon feel better. It’s fake but obviously important to him, so pull it together. There’s nothing scary here. It’s a pile of stone.
Lucy stared up at the battlements, tracing them against the rain-spattered window with her index finger. More like abandoned and unloved rather than malevolent.
The driver held a huge umbrella to shield her from the raindrops. She made it out of the car and into the gatehouse without getting a drop on the perfect dress.
Lucy pointed up at the portcullis. “Does that still work?”
The driver grinned. “Both of them do. Though don’t worry—there aren’t any archers waiting to shoot you dead.” He rapped on the stone. “Walls are ten feet thick and go four feet into the ground, so they couldn’t be tunneled under.”
So maybe she shouldn’t have asked. His words went in her head, swirled around then flew out her ear into the night. “Castle buff, are you?” She hiccupped again.
Her escort helped her over what remained of a wall. “One of my ancestors worked in the stables.” He kept a hand on her arm to keep her steady.
She was smashed. He helped her through the gatehouse, across the courtyard and up the steps of the keep. Chunks of stone tumbled about, and Lucy resisted the urge to pat the gaping wall. If the castle were hers, she’d restore it. Live in it and be happy. Too bad she’d told him she wouldn’t marry him.
Shrugging out of the Hunter rain boots and into the beautiful pair of four-inch wedge heels, she gave thanks that the keep still had a partial roof to shield the icy white dress. It was sleeveless and hugged her curves, and was covered in tiny crystals and chiffon, making her feel every inch the lady of the castle.
While Lucy might not believe in fairy tales, every girl wanted to look like a princess on her wedding day. Even if it was only a fake wedding. Was it bad luck to have a fake wedding?
The thought rattled around in her fuzzy brain before she decided participating in a make-believe wedding to make her now ex-boyfriend happy was no different than acting in a play.
The driver handed her flowers.
“Thanks. Seems a bit much for a charade.”
The bouquet was simple, made up of colorful wildflowers from the surrounding area. The women had twisted her long brown hair up into a French twist and added sparkly crystal flower pins to coordinate with her jewelry.
Rose petals? Bit much. Guess he had everything planned and figured he might as well use it. The smell of the roses filled her nose as she walked through the cavernous room. Simon stood waiting dressed in a tux, looking totally hot. She stumbled over a loose stone. The champagne had gone to her head. Time seemed to be accelerating.
“A vision of loveliness. I am truly the luckiest man in all of England to be marrying you.”
Time to get into character. She smiled at her fake husband-to-be and took a deep breath. In the morning they’d laugh about all this on the way back to London.
“Wait.” A cold blast of air made her shiver. “He looks like a real priest.”
Simon shook his head at the man. “He’s an actor.”
“You’re really taking this to extremes.”
“Please, darling.”
The vows were said in record time. The little priest kept nervously glancing around the hall as if worried the devil himself would appear out of the stone to snatch him down to the fiery underworld.
The priest solemnly intoned, “May your joys be as bright as your beloved homeland sun, your years of happiness as numerous as the grains of sand on the beach and your troubles vanish in the sunlight of your love. You may kiss the bride.”
Those were the same lines she’d saved on her computer. He must have been looking through her files.
Simon pulled her close, giddy excitement on his face, and laid the sloppiest kiss ever on her. In a daze, her mind tried to warn her something was off. Simon was never giddy. Especially over a fake wedding. Lucy ignored the voice, chalking it up to nerves and too much to drink, and took his arm.
The priest puffed himself up and said to the castle, empty except for the caretaker and driver, some long, drawn-out words about the two of them. She’d heard her name and Simon’s in there, but the rest seemed to swirl around her brain in a pastel-colored fog.
A crack of thunder reverberated through the room, shaking the very foundations of the castle as a stone tumbled to the cracked floor. She laughed hysterically. Did that mean the castle was ticked they’d dared to mock the sanctity of a wedding?
The priest had a quiet word with her “husband” before making the sign of the cross and scurrying off as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. Lucy swore she smelled alcohol on his breath.
“My lady, if you’ll follow me?”
“How long are we staying in character?”
“Just a bit longer, darling wife.”
Fine, she’d play along. “My Lord Blackford, I’d be delighted.”
Simon led her up a mostly intact staircase. If she turned left she’d fall down into nothingness. Instead they turned right down a dark corridor lit by actual torches. He saw the look on her face, mouth gaping open.
“The caretaker took care of the torches, though I was in charge of our accommodations for the night.” With a flourish, he opened the door. “I know there isn’t much left of the place, but I think you’ll approve.”
Lucy blinked. “It’s beautiful. Are the other rooms on this level intact? I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not sleeping with you tonight, fake wedding or not.”
“Of course not. Fred has gone back to the village for the night and it’s pouring down rain. I’d hate to ruin my tux and your dress by walking back to the cottage.” Simon patted her arm. “This is the only room, unless you want to sleep on the cold stone floor of the great hall.”
Why had she drunk so much? She needed a clear head to understand what she was missing.
“In fact, if we’d have kept walking in the dark, we’d have found ourselves dashed to death on the rocks below and drowned in the sea. There really isn’t much habitable space left. I promise no funny business. We’ll each stay on our own side of the bed. In the morning you can look out the window at the breathtaking view. Lucy?”
Looked like she would be sleeping in the same bed with him. It would be awkward. Thank goodness she was drunk. “Yes?”
“Stay away from the water. There’ve been several drownings over the years.”
She shuddered and turned her attention to the room. Candles glowed casting shadows on the wall. The bed was a huge four-poster, very masculine looking. It was covered in white bedding and pillows. What was it with him and the color white? It might be warm enough during the day, in the low to mid-sixties, but the temperature went down into the low fifties at night, and the stone walls made everything feel damp and cold. Lucy kept blinking to clear her vision. The storm raging outside wasn’t helping her pounding headache. Simon had insisted on another drink to toast their nuptials. The glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the stone floor. The sound of laughter seemed to fill the room.
Chapter Three
Flashes of images skittered across Lucy’s eyelids. The back of Simon’s legs. His shoulder blade banging against her cheek. Wind blowing through her dress. Cold rain stabbing her skin.
The jarring motion stopped and Lucy found herself sitting on a hard stone bench.
“Wha…where are we?” She dimly noted the beautiful dress was ruined. “Why are we outside? I thought we didn’t want to get wet.”
Simon wore a black raincoat as he knelt down in front of her.
“We’re out on the battlements, darling. I’m dreadfully sorry, but the prophecy must be fulfilled.”
The ringing in her head made it hard to concentrate. Cold stone scrap
ed against her palm as she tried to stand before falling back and banging her shoulder against the wall. The sharp pain brought clarity.
“Why on earth are you talking about a prophecy? Tonight was a joke.”
His face twisted into someone she’d never seen before. Ice encased her body, making it hard to breathe. He looked like someone she’d be afraid to run into on a dark night. She blinked at him. Had she ever known this man?
“About that. Once you had the audacity to refuse me, I had to take drastic measures.” He stared into her eyes.
“I did what was necessary, drugged you. The wedding was real, although there is no romantic family tradition. I told you that rubbish knowing you’d get all cow-eyed and go along with the ruse. Pretending to marry me. You see, Lucy, I detest this pile of stone. It’s an enormous drain on my trust fund, and I do so enjoy my money.”
“So sell it. Who cares?” Her voice carried over the storm. “You drugged me and married me without my consent. This wedding will never stand. I’m leaving right now, finding the nearest cop and having you arrested.” Her legs wouldn’t hold her. She fell back against the stone, looking up at him in horror.
“The effects will wear off soon enough.”
Her knee buckled as she tried to stand again. Simon laughed and her stomach heaved. “Why?”
“I cannot sell Blackford. Trust me, my ancestors and I have tried every conceivable idea, no matter how unsavory. The contract written so long ago is unbreakable. The only way to get rid of the place is to kill you.”
She shook her head. “You have lost your mind. That doesn’t make an ounce of sense.”
The rising hysteria threatened to choke her. Lucy tried once more to stand, to take a step. It was like moving through wet concrete. Keep him talking and escape, you idiot.
“I’m perfectly sober. I poured my drinks out. I couldn’t very well drink drugged champagne.” He cocked his head at her. “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve set things right.”
“You’re insane. Help! Somebody help me!”
“Scream as long and loud as you wish, darling. No one will hear you.” Simon grasped her by the shoulders and pushed her into the corner of the short wall.
“You see, the prophecy states when the last of the Grey line betrays the last of the Brandon line by foul deeds for the second time, the curse shall be lifted and the castle owned no more by the Grey family.”
He twitched as lightning lit up the night sky. “So in killing you, I’ll be free of this place and able to enjoy my money.”
Somehow Lucy didn’t think a curse would work so literally. “Did you get kicked in the head by one of your polo ponies? I have two sisters. Our last name is Merriweather, not Brandon, you deranged lunatic.”
She had to make her legs move and get away from him. When the next bolt of lighting lit up the sky, she looked down. Too far to jump, and the rocks looked like they’d smash her head open. Like a watermelon dropped from the back of a pickup truck onto the highway. She had to buy time until the effects of the drug wore off and she could escape.
“Your sisters. One of them will have an accident on the way to work tomorrow, and the other, well, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to die by fire. There’s nothing you can do to save them. Your current name is Merriweather, but it wasn’t always. I did my research most carefully. You, not your sisters, are descended from the Brandon line. There are no others left. I am sorry you have to die. So distasteful. Think, Lucy. Do you really think I would marry a common little boring mouse with low self-esteem such as yourself?”
Simon lunged at her with a knife. Cold air and rain blew across her ribcage. Frantically she patted her tummy. He’d sliced the dress and just barely nicked her. A tiny drop of blood welled up. She gathered every ounce of strength, willing her foot to work. The kick was pitiful, though he jumped back, baring his teeth at her. Before she could try again, he stomped on her ankle. Pain exploded through her body and she heaved.
He wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting. And that dreadful accent. My God, if I never hear another Southern accent again, it will be too soon.”
Simon sniffed down his nose at her, and in a blinding flash all of the little niggling worries came crashing down. How he looked down on others, the disgusted look on his face when he thought she wasn’t looking and stories he’d told of bettering his classmates.
She’d been blinded. By his charm, accent and the fact that someone seemingly normal wanted her. Confused snobbery with politeness. What a fool. Why hadn’t she trusted her gut? Now she’d been tricked into marrying him, all so he could kill her. Obviously, she was having a nightmare brought on by too much to drink.
Quick as a snake, he pulled her to her feet and pushed. Lucy’s arms windmilled, grasping at air as the heavy dress kept her from going over.
“Simon, no!”
Thunder cracked, the rain poured down and when lighting next lit up the sky, absurdly, she was upset that the dream dress was utterly ruined. Was she going into shock? In the movies, characters experienced random thoughts. Must be what was happening to her. Lighting flashed. Time seemed to stretch out and stop. She saw a dark indent on the top of the stone wall and lunged for anything to hold on to.
“Goodbye, Lucy.” Simon grabbed her legs to heave her over the wall and one sparkly blue shoe went skittering across the stone. In moments, she’d be smashed to bits or drowned, unless she did something. The night turned to day with the next flash, and she reached again for the dark spot that, strangely enough, looked like a bloodstain instead of a handhold. Was it her blood? Had he already killed her?
As her fingers skimmed across the dark mark searching for something to grab on to, lightning flashed so close she saw the imprint every time she blinked. A sound like metal being torn in two made her teeth ache. A rainbow of light exploded behind her eyelids and then she was falling. After that there was no sound at all.
I need air. Can’t breathe.
Lucy struggled to see through the pelting rain. Simon’s face hovered inches from hers, transformed into that of a monster. The ugliness inside had seeped out, making him ugly on the outside. His smile morphed into a sneer, the skin stretched taut so the bones seemed to show through.
Nothing she did had any effect. Simon had her pinned to the cold stone, and no matter how hard she bucked, kicked and clawed at him, he wouldn’t let go. His soft hands felt like a python slowly squeezing out every precious breath. Black and purple spots danced with the raindrops across her eyelids. Her heart skipped a beat and then another, slowing down.
“Die and free my family from this wretched curse.”
As if through a long tunnel, she heard the muffled sound of thunder and metal scraping against stone. The next flash of lightning illuminated what looked like the blade of a sword arcing down toward her head. With her strength gone, Lucy sent up a plea: Let it be painless.
Metal screamed, lightning flashed and the blackness welcomed her with open arms.
Rough hands shook Lucy hard enough to rattle the fillings in her teeth. “Leave me alone,” she croaked, swatting at the hand gripping her shoulder. A fit of coughing caused her to gasp in pain. Gingerly she touched her throat. It felt warm to the touch, and hurt worse than any sore throat she’d ever had.
Combined with a stuffy nose and the feeling of nails stabbing into her skull, realization sank in. Massive hangover. That’s what you get for drinking so much, lightweight. Gruff voices filled the air. With supreme effort, she squinted to see who was so incredibly annoying so early in the morning.
Why was she wet? The beautiful dress was ruined. There were red streaks on her dress and the ground around her. It looked like blood. A squeak was all that came out when she desperately wanted to scream. Another squeak escaped her lips as the events of last night came rushing back, a movie on fast forward behind her eyes.
Was she dead? Had Simon strangled her? Or cut off her head? That would explain so much blood. Maybe she was looking down on her body right now. The b
ig hands on her person and the male voices made her think not, but maybe it was a hallucination. Or she was in a coma in some hospital. Or the authorities had arrived, which would be excellent news. She scrubbed a hand over her face and sat the rest of the way up with a grunt.
“Ow!” The word rasped out of swollen lips. “What?” Obviously not dead or in hospital.
Her entire face hurt. Hell, her entire body felt broken and bruised. Something crusty covered her nose, cheek and part of her lip. The throbbing ache had her wincing as tears leaked down her face.
Sunrise turned the silver swords of the three men standing in front of her to a burnished rose. As she shifted to the side, her hand made contact with something rubbery.
The scream emanating from her throat sounded as if it belonged to something inhuman. A man lay next to her, eyes open and unseeing. A pool of liquid the color of ripe blackberries surrounded his head. When a fly landed in the sticky substance, the blood drained from her face. It was blood, and this man, whoever he was, was dead. How did his blood end up all over her dress? Insides heaving as a metallic taste filled her mouth, Lucy leaned over and retched. The smell of champagne and sick filled the air. Over and over she heaved until there was nothing left, her bruised throat burning as fresh tears rolled down her face.
Something sharp pricked her chest. “Ouch!” Several swords were pointing at her person, and a fleeting thought crossed her mind: wouldn’t it be the perfect end to a dreadful night if she’d fallen through time? But that was simply the dramatic part of her thinking. Though talk about a night to remember.
Voices penetrated the horror in front of her. Lucy reached through the blades for the closest man’s sleeve and jerked down. Hysteria bubbled up and spilled out.
A Knight to Remember: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 1) Page 3