Dark Duets Part 23

He grinned then, revealing a gold-capped tooth. "Few make it all this way on their own," he said, as though it explained everything. "I've been keeping an eye out for you."

I suppose it made sense. The key and the deed to the castle had been left for me a few days earlier, and while I didn't know much about castles or land, I did know that it wasn't every day a waitress living paycheck to paycheck was given a castle on an island halfway around the world. Add to it the fact that this place didn't seem to be a booming, bustling metropolis, and I should expect a fair amount of curiosity and gossip.

The wind blew again, harder than before, bitterly cold, knocking me off balance, toward him. Charlie laughed, reaching out to steady me, and said, "Don't have legs for the boat yet? You'll get them. There's plenty of time."

I shoved my purse high on my shoulder. "How long is the ride?"

His eyes lit up. "As long as it takes, la.s.sie."

I faked a smile and looked away. Now was not the time to tell my new neighbor he was more frustrating than funny. I wrapped my arms around myself once more, trying to rub feeling back into them. "In that case, I really wish I had a coat." When he didn't reply, I added, "They lost my luggage."

"You've lost more than that," he said.

I snapped my attention back to him. "What did you say?"

He was looking out over the prow of the ferry, toward the bank of fog that marked our destination. A wide, blank future. Untouched. Pure.

Paradise.

"I said you've lost more than your luggage. You've lost your way."

I have.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're on a boat in the North Sea with nothing but the clothes on your back and a key to a castle. It's not exactly ordinary."

He was right, of course. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "It was a gift."

He looked back to the sh.o.r.e. "Was it, now?"

He wasn't talking about the key or the deed to Castle Anaon, and neither was I. The trip had been a gift. The change. The offer to walk away from everything I was. Everything I had.

Which wasn't much.

Which was nothing.

And the day it all came to a head and I realized that I had nothing-that I was in danger of becoming nothing-everything had changed.

My grandmother used to have a silly saying about doors and windows. I always thought it was the kind of thing that poor women said to keep hope alive. But in that moment, as I'd stared down at the old, weathered piece of paper and the large bra.s.s key on the linoleum countertop at Sal's Truck Stop Cafe-which was neither a truck stop nor a cafe nor owned by someone named Sal-I'd heard that stupid saying whispering in my ear.

A castle.

Escape.

"What are you running from?" Charlie said. "If you don't mind my asking."

The question made it seem like I was on the lam-like I'd done something terrible. Which I supposed I had. Wanted too much. Loved too hard. Let myself believe that happily ever after was real.

After I'd been punished for it, a stranger had marched right into Sal's Truck Stop Cafe and opened a window. One that looked out onto the mist-covered banks of the North Sea.

So here I was-to start over. To try again. To be reborn.

Somehow, Charlie's question still hung in the air. What are you running from?

Trust. Love.

I finally settled on, "Truth."

"Sounds like something that you run toward."

I smiled. "Maybe I'm doing that, too."

"Well, if you're to find it, then here's where it'll be."

The Scots loved their Scotland, that much was true. I reached into my pocket, fingering the heavy bra.s.s key that now seemed like the only thing that hadn't been left or lost on this long, unyielding journey. "I hope so."

The s.h.i.+p lurched at the words, giving a great, heaving groan and sending me to one knee as Charlie cursed. "It always shocks the h.e.l.l out of me, that," he said, helping me up.

When I was on my feet again, I asked, "What happened?"

"We've run aground. The tides are never where they should be on this side."

It occurred to me that tides are regular as . . . well, tides . . . and that ferries have schedules, but it seemed not the appropriate time to question the ferryman's knowledge of his trade.

"We're here?" I looked past him to the sh.o.r.eline, where the fog was thick enough to s.h.i.+eld everything but the dock.

"Aye, you're here."

I started forward, getting only a few steps before I turned back to Charlie. "I didn't pay you."

He looked at me for a long moment with his strange silver eyes and said, "No, you didn't."

"What do I owe you?" I asked, reaching into my pocket and extracting a handful of change, holding it out to him in that way that tourists do when they don't entirely understand how a new currency works.

I'm not really a tourist now, I had to remind myself. This is my new home.

Home.

There was something in the word. Something that felt at once good and right and strange and desperate.

There was no time to dissect the feelings before Charlie leaned forward and picked through the coins in my hand, extracting two heavy golden pieces. "That'll do." He then nodded toward sh.o.r.e. "Up the path to the castle."

I followed his directions and was halfway down the dock when he called out to me. "Emily!"

I turned back, fog swirling around me, cold and wet and fresh on my skin, to find him peering at me intently. "Yes?"

"Sometimes it's best for everyone if you don't look back."

And then he turned away to tend to his boat and I stood in confused silence trying to understand what he meant. The moment was broken when a large man jostled past me on his way down the dock. I pressed myself against the railing to let him pa.s.s, but not before my legs were tangled in the leashes of the trio of Labradors following him toward the ferry.

"Wait!" I called out, not wanting to pitch face-first onto the dock, and not wanting to crush the smallest dog-a sweet-faced black puppy who sat the moment I spoke, staring up at me with the most loyal of faces. "I'm caught in your dogs," I added, carefully trying to extract myself from the leashes.

The middle dog, full grown and eager, leaped up at me, his ma.s.sive black paws catching the strap of my purse and pulling it off my shoulder. It fell to the ground, the contents spilling everywhere. The grayed muzzle of the third dog extended to the bag, sniffing at the honeyed almonds I'd packed for the journey. I s.n.a.t.c.hed them away before he could claim his prize and shoved everything back into the bag.

The dogs' owner didn't say anything, instead waiting patiently until I was clear of the leashes before turning without a word to board the boat, dogs following along behind him.

"Charming," I said under my breath, turning back to the dock, which led to a dirt road and, not too far away, a narrow path that disappeared into a thicket of willow trees. It didn't look inviting.

Few things dark and foreboding ever do.

A sharp s.h.i.+ver of unease sent goose b.u.mps crawling along my spine. Perhaps this entire trip wasn't a good idea after all. I turned back toward the ferry, intending to ask Charlie to take me back across, but the sh.o.r.e was empty. Only a soft sweep of fog curled against the dock in the boat's wake-the tide must have risen fast.

The yipping of his pa.s.senger's dogs faded as they began the return journey to the other side of the North Sea.

And, like that, alone on the bank, something felt off. Terribly so. Like I'd forgotten something important.

My sanity, perhaps?

Whatever it was, it was too late now. Charlie had left, which meant I was stuck. Unless I wanted to swim. I took a step toward where the dark water lapped against the sh.o.r.e and was just about to dip my fingers in to test the temperature when I laughed.

I was in Scotland-the very north of Scotland, where it may as well have been the Arctic. There was no way I could swim back to the mainland. If I didn't die of hypothermia, I'd disappear into the fog never to be seen again.

And if that happened, who would even know I was missing? Charlie? The stranger who'd left me the key?

There was no one else. How could that be?

I had only one option, and it was forward. As Charlie had said, sometimes it's better to not look back.

Ahead, the path loomed, waiting for me. Tendrils of fog spilled from the sea and seeped into the forest, leading the way like a campy horror set. What did I have to lose?

Nothing.

Everything important, I'd lost a long time ago.

With a sigh I s.h.i.+fted my heavy purse from one shoulder to the other and began walking. The ground underfoot was soggy, and within a few steps my shoes were wet, my toes almost frozen.

I silently added wool socks to the list of supplies I'd need to buy whenever I figured out where the nearest town was. In the distance I heard what sounded like sheep bleating, and I shook my head, fervently hoping I wouldn't be expected to rely on them for my new attire. I didn't know how to knit.

The trek through the forest seemed endless, and more than once I feared I was walking in circles. Maybe this was some sort of elaborate prank. Of course I'd already wondered this before-more than once. The moment I'd seen the deed, the first thing I'd asked was, "Is this a joke?"

But then I'd picked up the bra.s.s key lying on the countertop, and it had just felt . . . right. Something in my head had whispered, home, and I'd known this was where I needed to go.

And, just like that, the path ended and I found myself on the edge of a mist-shrouded field. Something dark loomed ahead, a shadow through the fog. A sharp wind blew from the forest behind me, carrying with it the moaning sound of poplar trees bending until they ached.

"That's ominous," I murmured to myself. And then I had no words because the clouds cleared and I caught my first glimpse of the castle.

I burst out laughing. I'd a.s.sumed castle had just been a fancy word for "impressive house." I'd been expecting something modest-perhaps nothing more than a quaint Scottish cottage.

I'd been wrong.

This thing was one h.e.l.l of a castle.

A wall of weathered dark stone rose several stories from the ground, all climbing vines and heavy oak doors and thick windows that hid as much as they revealed. The place was immense and looked like it came straight out of a fairy tale, complete with towers and turrets and crenellations.

There was no way this was mine. Things like this didn't happen in real life-not to people like me.

What else could I do but head for it? I'd come all this way . . . taken all this risk. As I approached the immense wooden door, dotted with heavy iron nails from top to bottom, I pulled the bra.s.s key out of my pocket. It had seemed so large in the diner-bigger even than my hand-but now, in comparison to the door and the castle looming above, it was downright tiny.

Holding my breath, I slipped it into the lock and turned. "No. Way," I muttered when the door swung open. The gray light from outside spilled into the dim interior, revealing a threadbare rug and a tarnished suit of armor propped against the wall.

The castle. Had a suit of armor.

Of course it did.

Suddenly, I felt giddy. Ridiculously so. It was like that first moment you open the door to a hotel room on vacation and you have no idea what lies ahead but you know it's going to be awesome.

And this castle was so much more than awesome. My jaw dropped when I stepped inside. The ceiling in the front hall was so high it was lost in darkness. The walls were covered in ancient-looking tapestries and dusty paintings of scowling men wearing kilts and brandis.h.i.+ng intimidating weapons. On the far side of the room a curved staircase with an elaborately carved banister swept toward the second floor.

I clapped my hands, no longer frozen, no longer wet, no longer hungry, no longer interested in anything but deciding where to explore first, when a dark, booming voice stopped me cold.

"What are you doing in my house?"

My heart exploded, fear making me light-headed. I jumped back, stumbling into an antique side table. The table tipped and crashed to the ground, one of the legs splintering.

I winced as the sound echoed through the house.

A curse came harsh and wicked from the darkness, and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a shadow moving at the top of the stairs. Coming closer.

A complete stranger.

A male stranger, judging by the voice.

He took his time, moving purposefully, step by step, until I thought my heart would beat from my chest in equal parts panic, terror, and something less ominous-something like desperation.

I glanced around the room, looking for anything I could use to defend myself. My eyes fell on the suit of armor, its hands clutched around an ax. Without thinking, I leaped for it, wrenching it free. It was heavier than I expected, and it took all my strength to face him, brandis.h.i.+ng the weapon.

"Don't come any closer."

He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, just beyond the reach of light from the open door. His shadow spoke. "That ax is four centuries old and designed for someone much stronger than you."

"I think I can handle it," I replied with bravado I didn't feel, even as my muscles protested the heavy weight. He stayed in the darkness. Good. "Now why don't you tell me what you're doing in my house?"

He didn't say anything, but his shadow moved, crouching over a nearby table. Looking for a weapon, probably. I was going to have to duel with this man. Using an ax. And he would no doubt have something more useful. Something portable. And mechanized.

The stink of sulfur rose in the air as he lit a candelabrum there-I watched as flame burst over five tapered candles, all with a single match. I would have singed myself more than once, but his long, graceful fingers didn't waver in their task. I was transfixed by the play of candlelight over those fingers, and the hands to which they were attached-the rise and hollow of muscle and vein, the strong knuckles and long bones.

And that was all before I got to his face.