Come to Castlemoor (19 page)

I felt a blush staining my cheeks. “Really, Mrs. Rodd, I have no—”

“I saw the way he looked when he saw your dress. He thinks he's impervious to women. You proved him wrong when you removed your wrap. La! He's ready to tumble!”

“I'm not at all interested in your son,” I said firmly.

“Maybe not,” she said, smiling. “But it does my heart good to see him reacting this way. I haven't given up hopes of becoming a grandmother!” She rose, extending her hand. “Shall we join the men, my dear? This has been most interesting—most interesting. Burton may be disappointed, but I must say I'm intrigued. You must come back to the castle often, dear. I insist. This is all very stimulating.”

When we came back to the main room, Burton Rodd looked up at his mother expectantly. She shook her head slowly, indicating failure. He scowled, glancing at me irritably. He tossed his cigar into the fireplace and thrust his hands in his pockets. I said I must be going, and Edward said he would walk with me back to the house. Rodd snorted at that, jamming his hands deeper into his pockets and turning his back on us. Dorothea became the gracious hostess, taking my hand, saying she was sorry Nicola had had to leave us so early, expressing her pleasure at my visit, and bidding me return soon. There was a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes as she said this last. Edward and I left. At the door I glanced back, to see Dorothea standing beside her son. She was tall and impressive in her black silk dress, her lovely hair streaked with silver, her amethysts gleaming in the glow of the fire. Rodd still stood with his back turned, his legs spread wide apart, and his shoulders hunched. Edward led me down the hall.

The torches were still burning in the courtyard—black shadows, yellow glow, an atmosphere of ruin, a smell of smoke and damp stone. Edward held my arm as we passed through the tunnel and out of the castle. We stood for a moment with the leaves of the oak trees rustling overhead, moonlight spilling silver through the branches. It was cold. My wrap was of no use whatsoever. We walked away from the castle, over the moors, my arm in his. Edward seemed rather moody, strangely silent. I asked him what was wrong. He stopped and looked at me. We were surrounded by vast empty land, clouds rolling heavily in the dark-gray sky, wind whistling over the ground.

“Burton,” he said.

“Burton?”

“He's undermining me. He never misses a chance to dig, to taunt. I don't mind ordinarily, but when he works through you—”

“Through me?”

“Tonight. The attention he gave you—helping you from the table and serving you coffee. He did it merely to irritate me. He knows—he senses how I feel about you—how I feel already.”

“Why, that's absurd, Edward. He dislikes me intensely, and I can assure you that I find him thoroughly unpleasant.”

“Do you?” He frowned. “That'll change soon enough. Women find it impossible to resist him. I've never been able to understand it.”

“He has a certain appeal,” I said. “I won't try to deny that. But I'm immune. Believe me. Right now I don't want to think of anything but—but the book.”

“That's—discouraging to me,” he said.

“Please, Edward, not now. Don't be gallant and—and attentive. I'm tired. I have a dreadful headache. I—can't we just be friends?”

“You wear a seductive dress, you look like every man's ideal, and you want me to be your—friend?” He spoke the words lightly.

“Yes,” I said. “For now.”

“And later?”

“Later—we'll see.”

He looked into my eyes. He laid his hands on my shoulders, standing very close. He was so large, so male, so elegant in the fine clothes. I was exhausted and strangely disturbed, and if he had wrapped those large arms around me and pulled me against him, I wouldn't have protested. His brow was creased, and his face looked grave in the moonlight. I wanted to reach up and smooth that brow, brush those golden locks away from his forehead. I was extremely vulnerable at that moment, but he didn't know it. He touched my cheek lightly and smiled and stood back, sighing. I was relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“I'll settle for friendship,” he said. “I guess I'll have to. But I make no promises as to how long I'll settle for that. A day, a week, perhaps a month, and then”—he grinned—“then beware.”

He flung his arm casually around my shoulders, and we continued to walk over the moors. His arm was heavy, and it was uncomfortable to walk with it around me, but I wouldn't have wanted him to take it away. It gave me a feeling of warmth and security. I would always feel warm and secure with Edward, I thought, musing over his words. He was the kind of man any woman would want—gentle, protective, strong, amiable, capable of arousing the deepest emotions. I wondered why I had put him off, when I had felt so attracted to him. It would have been so easy to succumb to those hearty male charms, to welcome the advances he had been so clearly eager to make a few moments ago. He would settle for friendship for a while, he said, but I wondered why that was all I wanted right now. It bewildered me.

“You made quite an impression on Dorothea,” he said. “I've never seen her so vivacious. It was almost worth hearing that hideous racket she made on the piano—just to see her so pleased.”

“I found her quite charming,” I said.

“She's a remarkable woman. Incidentally, what did Nicola want?”

“Why—what makes you ask that?”

“She seemed so eager to get you alone, so insistent that you go with her to get the bracelet.”

“She—she wanted to show me her dolls,” I replied cautiously.

“Dorothea's famous dolls! Nicola doesn't give a damn about them, but if you two have some dark secret—”

“She's disturbed, Edward. Really disturbed.”

“Of course she is. That's why they're sending her away.”

“Oh?” I said, very convincingly, I thought.

“At least that seems to be the plan,” he continued. “I heard Burton discussing it with Dorothea yesterday. One of Dorothea's old school chums has opened a spa in the south of France. Takes in paying guests, gives them health foods—I think there's supposed to be a mineral spring nearby. He wants Dorothea to send Nicola there. Personally, I think it's a grand idea. The girl needs to get away from here, as I've told you before.”

“Edward—” I began hesitantly. “Your rooms are near Nicola's. Do you ever hear things—in the night?”

“What sort of things?”

“Well—noises,” I said inadequately.

He chuckled, plainly amused by the question. “I hear creaking boards,” he said, “and I hear the wind whistling through cracks in the walls, and I hear all the natural, normal noises of the place—rats in the wainscoting, and creaking of the joints. Rattling chains, stealthy footsteps, anguished moans—I don't hear those. I don't doubt that Nicola hears such things—at least in her mind. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered.…”

“If Nicola's been telling you tales, forget them. Forget anything she might have said. She's told me a few whoppers, believe me. I humor her. That's the only thing one can do—under the circumstances.”

“She seemed so—so sincere, so convinced—”

“She always does,” he said firmly.

We walked on silently. I thought about Nicola and the tale she had related. I thought about the expression on her face, the urgent tone of her voice. In my mind I could see her standing at the top of the staircase. I could see the man coming up—pale face; dark, haunted eyes; golden hair. I could see the shadows swallow him up, hear the shuffling, the blow. It was vivid, and frightening. She had gone down into the dungeons once, she told me that day on the moors, and she had heard something then. She was subject to nightmares, vivid nightmares, and she was under a doctor's care. The dungeons were horrible, damp and fetid and evil, and no doubt she was obsessed with them. I could easily see why. She would be going away soon. It would be best to forget what she had told me, forget that pale face, those pleading dark eyes that begged me to believe her.

I couldn't help Nicola. I could only feel sorry for her.

We reached the top of the slope. Far away I could see my small house, lights burning in the windows, and all around distant slopes curved black and gray in the moonlight, an occasional boulder projecting up against the horizon. I looked around, finding a strange sort of beauty. I saw a lone tree, a rocky hill, a grassy slope. A faint mist shrouded the land, swirling and parting, and only half-obscuring the scene. Suddenly I stopped. I gave a little gasp of alarm. Edward jumped, startled.

“What is it!” he cried.

“There—” I whispered, pointing.

A figure moved through the mist, running toward the castle. I could not determine whether it was male or female, for it was completely covered with a hooded white sheet. The mist rolled, swirled, the figure disappeared and reappeared, and then clouds passed over the moon, and the moor was black and impenetrable. I saw a spot of white, or thought I did, and then there was nothing but the dark, walls of black surrounding us.

“What is it?” Edward repeated, calmer now.

“You saw—didn't you see—”

“I saw nothing,” he said, perplexed.

“But—you must have! It was—”

“Kathy, what is it? You're trembling—”

“You must have seen—” I whispered.

“There was nothing,” Edward said quietly. “What did you think you saw, Kathy?”

“I—I don't know.”

“You
are
tired,” he said. “Nervous, too.”

“Yes—I suppose that explains it.”

He laughed quietly. The sound was rich and reassuring. I wondered if I had actually seen the ghostly figure. It had been so real, and yet—so unreal. I closed my eyes. I was extremely tired. My nerves were frayed. I had a throbbing headache. Perhaps Edward was right. Perhaps it had been a figment of my imagination. I had been thinking about Nicola, worrying, and when I looked up I saw the figure. Bella had seen a ghostly figure, too, and she had frankly admitted that she had imagined it after listening to some of Alan's spooky tales.

“Describe it to me,” Edward said, grinning.

“I'm ashamed to,” I replied, still just a bit shaken.

“A figure in white?” he asked. “One of the famous druid ghosts? The villagers see them all the time. Those ghosts are as common around here as mirages in the desert, and just about as substantial. I'm surprised at you, Kathy. You've been listening to too much local talk.”

“I—I guess I have.”

“Fear not,” he said teasingly. “I'll protect you.”

“It seemed so real, Edward.”

“So do mirages,” he told me.

“I feel like a fool—crying out like that.”

“Nonsense. You just need a good night's sleep.”

He was in a good humor as we walked on down the slope to the house. I longed for my soft bed, the solitude of my room, a damp cloth over my eyes. As we strolled across the yard, I peered through the kitchen window. I could see Bella and Alan sitting at the table. Bella would have many questions. I would have to put her off until morning. Edward stood with me at the door. He clearly wanted to say something, but he couldn't seem to find the words. He finally heaved his shoulders and laughed softly. He doubled up his fist and tapped me gently on the chin, an exclusively masculine gesture that I found endearing. After I told him good night and opened the door, I stood there for a moment, watching him walk away. I doubted that I would have a very restful night. I felt sure my sleep would be filled with many dreams—and nightmares.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The wagon joggled over the moors toward Darkmead. Maud clicked the reins. Two days had passed since my visit to the castle, and I was going to Darkmead to do some shopping. Maud had come for a visit and agreed to drive me to town. I would walk back. The exercise would be stimulating, and it would give me an opportunity to think about my book. Although I had already outlined the first chapter and put my notes in order, I had been unable to begin the actual writing. Every time I took pen in hand I found myself thinking about other things—a face, a gesture, the hang of a jacket, a certain tone of voice. I scolded myself for this lack of concentration and blamed Burton Rodd for haunting me so.

Maud talked about Bella and Alan, who were currently quarreling. Alan was supposed to have brought a wagon-load of firewood yesterday morning, had failed to show up until the late afternoon, had received a frosty reception from Bella, engaged in a lively argument, and left resolved never to return. Bella had ranted and raved, but I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I couldn't show the proper concern. Their arguments were like the bickerings of two small children, and I had no doubt that Alan would come back, sheepish and shy, ready to resume the romance. Maud thought so too, although Bella had told both of us this morning that she had no intention of ever speaking to
that one
again. Nevertheless, she was busily sewing on the dress she would wear to the bonfire festival tomorrow night, for which Alan was to be her escort.

“They're a couple of puppies!” Maud snorted. “Prancin', yappin', waggin' their tails! That big dolt of a nephew—you shoulda seen 'im when 'e came in last night! Big mournful eyes, lip stuck out, 'ead 'angin' down. A cocker spaniel—to a T! Now, in
my
day …”

I listened as she related some of her youthful romantic escapades, but my mind wandered. I looked out over the moors—gray-brown, flooded with sunlight that poured silver-white from a pearl-gray sky. Rocks glittered as though encrusted with chips of mica. It had rained during the night, and I was amazed to see a fuzz of green on the horizon. Maud said there would be wildflowers, purple and white, after a few more rains, when, for a brief span, the moors would be a wonderland, doomed to vanish with the advent of summer. It was hard to visualize these barren acres covered with flowers. I stared out moodily as the wagon jolted along, half-hypnotized by the glittering rocks and Maud's drawling voice.