With her camera dangling in the crook of her elbow, she tossed the satchel strap over her shoulder and tore open the wrapper of one of the bars, biting into the yogurt-covered granola while she slowly made her way deeper into the keep. Chewing worked as a bit of a distraction, but still her heart pounded inside her chest, and the muscles of her diaphragm contracted as she struggled to breathe normally.
Nothing will hurt you. Nothing will hurt you, she told herself over and over. She was here for a reason, and even if she was very afraid monsters—at least the storybook kind—really did exist, she was determined to see this quest through to the end.
Sunlight shone in narrow, muted beams through the door and tall windows of the main room, but past that, the structure was still fairly dark and dank. That didn’t keep her from noticing a great number of cobwebs she hadn’t the night before, though.
Her booted feet scuffed through the dirt covering the stone floor as she tiptoed deeper into the structure. It was beautiful, in a way. She could picture it one or two hundred years ago—a fire blazing in the hearth, tapestries covering the walls, a long trestle table crowded with people eating roasted boar and mutton stew.
She lifted her camera to snap a picture here or there as she moved along, but found nothing of exceptional interest. With the exception of an occasional broken-down table or chair, any furniture had been removed long ago.
To her right, a wide stone staircase led to the second level, where she imagined bedchambers and maybe a solar had been located. She was just turning to move in that direction when a noise from the other side of the keep, deep in the heart of the castle, startled her.
She stood frozen, pulse kicking as she slowly turned her head toward where she thought the sound had come from. Something had rattled, like glasses clinking together, only louder.
It was probably just one of those rats she’d envisioned sharing her space last night. But if it wasn’t…well, she was looking for the castle’s rumored inhabitant, so following the noise might be the way to go, whether she wanted to or not.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly spun on one foot and tiptoed across the earthen floor. Far at the back of the keep, to the left of one of the hearths, was the shadow of a doorway she hadn’t noticed before. Stepping carefully and quietly, she entered the cavernous area, her hand tracing the rough stone of the wall to guide her path.
About six steps in, she hit a curved set of narrow stairs leading downwards. She’d left her flashlight behind, but her eyes adjusted to the light enough to keep from tripping and falling to her death.
At first there was pitch dark, but the closer she got to the bottom of the stairs, the lighter it became, a muted orange glow flickering at the base of the steps.
Her eyes narrowed as she considered how that was even possible. This had to be a basement or dungeon area, underground where there couldn’t be any windows. And even if there were, she would expect the light from outside to be whiter, more like daylight than candle glow.
Rounding the corner, she sucked in a breath, realizing it was candlelight. There was a single, thick taper stuffed into the neck of a stout wine bottle in the center of a small, round wooden table, burning strongly enough to illuminate the center of the room and cast shadows farther out.
It didn’t take long for her mind to shake off the sense of surprise she was feeling and make the logical conclusion that for a candle to be burning here, in the depths of the rundown, abandoned castle, there would have to be someone to light the candle.
She swallowed, concentrating on the soft, even rhythm of her breathing as she took in her surroundings. There was a build-up of melted wax running in thick rivulets down the sides of the bottle holding the candle, telling her it had been used for just that purpose many times before. She also noticed several more bottles strewn about…some empty, in a pile in the corner, others full or half-full, standing upright on the table or on the floor.
Along the far wall, there was a pallet—much like her own upstairs—made up of blankets and a single, ratty-looking pillow. Books and old food wrappers littered the floor.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that someone was living here. Living here, in this old, abandoned keep, where there was no running water, no electricity, no anything but stone and dirt, spiders and vermin.
Until this moment, she didn’t think she’d truly believe she’d find the person she sought. She’d hoped. She’d told herself she would just to bolster her own spirits. But deep down, she wasn’t sure she’d actually expected to find the infamous Dougal MacKay.
Now, though…Someone was living here, exactly where all of her research had led her. And who else could it be but the man the villagers both feared and revered? The man her great-grandmother had cursed to a life of isolation.
A scuffling sound near the stairs had her spinning back around as a tall, dark figure stepped out of the shadows. He blocked the only exit, her only means of escape, and she was chagrined to realize that her brain was indeed urging her to run for her life.
She stayed where she was, though, even as her heart lurched and a scream worked its way involuntarily into her throat. She locked her lips, holding it back, and did the same with her knees, which had turned to rubber.
He loomed over her, making her feel like Jack after he’d climbed his beanstalk to confront the giant. He was covered from head to toe with some sort of cloak, the hood large enough to hide his face from view, and heat seemed to emanate from him in waves, the same as it did in her dreams.
Her fingers flexed at her sides and she shifted slightly, fighting the urge to lift her camera and immediately begin snapping pictures of the man who, until this moment, had been more legend to her than flesh-and-blood fact.
“Hi,” she said cautiously, licking her dry lips. And then, because she couldn’t think of a single other thing to say beyond what was bouncing around in her head, she blurted, “You’re Dougal MacKay, aren’t you?”
Even in the muted light of this underground room, she could sense his surprise and sudden wariness.
“It’s all right,” she continued when he seemed unwilling to answer the question. “I’m not here to hurt you, or expose you, or anything like that. My name is Laura Tomescu, and I believe you knew my great-grandmother. The woman who cursed you.”
CHAPTER 3
DOUGAL STARED AT THE WOMAN IN FRONT OF HIM. Everything about her screamed danger!, and it took every ounce of bravery in his bones not to turn and make his escape.
Running did not come naturally to him. He had been no coward during his mortal years. But after nearly a century of being reviled and hunted, he’d learned well when to flee and how to hide from those who would do him harm.
Last night, when this woman had first encroached upon his sanctuary, he’d thought her dangerous only in the way that all strangers could be dangerous to his safety. If discovered, they would be terrified of his appearance and perhaps cost him his last refuge.
Now, however, he knew that she was a threat to him in much more dire ways.
“Get out,” he ordered, the words scalding his throat as fury and alarm mingled in his gut.
“Excuse me?” Her dark brows rose, and instead of fear, her expression conveyed only a whisper of shocked annoyance.
“You don’t belong here.” He took a menacing step forward, letting the full brunt of his rage sweep forward in his words and the heat of his fiery breath. “Get out or face my wrath.”
If possible, her brows lifted even higher, but she stood her ground, not the least intimidated by either his size or his wrath. Crossing her arms beneath the full swell of her breasts, she cocked her head and tapped an impatient foot.