Page 29 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
“Ye will tell him, eventually.”
“Nay, I dinna think I’ll have the chance.” Elle reached up, running her fingers over the jeweled hilt. How many times had her own father, brother, done that very same thing. Somehow, with the sword, she felt a connection to them, if only in memory.
When no reply came from the old laird, she looked to her side to see she was, once more, alone. Elle reached for the heavy sword with both hands, taking it off the metal hooks and hoisting it into the air. The blasted thing weighed a ton. A sword for a mighty warrior. As strong as she liked to think she was, the sword was nearly as tall as she was. Escape would be made harder. When she’d left Castle Gloom, she’d been lucky to have a horse right away, not a prospect she expected to have this time around.
Elle searched through the chest at the foot of Beiste’s bed, her heart pounding, sweat breaking out along her spine. She’d spent too much time up here. He was bound to come searching for her soon. Or at the very least, perhaps clean himself up in his own chamber.
At the bottom of the chest, she found what she was looking for. A scabbard that could be strapped onto her back. She adjusted the straps to fit, slid the sword into the sheath and then hooked it in place. It weighed heavily, but would make her travel easier. With the hilt rising above her head and the tip nearly to the back of her knees, she’d need to be careful not to cut herself while running. Which she needed to do right now.
Elle stepped out into the corridor, fearful that she’d run right into Beiste, one of his guards or a servant. Fortunately, all was silent, except for the old laird who was back.
“This way,” he whispered, waving a luminous arm.
Elle followed him down the stairs, through winding corridors that grew darker and darker, until he pointed to a secret door she never would have known existed, that led into the woods.
“Be safe, my dear,” he said.
She smiled up at him. “Thank ye for your kindness, in this form and in the past.”
“Is Fate a kindness?” His figure faded before she could answer him, but his words remained in her mind, left her questioning just that.
Elle pulled her mantle up over her head and ran deeper into the woods.
*
Beiste handed hisreins to John who’d hurried from the stables after Elle had fled.
“Who was the lady?” John asked, his gaze downcast, but the interest full in his voice, his cheeks flushed with color.
Beiste dismounted and patted young John on his head. “A guest of mine.” He trudged toward the keep, needing very badly to speak with hisguest.
But the lad chased after him. “What is her name?”
Beiste stopped in his tracks, hands on his hips and faced the scamp. “Dinna concern yourself with women, lad. Ye’ve many years to go afore ye need worry over them.”
“I dinna, my laird.” John was wringing his hands again. “I, well, I thought I recognized her voice.” The lad sounded almost forlorn.
Beiste squinted his eyes, staring at his features. The way his shoulders sagged. He supposed the lad could recognize her voice if he’d been at Castle Gloom. Maybe he was looking for the comfort of someone familiar. But then, the lad met his gaze again. Though his shoulders were slumped, his skin taut with tension over his face, his eyes were strong, fierce. There was a determination behind them that Beiste had not seen before. Suddenly, a thought struck him. Could it be? Had he been so incredibly wrong this entire time?
“Bloody hell,” Beiste growled. Only one way to find out. “Erik?”
The imp’s eyes widened and he turned to flee, but Beiste grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and whirled him around.
“Answer me, lad. Are ye Erik Cam’béal?”
“Aye,” he squeaked.
Beiste saw red. Anger sliced through his limbs. “Do ye know we’ve been riding all over the godforsaken land looking for ye?” Why hadn’t anyone bothered to tell him the laird they were looking for was a wee lad? Beiste could have bellowed, could have pummeled a man into the ground. But, somehow, he managed to rein in his temper.
“They said ye were looking for the Viking.” Erik’s voice had grown stronger, though there was still a bit of a quiver.
“Andye! Your sister came here begging for my help.”
“So the ladyisElle.” John—er Erik’s—head swiveled toward the castle, completely unconcerned with having put men’s lives in danger.
“Are ye hearing me, lad?” Beiste said through gritted teeth.
“Aye. Let me see her.” There was no question in his demand, but an order. From a lad.
