Page 45 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
With the animals tended, Havilland collected their saddlebags, and her husband’s great war sword, and ran back through the pounding rain. She ran back to the keep entry where she had left her husband. Jamison, a very tall and burly man with a crown of beautiful red hair, had pushed himself off the wall. He had staggered up a couple of steps to the door and by the time she reached him, he was shoving the door open. Havilland tried to get in front of him, because she was holding his sword, but he pushed her back behind him in a protective gesture. Even as sick as he was, he was still stronger than she was, and Havilland resented that a great deal.
She was as good as he was with a sword, but that was a story for another time.
Pushing into the keep, it was very dark and smelled of rot. The sounds of the storm rattled the very walls and there must have been more than one uncovered window or even a hole in a wall because the wind was howling through the keep. It was an eerie sound, almost like moaning, and Havilland unsheathed her husband’s big sword. She didn’t like phantoms, or spooky sounds, but she wouldn’t let on. She wanted her husband to think she was just as brave as he was. After all, she could use a sword with some skill so it would stand to reason that she shouldn’t fear anything.
Except the ghosts that were howling around her.
Jamison sensed her fear but he didn’t say anything about it. Havilland was proud of the fact that she had been raised like a warrior and it was true that she was the bravest woman he’d ever seen. But he fought off a smile at the fact that she was clinging to him as they made their way into the dark keep, gripping him as if the devil himself was about to spring from the very walls.
“Havilland?”
“Aye?”
“May I have me sword, sweetling?”
“Nay.”
“Always the warrior, aren’t ye?”
“Flattery will not cause me to give the sword back so you are wasting your time.”
He did grin, then, and chuckled, which ended up in a coughing fit. He had to stop, bending over because coughing weakened him so much and it was difficult to stand. He’d been sick for nearly two weeks now, a horrendous illness in his lungs that he’d contracted about the time they’d crossed from England into Scotland.
Jamison was heading home, having received word that his father, chief of Clan Munro, had passed away several months before. That meant that Jamison was now the Clan Chief, a role he didn’t particularly relish. He loved his clan, his family, but he was different than the rest of them. They were Highlanders to the core, born and bred, but he’d seen more of the world than they had. He’d learned more. His father had hoped that his experience would help him rule over a stubborn and proud clan, to help them become more benevolent and understanding, but Jamison wasn’t so sure. He didn’t want to go home.
But he didn’t have a choice.
So now he was back in the Highlands, deathly ill from the sickness in his lungs, and trying to find shelter in an old abandoned castle that didn’t look all too inviting. The trip hadn’t gone as he’d hoped but it was fortunate for him that his wife was strong and uncomplaining. In fact, she was the strongest person he’d ever seen, man or woman. He loved that about her. Even now, she was trying to get in front of him, trying to hold off whatever threats were awaiting them in the darkness.
Suddenly, Havilland came to a halt.
“There is a fire in that room,” she hissed.
She was pointing off to the far end of whatever hall they happened to be traveling in; it was difficult to see because it was so dark, water dripping on the walls around them. Jamison’s fever-clouded eyes tried to see what she was referring to and it took him a few moments to realize that there was a glow in the distance, just as she had said. There was, indeed, a fire in the distant hearth.
“Get behind me, lass,” he said, trying to move in front of her. “Give me the sword.”
But Havilland wouldn’t be pushed about so easily. “Nay,” she hissed again. “I am stronger than you are. Stay behind me.”
She wasn’t stronger than he was, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she was a fierce fighter and very fast with a blade. He’d seen it many times. Still, this was an uncertain situation and he wasn’t about to have his wife doing his fighting for him. He gave her a good tug, pulling her back.
“Listen tae me,” he said. It sounded like a command. “Get behind me now.”
He yanked her back and she nearly tripped, glaring at him. But he was moving forward and so was she. She wasn’t willing to let him get ahead of her, to face danger in his ill state. Her husband was a mountain of a man, as strong as a bull, but he was too ill, in her opinion, to be effective in a fight.
As she tried to move ahead of him, avoiding being yanked back yet again as they advanced on the distant fire, they could both see that the chamber they were in was divided by a wall. A heavy door, oak-latticed with iron, was half-off its hinges in a doorway shaped like an arch. Indeed, beyond the broken door was another chamber with a fire in the hearth. They peered in through the door, seeing a table, chairs, but little else in the darkness. They didn’t see anyone in the room. Jamison reached out a big fist, rapping softly on the chamber door.
“Is anyone about?” he asked, trying not to sound sick but firm and in control. “Anyone there?”
An answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming, and Jamison and Havilland looked at each other curiously. A fire but no man to be warmed by it? Peculiar. As Jamison reached out a hand again to knock, a voice arose in the darkness.
“Lenore?” a man asked timidly. “Is that you?”
Jamison and Havilland looked at each other in surprise. “Nay,” Jamison said, peering into the chamber and trying to see where the voice was coming from. “My wife and I are traveling and were caught in the storm. We only seek shelter and a little food. We shall be on our way in the morning. May we stay?”
There was a very long pause. They could hear the man in the shadows, breathing. Somewhere in the room, a great bird screeched and wings flapped; they could hear it. Startled, Havilland moved just a little closer to her husband. Odd things were afoot in that chamber, things she couldn’t see. She didn’t like it one bit.
“A polite and gentle tapping upon my chamber door,” a man finally said, disappointment in his voice. “I thought… well, it does not matter what I thought. Mayhap I thought that I had imagined your voices but I can see now that I have visitors. Enter and welcome.”
