One Haunted Evening (Haunted Regency Series Book 1) Page 9

  The warm glow of the torches bathed the cavernous room in a golden hue. He glanced around at the hearth in the center of the dungeons, the smalls cells, the eerie stone walls. What the devil did a portal look like? He started at one corner of the dungeon, running his fingers along the cold stone. He looked into the hearth, pressing at the bottom with all of his might, but nothing budged. Nothing in the cavernous set of rooms seemed otherworldly in the least, though he imagined there were years when those kept in the dungeons certainly welcomed their passing to the other side, if for no other reason than to leave these stone walls behind them.

  Braden walked the perimeter, searching every inch of stone, every crevice, every discoloration. He was beyond exhausted and the stone walls all seemed to blend together. But he couldn’t stop searching for Callie. There had to be some way to find her, some sign of her existence. Somewhere.

  Blake Chetwey seemed to believe in that witch of his, and though the whole thing was the height of madness, Braden didn’t have many choices other than to put his hope in the girl as well. He’d certainly exhausted all of his ideas today and this…whatever this was, seemed quite out of his realm.

  As Braden passed one cell, a faint scent of gardenias hit him. “Callie?” he called, hearing the panic in his voice. “Are you here?” He pulled open the door and stepped inside the small cell. Had he imagined the scent because he wanted so desperately to find her? Perhaps, or perhaps he really had smelled her scent.

  Braden ran his hands all along the cell walls, pressing on stone, hoping beyond reason to find some evidence of Callie or the portal—something to give him hope. But there was nothing. Just cold stone and iron bars.

  Defeated, he sank onto a bench that must have seen its fair share of despair over the centuries. “Oh, Callie,” he whispered. “Where are you, sweetheart?” If he could just get her back, if he could see her once more, he’d never let her go.

  Tears trailed down Callie’s cheek as she reached out to Braden, though her arm went right through him. She dropped to the floor at his feet and rested her head on the bench beside him. She’d give anything she had to touch him once more, to have his gaze meet hers. She wasn’t even certain how she’d ended up in this predicament, but it was the most tortuous experience of her life. No one could hear her. No one could see her. But watching Braden’s anguished expression tore at her heart. If she could just reach him somehow.

  Braden shifted on the bench and Callie felt the movement against her head. It was so odd that the bars could keep her in this cell, that she could feel the bench against her head, but she couldn’t touch Braden. Was it because he was among the living? Callie had no idea, but sadness washed over her at the thought of never being able to touch the living, of never being able to feel Braden’s touch again.

  They sat there, the two of them, for quite some time in the silence. After a while, Braden pushed back to his feet and started for the doorway. The open doorway!

  Oh, Callie didn’t want to be locked away in the darkness here any longer. She scrambled to her feet and followed him, beyond relieved when she stepped from the cell and into the large dungeon.

  Heavens! It was so wonderful to not be locked up in that little cell any longer. The main dungeon room wasn’t much better, but it was larger and she didn’t feel quite so trapped.

  Braden started for the staircase, and a bit or panic settled in Callie’s heart. She didn’t want to be trapped in the dark dungeons. So she hastened after him, following quickly in his wake, up the steps towards the main castle.

  She slipped through the large iron door before Braden closed it behind them, and released a breath of relief as she strode after him down the corridor. Joyous sounds filled the castle, and as they passed parlors and salons, there were dozens and dozens of faces she didn’t recognize. None of these people were from Ravenglass. Heavens, where had they come from? And who were they? Ghosts? Or…

  “Braden!” said Viscount Heathfield as he stepped from inside a parlor. “Good to see you.”

  “Heath,” Braden said to his old friend, reaching out his hand in greeting. “I didn’t realize you and Emma had arrived already.”

  “Earlier tonight.” Heath gestured towards the parlor with his head. “We brought Damien and Isabel with us.”

  “Are you all settled in?” Braden asked, only marginally caring about his friend’s answer.

  “Yes, but is everything all right?”

  Everything was far from all right, but Braden wasn’t about to divulge all that was wrong to Heath. The man would think he’d lost his mind. Besides, he’d arrived after Callie disappeared. Heath couldn’t offer any help in that regard. “Why do you ask?”

  “Quent seems a bit off, stressing we should each keep our wives within sight at all times. He won’t say more than that.” Heath shrugged. “Just seemed odd. I spotted Kilworth when we arrived and David Thorn has been about. Are the two of them on the prowl or something?”

  A mirthless laugh escaped Braden. If only the trouble at Marisdùn was simply a few reprobates within the castle walls. “Kilworth brought his own entertainment,” he said instead of divulging the truth Heath wouldn’t believe anyway. “But it’s always wise to keep an eye on one’s wife with Thorn about, I would think.”

  It didn’t seem as though Heath believed that answer any better than he would have the tale of disappearing ladies in the castle garden. “I suppose,” he said slowly.

  Braden nodded towards his old friend. “Anyway, long day. I’m certain I’m a terrible host, but I really should retire. Unless you need something.”

  “No, no.” Heath shook his head. “Rest well, Braden. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He left his friend in the corridor and was quite relieved to have made it to his chambers without encountering any other guests along the way. He tore at his cravat and dropped onto his bed, then tugged his Hessians from his feet. Damn it all, he was simply too exhausted to change clothes, at least not completely. He certainly wasn’t going to sleep in his jacket or waistcoat. He shrugged out of both and tossed them to the floor in a heap. Then he fell back against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling above him.

  Exhausted as he was, his mind kept whirring, wondering what else he could do to find Callie. Wondering if Chetwey’s witch was really his only shot. Wondering when exactly the world had stopped making sense. Tomorrow, he’d have to get Brighid Glace to make him some assurances as far as Callie went. He needed something to go on, something more than he had at this moment.

  Then, just like in the dungeons, the soft scent of gardenias swirled about him and Braden took a calming breath. “Callie?” he whispered.

  The scent only got stronger and Braden felt the worry seep from his bones and his eyes finally drifted closed.

  Callie laid her head right above Braden’s heart. She fell right through him, her head only stopping once it reached Braden’s pillow. She wished she could feel him, wished he could put his arms around her and promise that all would be well, but she’d settle for being close to him for now. Being here with him, in his bed, was much preferable to being all alone in the dungeons.

  Marisdùn’s cook harrumphed as Braden paced the kitchen floor. Let her be annoyed with him. The castle was his and he could pace wherever he wanted. And as the kitchens were next to the herbarium that he wasn’t allowed to enter, then the kitchens were where he’d pace until Miss Glace decided to emerge from her private domain.

  The woman harrumphed again and Braden speared her with a look, daring her to challenge him. Wisely, the woman returned to her baking, leaving Braden to pace the floor in peace.

  Relief swamped him when Chetwey stepped into the kitchens. The man had, after all, remained with Miss Glace in her herbarium the entire night. Or at least that’s what Mrs. Small had told him when he’d come down that morning. “Did she find an answer?” Braden demanded before Chetwey could even offer his morning felicitations.

  “Might I have a cup of coffee, Cook?” The man strode past Bra
den, barely sparing him a glance, which hardly boded well for Callie. If Miss Glace had been successful in her planning, Blake Chetwey would say so upon seeing Braden, wouldn’t he?

  “Have you learned anything?” David Thorn asked from the threshold.

  Braden’s eyes were trained on Chetwey, willing the man to tell him the news he needed desperately to hear.

  Chetwey glanced about the kitchens instead of answering. Damn the man! Did he enjoy torturing Braden more than he already was? Then he heaved a sigh. “She doesn’t know what to do,” he finally said, taking a cup of coffee from the portly cook.

  She didn’t know what to do? Then what the hell good was she? “Damn it all!” Braden barked. “You were in there all bloody night. She said she would bring Callie back!”

  Blake took a sip from his cup. “She said she would do everything in her power to do so. But she has denied being a witch for the past decade. You can’t expect her to suddenly possess all the knowledge she needs to bring Miss Eilbeck back.”

  Bloody perfect. He had a witch who couldn’t do a damn thing for Callie.

  “Let’s take a ride,” Chetwey suggested as he took another sip of coffee.

  “Take a ride?” Was the man of out his damned mind? Braden wasn’t going to take a bloody ride. Callie was still missing, for God’s sake!

  “Yes,” Chetwey said calmly, starting for the back kitchen door. “It will clear my head, and perhaps yours as well.”

  Braden didn’t need a clear head. He needed a way to get Callie back.

  “I’ll come with you,” Thorn said, following Chetwey towards the outside door.

  Oh, for God’s sake! How could his friends act as though he just needed to clear his head? A clear head would not bring Callie back to him. “I am not leaving this castle or its grounds,” Braden called after them.

  Chetwey glanced over his shoulder and cast Braden a rather annoyed look. “At least step outside with me, then. I am in need of fresh air.”

  Fresh air wasn’t about to save Callie either. But since Cook turned an annoyed glare on him, Braden heaved a sigh. “Very well,” he said, following his friends out-of -doors. “At least tell me Miss Glace is still working to find a way to bring Callie back.”

  Chetwey scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Though why he was frustrated made no sense at all. He hadn’t lost the girl he loved within the blink of an eye. “She is sleeping at the moment and I would appreciate you keeping your voice down,” his friend complained.

  “Sleeping? She is sleeping while Callie is lost somewhere?”

  Without another word, Chetwey turned on his heel and strode directly to a little herb garden a few feet away, stopping beside a crystal. Braden exchanged a glance with Thorn who shrugged and then followed Chetwey’s lead, settling on a nearby bench.

  Oh for God’s sake! Braden followed the pair into the herb garden and folded his arms across his chest. “What the devil?” he began.

  Chetwey glanced around the area and then said very quietly, “What I tell you will not be mentioned outside of this garden.”

  “Why is this garden so special?” Thorn asked.

  “Brighid has protected it so that Braden’s great-grandmother can’t hear us.”

  A bit of hope lifted Braden’s chest. “Does that mean she does know how to bring Callie back?”

  Callie strained to hear what Braden’s friends were saying to him in the small herb garden off the kitchens, but some force kept her from entering the area after them. She couldn’t hear anything they said. It was almost as though they were speaking underwater. She could hear pitches and tones, but no actual words.

  So she waited on the stone walkway while the three gentlemen continued their conversation. She felt a darkness at her back, encroaching slowly upon her. But she couldn’t look away from Braden. If she looked away, she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d never see him again.

  “He’s not for you,” came a whisper in her ear, and Callie’s heart ached.

  Braden was for her. He loved her. She loved him. She glanced over her shoulder towards the sound, but only darkness was there.

  “He’ll mourn you,” the whisper echoed in her other ear. “But not for long.”

  Callie wanted to yell for the voice to stop, but no sound came from her mouth.

  “He’ll go back to London and you’ll be…here.” A cackling hit her ears and swirled all around her, making Callie shiver. “Forever.”

  She glanced back at Braden only to find the herb garden shrouded in darkness and fading from her sight. Callie reached out towards the garden, desperately needing it to stay in sight. Why had she looked away from Braden? What if she never saw him again? What if she never got back to him? What if…

  Then the world around Callie went completely dark.

  Exhausted, Braden slumped down behind the large oak desk in the study. The room smelled musty and stale as though it hadn’t been used in at least a decade, but it was the one place at Marisdùn that the guests swarming about the castle, even at this late hour, wouldn’t search him out. He was damned tired of hosting people he didn’t want to host, even though a great number of them were his friends. He’d spent the day being as pleasant and hospitable as he was able, which was probably not all that pleasant or hospitable, but it was the best he could do. Chetwey’s plan had echoed in Braden’s ears all day long, and he still wasn’t certain what he thought about it.

  Mrs. Small had been certain they had to wait until Samhain to retrieve Callie, but Brighid Glace said otherwise. And as Miss Glace was the resident witch and her plan would bring Callie home sooner, he was inclined to put his trust in her for now. Even so, he couldn’t help but have doubts about the witch’s plan. Could they truly banish Mary Routledge from this world? Close her portal? And bring Callie back through before it was too late?

  A breeze tousled his hair and Braden swiped at the air around him. Damned ghost! Couldn’t he be left in peace?

  Ghost! That the thought of a ghost now popped to mind when it wouldn’t have ever occurred to him to think such a thing as far back as a fortnight ago irritated him to no end. What he wouldn’t do to storm out of Marisdùn, have the place leveled to the ground, and never look back.

  But he couldn’t do that. Not until he got Callie back, anyway.

  “So this is where you’re hiding?” Quent said from the threshold.

  Braden heaved a sigh as he glanced up at his brother. “I’m not hiding,” he grumbled. “But I do want to be alone.”

  Of course, Quent paid him no heed as he stepped further into the study and shut the door behind him. “Don’t really think it’s in your best interest to be left alone, brother.”

  “Why? In case our great-grandmother comes for me next?” he barked. “I welcome the old bitch to give it a try.” And if she succeeded, at least Braden would be with Callie again, not that he wanted to utter those words to his brother.

  Quent snorted as he dropped into a chair across from Braden. “Hardly think you should stir her up more than she is.”

  “There’s nothing more she could do to me than she’s already done.” Braden raked an anguished hand through his hair. “I love that girl, Quent. I loved Callie the moment I saw her, and…”

  “Aye, I know.” Quent grinned boyishly and tapped his cheek. “Punched me in the eye over her.”

  “I’d give anything I own, sell my own soul to get her back.” And as awful as that sounded, it was true. Braden would gladly switch places with Callie, so long as she’d be safe, even if it meant eternal damnation for himself.

  “Let’s not go around offering up our souls,” Quent muttered in sotte voce. “Someone…or something around here might take you up on that.”

  “As long as Callie could be saved, I wouldn’t care.”

  “Well, I’d care.” Quent sat forward in this seat, leaning closer to Braden with a fire lit in his eyes. “You’re the only brother I’ve got and I don’t intend to lose you.”

  Truly, Braden sh
ouldn’t have said those words aloud to Quent. He should have kept them balled up inside himself and would have done so if his brother had left him to his solitude. “I’m just not myself these days.”

  “Understandable.” His brother nodded. “Chetwey suggested we give the dungeons one more look over. Wolf, Thorn, and Garrick are already down there. What do you say?”

  Braden met his brother’s gaze and nodded. Those words, after all, were the cue that Chetwey’s witch must be ready for them to help vanquish Mary Routledge and to bring Callie back to the land of the living. He took a deep breath as he noticed his hands shaking more than a bit. His entire future was resting on the shoulders of a young, untried witch.

  Braden found himself in the dungeons, standing in a circle around the large hearth with his brother, his friends that had arrived at the castle with him, the witch, the housekeeper, and Chetwey’s sister and her husband. What an odd bunch they all made. But Brighid Glace apparently thought that each person assembled had a purpose to be there, so he stood there in silence until the clock struck midnight.

  Then the witch lifted her chin high and began chanting in a nonsensical language. Braden’s gaze flashed to Quent’s across the circle from him and he saw the same skeptical expression he must have sported himself. What the devil were they all doing down here?

  But then Brighid Glace’s voice grew in strength. Wind rushed into the dungeons and the five candles that were placed along the floor flickered wildly. Good God! Something otherworldly was certainly happening now! A hiss echoed in Braden’s ears and a chill raced along his spine as though someone or something ran their fingers down his back. His great-grandmother, he had no doubt in that moment. Terror coursed through him as one of the men yelled, “Now!”

  They all clasped hands and the witch’s chanting came even faster. She nearly yelled her nonsensical words into the wind, which whipped furiously about the center of the circle. It was almost as though the wind, or something caught inside it, was pushing back against each of them, trying to get free. But their circle remained strong, each member of the group holding their ground, firmly.