Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [68]
The coach, racing across the windswept moors, suddenly rocked and swayed, jolting her into wakefulness, causing her to reach out a hand to steady herself. Felicity glanced out the small window. Her heart almost stopped.
Through the swirling mist she could make out a horse and a cloaked rider, on a collision course with her coach. As she watched, a jagged flash of lightning sliced the darkness, illuminating the rider’s handsome, brooding features. Though it was but a single moment, Felicity felt as though the face had been seared into her soul. He had coal-black hair, tossed wildly by wind and rain; dark eyes, deep and fathomless, filled with an eternity of pain; a mouth twisted in anger, as though cursing the heavens. Then darkness closed around him once more. Thunder rumbled across the heavens with all the force of a cannon.
Jolted into action, Felicity rapped on the roof of the carriage, crying out a warning to the driver. But the sounds of the storm and the clatter of the coach’s wheels drowned out her voice.
She felt a moment of panic as she braced herself for impact. Instead, the coach continued along its perilous course. And in the next flash of lightning, she blinked in astonishment. The rider had vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared. The only sign of life was a falcon, its wings beating furiously against the buffeting winds.
She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her little cry of alarm. She must be more weary than she realized. Her mind was playing tricks. Annoyed at herself, she huddled in the corner of the coach until she heard a shout from the driver.
The pace of the carriage slowed perceptibly. As she peered out the window, the ancient towers of Falcon’s Lair loomed in the mist. Most of the castle was in darkness. Only a few candles, outlined in windows, flickered in welcome.
The coach halted at the foot of wide stone steps. The driver tossed Felicity’s trunks down to a waiting servant, then helped her to alight.
“Welcome to Falcon’s Lair, m’lady,” he called.
“Thank you.”
“And beware.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “‘Tis said there are things “He looked up as the scowling servant stepped between them.
There was no time to ask what he’d meant to say. With wind and rain pummeling her, Felicity followed the servant up the stairs and inside the open double doors.
The doors clanged hollowly as they were pulled shut behind her. The servant disappeared without a word, and Felicity was left standing alone and shivering.
She had a quick impression of towering walls hung with ancient tapestries and a stone floor gleaming in the light of masses of candles. The scent of beeswax and a faint fragrance of woodsmoke lingered in the air.
At the sound of footsteps drawing near, she turned expectantly. The woman coming toward her was tall, broad of shoulder, and thick in the middle. She wore a shapeless dark gown and heavy shoes. Dark, graying hair was pulled back into a tidy knot.
The woman peered at her, apparently annoyed at this untimely distraction and said accusingly, “The master is asleep.”
“I’m sorry it’s so late. My name is Felicity Andrews. My father, Robert, was a dear friend to Lord Falcon.”
Felicity saw the slight widening of the woman’s eyes, the only indication that she recognized the name. “I am Maud Atherton, housekeeper at Falcon’s Lair.”
“How do you do?” Felicity offered her hand, but the woman merely stared at her in disdain. She realized that only an American would make such a gesture to a servant. Embarrassed, she lowered her hand and clenched it into a fist at her side.
“I was not told to expect you.” The woman made no attempt to smile. Her eyes, small and dark, peered from behind thick spectacles.
“There was no time to write Lord Falcon of the news of my father’s death. I simply booked passage, trusting that Lord Falcon’s friendship would extend to Robert Andrews’ daughter as well.”
The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed in distrust.