Wicked. Shannon Drake

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      She definitely begrudged the money she had to pay the hansom cab to bring them so far out of the city, but the driver was courteous, glad of the fare and quick to assure her that he was willing to wait to return them to London. So it was that she stood at the massive gates to Carlyle Castle, staring at the massive structure of wrought iron that prevented them from entering, and turned to Ralph in disbelief.

      “You two determined that you must scale this wall?” she said.

      He shrugged unhappily. “Well, if you follow the wall itself around a bit, there’s a damaged area. It was actually quite easy to get a foothold, and then…well, I boosted Tristan and he dragged me. Really, I might have broken bones escaping, since I had to depart the same way, and by that time there was some kind of very large hound after me. Unless, in fact, he does raise wolves…but no matter. I did escape, and I do swear I wasn’t seen.”

      Ralph blushed, aware that she hadn’t in the least appreciated his story.

      She had already pulled upon the massive cord that presumably rang a bell somewhere in the castle.

      “Tristan is within,” she murmured.

      “Camie, honestly, I’d not have deserted, ever!” Ralph protested. “But I didn’t know what else to do, other than come to you.”

      “I know that you wouldn’t have deserted him,” she said softly, then added, “Hush! Someone is coming.”

      They heard a pounding of horse’s hooves, and a man on top of a huge steed appeared behind the gate. When he dismounted, Camille could very well understand the huge horse, for the fellow was a giant. He stood many inches over six feet, and his shoulders seemed to have the breadth of a doorway. He was no lad, but neither was he ancient. She thought his age to be, perhaps, midthirties. Muscled and tense, he made his way to peer through the gate.

      “Yes?”

      “Good evening,” Camille said, flustered despite herself by the fellow’s size and foreboding tone. “Excuse the late hour and the unannounced call, I beg you. It’s imperative that I see the master of the house, the Earl of Carlyle, on a matter of utmost urgency.”

      She had expected questions; she received none. The man stared at her from beneath dark, bushy brows, then turned.

      “Excuse me!” she cried.

      “I will see if the master is available,” he called over his shoulder. He leaped atop the huge horse once again, and the sound of the animal’s lope disappeared into the darkness of the trail that led to the castle.

      “He won’t be available,” Ralph said pessimistically.

      “He must be. I will refuse to leave until he sees me,” Camille assured Ralph.

      “To most men, the thought of a lady waiting at the gates in the darkness would be distressing. But we are dealing with the Beast of Carlyle,” Ralph reminded her.

      “He will see me,” Camille insisted.

      She paced before the gate.

      “No one is coming back,” Ralph said, growing distressed.

      “Ralph, our hansom is waiting, but I will not leave without Tristan. If no one appears soon, I will ring that bell until they are all half-mad from the sound,” Camille said.

      She stood still, arms crossed over her chest.

      Ralph began to pace. “No one is coming,” he repeated.

      “Ralph, it is some distance to the castle. The man surely had to go to it, find his master and then return to us.”

      “We will sleep out here,” Ralph warned.

      “Well, you do know how to break back in to the property,” Camille reminded him.

      “We should start now, then.”

      “We should wait,” she said firmly.

      She began to fear that Ralph was right, that she would be ignored, left to wait at the gates with no leave to enter and no refusal sending her away. But then, just when she had nearly despaired, she heard the sound of hooves once again and the clacking of wheels.

      A small wagon, handsomely roofed in leather and fringe, appeared with the huge man at the reins. He hopped down from the driver’s seat and came to the gate, using a large key to open the padlock braced around it, then swinging the gate open.

      “If you’ll please accompany me?” he said, the words polite, his tone as dour as ever.

      Camille flashed an encouraging smile at Ralph and followed. Ralph came along, as well. The big man hoisted Camille into the rear seat of the conveyance, and Ralph hopped up behind her.

      The small carriage took them down a long and winding path. The darkness on either side of the road seemed to be deep and endless. By day, Camille was certain, they would have seen massive trees and an overgrown forest flanking the path. The master of Carlyle liked his environs secluded, to the point of it all appearing to be like some godforsaken no-man’s-land. As they trotted along, it seemed to Camille that the forest breathed, that indeed it was an overbearing entity ready to suck in the unwary, entangle the soul.

      “And you two thought you might begin to find some treasure here?” she whispered to Ralph.

      “You’ve not seen the castle yet,” he whispered back.

      “You’re both mad! I should leave Tristan here,” she murmured. “This is the greatest foolishness I have ever seen.”

      Then the castle loomed before her. Mammoth. It retained a moat over which lay a great drawbridge, permanently down now, Camille imagined, since armies were unlikely to come and besiege the place. Yet, it appeared quite certain that no one could simply slip into the place, since the castle walls themselves were staunch and windowless to a great height, and only narrow slits could be seen.

      She looked at Ralph, angrier and more distraught the closer they came. What had the two been thinking?

      The carriage clattered over the bridge. They came to a great courtyard and she saw just what Tristan might have known—the area was covered with antiquities, fascinating statues and pieces of art. An ancient bathtub—Greco-Roman, she thought—had been handsomely altered to act as a contemporary watering trough. There were various sarcophagi lining an area of the outer wall, and numerous other treasures were laid closer to the path that led to a great door. The castle had obviously seen some construction work to bring it into the nineteenth century. The doorway was rounded handsomely, and from the turret atop it, boxes of vines spilled over, offering a tiny bit of welcome to a visitor.

      She continued to survey the courtyard as the huge man came to help her from the carriage. The artifacts belonged in the museum, she thought indignantly. But she was well aware that many things she would consider precious were ordinary to rich world travelers. She’d heard, as well, that mummies were so plentiful, they were often sold as fodder for fireplaces and heat. Still, СКАЧАТЬ