Shannon Drake - Wicked

She let out a sigh, itching to race back to Tristan’s room and give him a thorough tongue-lashing, even if he couldn’t hear her. But she knew that the hellhound would be beyond her door, keeping watch. So she shook her head, walked to the bed and picked up the linen gown left for her, determined to find the bath.

Toiletries had been provided as promised, and the bath was quite modern with a tub, commode and running water. The earl might have his wicked sense of justice wherein he thought ancient artifacts might disturb a body’s sleep, but at least the room came with niceties far beyond those to which she was accustomed.

A candle burned in the bath, and by it was a tray with brandy and glasses. Without hesitation, she drew hot water into the massive tub, then stripped, poured herself brandy and settled in.

How strange! The night was quite a disaster, yet here she was, luxuriating in a hot bath, sipping brandy. Frowning, she reminded herself that the situation was extremely dire.

She felt herself tense and wasn’t at all sure why she did so. A sixth sense gave her warning of something being not right. She held very still and thought that she heard something. Movement. Not a rustling. Not footsteps. Just…as if stone had shifted against stone.

She waited, but the sound didn’t come again. Had she imagined it? Then, from outside the bedroom door, she suddenly heard a furious barking. Whatever had seeped into her senses, the dog had heard it, too.

She nearly threw her brandy down, but managed to set it upon the throw rug on the floor. She leaped out of the tub and into a heavy brocade dressing gown that hung on the bathroom door. It occurred to her that perhaps she should be locking herself into the room, but instinct sent panic into her veins, and she knew she had to find the source of the noise that had given rise to such a state of distress.

As she burst out into the bedroom, she heard herself being called.

“Miss Montgomery!” It was the Earl of Carlyle himself, shouting her name.

She ran forward as the door burst open. There they were, staring at one another. He, blue eyes sharp behind the beast of the mask, she, most startled and feeling terribly vulnerable, hair wild about her face, robe not at all decently closed.

She caught at the edges, seeking the tie.

The dog rushed into the room. He was no longer barking, but standing by its master’s legs, sniffing the air, rigid.

“Ahem.” The beast actually cleared his throat. “You’re quite all right?” he asked.

She couldn’t find her voice at first, so she nodded.

“Did you hear anything?” he demanded.

“I…don’t know.”

He let out an oath of impatience. “Miss Montgomery, either you did or didn’t hear something. Was someone here?” He frowned, as if sincerely doubting the possibility of such a situation but determined he must ask.

“No!”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“I…don’t believe so.”

“You don’t believe? Then why do you appear to have bolted from the bath as if chased by demons from hell?”

“There seemed to be…I don’t know,” she said, lifting her chin. “A scraping sound from somewhere.” She squared her shoulders. “But as you—and your creature—can surely see, there is no one here. I assume that ancient places such as this might well creak.”

“Mmm,” he murmured.

She hated the mask. It hid all but his eyes, leaving her feeling as if she were continually dueling without all the weapons she needed in her corner. She stiffened again, determined on dignity. “Do you mind, My Lord? I am an unwilling guest at best, and as so, would prefer my own company at this hour.”

To her surprise, he seemed reluctant to leave.

“You do not find the room…disturbing?”

“No. Did you intend that I should?”

He waved a hand in the air. “I am not referring to the decor,” he said.

“Then…?”

“The creaking, or whatever it is that you—and my monster dog—apparently heard.”

She shook her head, thinking on the one hand that she was a fool. Yes! I want out of the room, an inner voice cried. But she wouldn’t let this man know that she could be frightened. Not in any way.

“I’m quite content to remain here,” she told him.

He studied her, and she thought that he might well insist that she do so. He didn’t. Instead he said, “I will leave the dog, then.”

“What?”

“I promise, you will be safe from creaks and groans, no matter what, with Ajax in attendance.”

“Ajax hates me!” she said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come. Give him a pat on the head.”

She just stared at the man incredulously.

She was amazed to realize that he was actually smiling. “You’re afraid of the dog?”

“You, sir, must not be ridiculous. I merely respect such a creature.”

“Come. You’ll have nothing to fear when he knows I wish him to look out for you.”

She moved forward, once again determined not to betray fear. Yet, even as she did so, her heart was pounding. But it wasn’t the dog. It was proximity to the man, she knew.

As she came near, he gripped her hand, not with any cruelty, just simple impatience. He laid it atop the dog’s head. The animal whined and thumped its tail.

She felt the size of the Earl of Carlyle, his height, his very vital touch. Like a coiled snake, he seemed mercurial with energy, with something explosive within. It was hypnotic, like the heat of a fire. She stepped back, staring at him. “I’m really not afraid here. I’m sure that your dog—”

“He likes you.”

“How nice,” she murmured.

“Yes, actually, it is. He is a sound judge of character. He is most wary of your guardian.”

She forced a grim smile. “Is that a reminder, My Lord, that we are prisoners here? That we are being…bribed, perhaps?”

She expected anger, something other than the dry laugh of amusement she received in return. “Perhaps. I will leave Ajax and rest assured myself that you will be safe and well throughout the hours of darkness. Good night, Miss Montgomery.”

“Now wait!” she began.

“Good night,” he repeated. He turned and was gone, closing the door behind him in a way that brooked no objection.

Camille stared after him, incredulous and angry. Had he left the dog because he thought she might be up to something? Or because he thought she might be in danger? Was she being watched, or guarded?

Ajax, staring at her, whined and thumped his tail. He padded over to her, still wagging his tail. She petted him on the head again. Huge eyes looked up at her. They seemed adoring now.

“You are really such a fine and handsome fellow,” she told him. “What is it with you and that sneer and your growling? Is it all a facade?” A facade. Like the mask his master wore?

It was all quite ridiculous. And yet, it seemed that the lamps flickered suddenly when there should have been no breeze. Deep in his throat, Ajax let out a warning sound.

“What is it, boy?” she whispered. Despite herself, she felt a deep unease. But the statues were unmoving. The room was empty.

“I think, my fine fellow, that I’m going to finish my brandy. And I must admit, I’m glad to have your company.”

Ajax must have believed her. When she finally doused the lamps—all but one, which she kept by her side—he leaped up on the foot of the bed. Thank God that it was a large bed. Still, she was glad to have him there, sitting sentinel through the night.

IN THE MORNING, she congratulated herself on befriending the dog. Now she could move about the castle as she chose.

She was determined to head straight to Tristan’s room and have it out with the fellow before having to face the master of the castle again. If she knew exactly what Tristan had done and what had transpired, she’d be better able to stand up for him. But the minute she walked out the door, the giant who had brought her in the night before greeted her. Had he just been standing around in the hall all morning, waiting? It appeared to be so.