“Did you ever think you’d call a castle home?” Colleen walked beneath the raised portcullis to slide the great iron key into the rusty lock of the large oak door, the last barrier between her and her childhood home. She had to use both hands to force the mechanism to give way.
Clank. The lock popped free.
“Never. Especially one with a list of repairs longer than the kraken-infested Thames.” Nick winked, then gave the great nail-studded door a shove. It creaked upon rusty hinges as it opened.
The journey to Scotland had been a long one—beginning with a steam train and ending with a clockwork horse-drawn carriage—during which they’d taken every advantage of the private compartments.
Only minutes ago they’d traveled the length of the tree-lined drive, slowly bringing Craigieburn into view. At first, only its turrets peaked above the snow-dusted branches, but then the castle emerged in all its glory, towering above the landscape. A sight she’d yearned to see for far too many years. As they drew closer, her mind grew more critical, noting crumbled plaster, missing shingles and… She squinted. Was that a broken window pane?
The driver of their carriage had dropped them before the castle door and set their trunks beside them. He’d watched Colleen set the cat sìth free, then lifted his gaze to her golden eyes and smiled. “It’s a relief to have you return, Lady...” He hesitated, uncertain how to address her now that she’d married. “Will you be staying?”
“Aye,” she’d said. “And I’ll be setting things to rights, you can count on that.”
“Will there be anything else?”
She’d shaken her head. “Nothing. My new husband and I would like to spend the night alone, but let the villagers know that I’ll be looking to hire help tomorrow.”
Her estate manager, Watts, had indeed been in her uncle’s employ. Though not so much as a shilling of her hard-earned money had been invested in caring for Craigieburn or its surroundings, the dirigible crash and resulting fire had been fictitious. All told, simple neglect accounted for the physical damage done to her ancestral estate. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with sufficient funds.
But the cat sìth and those humans in possession of amber eyes? They’d melted into the countryside. Convincing them to return would require quite some effort. Perhaps when news of The Much Honored Colleen Stewart of Craigieburn’s homecoming—with a husband, no less—spread through the countryside, a slow and cautious return would begin.
Doffing his hat, the driver had hurried away. Colleen expected that tomorrow would be a very busy day.
Several weeks had passed since their ordeal, ones filled with the joy of their wedding, the anxiety of Anna’s treatment, and endless meetings with the Queen’s agents, all while a confusion of solicitors dug through the layers of her uncle’s misdeeds.
Garbed in the elaborate white gown with amber buttons, Colleen had stood beside Nick in his front parlor and spoken vows. The small and intimate ceremony, however, was followed by a well-attended wedding breakfast. One from which the newlyweds had soon slipped away, discarding their finery to tumble into the solid behemoth that was Nick’s bed.
Later, the heart worm had slipped into Anna’s vein, taking up residence, and within a day, her heart rate had increased from a worrisome forty beats per minute to over sixty. Her pale cheeks grew pink and her hands warm. Not a single seizure had transpired since. Cured. But the parasitologists of Lister Institute were left mystified, for soon after Anna’s treatment, the roundworms extracted from the vial had indeed died.
Impressed, the Duke of Avesbury offered Colleen contract work, a chance to assist the Crown on a case by case basis. Her primary task? To restore her family’s lands, ensuring the health and well-being of the cat sìth within its woods. Nick, content to relinquish his position with the laboratories, would accompany her, directing an attempt to locate a source of the nematodes that could be collected without endangering the wildcats while keeping a sharp eye out for cryptid hunters.
Isabella—a widow whose wealth depended upon the outcome of her child’s delivery and the Crown’s investigation into Lord Maynard’s illicit activities—had waved away Colleen’s invitation to accompany them. “Such nonsense. Go enjoy your honeymoon while I adjust to widowhood. I have much to do, even if it is under the watchful stare of that rat-faced cousin who hopes to lay claim to the title.” Concerned, Colleen had agreed to travel to Scotland for the coming spring only after both Isabella herself and Lady Stafford promised to send regular reports. “I’ll return in plenty of time for the delivery,” she’d promised, not caring for the hint of purple tinging the skin beneath her aunt’s eyes. “Or sooner, if you have any difficulties. Any at all.”
For now, she stepped into the cobwebbed wonder that was the Craigieburn’s entryway, then led her husband up the stairway and into the great hall. “Behold, the enormous fireplace I promised.” A long-forgotten bed of wood lay, waiting. Drying for years upon the andirons and requiring no more than the touch of a match. “Shall we light the fire, or explore?”
Nick winked and held a burning match aloft. “I do believe the intent was to do both at the same time.”
She laughed as he tossed it onto the tinder. The flames caught and in minutes, a fire crackled, chasing the chill from the hall. Without a soul to disturb them, they stretched out before the hearth upon a pile of tartan blankets and set about finding new ways to drive each other to distraction.
Thank you for reading A Reflection of Shadows, An Elemental Web Tale.
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A speeding train. A determined villain. A reconciliation of broken hearts.
Lady Alice Hemsworth wasn’t supposed to fall in love. It was her duty not to. Alas, she’d failed miserably. Mr. Benjamin Leighton—despite being turned away by her steam butler—can’t stop thinking about her. Alone, both are miserable—until a deadly encounter throws them together on the night train to London.
Keep reading for the opening chapters of The Golden Spider