The light would not go away.
Charlotte, pulled from a deep dream where she and Marco were sailing away in a lovely ship on a sparkling still sea, fought waking up as if her life depended upon it. She didn’t want to wake up, she wanted to stay on the ship with Marco and—
The light pulsed, and she threw up her hand to shield her eyes from the annoying lantern glow. Muttering to herself, she peeked through her fingers, ready to banish whoever was holding the bloody thing to the devil. But it wasn’t a lantern at all. Instead, the mace head sat in her window, the moonstone reflecting the full moon that filled the night sky.
She’d never seen it burn so brightly. Rubbing her eyes, she threw her feet over the edge of the bed and went to where it sat, astonished at the brightness. Who in the world had put this here? She’d have a word with Simmons in the morning. It was too late now, for the house was silent, everyone asleep.
It had been a lovely day. Marco and his servant had spent most of it in the dining hall installing the new surround, hidden behind a wall of tarps that they’d hung over tall chairs to block their work from view. Despite Simmons’s sharp stare and Aunt Verity’s presence, Caroline had managed to sneak in to see Marco on more than one occasion. His servant had been faintly irked by her visits, but Marco had laughed and had even stolen a very passionate kiss.
He’d been playful, and she’d loved it, even when he’d refused to let her see the fireplace until it was finished. She hadn’t pressed him; she’d seen his work as it had progressed, and had a very good idea of how it would look, anyway.
She set the mace head on her dresser where it couldn’t channel the moonlight, and then turned to go back to bed. But as she passed by the window, something outside caught her eye.
Another light, this one small, almost tiny.
Unlike the moonstone, this light didn’t sit quietly, but swooped and hopped, and then twinkled as it danced across the lawn.
Bewitched, Charlotte leaned closer to the window, her breath fogging the glass as she watched the light flicker in and out of sight, moving toward the woods. That’s the oddest thing. If it wasn’t so cold outside, I would go and see –
The light swooped toward the woods where a bridal path disappeared beside an old oak. With a final shimmer, it disappeared from sight.
Charlotte stared at the path, her mind suddenly racing.
It was night time.
A strange light had beckoned her into the wood.
Is this what sent Caroline into Balesboro in the middle of the night?
Charlotte’s heart thudded against her collarbone. This had to be it. She reached back and touched the mark on her shoulder, the spot oddly warm under her fingers. She was the guardian now. If anyone was responsible for following mysterious lights, it was her.
She whirled from the window and hurried to her wardrobe. Moments later, she was dressed, her cloak hanging from her shoulders as she tip-toed downstairs. She needed a lamp and knew that two sat on a long marble table just outside the dining room. They were ornate affairs, but would cast a bright beam, which she’d need in the dark woods.
She made her way across the great hall, her boots muffled by the rugs, and reached the table holding the lamps. She picked up the closest and found a tinder box resting behind it. She lit the lamp and adjusted it to nice glow. She’d just turned to leave when her gaze fell on the open door to the dining hall. Ah, yes, the fireplace.
She didn’t know what impulse held her, but to her surprise she found herself walking into the dining room, her lamp held aloft. The light flickered over the fireplace, the artwork drawing the eye as surely as a moth flew toward a flame. She drew closer, admiring the impressive work. It was a thing of beauty, the marble she’d watched chipped into submission. The crenelated mantle sat boldly over the carved header, the rope-twined decoration of the trim panels framing each side. Beyond them were the pillars Marco had struggled with, and had finally bested. Each depicted an almost naked beauty almost Charlotte’s height. Their skin glowed alabaster white as they held the mantle over their heads, their breasts thrust out as they balanced their burden.
Charlotte shook her head in awe. They were so lifelike, so real. She lifted her hand to trace the curl of the hair of the closest maiden where it rested against her rounded cheek, her strong jaw contrasting with a bold nose that—
Charlotte gasped. “That’s—I’m—" She stepped back, almost stumbling in her haste. “That’s me!” She lifted her lamp toward the other figure and gasped again as her face stared back at her from that pillar, as well. Both of the nearly nude figures were of her.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or shout or—
A flash of light sparkled outside, near the window. Muttering threats to the absent Marco, she left the fireplace to peer outside, pushing aside the heavy curtains. The strange lights had reappeared and now the entire lawn was filled with them. As she watched, they moved toward the woods, disappearing from sight, one at a time.
First thing in the morning, she’d speak to Marco about the fireplace, but for now, she had a far more pressing errand. Carrying her lamp, she left the dining room and hurried out of the Hall, closing the door quietly behind her. The cool evening air clung to her skin as she walked across the dew-spun lawn and into the darkness of Balesboro.
Marco rubbed his neck and looked around the nearly empty work shop. His work was done. The fireplace surround had been installed, and needed only a little plaster to fill in the few cracks where the marble met the wall. Then, the real work would begin when he and Charlotte faced their families and began their life together as—
He frowned. I didn’t ask her to marry me. That is what she wants, isn’t it? God knew, it was what he wanted. He’d assumed she would wish to marry, but Charlotte was full of surprises and he knew not to take anything for granted.
Distracted, he went to shut the door, his mind twirling around plans involving rings and surprises, when a light caught his eye.
He stepped into the blackness of the stable yard where, in the distance, a lantern bobbed across Nimway’s dark lawn, carried by a person dressed in a long cloak who moved with a telling limp. Where are you going at this time of the night, little one?
Wherever she was going, she wasn’t going alone. He picked up the lantern hanging over his work table and set off after her, his gaze glued to the bobbing light. Please don’t go into the woods. Of the places I don’t want to be at night, these woods would top the list.
But as usual, she didn’t listen. She took the main pathway into the forest. Marco, muttering under his breath about women who wouldn’t listen and crazed owls and the deadly danger of uneven pathways, followed. These woods would be the death of him. What had the groom told him? Ah yes. Evil fairies. Who doesn’t enjoy the company of evil fairies?
Damn that woman! Well, wherever she was going, she was about to have a companion, whether she wanted one or not. Scowling, he found the path she’d taken and followed, his footsteps swallowed by the blackness of the forest.
The tiny lights sprinkled, shimmered, and preened, always just far enough ahead to keep her hurrying, almost running. Panting, she hopped across a fallen branch, holding her skirts higher so they wouldn’t drag in the damp grass.
Her half boots thudded in the soft forest floor, crunching on sticks as she went, branches grabbing at her skirts, her lantern swinging wildly. The scent of crushed grass and damp night air wafted through the air as she hurried on. In the back of her mind, she could almost see Caroline doing the same thing – hurrying after the light, following it into the wood . . . Was that what happened?
But Caroline had been on a horse. Perhaps she’d thought she would be safer on a horse? Or maybe the light had moved too swiftly to catch on foot?
The light danced way ahead, seeming to balance on the end of leaves and on the tips of blades of grass before diving in a twinkle to the base of a tree. Charlotte hurried on, following the twisting path until, at a turn near a gnarled oak, the lights disappeared as suddenly as they appeared.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” She whisked around the path, and came to a halt so fast, her skirts swung forward as she looked around. She’d never seen this particular glen. It was beautiful, a small round clearing in the middle of gentle, swaying trees. The bright moon sparkled on a small silvered pool filled with swaying cattails. In one corner, almost hidden from view, was a thatched crofter’s hut that leaned to one side. Inside the windows, lights sparkled and then disappeared, only to sparkle again. Oh Balesboro, you do like surprises, don’t you?
She walked toward the hut, her boots crackling on fallen twigs. What could be in the—
“What in the hell are you doing?”
She dropped the lantern, the light extinguishing as it hit the ground. Hand over her thundering heart, she wheeled around.
Marco stood at the edge of the clearing, glowering as if he’d caught her stealing. His dark hair was mussed, his shirt torn at one elbow, a vivid scratch glistened on his forearm.
She frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to keep you from being injured.”
She noted where a slow line of blood was soaking into his torn sleeve. “I’m not sure who should be protecting who,” she observed.
He didn’t so much as smile. “What are you—"
A rustle in the trees made her turn. Marco was instantly at her side, his arm around her waist. She clung to his arm, her cheek pressed against him.
No other noise followed, and finally, she stepped away from him and gave an unsteady laugh. “It’s far less friendly here at night.”
“Unfriendly? It’s dangerous.” He growled the words.
“As my sister discovered.”
He winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” He lifted the lantern and looked around the small clearing. “Is this where the accident happened?”
“I don’t know. I never asked. To be honest, I didn’t want to know.”
“That’s understandable. I’m not sure I’d want to know, either.”
She sent him a curious look. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“I saw your lantern, and I worried you might come to some harm. What are you thinking, running into the woods at this time of the night?”
“I saw lights. Dancing lights. Like . . . fairies, or—” She shook her head. “I don’t know what they were, but they came this way.”
He raised his brows. “Do you see them now?”
“No, but they were in the crofter’s cottage when I arrived.”
He bent to pick up her lantern. He peered at it and then set it back on the ground. “I was hoping we could relight it, but the cage is bent.” He looked past her to the cottage. “Maybe these dancing lights will stay long enough to show you what they want you to see.”
She looked at him, surprised. “You believe in fairy lights?”
“You and Nimway have taught me that the impossible can happen.”
Her heart warmed, and she slipped her hand in his. “We should look in the cottage and see what’s to be found.”
His hand tightened over hers and together, they walked to the cottage.
Marco wished the little building wasn’t tucked into the corner of the glen, far out of the natural spill of light. He glanced at the trees where they waved overhead, noting that several branches looked at if they might drop at any minute. He sent them a significant glare. Don’t even think about it, he told them.
He suddenly realized she was watching him, a smile curving her mouth. “What?”
“You’re afraid of Balesboro.”
“I am not.”
She pursed her lips, still looking far too amused.
He scowled in mock outrage. “This wood will not best me. I—”
An owl hooted and he whirled toward the sound, searching the dark branches overhead.
Her chuckle brought him up short. Slowly, he turned back to face her. “I won’t do anything to you here, in this dangerous situation. But once we are safely home, you will pay for every laugh and every giggle.”
Her lips curved intro a smile, and he admired the way the moonlight sparkled over her long hair. She hadn’t taken the time to put it up, and it hung about her face in loose waves, making her appear even younger.
Still smiling, she continued toward the crofter’s cottage. Marco followed, holding the lantern high.
As they neared the cottage, he was unhappy to see that it was far more ramshackle than he’d thought. The shutters hung at drunken angles from their hinges, two of them were missing. The front door was cracked as if someone had kicked it in, and gaping holes showed in the thatched roof. “Are you sure you want to go in there?”
“I have to.”
“What? Why do you have to?”
“I’m the guardian now. And I think those lights may be what drew Caroline into the woods.”
“I see.” That explained so much.
“But . . .” Charlotte frowned. “I can’t see her following lights the way I did. She was like you, and Balesboro made her uncomfortable.”
“I thought you said it protected those from Nimway?”
“It does. It never attacked her the way it does you, but she didn’t like to be here alone.” In the distance, crickets chirped, and toads sang, but it was quiet here in the glen. “I’ll never understand what drew her here. She was afraid of the dark. If she decided to venture into the woods at night – which she would never do – she would have asked me to go with her. Our rooms were right beside each other because sometimes she’d have a bad dream and—” Her voice faltered.
“She’d come to you.”
Charlotte nodded, the moonlight rippling over her loose hair. “She was the pretty one, but to her, I was the brave one. She believed I could do everything she couldn’t.”
“Like ride horses.”
“Which is yet another thing that makes no sense.”
“Do you know what I hear? You have a lot of good reasons to investigate the crofter’s hut, but it’s dark and late.”
Her eyes lifted to his face, almost black in the moonlight.
“You won’t find answers in the middle of the night. Come. I’ll walk you back to the Hall and we’re return tomorrow and face whatever’s here together, in the light of day.” Marco slid his arm about her shoulders and tugged her closer.
“You think that would be best.”
“I do.” He turned, but she didn’t move.
He stopped and looked down at her. “Charlotte?”
“I’m not the brave one.”
The words were whispered, but he heard them as clearly as if she’d yelled them. He was so surprised that he couldn’t speak. She was many things – sharp witted (painfully so), independent, frustrating, and unequivocally brave. “Ah, my love, you are indeed brave. You just don’t know it.” He pulled her closer.
He hadn’t planned on kissing her. He’d just thought to ease the emotion he saw darkening her face. But when he pulled her into his arms, she looked up at him.
He could do many things, but resisting her wasn’t one of them. Not if he tried a thousand times over. She looked so damn appealing, so sensual, and he bent to place his lips over hers—
Bam! The sole hinge holding the door to the cottage broke and sent the broken wood tumbling.
For a long moment, they stared at it.
Charlotte straightened her shoulders and wiped her hands on her skirt. “I’ll be back.”
“But—”
She was gone. In two quick hops, she’d leapt over the broken door and disappeared inside the dark cottage.
Cursing, he started after her, but before he could take more than a step, she’d returned. She stood in the doorway, her hands crossed over her chest. At first, he’d thought she might have injured herself, but as she came closer, he realized she was hugging a small book.
When she reached him, she held it out, the moonlight shimmering on gilded letters embossed on leather. With hands that trembled, her eyes shiny with tears, she said, “It’s Caroline’s diary. Now we’ll know why she was in the woods the night she died.”