Dark Enchantment (17 page)

Ouch.
Wounded by the formality of his tone, Arianna stiffened. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable.”

As Caleb was getting out of the Land Rover, an older man with a slight, wiry build, opened Arianna’s door. Caleb rounded the rear of the vehicle and the man stepped aside, his head inclined in respect. Caleb’s wide boyish grin evidenced his fondness for the little man, doing away with any misconception that he required such deference.

“Arianna Sullivan meet Flanagan, steward of the demesne,” Caleb introduced them. “If you’re in need of anything when I’m not around, he’d be the one to sort it for you.”

“Miss Sullivan.” The small man inclined his head again. Attired in stately black with a crisp white shirt peeking out from beneath his jacket’s lapel, his demeanor was so utterly reserved Arianna half-expected him to click his heels.

The mental image that presented was so absurd, especially after the absolute insanity she had experienced so far that day, that it instantly triggered Arianna’s giggle nerve. You know, that uncontrollable urge to laugh, to dissolve into a fit of hilarity, and always at the most inappropriate of moments. Like during a church service. Or a funeral. Or like right now, when laughing in someone’s face would be unforgivably rude.

To stifle the frantic urge, she bit down hard on her lower lip. The self-inflicted pain seemed to do the trick. “Please. Call me Arianna.”

“Of course, Miss…Arianna.” Her request that he breach proper etiquette with so gauche a display of familiarity was clearly beyond the little man. But it was the way he had strung the words together—like one of the old Gullah servants in
Gone with the Wind—
that finally did her in.
Oh, God…he’s killing me!

As laughter bubbled up her throat, Arianna knew she was finished. So, she did the first thing that came to mind—which was to move hastily into Caleb’s arms and bury her face against his broad shoulder. Then, body shaking, eyes spilling over with tears, she dissolved into a silent fit of giggles. Her only salvation at this point would be if the two men were to believe that the poor girl had burst into sobs, finally overwhelmed by the emotional upheavals of the day.

For a moment, Caleb held her stiffly, as though shocked by the unforeseen outburst. But then she felt his arms tighten around her. Stroking her hair, he murmured words of encouragement.

Sniffling, she lifted her head off his shoulder and began to ease away from him.
Awkward.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, cheeks on fire at the awful spectacle she had made of herself.

“Not a’tall. Sure haven’t you had a trying day altogether.” Though Caleb spoke the words soothingly, the glint of amusement in his eyes revealed the truth.
He knew!

“Flanagan, I’ve a meeting in town. Arianna’s feeling a bit stressed. Will you show her to her rooms, please?” He turned to her. “I hate leaving you here on the doorstep like this—”

“It’s okay, go.” He seemed undecided. “
Seriously
, I mean it. I’d like to freshen up a bit, maybe lie down for awhile. I’m sure Mr. Flanagan will help me get settled in just fine.”

At that, the man coughed. Color splotched his sallow cheeks as he drew himself up to every inch of his five-foot stature. “The chamber maid will assist you directly, miss.”

Caleb quirked an eyebrow at his manservant’s discomfiture and sent Arianna a tiny wink. “‘Tis Flanagan’s own granddaughter, sweet Molly, who’ll be looking after you,
cailín
.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Arianna saw a heavy-set man with a shock of strawberry-blonde curls struggle past them loaded down with her luggage. Huffing and wheezing, he climbed the stone steps and disappeared through the castle entrance. Why had she packed so much? Just how long did she plan to stay here in Camelot, anyway?

Giving her arm a squeeze, Caleb brushed a kiss across her cheek. The steward’s gray eyebrows rose in disapproval. “I’ll be off. Let Flanagan know if you require anything.”

As Arianna followed Flanagan up the wide stone steps of the gothic fortress, angry clouds crept across the meager sun, like a shade drawn to shut out the light. A jittery sense of foreboding came with an unsettling question.

Just what had she gotten herself into?

Chapter Eighteen

A
rianna preceded Flanagan through the grand entrance into a towering foyer. A crystal chandelier spilled shards of light over dark wood furnishings and floors inlaid with gray marble. Heavy antique pieces, velvets, silks and brocades comprised the décor. Verdant with living greenery, the foyer resembled a forest garden. Plants of every variety overflowed solid brass planters and urns, and spilled over exquisite pieces of blown glass and hand-made pottery. The heady perfume of fresh cut flowers mingled with the homey scents of aged wood, burning peat and lemony furniture oils.

Following the steward down a hall to the right of the entrance, she passed an elegant selection of paintings and other works of art. In this setting of quietly stated opulence, she would have bet there wasn’t a print or a copy amongst them.

Flanagan led her upstairs, around and around a narrow, winding staircase carved from stone. “Guest rooms are on the fourth floor,” he informed her as they stepped off onto a small landing and traversed a corridor the length of a city block. About halfway down the hall, he opened a door and stepped back. “Molly’s been up to unpack your things. I’ll send her back in a bit with your tea.”

“Thank you, Flanagan.”

Still stiff with disapproval over the PDA he had observed between her and his employer, he gave an abrupt nod and turned to leave. Arianna reached out to latch the door behind him, only to discover there was no lock. Although she felt somewhat uncomfortable with the lack of privacy, she certainly couldn’t fault the accommodations. The spacious suite consisted of a private sitting area, a gargantuan bedroom, and a walk-in powder room that opened onto a private bath. Furnishings were heavy and masculine, like the main areas of the house…uh, er…
castle
, she corrected and grinned. “Awesome. I’m staying in a real Irish castle.”

The flakes of ash floating in the air at the cottage had left a sooty film on Arianna’s skin. Intent on scrubbing it off, she expected a drafty, unpleasant dip in an ancient tub. But upon opening the bathroom door, she found a marble-floored convenience, replete with tiled walls and gleaming full-length mirrors. Bending over the over-sized sunken tub, she rotated a brass fixture at its center. Hot, steamy water poured from the faucet, as a heating unit overhead automatically began to hum and glow.

Her bath oil decanter, razor, shaving cream, shampoo and conditioner—items from her cosmetic case—had been set within easy reach on a shelf above the tub. Ferns and leafy green plants that thrive in the forest and other moist, dark places spilled over the ledge of the shelf above it.

She sighed audibly as she immersed herself in the hot, fragrant bath, and rested her head on a bath cushion attached to one end.
Sheer decadence.
She fiddled with a dial on the side of the tub and soothing jets began to rumble and whir. The water flowing from them whipped the bath oil into mountainous clouds of white foam. She could feel the stress draining from her body like golden wisps of honey dripping off a spoon. “Ah, pure heaven,” she purred. “A girl could really get used to this.”

On the verge of dozing off, she dragged her slumberous body out of the water. God forbid young Molly should have to report to the stone-faced Flanagan that their ignominious houseguest had been found floating in the guestroom tub.

Most inappropriately naked—and even more inappropriately dead.

Arianna stepped under a multi-headed shower on a stone wall on the other side of the room to wash her hair. Then she toweled off, sloughed lotion all over still-moist skin, and bundled up in her big fluffy bathrobe, laid out on a padded bench beside the tub.

Back in the bedroom, she searched through an antique tallboy in the corner for the clothes missing from her suitcases. She pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a tee.

Same as at the cottage, she could find no electrical outlets in the bathroom. Figuring it was an Irish statutory thing, she plugged her blowdryer in beside the bed. She climbed up the bedsteps onto an elevated, pillow-top mattress and sat cross-legged while she dried her long, thick hair. When it was done, she flopped backward onto the gold brocade duvet with a tired sigh. “Rest my eyes for just a minute,” she yawned. “Then I’ll go exploring.

* * *

A light tapping on the door woke her out of a sound and dreamless sleep. Feeling disoriented in a room that was pitch dark, it took a couple of seconds for her to remember where she was. Then it all came rushing back to her.
Caleb…the castle…

Groping blindly for a lamp beside the bed, she flicked it on. A glance at the drop-dial clock on the wall had her groaning. Almost six o’clock. Darned if she hadn’t slept the entire afternoon away.

Another hesitant knock and a muffled voice called to her through the heavy wood door leading to the hall. “Miss…Arianna? Dinner’s served in the great hall in half an hour.”

Great Hall? Sweet.
“Oh, thanks, Mr. Flanagan,” she called out loudly enough to be heard through the sitting room.

“I’ll return in twenty-five minutes, miss, to escort you down below.”

“Perfect. I’ll be ready.”

With a huge yawn and a feline stretch, Arianna clambered out of bed. At the tallboy, she pulled out a pair of black silk panties and matching bra. Catching a subtle whiff of her signature fragrance, she sniffed at the air. Jasmine and geranium, essentials oils of lavender and rose. Yep, it was the unique scents she had combined when creating her own personal fragrance at an herb shop back home. Apparently, Molly had made a perfumed sachet to tuck inside the drawers.

“Hmm… Casual? Formal? Just what does one wear for dinner at a medieval castle?” she wondered aloud. Opening the double doors to a dark worm-holed wardrobe, she selected a long, flowing peasant style dress. The deep mauve cotton-blend boasted cream-colored embroidery at the neck and wrists. Simple, yet stylish.

She finished a light application of makeup and was dragging a brush through her hair when she heard the anticipated knock on the door.

“Be right there, Flanagan.” Dashing back to the wardrobe for a black lace shawl in case it got chilly, she opened the door. Her heart did a little flip. “Caleb.”

“Arianna.” His voice was deep and smoky; his appreciative gaze whispered over her flesh like spun sugar. “Lovely,” he said softly.

Accepting the arm he so gallantly offered, she smiled up at him. “Why thank you, Sir. You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about Granny. I called the hospital yesterday, but they wouldn’t give me any information. Said I’d have to speak to the family.”

“We restricted inquiries so she’ll have a bit of a rest. They’re doing a battery of tests, but she’s on the mend, thanks be to God. I’ll let her know you’ve been asking after her.”

“At her age I’m kind of surprised that she doesn’t live here with you.”

“
Ach
, yer wan is much too set in her ways to agree to such an arrangement. I suggested she come here for a wee while to get her strength back after she’s released from hospital.” Caleb gave a sheepish grin. “And the auld woman just about ate the head off me.”

Arianna chuckled. At the narrow stairwell, Caleb stepped aside for her to move in front of him. Passing the third floor landing, he pointed out, “This level houses the servants quarters, though most of the staff choose to live in their own homes on the demesne.”

In the enclosed space, his subtle scent teased her senses. Fresh air and green forests, leather and a hint of sandalwood soap. Very masculine. Uniquely Caleb.

There was one good thing about staying here. It would grant her the opportunity to explore yet another facet of his fascinating personality. The private side. The one he revealed to those with whom he shared his home.

Arianna had experienced his reserve, his reticence. The discreet air of arrogance of which he seemed unaware. But here, where the man’s home really
was
his castle, she noticed the changes in him. Her date of the previous evening—the casually clad owner of a stud farm—had been replaced by the tall, dark, and dangerous lord of the manor. A refined man of the world, the epitome of sophistication and charm, and an inherently lethal grace.

Now how freaking sexy was that?

On the second floor, they turned right onto a corridor bisected further down by another hallway. They turned again and passed through a gigantic set of double doors that were open wide.

The Great Hall was milling with activity. Built into either end of the palatial room were fireplaces large enough to roast a whole cow. At the far end of the room, a massive head table constructed of intricately carved dark wood sat on a raised dais. Nearby, a small group of men huddled in a circle conversing. Trestle tables scattered about the room were filling up quickly. Arianna estimated about eighty people in all. “What’s going on?” she asked. “A banquet?”

“The evening meal.” Caleb took her arm to escort her up the three leather-inlaid stairs to the dais.

The evening meal?

As they took their seats, the men in a huddle began to gravitate toward the head table. While Caleb welcomed his guests, Arianna poured herself a goblet of water from a silver pitcher within easy reach. It was surreal, she thought. Rather like waking up and finding yourself in the sixteenth century. The quaint setting included an extravagance of plush, colorful tapestries. A scatter of expensive Aubusson carpets stretched across the bare stone of the floor. The thick, rich fabrics served a dual purpose, she supposed, there not only for their beauty, but to retain the warmth generated by the dueling infernos in the matching hearths.

Caleb joined her again and introduced her to his guests as they took their seats. Brian Rafferty, an attractive man with white-silver hair, looked to be about fifty. His eyes, a strange hue of silver-gray, reminded Arianna of a wolf. As she shook his hand, she noted something so unpleasant—so completely unnerving—about the contact that she pulled away. The eerie sensation of having had one’s soul invaded remained with her.

After that, she kept her hand purposefully in her lap, offering only a smile and a brief nod as she met the rest of the group. There was MacDara Darmody, tall and lean, with chestnut brown hair and eyes like sweet dark chocolate. Tomas O’Dhea had a swarthy complexion, likely of Spanish origin. Both men she estimated to be about Caleb’s age. Fair-haired Padraig Murphy appeared slightly older than the others; however, age had done nothing to diminish his lazy sensuality and striking good looks.

Arianna realized she was the only woman at the table. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but the way Caleb’s friends kept glancing her way while conversing was unsettling She felt as if she were on display, an insect under a microscope.

Flanagan seated himself unobtrusively at the end of the table closest to the kitchen. When a priest joined them the older man started to push to his feet, but the man of God squeezed Flanagan’s shoulder. “Sit now, sir. No need to go troubling yourself.”

At Caleb’s direction, the priest took the vacant seat beside Arianna. “James, I’d like you to meet Arianna Sullivan,” he said. “She’ll be staying with us for a while. Arianna, Father James Conneely, a childhood friend and our castle chaplain.”

Good heavens. The man had his own private priest?

“Miss Sullivan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Father Conneely’s blue eyes were kind as he offered his hand. Feeling distinctly put on the spot, Arianna accepted the contact warily. But his touch was warm and comforting, allaying any lingering anxiety.

“And I you, Father. But please, call me Arianna.”

He leaned closer, his tone confidential. “Wasn’t Caleb after mentioning you’d a bit of scare at your own place earlier today. So distressing, that sort of thing. I trust you’re feeling better now.” His hazel eyes warmed with concern.

Arianna smiled at him. “It was a shock, I admit. But I think I’m over the worst of it.”

He nodded sagely and gave her hand a gentle pat before releasing it.

Caleb stood to his feet and raised both hands in a gesture for silence. Conversations and titters of laughter quickly tapered off. “We’ll all bow our heads now,” he directed, “while Father Conneely offers the blessing.”

After a short prayer, the happy rumble of voices again filled the air, and a flurry of activity began on the part of the kitchen staff. Bottles of red wine were uncorked and left to breathe. Bottles of white, iced down in silver buckets, were placed on the tables. Carts laden with steaming platters were rolled into the Great Hall in a steady stream. “Mmm, everything smells wonderful. And I’m starved, haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast.”

Caleb smiled. “Molly went up with a tray for your tea, but found you sleeping.”

“Yeah, I just died.” Surveying the scene around her, she said, “So, this is evening meal, huh? You put on a major production like this every night?”

“An old family custom, the gathering of all who work at the castle for dinner.” He held a bottle of red wine poised over her stemmed crystal glass and raised his brows.

She gave her head a shake. “Better not. Red gives me a wicked headache. But I’d love a glass of white.”

Retrieving a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from a silver bucket, he filled her glass.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting all the modern conveniences here,” Arianna told him as he poured. “The Jacuzzi was an especially nice surprise.”

“A surprise. Why’s that?”

“Well, I’ve read books about how bleak and miserable castle-living was—”

“Not
this
castle,” Caleb offered dryly.

“Apparently not.” She smiled and sipped her wine. The cool, crisp taste burst pleasantly on her tongue.

Kitchen workers lined up in front of the head table, each laden with a heaping platter. “Good heavens. I’ve never seen so much food at one time,” Arianna remarked.

“Spoilt for choice,” her host agreed.

Aside from main courses of beef, chicken and pork, there were several Irish dishes she had never tried. In a large tureen was nettle soup. “
Stinging
nettles?” she asked incredulously.