Page 44 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
Whichever guardian angel was supposed to be looking after her, she assumed they were having a good chuckle as well. Ursula only hoped they might give themselves a stitch from all the jolly good entertainment, because she wasn’t sure how much more of this celestial humour she could bear.
Ursula got to her feet and picked up the bags.
Logic would dictate that the track led to the castle, so she simply needed to keep walking until she happened upon civilisation—or whatever passed for it in these parts.
She ignored the quiver in her chest as she left the platform, following the track. A brisk pace was the answer, and her eyes on the path at all times. Never mind that the snow was settling on her eyelashes and her teeth wanted to chatter. The castle might be only a mile or two away.
It was beautiful, in an eerie way—everything white and still and quiet.
And with each step, she was closer to sitting before a fire, being offered crumpets, and fruit cake, and scalding hot tea.
As for the matter of impersonating Miss Abernathy, she was a great believer in the power of charm. She mightn’t feel terribly charming at this minute but, once she was warm again, she’d dredge some up.
Onwards she went, the cold breath of the moor on her cheek. The swish of her skirts against the stride of her legs became the rhythmic count to her pacing. She tried to ignore how the bags were making her arms ache.
All had seemed still and silent, but now she heard the invisible. Water trickling nearby. Croaking. A faint hoot.
Then something else.
A distant thud, repetitive and coming closer—though she couldn’t tell from which direction. The mist and snow conspired to deaden sound, while her own breathing seemed to grow louder.
Ursula shivered.
“Is anyone there?” Her voice sounded feeble.
She moved to the edge of the track, peering through the pale vapour.
Something was in the mist. There was a snort and a pawing of the ground.
A stag? She’d never seen one but they were huge, weren’t they?
With horns.
Ursula was unsure what to do for the best. If she stayed upright, she might be gored through on a candelabra of antlers. If she fell to the ground, she could be ridden under-hoof.
Before she had the chance to decide, the creature was upon her. She saw flaring nostrils and a wild eye, and gums drawn back on huge teeth.
Not a stag but a stallion, its hooves rearing up over her head.
Ursula screamed.
“Whoa there, Charon!”
The man pulled his mount round sharply.
“What the hell?” A deep, drawling voice barked out above her. “I damn near killed you!”
Ursula cowered back from the frisking horse and its irate rider, quite unable to find her voice.
In a single bound, the man leapt down to stand before her.
“What in the name of all that’s holy are you doin’, wanderin’ round like a wraith? You scared the bejesus out o’ me.”
Ursula found herself looking at a man taller than any she’d seen before. Tall, wide-shouldered and well-built.
Loose-limbed too.
The way he’d kicked his heels out of the stirrups and thrown his leg over the mount’s head to jump down, he moved like an acrobat.
