“Yer right on that. ‘Tis worse. It kept me awake all night whining like a sniveling bairn. Not to mention its nonstop moaning today. Eating a boy seems the next reasonable step.”
The news of Ian’s restless sleep came as no surprise to Campbell as all dwellings within Dundaire were living, breathing structures. But never had he heard of one claiming its own inhabitants. Outsiders, he could understand, even if he didnae condone the act. But devouring one’s own family? The notion seemed quite unproductive to him. Not that it couldn’t happen, for in a place as wicked as was this part of Scotland, anything was possible. And probably more so after the death of his father, a man much loved by Lycansay Hall. “I have no desire to battle monsters tonight.” He turned and headed back down the corridor.
The rattle of chains echoed behind him.
Campbell froze. His legs went cold, a breeze fluttering the edge of his kilt. He swallowed.
A moan sounded through the corridor.
As did the stomp of bootheels, specifically Ian’s.
A second later a heavy weight clawed at his back. “For the love of Heaven, Ian. Get the bloody hell off me.” He shrugged.
“But I ken the meaning of that noise.”
Again, with the fairy tales. Twisting away from his cousin, Campbell slowly turned around. “I wouldnae put much credence in tall tales, Ian.”
“Do ye have proof they are nae true?”
He couldn’t lie. The tales whispered by the villagers had existed for nearly two thousand years. Even the writings of his own family members included the nightmarish stories. But acknowledging evil only gave it more power and he promised himself long ago that when he became marquis, he’d battle the vile essence that lingered in Dundaire. “I see no beast. The dungeon is completely empty save for us.”
His cousin remained close. “That which is nae seen, is sometimes worse.”
On that, he agreed, but voicing that opinion would only fortify the statement. “I am going upstairs.” Once again, Campbell turned around. “Join me if ye wish, but if ye decide to remain and fight the beasts, ken that ye are on yer own.”
Two steps forward and the skid of boot soles skimming against stone, rung out through the dungeon behind him. The screeching noise grew distant as the intake of a breath, one that distinctly carried aspects of Ian’s voice, sliced the air.
Campbell pivoted.
An empty corridor stared back at him, his cousin nowhere to be seen.
The door at the end of the tunnel slammed shut.
Holding steady, Campbell remained firmly in place.
A hint of frankincense danced on the air, its sweet, citrusy scent impacting his nose on the instant.
Mariah. Of all the tales he’d heard over the years, only one story—the tale of Mariah, the most chilling of all the monsters associated with his bloodline—instilled true fear in him. And not because she was said to be some hideous looking creature, for in truth no one knew for certain what the woman looked like. But it was believed she seduced her victims with deadly poison masked in frankincense before she feasted on their souls. “She cannae truly exist.” His whispered words were more for his sake than for the silent void surrounding him.
Popping up from between two stones in the floor, shot Ian’s diamond-eyed wolf pin. The gold piece of jewelry rotated through the air, then landed face up on the ground and skidded to the edge of Campbell’s right shoe.
He bent and retrieved the pin, his hand trembling.
Leaving Ian in the clutches of a monster was nae an option. The lad was only ten, for the gods’ sakes!
Straightening, he focused his stare toward the end of the corridor and homed in on the wood portal that supposedly led to Mariah’s chamber. He also centered his energies on Lycansay Hall. “Open the cursed door.”
The house groaned.
“I cannae leave Ian to die. I am marquis now and must do as is expected of my title. Mariah may take me in my cousin’s stead.”
Lycansay Hall sent out a loud whine, a shrill that forced Campbell to briefly cover his ears.
The door at the end of the dungeon remained closed.
“If ye force me to fetch the keys, ye will nae get yer cuppa tea tonight.”
The Hall went still.
Campbell dropped his hands from his ears, guilt seeping into his soul. He hated having to resort to threats where the house was concerned, but Lycansay Hall did have a stubborn streak. It also had a voracious appetite for hot tea stirred with honey and