Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Adeline stirred to muted darkness and the kiss of something cold against her skin. Her tired eyes strained to open, but it was like struggling against superglue. She was aware of movement, her body off the ground, being carried somewhere in the gloom.
Panic hit her like a lightning bolt, at the same moment that thunder growled. With the panic, memory flooded in. She’d been on the floor, scraping up bits of broken glass and the remnants of the snow globe scene, when the lights had gone out.
None of the vague pieces of memory afterward made any sense, though. She’d collapsed suddenly, as though someone had struck her in the back of the head, knocking her out. After that, she remembered the dull thud of a headache, and the sound of male voices all around her, and a nipping wind snapping at her face.
The headache was still there, growing worse with every second, but the male voices had gone away.
I’ve been kidnapped…
A lightbulb went off in her head. It was the only explanation. Someone had stalked her home, waited for the storm to cover the sounds of their approach, and snuck in to kidnap her.
And she had a feeling she knew exactly who was responsible—someone who needed to make her disappear before she could cuss him out in front of his peers for being a monumental, renowned creep.
Concentrating on a flash of light that pierced her eyelids, she forced her eyes open… and stared up at the face of a man who couldn’t have been more different from Dr. Platt if he tried. In fact, for a second or two, she wondered if she was still out cold, and he was just some manifestation from her subconscious.
No one was that handsome in real life. No one.
A strong jaw sported short, dark stubble, leading up to sharp cheekbones and a sloping, wide nose that reminded her of a tiger she’d seen once at the Turtle Back Zoo. His gleaming eyes, reflecting the flare of the lightning, did nothing to dispel the image of a powerful predator, though she couldn’t make out their color. In the midst of the storm, they just looked black.
His hair was dark, too, shaven at the sides and long on top, the lengthier locks held back from his face by several bands of twisted golden wire. A scar ran through his left eyebrow, shining silver every time the lightning flashed.
He seemed to be a giant, too, judging by the distance between her and the ground, his muscular arms carrying her with ease, his broad chest so wide that she felt tiny against his immense body.
For a foolish moment, she considered resting her head on his wide shoulder, just to see what it felt like, and then immediately remembered that she was in the middle of a kidnapping.
No one would know she’d been taken, not for days. Jane might worry, but it wouldn’t have been the first time that Adeline disappeared for weeks on end, overwhelmed with her studies.
And Emma wouldn’t notice until the day after Christmas, between her imminent hangover and spending time with her enormous family. By then, Adeline sensed she’d be in a shallow grave somewhere, or locked in Dr. Platt’s basement until she promised not to blow the whistle on him.
Dr. Platt must’ve hired this man .
Her stomach sank. The most handsome men were always the most dangerous.
“I have money,” Adeline croaked. “You don’t need to do this.”
The man glanced down at her, saying nothing.
“What did you do to me? Did you hit me in the head? I might have a concussion,” she rambled on. “If you don’t seek medical attention for me, I might die. You don’t want that.”
The man narrowed his eyes, their color still a mystery. “Are ye injured?” he asked, in a thick accent that took her a few seconds to decipher.
It wasn’t an unfamiliar accent, but her foggy brain couldn’t place it. Still, it definitely didn’t sound American—not her part of the States, anyway. Minnesota, maybe?
“My head,” she confirmed, though the ache was nothing like the headaches or migraines she experienced before.
Instead, it was more like vertigo—her stomach queasy, the world around her tilting and spinning, like she’d been riding a loop-the-loop rollercoaster for hours or had drunk a few more bottles of wine.
“You didn’t hit me?”
Annoyance crinkled the handsome stranger’s nose. “Nay, I dinnae hit ye. I daenae ken what happened to ye.”
She had only a vague idea of what he was saying, a wave of nausea sweeping through her, preventing her from concentrating on his accented words.
She closed her eyes and pinched the fleshy spot between her thumb and forefinger, focusing everything she had on not throwing up on the man carrying her.
It wasn’t backed up by science, but her mom had always told her that she could quell nausea by pinching that spot between her thumb and forefinger, and as she couldn’t exactly put her head between her legs, it was the only thing she could do. That, and taking deep breaths.
Where am I?
She realized, even with her eyes shut, that her surroundings looked nothing like New Jersey. Not the part where she lived, at least. Why would Dr. Platt have had her kidnapped and then taken to the beach? A beach that didn’t resemble any she’d been to before.
Slowly, the man holding her came to a halt. Adeline squeezed her eyes shut tighter, preparing herself for what might happen next. She was half-expecting to find herself beside a car, with the trunk popped open to accommodate her before she was taken to her final destination.
Never let them take you to a second destination.
She’d heard the warning a thousand times before, from all of the true crime documentaries she liked to watch to unwind.
Yet, who knew how many destinations she’d already been taken to, after being abducted from her apartment? But this might well be the last chance she had to make a run for it. She just had to hope that her legs would cooperate.
Just then, the man cleared his throat pointedly, like she was wasting his time.
Adeline’s eyes popped open against her better judgment, to find him staring down at her.
“We’re here, lass,” he said coldly. “Can ye walk?”
“We’re where?”
She started at the sight of an old stone wall, rising up in front of her. Straight ahead, a curved wooden doorway, almost medieval with iron studs poking out, stood half open.
Where was the getaway car? Where was the abandoned warehouse where no one would hear her scream, or a gunshot ring out? And since when had there been what appeared to be a medieval castle in New Jersey?
“Where ye’re goin’ to rest awhile before I send ye back from wherever ye came from,” he replied curtly. “Unless ye’d prefer to stay out by the fishin’ boats in the middle of this storm? I daenae like yer chances, but I willnae force ye to stay here if ye would rather freeze yerself to death. That bein’ said, ye daenae seem willin’ to leave these arms of mine.”
Adeline blinked up at him, clearing her throat as she wriggled a little. “You can set me down.”
“As ye wish.”
He tipped her, putting her feet back on solid ground.
But as she tried to take a step forward, her wobbly legs betrayed her. Fresh dizziness roiled in her head, bending her limbs out of shape, and sending a cold sweat down the back of her neck as dark spots danced in her field of vision. She stumbled forward, grabbing the closed side of the door to keep herself upright.
All ordinary symptoms of a concussion, she told herself, soothing her racing thoughts with a practical medical diagnosis. Nothing to worry about, for now. Drink fluids, don’t sleep, and keep monitoring it. No pain medication until other possible causes have been eliminated.
“I daenae think ye ought to be walkin’ anywhere, nae without drawin’ attention to yerself,” the man said, scooping her back up into his arms before she could protest.
Too shocked to argue, still wondering where the getaway car was, she stayed quiet and still as he carried her inside the castle.
The world around her only became stranger as they passed through a passageway and into a large courtyard, with a towering castle ahead and longer, stone buildings running down two sides.
Dead center, a goat stared at her. A moment later, it unleashed an almighty bleat that frightened her out of her skin. But the goat wasn’t the only animal. There were chickens, more goats, a few sheep, several donkeys, and a gaggle of geese and ducks sheltering in the courtyard to get out of the worst of the storm.
Hallucinations?
She closed her eyes and opened them again. The goat kept glaring at her as if to say, “I’m not going to vanish just to make you feel better.”
Hallucinations could be a symptom of concussion, or something worse, but these were way too real, too visceral, and… far too smelly to be made up.
Heading inside the towering castle, she was carried down narrow hallways and up winding staircases, the wind howling through every slitted window and wooden shutter, until they came to another curved doorway. The man booted it open with his foot.
In the room beyond, a woman screamed.
“Have pity on yer poor sister!” a crackly female voice barked. “Honestly, hoofin’ open doors like a donkey with a bad temper. I’d just managed to get her out of the blankets, ye oaf!”
Adeline saw the source of the textured voice. She was the most beautiful woman Adeline had ever seen. Tall and willowy, with flowing silver hair down to her waist, and the sort of face that ancient poets would have waxed lyrically about. Ethereal, only growing more beautiful with age, defying society’s expectations.
The older woman’s eyes widened as she met Adeline’s gaze. “So, there was a lass,” she mused. “I thought yer sister was babblin’ nonsense when she said ye’d run out to find a lass on the shore. Actually, nay, I thought it was an excuse nae to watch over her anymore, but… I can admit when I was wrong. What’s yer name, lass?”
Adeline couldn’t speak, her attention fixed on the strange clothes that the woman was wearing—a gown of blue and silver with a tight bodice and full skirts that swept out in a train behind her, and sleeves that gathered in ruffles at the elbow. Not the sort of thing anyone Adeline knew would casually wear on an evening.
Just then, another woman emerged from beneath a pile of blankets and furs, much younger but equally as beautiful as her older counterpart, with skin like cream and raven dark hair that had been teased free of a bun by the blankets. The man’s sister, Adeline assumed.
“Goodness me, have ye seen her hair!” the woman cried. “How did ye do that? Can ye teach me? Ma, do ye think I’d look fair with purple in me hair?”
The older woman lifted a finger to her lips. “Hush, Moira, else ye’ll scare the lass. She already looks like a rabbit surrounded by foxes.” She came over, taking hold of Adeline’s hand. “I’m Sophie. Lady Gibson, if ye prefer, though I daenae.”
Adeline still couldn’t reply, startled by how warm and real Sophie’s hand felt in hers.
“Does she nae speak? Is she mute?” Sophie looked at her son for answers.
He shrugged. “She spoke just fine outside.”
“Are you… in the middle of a costume ball or something?” Adeline blurted out, thinking of the only conclusion that made any sense.
People had all sorts of parties at Christmas, so why not a medieval costume ball? If it even was medieval. She had no idea.
Sophie frowned. “Nay, Miss.” She glanced at her son. “Did she hit her head, Logan? Have ye checked for cuts and bruises?”
“She complained of a sore head, aye,” the man, presumably Logan, replied.
Logan…
Adeline might’ve smiled if she hadn’t been so scared. It was a nice name. Masculine and pleasant on the tongue. She thought it suited him, but that might have been the concussion talking.
Sophie moved to touch the back of Adeline’s head, making her flinch. “I’m nae goin’ to hurt ye,” she said. “I just want to see.”
“I’m fine,” Adeline insisted, wriggling in Logan’s arms once more until she was standing shakily on her own two feet. “Did Dr. Platt set this up? Where are the cameras, huh? Is he trying to prove I’m not in my right mind or something?”
Sophie reached for her hands, steadying her. “I daenae ken a Dr. Platt, Miss, nor what a camera might be.”
“You’re not working for him?” Adeline turned to stare into Logan’s concerned eyes.
They were blue , she realized, but not the icy blue of Dr. Platt’s eyes, nor any shade of blue she’d seen before. They were a dark, cobalt blue, flecked with tiny lines of gold, and there was a small brown freckle at the bottom of his left iris.
“I daenae work for anyone, lass,” Logan replied flatly. “I’m Laird of this keep—this island.”
Sophie tugged her toward the bed, urging her to sit down. “Please, let me check the back of yer head. Ye might be right that ye’re nae in yer right mind. Ye daenae sound like ye are.”
“Daenae touch her anymore, m'lady!” another man shouted sharply. A huge man who had been hiding in the shadows. He dwarfed Logan with his tremendous height, his barrel chest so wide that it looked like he was permanently holding his breath.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Whyever nae, Theo?”
“She… might be a witch, m'lady,” the man, Theo, replied hesitantly. “That purple in her hair, that bearskin she’s wearin’, the way she speaks—it isnae normal, m'lady. I’ve a feelin’ she isnae… natural. Och, I mean, she was lyin’ there on the beach as dry as kindlin’! Didnae look like she’d been in the water at all.”
Adeline snorted, her discomfort transforming into hysterical laughter that bubbled out of her uncontrollably, no doubt making her look even more insane to whichever hidden cameras were recording her at that very moment.
Evidence for Dr. Platt to show his peers… or some kind of set-up from Emma to get her to join the party. Maybe Adeline had gotten it wrong. Maybe the party was in the Hamptons. That would explain the way the beach looked, and, in the daylight, perhaps the castle would prove itself to be nothing more than a millionaire’s mansion.
It's Emma . It has to be.
“That laughin’ isnae natural either,” Theo muttered, throwing his hands up. “Please, Miss, daenae turn me into a frog. I meant nay disrespect. I’ll beg on me knees for yer forgiveness.”
The thought of such an enormous man getting down to his knees, hands clasped, pleading for her to forgive him, was the straw that broke the back of Adeline’s sanity camel.
More laughter poured out of her, her hands braced against her wheezing ribs, her mind spinning at the madness of the elaborate trick. Now, she was just waiting for the punchline—Emma stepping forward to give her a gown and invite her to the party, saying something like, “I told you I’d get you here, one way or another. It’s Christmas, after all!”
“She isnae a witch,” Logan said sharply as he stood over her, squinting down as she cried tears of hilarity. “Let’s begin at the beginnin’, eh—what’s yer name?”
Adeline caught her breath, swallowing her giggles. “Adeline. My mom really loved Virginia Woolf but hated Virginia as a name. Said it would get me bullied.”
It was a story she’d told a million times, usually getting a few understanding laughs, but the group of four in the room with her stared back at her blankly.
“You know,” she continued, “because Adeline was her real first name.”
More blank looks.
“I’m sure she’s a… lovely woman,” Sophie said, patting Adeline’s hand. “Was she a friend of yer maither?”
Adeline’s head was starting to pound again. “No—the writer, Virginia Woolf.”
“Cannae say I’ve heard of her,” Sophie replied, “but we daenae get too many new books here on the island, so ye mustnae think me uncivilized. I do me best with what we have.”
Adeline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, you’re all very good actors, but the jig is up. Just get Emma in here, and I swear I’ll go to the Christmas party without complaint. I get it—she didn’t want me to be alone on Christmas, she knew when I was getting off work, and she had me brought here by force because that’s the only way I’d come. Where is she? Please, bring her here before I really start to believe I’m going mad.”
The silence in the room thickened until she’d have needed a saw to cut through it. Furtive glances ricocheted between the unfamiliar quartet, spiking her uneasiness. Clearly, she’d said something wrong.
“I think ye ought to come with me. Ye might nae be a witch, but ye’re nae welcome,” Logan said darkly, hauling her up off the bed and throwing her over his shoulder before she had a chance to ask, “What did I say?”
Yet, as he carried her out of the room, and she saw the pale and horrified faces of the two women still within, she had a horrible feeling that this had nothing to do with Emma, or a Christmas party, or even Dr. Platt.
Something was very wrong, and the constant thudding in her head held the key. But she already had part of the answer teetering on the tip of her thoughts.
She was suffering an affliction far worse than a concussion.