Chapter 19
By the following morning, the faint tinge of green that had stained the sky the evening before was gone.
The ethereal hue was visible only in the darkness.
It came as if out of nowhere, then vanished again as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving one to wonder whether they’d seen it at all.
But as mystical as it appeared, it was science, not prophecy.
The green color was a product of the orange glow of the waning sunset illuminating the blue water droplets inside the clouds, and Freya had seen it enough times to know there was no magic in it.
That green meant the same thing, every time.
The storm would come. Even now the clouds were turning darker, the ominous gray deepening.
She’d been watching them for hours.
The breakfast hour had come and gone, but she hadn’t ventured downstairs. One of the housemaids had come with a tray of tea and toast, but it sat untouched on a small table, the tea gone cold.
She wasn’t hiding, of course.
Her bedchamber window happened to offer the best view of the sky, that was all. Still, there was only so long a lady could bear to linger in her bedchamber without going mad. Even now the walls seemed closer and the air staler than it had been an hour earlier.
How she missed her beloved turret! She could tuck herself out of sight on the roof as snug as a mouse in a hole and enjoy the fresh air without anyone knowing she was there.
It made the perfect hiding place for—
No. Not a hiding place. She wasn’t hiding, dash it. Not then, and not now.
But if she did wish to go outside, she’d better go now, before the heavens unleashed the fury that was swelling in the banks of clouds rolling across the sky over Kildary.
She’d have a quick walk only, just long enough to fill her lungs with fresh air, and she’d remain close to the castle.
She strode toward the bedchamber door, taking up the thick, dark green cloak Mrs. Doherty had brought, but she paused at the sight of Cat’s blue cloak draped over the back of a chair, where she’d left it last night.
It was silly, of course. The wind would make quick work of Cat’s poor, ratty old cloak, sneaking into every tiny tear, every loose seam. The green one was much warmer, and yet …
She snatched up the blue cloak. It would do well enough for a brief walk. She slid her arms into the sleeves and fastened the cloak snugly around her neck, but she left the hood down.
Cowering under a hood was too much like hiding.
Perhaps she did scurry down the staircase like a fox fleeing the hounds, and she may have allowed herself a sigh of relief when she found the entryway deserted …
But that was her affair, and no one else’s.
She wandered the garden pathways for some time, avoiding the rose garden and instead retracing the steps she and Mr. Corbett had taken the day before, but she soon grew bored with walking in circles, and wandered deeper into the grounds, passing the kitchen garden and the dairy as she meandered along.
It grew darker as the clouds advanced, and the wind picked up, plastering the skirts of the cloak against her legs. An earthy odor filled her nose, and the air around her crackled with portent.
There was no rain yet, but she kept one eye on the sky, and the other on the castle. It wouldn’t do to wander too far, and be caught out when the rain—
“… made it back to the castle in good time.”
The lady’s voice interrupted her musing, faint but unmistakable.
It sounded like …
Oh, no. It was.
Lorna Niven was coming out of the stables, the ribbons of her riding hat dancing wildly in the wind. Her head was turned away from Freya as she spoke to someone behind her.
Callum appeared in the stable doorway an instant later. They proceeded down the pathway together, walking side by side, so close their shoulders brushed.
They must be returning from the cottages. Callum had said he’d ride out this morning to warn them of the approaching storm and must have invited Lorna to accompany him.
Whatever Miss Niven was saying to Callum was making him smile.
It wasn’t as if she planned to evade them. Her feet made the decision for her.
Such a humiliating act of cowardice was unworthy of her, but Callum’s smile as he gazed down at Lorna was … well, she simply couldn’t make herself face them right now.
She darted left, off the pathway toward a small copse of towering oaks a dozen paces away, her cheeks heating with shame as she ducked behind the tallest of them.
God above, she was every bit the quivering mouse she’d always been, but if she must sacrifice her pride to protect her heart, then so be it.
She waited, her breath held as Callum and Miss Niven made their way down the pathway toward the castle. As soon as they’d rounded the corner by the dovecote and were out of sight she flew toward the stables without looking back.
By the time she reached the stable door she was panting, but she wrenched it open and darted inside, dragging it closed behind her before falling back against it and pressing a hand to her chest. Under her palm, her heart was thrashing about in a frenzy, as if it were about to leap from her rib cage and fall to the dusty floor at her feet.
Her head landed against the door behind her with a dull thump. What a fool she was. If she expired right here, she’d have no one to blame for it but herself.
Yet there was no denying the relief sweeping through her. As it turned out, forcing oneself to make polite chitchat with the man one had exchanged a dozen secret kisses with was an awkward thing, and best avoided.
She hadn’t yet visited the stables, in any case, and she’d been curious about them. The roof was visible from her bedchamber, and it was a massive timbered affair, the heavy beams a pleasing, dark honey brown from three centuries of weathering.
Inside, it smelled of leather and fresh, clean hay. A few raindrops began to fall, their soft patter hitting the roof above her. If she didn’t fancy being caught in a downpour she’d have to return to the castle soon, but there was time yet.
She wandered farther inside, peering into the corners as she went.
It was dim, but not as dim as she would have expected. She followed the pale light into the main part of the stables. Wide stalls lined the walls on both sides, and each one had its own half-moon–shaped window behind it.
How handsome it was! But then a lovely castle must have lovely stables.
She wandered about for a bit, stroking a velvety nose here and there and murmuring to the horses as she went, until she reached the last stall in the row. Callum’s horse Titan was inside it, calmly helping himself to some hay.
“Hello there.”
The horse lifted his head, his liquid dark eyes on her.
She edged closer, bracing a hand on a thick beam beside the stall so she might see over the top of the tall door.
It was spacious inside, as befit a horse of Titan’s stature, with an abundance of clean bedding hay arranged neatly along the side of the wall.
“My, that is a snug bed you have.” Titan knickered a response, and she ran a hand over his sleek, muscular neck. “There, you’re a handsome gentleman, aren’t you?”
She crooned to him for a bit, but it wouldn’t do to linger too long. The wind had risen even in the short time she’d been here, and the rain would follow soon enough.
But just as she was turning toward the stable door, ready to make her way back to the castle, a movement caught her eye, and she paused.
What in the world? The beam on which she’d been resting her hand was moving.
She stepped closer, peering at it in the dim light. “My goodness. Where did you all come from?”
A caravan of determined spiders was marching along in a dark parade of furry bodies and scrambling legs as thin as threads.
There was nothing unusual about spiders in a stable, of course, but there were so many! Dozens of them—no, not dozens, but hundreds of them were scurrying busily about as if on some sort of spidery mission.
Where had they all come from?
She peered up into the rafters, and above her, she could just make out the silky threads of spiderwebs tucked into the corners where the beams met. Some of the spiders were coming from there, while others had made their homes in the deep cracks in the weathered wood.
They were all moving in the same direction.
Down, toward the floor.
How curious. The spiders were abandoning their webs.
She didn’t know much about spiders. Insects, animals, and most particularly birds were more Sorcha’s area of expertise. She and the spiders had come to an unspoken truce years ago. They kept to their part of the castle, and she kept to hers.
It was a mutually agreeable arrangement, spiders being, upon the whole, averse to being crushed under careless feet, while she was averse to eight-legged crawly things creeping up her skirts or into her sleeves.
Or worse, into her hair.
There wasn’t a lady alive who wanted spiders in her hair.
She’d encroached upon the spiders’ territory this afternoon, however.
Wasn’t there an old wives’ tale about spiders abandoning their webs being a harbinger of bad weather? When the spiders fled their homes and moved closer to the ground, it was meant to be a sign that a storm was approaching.
It was true that spiders were remarkably attuned to weather changes because of their ability to detect minute shifts in the air currents, and here were the Balnagown spiders, already taking refuge from whatever fury the sky would unleash on Kildary.
She’d never put much stock in old wives’ tale, but such tales became old for a reason. There was often a grain of truth in them.
If the spiders had the right of it, the storm would come soon enough.
Above her, the dust motes danced in the pale beam of light streaming through the window, the filaments of the broken spiderwebs swaying in the breeze.