24. Amal
AMAL
“What is that?” I ask, feeling a darkness I can’t explain as we pass a strange, circular building while our Range Rover climbs higher and higher toward the castle.
“Nothing,” Jet says, his voice darker than usual as he drags his gaze from it to the road ahead. From the way he says it, from his visceral reaction to it, I know it’s something. Something bad.
When he pulls me tighter to himself, I don’t resist. My sense of dread is growing by the second. I look ahead and when we turn the next corner, I gasp.
There, just ahead of us, lies the castle I’d glimpsed from the plane. And while from the air it was something to see, now, from this vantage point, it’s hard to describe. Hair-raising. Breathtaking. Forbidding. All at once.
This is no fairytale castle of delicate towers set symmetrically to please the eye.
There are no pretty, colorful plants to decorate any of the windows.
Instead, those windows are dark eyes of leaded glass, the only warmth the glow of the lights burning inside because even on the brightest summer day I doubt light penetrates those ancient stone walls or the thick, leaded glass.
As our Range Rover slows upon its approach, the sky overhead turns pitch black, the storm we’ve had a mere taste of now unleashing in full punishing glory.
I feel nauseous by the time we stop before the double doors of the entrance which, as they’re opened, I see are made of inches thick oak.
“If there’s one thing The Society doesn’t lack it’s money,” Jet says, opening his door himself rather than waiting for one of the men to open it.
Jet steps out and I take his offered hand to climb down. Black umbrellas are opened over our heads, Severin joining us with Jameson following just behind as we are led to the front doors.
I shiver, hugging my cloak close but inside is warmer than I’d expect of such an old building.
A huge fire burns in the fireplace across this grand hall which is two stories high.
Old and new collide brutally as I take in the black stone floors, the rich tapestries hanging on the walls here, and the ancient portraits just visible in the rooms off the foyer.
“This way,” Jameson says, leading us through, Jet on one side of me, Severin on the other as we make our way into a reception room. A thick burgundy carpet lays over the stone floor and heavy wooden furniture with richly upholstered seating face a massive fireplace with a fire burning high.
Standing just before it is an imposing man wearing long, deep burgundy robes. From the look of him, he must be in his sixties. He’s tall, almost as tall as Jet and Severin, but heavier, and the way he’s dressed looks like he came with the older part of the building.
Jameson walks toward him and I’m surprised to see a small bow of greeting.
Jet rolls his eyes. From the look on Severin’s face, he wants to but he’s the more controlled of the brothers.
Jameson takes his place at the right side of the man and folds his arms. When he does, the cuff of his shirt pulls up a little to expose his Rolex, and I wish I’d never seen that watch in Jet’s drawer. Never stolen it. I wish I’d thought of another way to do this.
A door closes heavily behind us.
The man looks at each of us, Severin first, then Jet and finally, me. He studies me for longer than comfortable and it takes all I have to hold his gaze. To not show my fear.
When he finally smiles and steps forward, I exhale, relieved.
“Welcome, gentlemen, lady,” he says with a deep Scottish accent. There’s a strangeness to his greeting, an old-ness. “Welcome to our humble halls.”
Humble.
Wow.
“I am Master Robertson, your host and servant.” He bows his head slightly. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant journey to our Elysium?”
“Pleasant is a stretch, but sure,” Jet says. How does he still sound so at ease?
Severin clears his throat and steps forward. “Master Robertson. Severin Blackstone, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My brother, Jethro, and his wife, Amal.”
“Ah, yes.” Master Robertson turns from Severin to Jet to me. “There was a wedding a few days ago, is that right?” He’s not waiting for an answer as he scrutinizes me.
In his gaze I see my lack. I glance at Jet who is glaring at the old man.
“Mr. Robertson, is it?”
“Master,” Jameson corrects but if I know Jet, I know this is just a little show of disrespect.
“Right. Master Robertson then. Should we get to it?” Jet starts. “You interrupted our honeymoon and I’d like to get back to it.”
Robertson’s smile slips to show something uglier beneath the mask of propriety.
A gong rings out and Master Robertson steps backward. He fixes his face in a neutral, unreadable expression.
“All in due time, Mr. Blackstone. Jameson,” he says. He shifts his gaze to the man.
“Yes, sir?”
“Take the lady to her room. I’m sure she’ll want to freshen up before lunch.” He faces us again. “Shall we get to it then? As you so eloquently put it…” he says, making a point of addressing Jet in particular.
“She stays with me,” Jet says.
Robertson glances at me then back to Jet. “We have business to discuss. You have not forgotten our ways, I am sure.”
“Jet,” Severin says, touching his brother’s arm.
“No. She stays with me.”
Severin glances at me and I see his request.
“I’m fine, It’s okay. I do want to freshen up, actually,” I lie.
Jet raises his eyebrows at me.
“Well, that’s settled then,” Robertson says. He grins and walks away, using a door cut out of the wall panel to leave the room. Two guards step forward to escort Jet and Severin while Jameson gestures for me to go with him.
Jet draws a tight breath in and opens his mouth to argue.
“Jet, it’s okay,” I say, trying to head it off.
“The sooner we get this done, the sooner we’re off this island. You know they won’t discuss anything in the presence of a woman,” Severin says.
“He’s right,” I say. “The sooner we’re off this island the better. Please.”
Jet squeezes my hand then turns to Jameson. “Anyone touches a hair on her head—”
“She will be treated with the utmost courtesy, I assure you, Mr. Blackstone,” Jameson says.
I nod, kiss Jet on the cheek. “I’m fine. I can handle myself,” I whisper.
He looks at me like he’s committing me to memory and nods reluctantly, jaw tight.
I pull away and turn to Jameson. “Lead the way.”
He smiles and I follow him back out into the corridor. He keeps a respectful distance, that smile on his face as he tells me the history of the building.
“This is the original part of the castle,” he tells me as we walk down a hallway where staff in uniform pass us pushing carts stacked with tableware. I glance around. Even given the weirdness of everything this castle is something to see. It’s like stepping back in time.
Between all those dark stones and small window casements and leaded windows, it is quite dark.
Iron sconces cast flickering light across what look to be ancient oil portraits.
We pass one set of wide doors that stand open and I peer into an opulent great hall with mirrored walls and lots of activity as staff work to set up for an event.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“You are in luck. Tonight we are having our Masked Ball. You will attend, of course.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It’s all been arranged.”
“Well, I doubt we’ll be here anyway.”
Jameson nods as if humoring me. “Let me show you to your room. Once you freshen up, perhaps you’d like lunch in the East Conservatory? The views are spectacular from there.”
“I’d prefer to wait for the others.”
We begin to ascend a large, wide staircase that looks centuries old the stone deeply worn where countless people have walked.
“Your room is in the East wing. It’s the original part of the castle, and between us,” he starts, leaning in as if telling me a great secret.
“It’s the most beautiful. It’s been modernized, of course, so it will be not only comfortable but quite luxurious. ”
I follow him down a corridor to the door at the far end.
“Here we are,” he says, and opens it. He gestures for me to enter and I do.
If I thought Jet’s suite at the Balmoral was special, this? This is something else. Something out of a fairy tale, albeit a dark one.
I can see that the bones of the room are ancient, however, like Jameson said, it’s been modernized while preserving all that history.
Warm gold light spills across cream-colored walls.
Dark floors are softened by thick Persian rugs in muted jewel tones, but the focal point of the room is a massive bed with an intricately carved headboard that reaches almost to the ceiling.
It’s a tangle of vines and roses and from here, I can see the tiny, sharp thorns.
One in particular catches my eye. It’s the one where a small wooden bird, so small you could miss it entirely, has perched atop one of those sharp points.
Seeing it sends something cold down my spine. It’s beautiful and terrifying and familiar.
I tilt my head, taking it in. Although the design appears at first glance chaotic, there’s a pattern to it. One I know.
I’ve seen this before.
“Is it not to your liking?” Jameson asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I turn to him, having almost forgotten he was there. “Oh, no of course…” I clear my throat. “It’s beautiful.”
“Good.”
I glance at the headboard once more before surveying the rest of the room. Everything is subtly expensive in that way only old money can be.
In the center of the room is a round table and on it is a crystal vase holding fresh flowers. All of the furnishings are decorated with those same tangling vines of roses and thorns. I reach out to touch one on the dresser and I’m right. Sharp as the tip of a knife.
Jameson adjusts one of the heavy curtains at the arched windows before walking to another door.
I cross the room to look out of that window wanting to get my bearings.
Plot an escape, maybe. From what I saw a part of the castle was set against cliffs and it looks like that’s where my room is.
The very back. Because all I can see is the raging Atlantic below.
Jameson clears his throat and I turn. “The ensuite.”
I glance inside to be polite. “It’s all very lovely,” I say, because it is, it’s all lovely. And creepy as fuck.
“I’m glad you find it so,” Jameson says, clearly pleased. “I will return for you in a half an hour to take you to the conservatory for lunch,” he says and walks toward the door.
“I’ll wait for my husband to have lunch together,” I say although I know he heard me the first time.
“The Blackstone brothers will have lunch with Master Robertson. They’ll be meeting until late, I’m afraid. Should you need anything in the meantime, ring this bell.” He points out the bell.
I see my bag on the luggage rack. It looks cheap and ridiculous in this place. “Wait, where are my husband’s things?”
“Oh, his room is in another part of the castle.”
“No, we’ll stay together.”
He smiles, nods in a way that says that’s not happening. “I will check on your lunch. Excuse me.”
Before I can say anything else, he’s gone and I half expect him to lock the door behind him, but when I go to check, it’s unlocked and Jameson either doesn’t hear me opening it or pretends not to.
I close the door and would lock it myself but there’s no key.
I expected a prison cell for what I did, certainly not this opulence.
Why would they give me such a beautiful room?
But then I take in the furnishings with all those vines and roses and thorns and shudder.
This is no grand welcome. This room for all its beauty is wrong. I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is, but it simply is wrong.