Outside, we did as Eleanor suggested, and began making our way across the lawns in the direction of the tower. Luc stuck his hands in his pockets as we walked, slowing his gait a little. I matched his speed. “Sorry, are you still tired?”
He huffed again, this time with amusement that pulled his lips upwards in a hint of a grin. “I’m fine. Didn’t see the point of rushing, that’s all, with his lordship in a snit.”
“He was kind of scary.” I pocketed my own hands and we sauntered on.
Luc didn’t say any more, about anything, and I couldn’t press him, not when he hadn’t run off in the opposite direction as soon as we were out of Eleanor’s sight. Every fibre of my being ached to insert myself into the embrace of his muscular arms and breathe in his comforting scent. But from the stiff set of his spine I doubted that would be happening soon.
We reached the base of the tower quicker than I’d expected. It was squarish, with rounded corners, giving it more elegance than a truly square construction. Not more than maybe fifteen, twenty feet diameter at max, it rose three stories high, elegant in a chunky way, its stone construction weathered to a worn, lichen-coated silver, a jewel set against the dark green background of fir trees. The top floor was slightly smaller than the other two. I wondered what purpose it could have had.
“Fuck knows. Let’s look inside, yeah?” Ahh, I’d wondered out loud.
“Are we allowed?”
Luc arched a brow. “Eleanor sent us here. Bit mean to suggest it if we’re not.” He craned his neck backwards and stared up. “Bet the view from the top is epic. Let’s find the door.”
I giggled. “Maybe there isn’t one. Perhaps it’s the original Rapunzel tower.” Eleanor had been right about taking a walk; the fresh air had relaxed me. Possibly a bit too much, but I’d take it.
Luc rolled his eyes, but we circled the tower together. The door, a sturdy, studded affair, was deep-set into the wall on the opposite side from the lawns. I thought it might be oak.
I stood in front of it, ahead of Luc. He nudged me. “Well, come on then. Is it locked or not?”
I hesitated. “I don’t wanna touch it.”
“Fuck’s sake, what now?” He didn’t try to hide his exasperation.
I moved aside and flapped a hand at the circular handle attached to the thick planks. “Ummm.”
“Oh.”Amazing how much meaning he could put into a single syllable. His sigh this time was put-upon. “I’ll do it.”
23
LUC
It looked like iron.The entire door was covered in those knobbly studs that spoke of olden times, and the handle matched. It probablywasiron. Fairly sure I did something about oak and mediaeval doors in history lessons. Pack history lessons, obviously, not the ones in school.
I wasn’t sure if Charley had enough Fae blood for iron to harm him, but he had the squeamish look of someone who didn’t want to find out. And, much as it pained me to think of his being tainted by those…creatures, it was hardly his fault who his parents were. I stepped around him, and the blast of hurt emanating from him made my breath catch. Fuck, I needed to sort my head out or I’d lose him, and serve me right.Say something.But my lips wouldn’t work. I wrenched the handle anti-clockwise and shoved. To my surprise, the door opened with barely a creak. Presumably somebody oiled those menacing-looking hinges regularly.
Beyond the door was a wall, with a stone staircase, curving around the outside walls of the tower, to my right. I pushed the door a bit further and stuck my head around it. Aha, there was an internal doorway just out of sight. Quite a clever design, as if you stood at the foot of the stairs to open the main door, nobody could easily rush past you. Not that it was obvious if the tower had been built for defensive reasons, but considering it was old, it might have been part of its purpose.
The door swung back against the wall, and Charley followed me inside. I wedged it open with a slice of wood that might have been carved with this in mind, and we went through the doorway.
It was one large room. A substantial fireplace took up one wall, the hearth laid ready for use, a modest cooking pot suspended from a hook, and a small selection of pans and utensils on the mantle. There was a table and two rush-seated chairs in the middle of the room, set in the centre of a worn rug, its colours faded to an overall muted brown, presumably with age. The windows were small vertical slits that let in very little light but which had probably helped to keep the place warm when it was built. They were glazed now, and there was no obvious draught. The only other furniture was what I guess you’d call a dresser, of dark wood like the table and chairs, a cupboard with doors at the base, and open shelving above. The shelves housed an assortment of brightly-coloured crockery and glassware, and a number of books, making a bold splash in the otherwise quiet space.
It felt homely. Welcoming. But at the same time a tingle crawled across my skin as if I were intruding on something private. I glanced at Charley. “Shall we look upstairs?”
The second room had a similar fireplace, but instead of being set up for cooking and eating, this one was for relaxing in. Overstuffed cushioned sofas faced the fireplace, and there were more books, this time arranged in low, dark wood bookcases that appeared to be handmade, their planks a little crudely fitted together but not unattractively so. There were a number of lanterns dotted about, perched on equally crudely-made three legged stools, and from their scent, confirmed when I peered inside, they were all oil lamps.
The room at the top was cosier still. It didn’t feel much smaller, but I could see the fireplace was more compact than the other two. Set against the opposite wall from the fire was a canopied bed, again made of a dark wood, the curtains thick tapestry-type fabric, the heavy coverlet piled high with velvet and satin cushions, indicative of luxurious nights and hedonistic days. On the opposite wall was an old-fashioned wash stand, with a porcelain bowl and large jug, and even two matching towels neatly draped over the rails attached to the sides of the stand.
Charley grunted softly. “This is a place for lovers. I’m surprised Eleanor suggested we come here. It feels private, like we’re eavesdropping on someone else’s life.”
About to agree with him, and question Eleanor’s wisdom, I bit my tongue as a proverbial light bulb clicked on above my head.Ohh.
Unwilling, or maybe unable to voice my thoughts, I crossed briskly to stare out of the window. The oldest part of Dalziel’s house — the rough, square stone part that reminded me of a castle — was the nearest point of the building in sight, and I suddenly wondered if this tower had been built at the same time as the original wing of his home. And if so, what was the significance, of both the tower, and of Dalziel having made his home here? Was there any? Perhaps it was coincidence, although I didn’t think so.
Unbidden, it occurred to me that although we’d vamoosed when Dalziel was on the edge of a tantrum, he’d been perfectly in control of his faculties, and if he’d felt Eleanor’s suggestion to be inappropriate, he’d not have wasted any time in rescinding it. Which led me to believe he really wasn’t opposed to my spending time with his newly-claimed son, still a surprise considering I was a wolf.
Before I could hold it back, a giant sigh escaped. In the reflected glass I saw Charley’s brows climb his forehead. “Need a nap? You only just got out of bed.”
