Shadows of the Past (11 page)

The building is nice, but has no distinguishing characteristics or signage. I can't figure out what we're doing here. It's not a hotel, airport or train station, but Oliver's driver is grabbing our bags to bring inside with us.
 

Bewildered, I follow behind the two of them and we're soon in front of a counter where a pretty redhead is smiling at us.

"Mr. Jackson?" Oliver nods and she gestures for us to follow her through another set of doors and out onto a big concrete slab. It's obvious now where we are by the big ‘H’ in the middle of a circle right on the river. Of course, the silver and black helicopter is easy to see, too.
 

I glance at Oliver in shock. "A helicopter? You’re taking me on a helicopter?" My jaw drops. Holy shit.
 

Oliver presses his index finger to my chin and closes my gaping mouth. "Yes, we're going someplace more... remote. The helicopter can take us directly there and should only take about an hour."

Suddenly very excited, I allow Oliver to help me inside the helicopter, which is surprisingly spacious.
 

The pilot hands both of us a huge set of headphones before putting on his set. The headphones allow the pilot to speak to us over the noise, and I smile, looking forward to having my curiosity quenched. I’m assuming there’s more to this surprise than a swicked ride.
 

Maybe the pilot will have to inform traffic control of our destination. A hysterical giggle tries to bubble up, but I swallow it whole.
 

I keep waiting for the guy to mention our destination, but he remains silent and the helicopter starts rising.
 

I glance over at Oliver in surprise and finding him smiling. "You didn't think I'd slip up that easily, did you?" He speaks so confidently, causing my lips to mash into a crooked smile. Drat! "Really, Kayla, I'm a clever fellow. Give me a little more credit."
 

I lean back in the seat, resigned to sit back and enjoy the surprise. I'm quickly distracted by watching the pilot and intrigued as the tall buildings of London transform into open green fields and pastures, dotted with sheep and separated by low stone walls.
 

England is a truly beautiful place. A small wave of remorse washes over me as I realize how little of it I've seen or experienced.

In the distance, a huge set of buildings rises out of the open landscape and the chopper—because it makes me feel badass to call it that—starts to slow and lose altitude. The mere sight of it has me pressing my face as close as I can to the glass so I can look.
 

It's. A. Freaking. Castle. A real-life castle, the kind where medieval kings and queens should live.

We land in a large grassy area right next to the castle. I'm so excited I'm practically vibrating and I finally turn to face Oliver. His sapphire eyes sparkle with amusement and he reaches out to squeeze my hand, pleased I'm so excited.
 

“Best surprise ever!” I reach over, shake his arm, and squee.

"Welcome to Thornbury Castle," he says, sweeping an arm around me as we climb out of the helicopter and stand on the grass.
 

The castle and grounds look so much like something you'd see in a movie, I can't believe I'm really here. The blue sky stretches out forever behind the moss-covered stones of the castle walls. Birds circle the innumerable collection of tiny chimneys along the roofline, carrying twigs for nests, and I hear the cheerful chirping of tiny little baby birds.
 

We walk hand in hand into a manicured courtyard through a main entrance complete with arrow slits and an iron portcullis. Tiny cottage-style gardens peek out from pots and corners of the courtyard. A circle driveway separates the courtyard from a grassy area where guests sit at tiny white tables drinking tea from honest-to-God silver tea services carried out on huge trays.

A man in a black sweater and trousers comes out to greet us with a huge smile on his face.
 

"Mr. Jackson, it's good to finally meet you. I'm Liam, the concierge. Follow me, please." He leads us to a huge wooden door with scrolled iron decoration and opens it for us.

When we walk in it's like stepping into the past. We walk into a high-ceilinged library. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in golden rays of light and illuminate tiny reading nooks recessed into the windows. Lush velvet drapes hang to the sides of each nook, giving the illusion of privacy.
 

A full bar and a bartender stand at one end of the room. On the opposite wall is a door leading to a reception desk. Oliver follows the concierge through the room to check in, while I turn in circles, trying to see everything at once.
 

I don't know what to look at first—the antique upholstered furniture, the painted portraits, the fresh-cut flowers on every surface, or the elaborate rugs on the floor. I flop down on a leather couch overwhelmed by all the things around me.

A few minutes later, a hand touches my shoulder and I jump about a mile. “Oliver!” I swat at him. I was so lost in the splendor of the room that I didn’t hear him approach.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Oliver says with a grin.

"Oh, not in the library, sir," Liam says matter-of-factly, "she usually sticks to the guest rooms above the library. That's where the nursery was located before this castle was renovated into a hotel."

Oliver and I exchange a look.

I open my mouth and blurt it out first, "She? Are you talking about a real ghost who actually lives here?" Surely I misunderstood. I’ve heard of haunted places, but I don’t really believe in that sort of thing—poltergeists and all. However, now that he’s said it, I’m a little giddy.

"Of course. We affectionately call her ‘Lady Gray,’ because of the gray dress she wears. You can usually hear the rustling of her petticoats before you can see her. Many of our guests claim to see her walking the battlements or rocking in the guest rooms above the library. No one knows who she is—err, was, but she's frequently spotted around bedtime and has a fondness for children or those who have lost children."
 

I feel the blood drain from my face. Maybe I do believe in ghosts.

I see Oliver register my sudden change in mood and am grateful when he changes the subject. "Let's go freshen up, shall we?"
 

That snaps me out of it, but I still feel the prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
 

“Wait. Room or rooms?” I hesitate, wondering what his plan is for the evening. Are we sharing a room?
 

One set of anxious nerves is replaced by a set of nerves anxious about a whole new topic.
 

“Stop worrying, Kayla.” Oliver holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me up. We follow the concierge to a winding staircase with polished dark-wood banisters and carved griffins in place of knobs.
 

We head up several flights of stairs. As we go higher, the beautiful wide wooden staircase morphs into a narrow stone staircase. I look up and instantly regret it—the stairs seem to go on forever.
 

Oliver continues to climb in front of me. I take a minute to breathe and resume the climb. Every few steps, I stumble like a drunkard and curse under my breath. What the heck is wrong with me? I never trip on stairs.

"No worries, love, it's not you. 'Tis the stairs," Liam says with a reassuring smile. "The stairs were built unevenly on purpose. In an attack on the castle, they'd have kept the valuables up here. The stairs were built narrowly so that one man with a sword could defend the tower rooms. After you climb them a few times, your brain will begin to learn how high to lift your feet so you won’t trip. Someone attacking the castle, however, would stumble several times providing ample opportunity for his head to be lopped off by the man above."

As if on cue, I stumble again and clutch the thick rope handrail for dear life. Oliver stifles a soft giggle and I swear again.
 

Liam unabashedly laughs out loud and I make a mental note to order room service several times tonight and specifically request him to bring it.

Finally at the top, we squish onto a small landing. Liam stops in front of a door and opens it wide, gesturing for me to go inside.
 

"This is your room," Oliver explains. "I'm just across the hall."
 

I turn and notice an identical door directly across the small platform at the top of the stairs.

Relieved, I enter my room and spin around, much like I did on the first floor, awed by the room's furnishings. A huge four-poster bed commands the room, facing a wide fireplace where happy flames are already dancing and warming the cold stone floor.
 

Stained glass windows cast a warm red light over the room and allow me to see the manicured lawn the helicopter landed on earlier. I peek through an open door to my left. OMG. The world’s largest claw-footed tub is sitting next to a large wardrobe filled with soft bathrobes and expensive scented soaps.
 

I turn to Oliver and squeal. "Oliver, this bed looks like it came straight out of a museum!"

"I know," he says with a smile. "Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn supposedly stayed here on their honeymoon tour." Oliver steps closer to the door. "I'm going to go over to my room. Come get me when you're ready, and we'll explore the grounds together, okay?"
 

I nod, mesmerized by the surroundings.

The door shuts heavily behind him, and I sit in a comfy chair in front of the stone fireplace. A small table has a waiting tea service and a selection of leather-bound books waiting for me.
 

Following my nose, I lift the lid of the teapot and discover it is filled with hot chocolate instead of tea. Awesome.

All holidays should be like this. Books, a fire, hot chocolate, and a sexy man right across the hopefully-not-haunted staircase. It can’t get better than this.

CHAPTER 19

Twenty minutes later, Liam rushes to greet us as we reenter the library.
 

"Is there anything you need? Are your rooms satisfactory? Can I help you with anything?" Like the staff at the Orangery, he seems intent on making sure Oliver's stay is the best experience possible.
 

"I think we're going to go explore the village," Oliver says with a curious sideways glance in my direction. I’m ready to burst out laughing at the way people fall all over Oliver. "Is there anything we should make sure we visit?"

"Oh, yes," Liam says eagerly. "A walk through our gardens is lovely at this time of year. From there you can walk into the adjoining churchyard and tour St. Mary's, before sampling local foods at our must-see open market."
 

He keeps talking, but I tune him out, distracted by studying the castle. I'm staying in a freaking CASTLE! A huge-ass smile spreads across my face again while I glance around the library.
 

Satisfied with Liam's list of possible activities, Oliver leads me out to the grounds. We head for the castle gardens first. The hedges are so tall and orderly it's almost like walking through a maze, and the display of flowers and herbs is absolutely breathtaking.
 

We pause at a sculpture of a man wearing robes. He's looking down as if he's ashamed. I recognize the pained expression on his face as one I've seen in my mirror. I feel like the statue and I have kindred spirits.
 

As we walk further the garden changes from formal to wild. This part looks almost unkempt; the stones are cracked, and small trees grow outside of the flowerbeds. The flowers here aren't in any order, nor are they arranged by color or type, but it's just as breathtaking.
 

On the far side of the garden is a low stone fence with a scrolled iron gate, separating the castle grounds from a small tree-lined churchyard. In the center stands a simple stone church made in the same style and materials as the castle.
 

Instead of a tapered steeple it has a square tower and bell. Large stained glass windows depicting the saints adorn the ivy-covered stone walls. Shadows from the trees create shadows in just the right places to make the little churchyard feel a dark and freaky.
 

"I bet it's magnificent," Oliver says coming up beside me. "Would you like to go in and explore?" I smile feebly, chills running up my spine at the thought, as Oliver opens the iron gate for me, waiting expectantly.
 

I follow dutifully, trying to appear unaffected. I haven't been in a graveyard since before I moved to Europe.

The gravestones are old and barely legible. There are tons of them, crammed together in a tiny space. They go all the way out to the sidewalk.
 

Oliver patiently attempts to read them aloud. I try to tune him out. Despite my hesitance at the gate, the green grass, tall trees, and gentle breeze make this a very peaceful place to rest.
 

Goosebumps rise on my arms, thinking about all the people who must have visited here, seeing things that I’ve read about in books.

I run my finger along one of the pale stones, but when I stop to read it I freeze. The small stone marks the resting place of two little girls who died at the age of two.
 

All the air is sucked from my lungs. I can't think, I can't speak, I need to get away but I can't move.
 

Two daughters dead at such a young age.
 

My heart floods with emotion, remembering how it feels to imagine full lives for the little people you've brought into the world and knowing they will never live your hopes for them. My heart breaks for their parents, left behind to live without them.
 

My heart breaks, remembering all I’ve lost.

I feel Oliver come up behind me and try to snap out of it, but my heart is pounding. I’m dizzy and overwhelmed. I can't tear my eyes from the tombstone even when he takes my hand, chattering about an unusual marker he read.