She replied, “You can now have all the sex
you want with Stacy, or whomever. You can fuck the entire New York
area for all I care, add New Jersey as well!”
She had gathered all of her things and left
the apartment without looking back. She had yet to call Stacy and
as far as she was concerned Steven could go to Hell. She needed to
focus on her upcoming novel. At the tender age of twenty-four, she
had hit the USA Today and New York Times Best Seller's list with
her first novel, Scorched. An adult work of fiction about blackmail
and murder within a fire department, and of course, some good old
fashioned rough and dirty sex. Her second novel, Burned sold more
copies than, Scorched. And she was expected to write a third that
would surpass them both.
Feeling the deadline loom over her, she
talked with her editor, Brian, and received a two-month extension,
so her work would be out in time for the Christmas sales. So with
her laptop and recorder in hand and all her earthly possessions
being shipped, she was headed to the large estate that her
great-great-great-grandfather built, and her uncle had resided in
before his death.
As the story was told in the solicitor’s
letter given to her, she was a decedent of the Campbell’s of
London, and that she was the first girl born within the family
since the tragic death of her Aunt Addie Myra Campbell. Her mother
and father had told her the story of the disastrous fall from the
attic window, and that they named her after her great aunt in honor
of some family memory or some such non-sense.
Her parents had since passed away when she
was seventeen years of age, leaving her all their money and
shareholdings to her father’s fresh fruit company, which was newly
failing. She was independently wealthy and decided her true passion
early on in college was to become a novelist. Steven came later,
and as fate would have it, Stacy introduced them at a party.
Shaking her head clear of the ugly thoughts
she focused on the letter and the pictures given to her. The home
looked well-kept and beautiful. The land looked as if it had
rolling green hills, all manners of foliage and animals. It seemed
to be the answer to her prayers.
A booming voice came over the intercom,
“Boarding for Scotland first class at gate 7-G. Boarding now
commencing.”
It was her flight. Taking a deep breath, she
grabbed her carry on and began the processes of boarding her
plane.
Scotland, Campbell Manor
After a long a tedious flight, Addie could
stretch her tired, achy arms and legs, and finally descend the
plane. She walked off and waited for her luggage to come. By the
time she rented her car and made her way to the massive building,
jet lag had gotten the best of her. Coupled with the time
difference she walked like a zombie into Campbell's manor, via the
lengthy driveway.
She barely saw the interior of the place, for
she was so tired. She could have slept standing up against the old,
cold wooden walls, when she heard a voice say.
“Miss Campbell, welcome tae yer new home. I
will make sure yer things be carried up an’ placed away. Me wife
an’ I ‘ave looked after this home fer many years, as well as yer
uncle ‘afore he passed.”
Addie looked his way and smiled, “Thank you,
er..”
“Me name be Mister King. Missus King be
cookin’ yer evening meal. We, save the groundskeeper, are all tha’
be left o’ the staff.”
“Ah, well, thank you, Mister King. Please
call me Addie, and I will be heading up to my room for much-needed
sleep. Please tell your wife nothing heavy or fancy.”
“Aye, I will. An’ thank ye, Addie. One last
item, may I say, me wife an’ I ‘ave read yer fine books, an’ be
hopin’ ye might sign our copies?”
Gratitude filled Addie’s chest as she nodded
and said, “I would love to. Which, room is mine?”
“We made ye a room at the top o’ the stairs,
three doors in, ‘twas Miss Addie Campbell’s room before she passed.
We though’ ye may like tha’.”
Not caring if she slept on concrete, she
smiled and began her walk to her new room. When she came to the
door, she opened it and immediately felt at home, which was a weird
feeling since she had never taken a step on Scottish soil, nor been
in her dead aunt’s bedroom. Shaking the feeling, she looked to the
delicious looking bed and lay upon its silken sheets. Sighing she
closed her eyes and eventually found sleep.
She immediately began to dream of mist and
terror. It was unlike any dream she had ever experienced during her
life.
Addie was inside of her new home, but it
wasn’t her home. It had morphed into something dark and evil. There
were people screaming from the walls, calling her name, begging and
pleading to be set free.
She awoke in a cold sweat and felt a stirring
soft chilly wind seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere.
She suddenly felt a whisper of air run
through her hair, as if she was being caressed by the wind itself.
It was unnerving, so she stood and walked to the door, and through
to the hallway. A feeling of being followed came with her. However,
she ignored it. Addie reasoned that she was jet lagged, and the old
manor could have come straight out of a bad horror movie. Following
the hallway to the bathroom, she shut the door and felt the feeling
suddenly disappear.
Shaking her head, she turned the old faucet
on, and began to run a tap of cold water. Filling her hands, she
sloshed a healthy amount upon her face and neck.
Finding a towel, she dried the liquid and
placed the fine linen back on the towel holder. Sighing internally
she checked her watch, which she forwarded before her trip, and
gasped, she had slept for an entire day and partial night it was
three in the morning!
Walking back to her room she stopped as she
saw a tray placed near her bed on the side table. Clearly, her live
in helpers had come to give her food and saw she was sleeping and
being courteous they left her supper. Smiling she decided that
touring the house without the aid of the workers, may be a
wonderful start to inspire her creative muse.
Chapter Two
He knew of the witching hour when he was able
to become flesh and blood, but only in the attic, and exactly for
one hour. It was maddening, just maddening to float through the
home as cold wind. Seeing and listening, but never really there,
until earlier today.
He saw her with his own eyes, a vision he had
not seen in years. A woman who was tall in carriage, hair the color
of night, and eyes the shade of violets, a woman who resembled his
Addie, a woman bearing his dead betrothed’s namesake, Addie
Campbell.
He had been shaken to his very core, or
whatever core was within him. He seemed to be shifting through time
and planes during the day. Torturously reliving his time in the
attic with his beloved before he was spirited away by a madman and
watching as his true love tumbled out of the great window and down
to her death. He watched as his former mortal self-comforted her as
she cried and then was forced to endure the constant pain of the
moment when she fell out of the window.
Conall was a cursed man and had been cursed
since that faithful night. Beatrice’s father must have been some
sort of demon spawn to send him into such a state. However, it
would seem that Conall was about to find a new course, perhaps his
Addie had somehow come back to him.
He had watched her as she slept peacefully in
her old bed, and felt his insides warm for the first time. He
placed himself at the foot of her bed and stared for what seemed
like hours, until the call of the attic came to him at the witching
hour. He had never been so upset to take on his mortal form. Once
he was able to shift into his spiritual form, he went back into her
room to find her waking from her sleep.
He was unable to dismiss himself from the
sight of her standing and moving in the flesh. Her state of dress
stirred him as well. He knew women wore revealing clothing now,
even breeches and britches, which used to be made for men. Her
limbs looked long and lovely. He was so entranced by her. So much
so, he stirred the air when he tried to reach out to touch her
beautiful hair. He loved to touch her delicate hair that smelled of
apples and spring time. However, when his hand went straight
through her hair, he knew he had frightened her into moving out of
the room and into the sanctuary of the bathroom.
He was a gentleman and did not follow her in,
although he wanted to very badly. Snapping his resolve, he realized
that he did not want to frighten her out of the house, nor did he
not want the other spirits in the home to frighten her. These
spirits were not cursed as he, they were stuck within the walls,
but did not have an hour in which they formed into flesh, bone, and
sinew.
He left her at the bathroom door and returned
to the attic to contemplate his next actions.
“She be a wee sionnach, wary as any gel
should be in her place o’ circumstance," he stated to himself.
He seemed to be talking to the walls, and
they had no ready answer. However, he heard a noise emanate from
the bolt in the door leading to the attic. Strengthening his heart
and his resolve he stayed still and watched as the woman in
question looked about her surroundings.
Smiling to himself, he had always known that
his Addie was curious and brilliant, and in need of ready answers.
It would seem this Addie was of the same inclination.
He began to study her person more closely as
she walked about the room, running her wee fingers over antiques
and linens. She was of tall stature and well fleshed, more so than
she had been before he was cursed, which was indeed fine by the
massive Highlander, for she would have gained sweet flesh after
giving him his first bairn.
Addie had silken raven colored hair that was
shorter than the waist length; he coveted years ago, but still long
enough to hide her bountiful breasts from his adoring gaze. Her
eyes still held the brilliant namesake color of violets. They were
her most arresting feature and after years upon years of tortured
seclusion, seeing her now made his time worth the torment.
His hands itched to touch her nipped waist
and follow the line up to the pert pout of her breast. He could
well imagine her raspberry colored nipples begging for his tongue's
attention.
His minds wondering came to a halt when she
picked up a picture of her uncle who passed just last month. She
seemed to be studying the picture looking for it to talk to her and
tell her the questions she sought.
Conall would have to lure her to the attic
before he changed into his mortal form to speak with her. See if
she was his Addie come to break the demon spell, which placed him
within the wretched walls of the old manor. She looked of Addie.
Her hair even smelled of Addie. She had to be his Addie. A just God
would not have placed him in such a state between the spiritual and
mortal world for so many years to deny him a second chance.
He had yet to see the blasted man that placed
him within the massive building that now served as his tomb. He a
walking apparition, a cold spell in the middle of the room, vapor
between the walls, and he was bloody tired of living in the realm
of the dead yet undead.
He wanted to speak with this woman to see if
she is indeed here to bring him to peace.
He would have to come up with a plan to bring
her to the attic and then a thought struck him.
He practiced for a long time on how to move
objects with concentration. He was able to move objects slightly
across flat surfaces. Perhaps he could drop an object loud enough
to summon her to the upper floor. He had no real concern of waking
the servants who resided along with Addie. They had slept through
some of the most erratic sounds spirits could make within a large
home.
Conall’s heart gave a shuddered thump as she
left the room, clearly in search of more answers to her heritage.
He followed her out into the great hall and followed at a sedate
pace. He did not want to alert her to the fact that a bloody
apparition was following her.
His eyes lovingly traced the lines of her
delicate body. It had been a very long time since he had seen his
Addie. She only existed in his memory of her, and year after year
her face had become stilted into one moment in time. The point when
she walked over to that blasted window and careened to her
death.
However, now it would seem she had come back
to him. Whether it was the same witchery that entranced him here,
or it was God, he did not care. He wanted to speak to this woman
more than he had ever wanted anything in his mortal and immortal
life.
After following her about the massive manor
he watched as her delicate mouth yawned. The lass was tired and
should be in repose. So it was a relief of sorts to watch her
return to her bedchamber to find rest.
As he made his way along the walls of the
structure, he recalled the moment they met and his instant dislike
at the idea that he was to wed the small dark-haired child who ran
around his parent’s estate. He was a decade older than her and felt
himself a man.
Her accent sounded too cultured. He was used
to his Scottish drawl. The gel had proven herself to be a nuisance
year after year. Her visits were like a rock banging on his nerves
and soul. It was as if he wanted nothing to do with the girl. She
was the complete opposite of what he wanted in a wife.
She was a very tall girl, much more so than
other women. When she became ten and six, she was elevated enough
to place her freckled cheek upon his upper shoulder. He was used to
his woman being much smaller and more voluptuous.
So year after year he ignored her while she
was visiting. He was older and much worldlier than the cultured
thorn in his side. His family was wealthy and titled, but much of
his friends were not, which led to his running around with
undesirable’s, as his father referred to them.