Imprisoned at Werewolf Keep (Werewolf Keep Trilogy) (3 page)

It was
mid-February, and just a little over a week since Phil had left her in Hertfordshire, when Fidelia arrived at the ancient ruin of Breckenhill Keep to pay a morning call. It was common etiquette to send notification of her imminent arrival, but she had wanted to surprise her friend. And Fidelia had a niggling sense that, given notice, Phil might have found a way to circumvent her visit.

Fidelia
didn't know why she would do such a thing, but after their two weeks together, when she’d learned nothing additional about Phil’s new life and the mystery had seemed to only grow deeper with each passing day, it felt more and more like Phil was trying to protect her from something. There was a secret Phil was hiding that was eating her up alive.

Whatever the reason for her reluctance,
Fidelia was determined to find out what trouble Phil was in, and help her overcome it if she could. She'd been doing just that for years, and it made her feel good to focus on someone else’s problems rather than her own. Phil called Fidelia her guardian angel but, in fact, it was the other way around. All Fidelia had been trying to do all these years was find a way to pay her friend back for her loyalty and protection during those early school days.

Phil still didn’t know the extent of Fidelia’s helping h
and. That is was she who had convinced her parents to make a scholarship available at the Chelsea Ladies Academy that had allowed the newly impoverished Phil to continue her education after her father’s death. And that much of the popularity of Mrs Davenport’s lacework was due to Fidelia’s mother’s influence amongst the Ton. Because of that popularity, Philomena’s mother had been able to earn a sufficient amount to keep a roof over her head. It had not been enough, not nearly enough, as far as Fidelia was concerned. But Mrs Davenport had been fiercely opposed to charity and was suspicious of any money that came her way serendipitously. It had taken very convoluted routes to get her to accept even those few scraps to support herself and her daughter.

It still angered Fi
delia to know that Phil could have lived a better life, if not for her mother’s pride and her father’s unwillingness to support his family. Even now, knowing Captain Davenport had not died in the Crimea, as reported, but had gone on to live a wealthy life, was incredibly galling to Fidelia. How could a man perpetrate such deception on those who loved him most?

So, if no one else had been willing to put Phil’s welfare first, she had. It was only what her brave and stalwart friend deserved, after all.

Of course, there had also been a much more pressing matter that drew her here at this time. One she didn’t allow herself to focus on. It turned her blood to ice just thinking about it.

As the horses came to a halt
outside the ancient castle, Fidelia's first impressions of Breckenhill Keep were not favourable. The place was little more than a pile of stones hastily mortared back together after time and war had knocked them down. Although Phil told her the place was no architectural masterpiece, she hadn't fully detailed the shambles it was in.

Once there had been a full castle
wall that surrounded the Keep. What was left of that wall was still visible lower down the moorside. The Keep itself still stood, Norman in design – square, solid and towering. The castellated battlements had long since fallen away or been rounded off by time, but the slits of windows higher up the tower were still visible. It must have been a daunting structure in its day.

On e
ither side of the central tower, generations of lords had made additions – a hodgepodge of styles that bore little similarity to each other except for the material used for the construction. The rough grey stones that littered the moors made perfect building material for such additions.

If she found her late husband's home dower and forbidding, this Keep was that and
more. She couldn't imagine bright and spirited Philomena living in such austere surroundings.

‘Not exactly what I was expecting,’ she commented to Maude
, her maid and companion.

The little
old woman joined her for a moment at the window and shuddered. ‘No madam, not what you expected at all. It looks like nobody lives here. Could we have got it wrong? Maybe this isn’t Breckenhill Keep.’

‘Unfortunately
, there can be no mistake. The coachman is local. He knew of the place the moment I told him where I wanted to go.’

‘Yes
, madam,’ Maude whispered uncertainly, sitting back to await the cessation of movement that would announce their arrival.

Someone mus
t have heard their approach because the front door, a great oak monstrosity that would have turned away an army with ease, was suddenly thrown open as their carriage came to a standstill. As she watched from the carriage window, a blond young man charged across the threshold and raced down the stairs toward them. He threw the carriage door open and lunged in, grabbing Fidelia roughly by the arm.

'You a
re late. You should have been here yesterday. What damage did you cause because of your wilfulness?' The demand was delivered with such fury that Fidelia felt herself becoming light-headed with terror. This man meant her harm, she could feel the violence rippling off him in waves. But why? What had she done to deserve this treatment?

Struggling to bre
ak the iron grip on her upper arm, Fidelia whimpered, unable to find words to plead for her release. Then she found herself being dragged out of the carriage and up the icy stone stairs, her heavy black skirts causing her to almost trip and fall on the treacherous surface. Only the man’s strong grip kept her upright.

She could hear the b
leating protests of Maude behind her in the carriage. And though the coachman yelled after them, he was neither quick nor motivated enough to reach them before the young man thrust her over the threshold into the Keep.

'Please, I do
not understand what you are talking about. I think you have me mixed up with someone else.' Breathlessly, she tried to stop their headlong dash with words drawn from some braver part of herself. But neither her softly voiced pleading, nor her struggles seemed to make any difference to the madman.

'Your father sent word
that you had become difficult and refused to come willingly. How could you risk another death, maybe more, just to keep your comforts? Such selfishness is tantamount to murder, you selfish little chit,' he berated her as he continued dragging her further into the huge entry hall.

He was not a
particularly tall man, but he was broad shouldered. And from the strength he displayed, Fidelia guessed that he was all muscle beneath his immaculate breeches and simple white shirt. His fashionably long blonde hair fell in waves around his clean-shaven face. She supposed he would be considered handsome, when he wasn’t scowling like the devil himself. His features were certainly cut in classic lines and his bright blue eyes could only be called arresting.

'J
asper, unhand that woman!'

A
s Fidelia skidded across the polished stone floors of the entry hall, Maude’s screaming only added to her own fear and confusion. The sound of her friend's voice was like a lighthouse in a storm. She saw Philomena striding down a curving stone staircase toward them.

The man called Jasper stopped in his tracks and looked in Phil's direct
ion. He visibly blanched, but didn't let go of Fidelia's arm.

'She should have been here yesterday. Who knows wh
at mayhem she caused last night!'

Phil’s face was flushed and
apprehensive.

'Let her go
, Jasper. She is not who you think she is,' Phil said breathlessly, scrambling down the last of the stairs to face the madman.

Now that help was at hand, Fidel
ia felt her panic ebb, and she had a better chance to take in her surroundings and the man who had so effectively manhandled her.

Phil was quite tall
and statuesque for a woman. Fidelia had always felt tiny and insignificant beside her. Today, she stood nose to nose with the marginally taller madman, casually dressed in green velvet that perfectly suited her coppery hair and golden brown eyes. Those eyes were flashing dangerously at that moment, like a lioness protecting her cub.

Although Jasper
was mere inches taller than her friend, the breadth of his shoulders and his barrel chest made him far more imposing. If he’d chosen to, he could have knocked Phil out of the way with one sweep of his arm. For such a strong man to have such finely chiselled, sensitive features was an anomaly. In some ways he reminded her of the Keep itself: A strange mismatch of pieces thrown together to serve a purpose. Strong, harsh and threatening – and yet, refined and vulnerable?

Where had that comparison come from? Was she losing her mind in her terror? But now that Phil was here
, she felt her emotions beginning to settle.

'Of course
she is. Her father sent a message to expect her yesterday before dark. He had finally convinced her to come. So close to the full moon was leaving it dangerously late. With the roads in such a bad way because of the winter ice, anything could have slowed her up. As it obviously did, because here she is, late.' Jasper shook her by the arm to make his point. Fidelia whimpered in protest.

'Jasper
, calm down. You're not yourself yet. Think man. Look at what you are doing to my friend,' Phil said urgently, placing her hand on the arm that held Fidelia prisoner.

Distracted,
the man called Jasper looked down at Phil's hand and then followed it to where he clutched Fidelia’s arm. Then, very slowly, he began to relax his hold. Phil continued to talk to him gently, urgently, as if he was a cornered animal who needed reassurance.

‘This is F
idelia Montgomery, my friend. You remember, I went South to be with her after her husband died? This is not Rebecca Thomlinson. I can assure you, this woman has done no one any harm.’

When he finally let her go
, it was abruptly, as if he’d suddenly realised he was being burned by contact with her arm. Then he began to back away from them both, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t hope to identify.

For a
moment more he hovered there, staring at them in horror. Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room as if the hounds of hell were at his back.

Once the madman
let her go and beat a hasty retreat, Fidelia had a moment to pull herself together. Maude was finally at her side, cooing like a discomforted pigeon. And, as annoying as Fidelia found it, she allowed the older woman to cosset her until the woman was able to calm down. Their bond was a lifetime one, and she would as soon hurt her maid by rejecting her comfort as she would throw herself from the battlements of this Keep.

'Are you all right, Dee
?' Phil asked in her no-nonsense way. Her face was filled with concern that seemed far out of proportion with the incident. Surely her friend didn't think she was such a fragile creature that being manhandled by the arm for a minute would damage her irreparably?

'Yes
, yes, please you two, do not fuss so. My arm hurts and it will take me a minute or two to get my breath back, but otherwise I am unhurt. These stays make drawing a deep breath almost impossible, but I will be fine once I can breathe normally again. I am so sorry that my arrival has precipitated this…incident.'

'Your arm, yes. I
will need to look at that. Let us go upstairs so you can remove some of those clothes and I can get a look at the damage.' Phil placed her hand on Fidelia's back and began directing her toward the stairs.

For a moment
, Fidelia felt like struggling against her friend in the same way she had fought against the madman. Everyone seemed insistent on taking her places she had not yet agreed to go.

But as quick
ly as the rebellious thought entered her head, it was gone, and she allowed Phil to direct her up the stairs and into a luxuriously appointed bedroom on the top floor.

It surprised her that such comfort could be available in such an otherwise stark and austere environment.
Large picture windows filled the room with morning light and she could see the moors stretch majestically beyond them. There was a huge fireplace with polished marble surround and large four-poster bed cloaked with rich brocade in the room. The wooden floor was covered with a rich Aubusson carpet.

Maude, at Phil's
instruction, began to remove Fidelia's outer garments. Her heavy winter cloak went first, followed by the heavy surge jacket. Then the velvet, long-sleeved dress was removed. As she was still struggling to catch her breath, Phil recommended Maude loosen the whalebone stays. In moments, the relief was magical.

Drawi
ng in the first real breath she’d enjoyed since arriving at the Keep, Fidelia looked up at her friend and tried to smile. 'I am sorry to be such an inconvenience.'

'Do no
t be absurd, darling. It is I who am sorry that your welcome was so...unpleasant. Jasper was not himself. He is the gentlest man, in normal circumstances. Now, let me get a better look at this arm. Please, God, he did not break the skin!' Phil pushed up the sleeve of her white cotton undergarment so she could inspect the red and angry mark there. Fidelia couldn't help whimpering when Phil touched the damaged spot.