Read Online The Shadow and the Night: Glenncailty Castle, Book 3 by Lila Dubois - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lila Dubois
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touched the stone, running her fingers over it—part of it was smooth, the other part of it strangely rough. She brought her phone closer. There was a date, but it was so badly damaged she had trouble making it out. It looked like 1632 , but she might be wrong. The space above that, where there should have been a name, had been hacked away.
“This isn’t forgotten,” she whispered into the wind. “It was desecrated.”
Shivering not with the cold but with horror at the realization, she stood. Beyond the wall the main and east wings of the castle were bright with light. A hidden room with bodies, a graveyard that had been desecrated and forgotten.
There was something black in the history of this place.
Chapter Five
Tristan looked at the clock on the wall of the kitchen.
He wasn’t going. He’d decided last night.
Cutting the dough into long strips, he then quickly sectioned off triangles and rolled the croissants. He wasn’t a baker, but there was something soothing about the focus and attention it took to bake, especially something as temperamental as croissants.
He put the croissants into the oven, nodding to the baker, who, at eight a.m., was nearly done making the bread, rolls and pastries for the day. Normally Tristan didn’t come in until after she was done, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Setting a timer for the croissants, he cleaned up his workspace.
“Tristan, are you coming?”
Tristan looked up to see Sorcha leaning in the main kitchen door. She was smiling and seemed to be nearly glowing with happiness. After the horror of the other night, she and Séan were spending every non-working moment together.
While Tristan was still haunted by what had happened in the nursery, Sorcha and Séan seemed well recovered. Tristan was sure that the sex they were having helped. He, unfortunately, was celibate as a monk. The only woman he’d met lately who interested him was Dr. Heavey—who thought he was a delusional idiot.
“No, I’m not going.”
“Tristan, you should. You were there.” Sorcha checked her watch.
“I have work to do. I cannot attend a meeting that has nothing to do with the kitchen.”
From what he’d heard, Melissa was planning to explain to Seamus what she’d learned from examining the remains.
“Are you well?” Sorcha released the door, stepping fully into the kitchen.
“I’m busy.”
“I know you are, we all are, but this is important.”
“You do not need me there.” Tristan folded his arms, ignoring both Sorcha’s frown and Jacques’ glare.
“Have you talked to her?” Sorcha asked quietly.
Tristan didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. “No.”
“Neither have I. With the party and everything else—” Sorcha’s lips twitched in a little smile, “—I haven’t had the chance.”
Sorcha’s reasons were sound and logical—Tristan’s were not. He was embarrassed and angry. Embarrassed that he’d been nearly overcome with the presence of the horrifying ghost memories and angry at Melissa for being so unaffected. He felt like a fool, and he was sure she thought he was one, or worse.
She was maddening, strange, bossy and gorgeous—he didn’t want to see those pretty green eyes looking at him with pity or disappointment.
The exterior door opened and Séan tromped in, carrying the cooler of meat for the day. Tristan hustled over, but Séan held on to the box.
“I’m putting this in the fridge,” he said. “You can have it after the meeting. Sorcha texted me that you aren’t going.”
“ Non . I need to prepare.” Tristan glared at Sorcha.
“It only takes you five minutes to cook a steak.” Séan shoved the whole cooler into the room-sized refrigerator.
“It should only take five minutes to cook a steak. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve got it, Chef.” Jim said as he came in. The fry chef put his wallet, jacket and hat in his basket and tied on an apron. He took the cooler out and started
“This isn’t forgotten,” she whispered into the wind. “It was desecrated.”
Shivering not with the cold but with horror at the realization, she stood. Beyond the wall the main and east wings of the castle were bright with light. A hidden room with bodies, a graveyard that had been desecrated and forgotten.
There was something black in the history of this place.
Chapter Five
Tristan looked at the clock on the wall of the kitchen.
He wasn’t going. He’d decided last night.
Cutting the dough into long strips, he then quickly sectioned off triangles and rolled the croissants. He wasn’t a baker, but there was something soothing about the focus and attention it took to bake, especially something as temperamental as croissants.
He put the croissants into the oven, nodding to the baker, who, at eight a.m., was nearly done making the bread, rolls and pastries for the day. Normally Tristan didn’t come in until after she was done, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Setting a timer for the croissants, he cleaned up his workspace.
“Tristan, are you coming?”
Tristan looked up to see Sorcha leaning in the main kitchen door. She was smiling and seemed to be nearly glowing with happiness. After the horror of the other night, she and Séan were spending every non-working moment together.
While Tristan was still haunted by what had happened in the nursery, Sorcha and Séan seemed well recovered. Tristan was sure that the sex they were having helped. He, unfortunately, was celibate as a monk. The only woman he’d met lately who interested him was Dr. Heavey—who thought he was a delusional idiot.
“No, I’m not going.”
“Tristan, you should. You were there.” Sorcha checked her watch.
“I have work to do. I cannot attend a meeting that has nothing to do with the kitchen.”
From what he’d heard, Melissa was planning to explain to Seamus what she’d learned from examining the remains.
“Are you well?” Sorcha released the door, stepping fully into the kitchen.
“I’m busy.”
“I know you are, we all are, but this is important.”
“You do not need me there.” Tristan folded his arms, ignoring both Sorcha’s frown and Jacques’ glare.
“Have you talked to her?” Sorcha asked quietly.
Tristan didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. “No.”
“Neither have I. With the party and everything else—” Sorcha’s lips twitched in a little smile, “—I haven’t had the chance.”
Sorcha’s reasons were sound and logical—Tristan’s were not. He was embarrassed and angry. Embarrassed that he’d been nearly overcome with the presence of the horrifying ghost memories and angry at Melissa for being so unaffected. He felt like a fool, and he was sure she thought he was one, or worse.
She was maddening, strange, bossy and gorgeous—he didn’t want to see those pretty green eyes looking at him with pity or disappointment.
The exterior door opened and Séan tromped in, carrying the cooler of meat for the day. Tristan hustled over, but Séan held on to the box.
“I’m putting this in the fridge,” he said. “You can have it after the meeting. Sorcha texted me that you aren’t going.”
“ Non . I need to prepare.” Tristan glared at Sorcha.
“It only takes you five minutes to cook a steak.” Séan shoved the whole cooler into the room-sized refrigerator.
“It should only take five minutes to cook a steak. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve got it, Chef.” Jim said as he came in. The fry chef put his wallet, jacket and hat in his basket and tied on an apron. He took the cooler out and started
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