Michael said. He seemed to be the older of the two—his hair was a little darker, his voice a little deeper.
“We never miss St. Paddy’s at the homestead,” Aidan told him. “And I’ve my band along this time. Lads are staying down in the village—hopefully, you’ll enjoying hearing us play.”
“If they’ve fortitude!” Michael teased.
“Eh!” Aidan said.
“Teasin’!” Michael assured them. “Actually, Aidan’s group is great. He forgot to mention there’s a lady with the band. Lovely voice she has. She gives the band the last bit of excellence that they needed to head over the top.”
“She and the lads are staying in the village,” Michael explained. “The castle was sold out. My own family castle. Ah, well, I asked Collum and Brendan last minute and ye can’t oust a paying guest like that. They’re fine, though. Put them at Molly Maguire’s bed and breakfast. They’ll be up for a wee bit of a drink tonight.”
Seamus was staring toward the doors to the castle’s central tower. A frown furrowed his white brows.
He looked over at Rocky.
“He was right behind us, just leaving another of his notes on the desk to check into the pub if anything was needed or amiss,” he said.
“Brendan?” Rocky asked.
“Right behind us! Right behind us!” Seamus said. He started to run toward the castle.
Rocky ran faster.
He burst through the giant wooden doors to the great hall.
And he froze.
Brendan was there.
On the ground.
Chapter 7
Kelly let out a terrifying scream.
Devin ran right into her cousin’s back, pushing her forward, and she caught Kelly by the shoulders, moving her so that she could see.
She strangled back a scream herself.
There was something that seemed frighteningly medieval and oddly poetic about the way Brendan Karney lay. His massive back and shoulders were flat on the floor of the great hall, his eyes wide open, staring upward at the wall where the great crest of his family held prominence dead center over the massive stone hearth and the crest surrounded by medieval shield and crossed swords.
Where now a few were missing.
He’d gone down with such a sword in his hand, taken from that wall—but it had never drawn blood. One of the fine fifteenth century dirks that had belonged in its proper place at the side of the crest had not drawn blood either—it lay near the left hand of the dead man, as if he had wielded the sword in one hand and the dirk in another to battle an enemy—and unseen demon, so it appeared.
Because Brendan Karney had not been wounded in any way that met the eye—he was just there, staring, eyes wide open with horror, at whatever man or beast he had meant to battle.
“Call the emergency number,” Rocky said.
He was already on his knees by the dead man.
“Dammit!” Rocky roared. “Emergency!”
Kelly collected herself, shaking as she pulled out her cell phone. But her voice was clear and distinct when she asked for help.
Rocky had already begun work over Brendan, practicing cardio pulmonary resuscitation.
Brendan had appeared to be dead!
But, he wasn’t .
Devin hurried over to come to her knees by Rocky’s side, grateful that training worked and that she quickly kicked into response mode rather than shock. She let Rocky continue counting and using the “hands only” practice for an unconscious heart attack victim. He sat back, letting her take over, then used his own careful force again.
As she worked on her knees, she felt a strange sensation sweeping over her.
The same eerie feeling of cold that had touched her in the Karney family tomb .
She dared to look around. And she thought that, lurking in the shadows beneath the stone staircase that led to the floor above the great hall, there was something.
A shadow in the shadows. A great raven’s wing. Something…
Dark.
Darker than dark.
She didn’t dare look; Rocky had realized that even lying prone, eyes wide open, Brendan might still be alive. And while it didn’t
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