The Winter Rose

  THE WINTER ROSE

  BY ALEXANDRA BENEDICT

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  THE WINTER ROSE

  Copyright © April 2018 Alexandra Benedikt

  Cover Photo Copyright © shmeljov/Bigstock.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  www.AlexandraBenedict.ca

  THE WINTER ROSE

  Scotland, 1793

  The furious wind slashed and swirled, whipping up snowflakes in delirious funnels.

  From his vantage in the castle library, Ian MacGregor studied the storm through the frosted window. Crystals had formed in the corners of the glass. The glittering flecks spread outward like spider webs. Soon the whole pane would be covered in rime.

  He rubbed his scarred cheek. It ached with the bitter gale. The more savage the flurries, the more savage his pain. The cold pierced him to the bone, even with a great fire blazing at his backside. But he would not move away from the window. He stood in front of the glass, listening to it splinter under the blight of ice, waiting for it to shatter, for the tempest to besiege the castle and destroy him.

  His eyes burrowed into the night.

  Come, he beseeched the darkness. Come and take me.

  And then Death appeared.

  At last.

  A white figure in the snowdrifts stumbled toward him. It sidestepped in the mighty gale, floundered—then collapsed.

  “No!” he shouted and bounded from the room.

  Tearing through the castle, he reached the entryway and pulled apart the heavy oak doors. The biting wind slapped him, sliced through his clothes. His muscles burned with cold. He pushed onward through the whirling snow. The mounds reached his knees. He pushed onward still.

  He followed the firelight from the castle window. The bright beam stretched deep into the night, illuminating a billowing sail of … tulle and taffeta.

  Ian stared at the woman. Her cloak lashed him. She clenched a wilted bouquet of red roses.

  It was not Death that had come to the castle but a simple lass.

  He gritted his teeth. When would Death stalk him?

  Ian reached down and scooped the frozen body into his arms, trudging back to the keep. Once inside, he hastened with her to the library and placed her on the bearskin rug before the roaring fire.

  Her lips were blue. Her veins purple. Even her dark brown hair was stiff with frost. But she lived. White puffs of air seeped between her chilled lips.

  He grabbed blankets and pillows from the chairs and cocooned her, waited for her limbs to shiver and generate heat, but she remained unmoving, her eyes shut tight, her lashes white with ice.

  “Damn.”

  With no other recourse, Ian settled behind her and drew her into his arms, hissing at the stark feel of her iced flesh. His own body shivered. He pressed his mouth against her exposed throat and breathed over her weak pulse.

  “Wake up, lass,” he whispered.

  He rubbed her arms, her hands. Her fingers cricked. The blossoms fell from her grip, and he threw the petals into the fire. Soon her chest spasmed. She gasped for breath. And her bones shuddered.

  “That’s it, lass. Wake.”

  When he heard her chattering teeth, he knew she was coming ’round. The layer of hoarfrost over her skin and clothes melted. He stripped off her wet outerwear, tossing the garments away.

  After wrapping her body in more woolly blankets, he gathered her trembling figure into his arms again, cursing his misfortune.

  Death had not come for him tonight. It had tried to take the woman, instead.

  He clenched his teeth, grinding his molars.

  If Death would not take him after so many wretched years, Ian would take something from Death.

  He would keep the lass.

  ~ * ~

  Bonnie opened her eyes, absorbing the soft light. As her foggy gaze regained focus, she explored her surroundings from the warmth of the bed. Where was she? And how had she found her way under the plush covers?

  She peeked beneath the linens and found her body draped in a shift and chemise, though her outerwear was missing. What had happened to her clothes?

  Her thoughts churned with ever greater vim, searching for answers, but shadows filled her mind: inscrutable shadows.

  She was sore, weak. It took much of her strength to struggle upright. As if she had the palsy, her limbs were like paste.

  Bonnie heaved a deep breath. Mercy, what strange fate had befallen her?

  It was several more minutes before she’d gathered enough energy to scramble to the edge of the feather mattress, wincing at the aches and pains. Vertigo gripped her for many moments before she hoisted off the bed, grabbing a bedpost for support.

  As her dizziness eased, she felt firmer on her bare feet and took another, more detailed survey of her unfamiliar milieu.

  The chamber was massive with vaulted ceilings covered in frescos. The flickering light from the candles, the fire caused the carved images to almost dance. How enchanting!

  There was a large wood wardrobe, opened and filled with illustrious gowns of every color under heaven. One gown had been laid out—for her?—seated in an armchair. It was a shimmering aqua blue, festooned with diamond and sapphire stones.

  She had never seen such lavishness, not even in Paris during her grand tour. At the foot of the chair was a pair of silken shoes, also covered with precious gems sparkling in the firelight. The hourglass heels seemed ready to kick up and dance. The pointed toecap with high vamp and gold embroidered tongue begged to be paraded and admired.

  “Oh, how beautiful,” she whispered, unarmed by their majestic charm.

  Thank you.

  “You’re welcome,” returned Bonnie.

  Bonnie clamped her hand over her gaping mouth. Had she just conversed with a pair of shoes? “I must be mad.”

  Aren’t I worthy of your adoration?

  Bonnie crouched beside the slippers. “Oh, yes, very worthy. But I mustn’t touch you. I’m afraid …”

  Afraid of what?

  “I’m afraid I might do something rash.”

  With me?

  “Yes.”

  How delightful!

  “No,” Bonnie chastised the shoes. “You are meant for another. I am not your mistress.”

  Aye, you are, gel. Read the note.

  She frowned. “What note?”

  On the vanity. Look.

  Bonnie slowly approached the vanity and paused when she noticed the folded missive. She wasn’t sure what was more frightening: that she heard voices or that the voices were truthful?

  Apprehensive, she reached for the card and unfurled the note:

  Meet me in the Dining Room for Dinner.

  Her heart pounded after reading the invitation; it sounded more like a behest—one she could not decline. Was it from her host?

  And the shoes? The frocks? Were they really for her? Why?

  Bonnie was overwhelmed.

  Mustn’t be late. The master is strict about time.

  “And who is your master?”

  First, get dressed. Make haste!

  As an inexplicable sense of urgency came over her, Bonnie bustled toward the chair and retrieved the
blue skirt and bodice. The hooks and eyes fastened in the front, making it easy to get dressed without the assistance of a maid.

  Bonnie then slipped into the fancy shoes—who cooed with delight, much to her bewilderment—then headed for the vanity, where she twisted her dark ringlets into a crown above her head, using the pins and combs scattered across the desk to secure her chignon.

  How lovely! Now for the jewels.

  “Jewels?” said Bonnie. “No, that is too much.”

  Master will be displeased if you do not wear the jewels.

  Bonnie was starting to dislike the sound of “the master.” He seemed an authoritarian. Mayhap a tyrant. And the thought of such a beastly host set her pulse pounding. A coldness came over her, chilled her very toes. There was something about the thought of an autocrat that sent her into a near panic, though she wasn’t sure why.

  Brrr. Are you cold?

  “Aye,” returned Bonnie. “I’m not sure I want to meet your master.”

  Oh, but you must! He would be so …

  “So what?” demanded Bonnie. “Angry? Violent?”

  She gulped at the distressing thought. Scooping the sides of her glimmering gown, she dashed toward the window and gazed outward, searching for escape. Her eyes widened. She found the land covered in snow—blinding, raging, impenetrable, howling snow. In the heart of summer? Impossible! Even in the Highlands, surely?

  And yet, Bonnie was trapped.

  He would be disappointed, is all. Fret not, gel.

  Bonnie wasn’t comforted by her new friend’s assurance. Still, she had no choice but to obey. If she wanted to leave the castle, she would need her host’s assistance. She might as well tolerate his quirks; they seemed harmless enough.

  “Very well,” said Bonnie, treading back toward the vanity where a jewellery box with inlaid wood beckoned her.

  Slowly she lifted the lid and groaned at the brilliant array of priceless ornaments. If she lost or damaged an irreplaceable bauble, she feared she was doomed.

  Ooh, the sapphires are divine! There’s a pin for your hair, a set of earrings and a demure necklace. Wear the set!

  Demure, her foot, grumbled Bonnie, but she warily adorned herself with the jewels.

  Ah, you look like a princess.

  “I feel like a fraud.”

  Rubbish! It was all made for you, gel.

  “What do you mean? I just arrived. How is that possible?”

  What did her host exactly want from her?

  It’s time for dinner. Master will explain, I promise.

  Bonnie took in a desperate breath, then headed for the door. “Where is the dining hall?”

  Just follow the candles.

  As soon as Bonnie entered the passageway, the corridor was lined with candlelight. Several other passageways were dark as pitch. As instructed, Bonnie pursued the trail of illumination, making her way through the drafty stone keep.

  After traversing several halls and winding staircases, she found herself at a set of double doors, carved with charming images of woodland creatures.

  Her fingers trembled as she reached for the latch.

  Knock first!

  Bonnie started in alarm.

  Master does not like to be surprised.

  “That’s two of us,” she muttered under her breath.

  Bonnie curled her fingers and rapped on the door, awaiting a summons, but her host remained silent.

  Should she knock again? A little louder perhaps?

  You can enter now. Master isn’t much of a talker.

  Bonnie sighed. How was she going to learn anything about him or her situation at the castle if he wasn’t “much of a talker”?

  She gathered her bravado, opened one of the doors and gawked at the sumptuous meal laid out across the linen-covered dining table.

  Her belly growled the moment she set eyes upon the steaming fare. How mortifying! Had her host heard the unladylike gurgles?

  But the room appeared empty. She searched the shadows under the roaring flames of the hearth and still found the dining parlor deserted. How odd. Why had she knocked?

  She headed for the ingleside. There, she reached toward the blaze, rubbing her hands in a brisk fashion. Her host was late. For all the urgency she’d endured, the master was actually late. Whatever happened to his strictness about time? And to leave her amid such tempting cuisine? It was tantamount to torture.

  Bonnie looked back at the spread, meshing her lips together. There were only two armchairs, one at either head of the table, and no servants. She frowned. In retrospect, she had not encountered a single soul during her journey to the dining room. Where were the staff? A keep required a hundred helpers, at least. Were they in bed for the night? Hiding?

  But her thoughts disbanded the longer she stared at the dishes. At last, she inched her way toward the table and nipped a roasted carrot. How divine! A pinch of meat, next. Oh, heavens! Then, with her forefinger, a scoop of mashed potatoes. Unearthly goodness!

  “Have a seat.”

  Her shoulders jerked. “Who’s there?” She backed away from the table as if it were cursed, her backside burning as she neared the flames. “Where are you?”

  “Right here,” said the voice, a low timbre with a soft brogue.

  She squinted, searched the far-off shadows, and there, beside a pillar, stood a tall and muscular figure.

  “H—How long have you been there?” she stammered. And how had he entered the room without her notice?

  “I’ve been here from the start,” he returned in a slow vein.

  “No, I would have spotted you before now.”

  “Things are not always as they seem at the castle,” was his cryptic response. “Sit.” He then ordered, “Eat.”

  Bonnie moved toward the table again. She took a seat. And waited.

  At length she wondered, “Won’t you join me?”

  “No.”

  No? He was her host. How could she start the meal if he wasn’t seated at the table, too? How ill-mannered! Was she just supposed to stare at the food?

  “I said, eat.”

  “I can’t,” she snapped. Then with a little less heat, “My host is dragging his feet to the table.”

  A rough chortle. “You have spirit, lass.”

  “I have an empty belly, too.”

  “Then eat,” he verily growled.

  Bonnie huffed. She took wine and bread. Meat and vegetables. Fruit for dessert. And pudding. Pies, too! It wasn’t long before her belly ached from gluttony.

  “Are you satisfied?” his deep voice rumbled.

  She shivered at the peculiar affect his rugged tone had over her. “Aye, I’m sated.”

  “I bid you good evening, then.”

  Bonnie lifted from her seat. “Wait!”

  He paused.

  “Come into the light, I insist.”

  The shoes on her feet quivered. Gracious, were they frightened? What rubbish!

  Bonnie kicked off the shrinking slippers. The pair clattered against the wall. In her bare feet, she rounded the table. “I said, come into the light.”

  A tangible tension filled the room, but she refused to skirt away and retreat to the bedchamber. Where was she? How had she arrived at the castle? And when could she leave the keep? She would have answers.

  “I’d mind your tongue, lass.”

  “Or you’ll dismiss me? Splendid! I’ll borrow a horse in the morning, just as soon as the storm passes.”

  His laughter boomed in the great dining hall. “The storm will never pass, I’m afraid.”

  “What nonsense!”

  “You will see … in time.”

  She shirked under his threat. “What do you mean? Are you going to keep me prisoner?”

  He stepped toward her, though his features remained in the dark. “I must.”

  “No!” she cried.

  “And where would you go if I set you free?”

  “Home, I suppose.”

  “Where is home?”

  “I—I
don’t remember.”

  “Death stalks you, lass. Out there. It will take your life.”

  “I don’t believe you. You can’t keep me here! I will leave as soon as the storm ends.”

  “I told you, it will never end.” Another step forward. “It snows night and day. Every day.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I thought so, too, once upon a time … but the seasons have disappeared, and I don’t know how many years have passed. What is the date?”

  “You are trying to frighten me.”

  “The truth is frightening, lass.”

  “Bonnie. I am Bonnie.”

  He finally stepped into the firelight. He had black britches and boots. A white shirt and black vest. His hair, an amber brown, was neatly combed. He looked every bit the gentleman—except for the scar.

  She gasped at the sight of the wound; it slashed over his right eye, down his cheek and cut into his upper lip. Tears filled her eyes. Tears of pity. Horror.

  “What’s the matter, Bonnie?” he asked with glaring bitterness, his brunet brown eyes blackening. “Did you not insist I come into the light?”

  “What happened to you?” she whispered.

  “I am cursed.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  He eased back into the shadows. “You will.”

  She squinched her eyes ... but he was gone. There must be another door, she assumed, mayhap even a secret passage in the wall.

  As tears streaked her cheeks, Bonnie glanced at the discarded slippers. “How long has he been here?”

  Too long.

  With a hopeless sob, she dropped back into her chair.

  ~ * ~

  At first light, Bonnie stood beside the window, watching the snowstorm in dismay. It hadn’t relented since last night. It was just as blinding, raging, impenetrable and howling as ever. Her heart thumped loud and fierce. Was she truly a prisoner at the castle?

  She turned away from the window and glanced at her resplendent surroundings, but the fancy trappings didn’t comfort her. She was still a captive, even if she dwelled within a gilded cage.