After Midnight by Colleen Faulkner Read Free Book Online Page A

match his position.
    "Emily, you needna fear me."
    She gripped the book to her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. "I don't."
    But he must have heard the tremor in her voice.
    "I wouldna harm ye, or Ruth, or even Angus. I will see myself dead first."
     
    Emily retired to her bedchamber and the bed that she shared with Ruth, but she couldn't sleep. For more than an hour she tossed and turned; she couldn't get the image of Gordon's face out of her mind. She couldn't stop thinking of his inference that there could have been something more to their relationship than their friendship. She couldn't stop thinking of the way he'd held her hand and the strange light that illuminated his eyes.
    Finally Emily surrendered to her restlessness and climbed out of bed. She put on Ruth's frilly white night robe and a pair of woolen stockings and took an oil lamp to light her way. There was only one place to go when she was restless, only one haven: the library.
    Emily was not frightened by the dark cold castle, or the shadows cast from her lamp, as she descended the staircase. Inside the library with its stacks of books and crates piled everywhere, she lit several more lamps and began to peruse the shelves. Perhaps one of Gordon's books would take her mind from her troubled thoughts.
    She ran her finger along the leather bindings, studying the tides and authors. In the last few days she had become as familiar with Gordon's collection as she was with her own back in Philadelphia.
    Nothing caught her eye immediately, so she pulled out a stair-step on wheels and, after lifting her night-clothes, climbed the steps. Perhaps she'd overlooked a book that would interest her.
    On the higher shelves, Gordon placed books he read infrequently. There were Russian poets, Greek myths, essays by American patriots. Always fascinated by American literature, she retrieved a stack of original pamphlets featuring the writings of Thomas Jefferson. When she pulled them from the shelf, she was surprised to find a palm-size book behind them.
    Curious, she retrieved the book and replaced Tom Jefferson on the shelf. She ran her hand over the crude brown leather binding in fascination. This book was old, very old. It smelled of disintegrating leather and paper and time.
    Emily sat down on the top step of the rolling ladder and drew the book closer to the lamplight. The cover was embossed with faded gilt lettering across its front.
    The book was written in what could only be ancient Pictish.
    She flipped open the cover. Bits of paper dust filtered through her fingers. The book's pages were so thin they were transparent. It had not been type-set, but hand-written in scrolls. Much of the ink was faded beyond recognition. Pages were stuck together.
    Though Emily couldn't read Pictish, she recognized the book's form. It seemed to be some sort of instruction book.
    Instructions? Instructions on what? she wondered excitedly. She always loved a challenge. Perhaps the book couldn't be saved, but maybe the information inside could be. She wondered if Gordon read Pictish.
    Filled with a sense of excitement, Emily carefully turned the pages. As careful as she was, some of the pages splintered when she touched them.
    "No, no," she whispered. "Why did he keep you hidden? Why did he let you die like this?"
    In the center were hand-sketched ink illustrations. A castle on a cliff. Fraser Castle? A circle of standing stones.
    She turned the page.
    What Emily saw made her blood run cold.
    The last sketch was of a dark-haired man in a cloak. He was a handsome man with dark eyes and an aquiline face.
    A man with bloody red fangs.
----
Chapter Five

     
    Emily slapped the book shut and let it fall from her hands, as if merely touching it could somehow harm her. She leaped off the ladder and dashed for the hallway. She ran out of the library and into the cold darkness. She didn't stop until she reached the front door.
    What am I doing
? she thought, gripping the doorknob with both hands.