The Reckless Bride by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

watching cultists kept his attention from her.
    Rallying her wits, stiffening her spine, she hauled in a breath, dragged her notes out of her reticule, and swept into the church, determined to keep her mind, and his, on the notable features of the ancient building that, despite its history of frequent and violent change, yet remained.
    After one rather sharp look at her, he fell in with her lead and, hands clasped safely behind his back, dutifully followed in her wake as, with Rose by her side, she examined monuments, sculptures, and wonderful stained glass, then, under the pretext of spending a moment in prayer, sat in a pew and quickly scribbled notes to jog her memory when she later came to write her next
Window on Europe
vignette.
    Buda Castle was their next stop—after another two incidents of Carstairs gripping her hand, another ten minutes of sitting beside him in the carriage trying to suppress her senses’ witless awareness. Yet when she stood on the pavementoutside the gates, she suspected the castle would be worth the ordeal. She eagerly followed the young scholar-monk who the custodian deputed to be their guide; informed of her specific interests, constantly pushing heavy spectacles up his nose, he led them through the massive building, showing her examples of the changes the centuries had wrought.
    As an illustration of the damage so often visited upon art by politics, the castle was close to perfect.
    At the last, hoping her enthusiasm had paved the way, she smiled at the young man. “I had heard that there are catacombs.”
    His gaze flickered; he glanced nervously about. “You mean the labyrinth.”
    “Indeed.” She caught his gaze, tried to impress him with her earnestness. “I’m really very keen to see the tunnels.”
    She was sure her readers would be equally keen to hear of them, perhaps in a vignette on otherworldly, atmospheric sights. Anything that hinted at ghosts always did well in the popular press.
    The young scholar hesitated, but then nodded. “This way.”
    Turning to follow, she met Carstairs’s eye, saw an intent expression sharpening the soft blue, but let the look slide past as she hurried after their guide.
    He led them through increasingly narrow corridors, then pushed open a heavy, iron-studded door and walked into a small antechamber. He glanced again at her eager expression, then he lit an oil lamp, turned to an archway in the wall, beckoned, and led them on.
    Down. Down a stone stairway that spiraled ever deeper into the rock on which the castle sat.
    “Ah … Miss Loretta?”
    Rose’s disembodied voice had Loretta pausing and glancing back, not that she could see anything past Carstairs’s shoulders.
    “If it’s all right with you, miss, me and Hassan will wait in the chamber at the top.”
    Guessing from her nervous tone that Rose didn’t appreciatethe close atmosphere, Loretta called back, “Yes, of course.”
    Avoiding Carstairs’s eyes, she turned and followed their guide on.
    The stairway led down and down. Then the light from the guide’s lamp was suddenly swallowed by a vast blackness. He slowed, and stepped away from the stair. Following, Loretta stepped down onto dust-covered rock. The air about them smelled of damp stone, although all she could see seemed dry.
    The guide hoisted the lamp high, letting light sweep the walls of a large oval chamber. “This is the main entrance to the labyrinth—there are others, but some distance away.” He pointed to the black holes in the walls; Loretta counted eight. “Those are the tunnels. It is said those foolish enough to venture into the labyrinth are never seen again.” The young man shrugged. Walking forward, he shone the lamp into one tunnel. “So it is said, but we do not truly know, for no one has tried to learn the labyrinth’s secrets in recent times.”
    Loretta quelled a shiver. The chamber was wonderfully gothic. She looked around, impressing as much as she could on her memory—the sense of great