Border Lord by Julia Templeton Page A

might be walking the earth in ghostly form, the sisters closed the door, barred it, and have not entered it since, over seven hundred years ago.”
    “So no one knows what happened to Laird MacLellan’s daughter?” Terri asked, more than a little intrigued by the tale.
    “No one knows,” the guide said with a shrug. “Some say she was held captive in Brochan’s castle, while others say sheescaped, back into the arms of her father. To this day her fate remains a mystery.”
    The tour guide glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid that is all we have time for. We must return to the bus before your driver leaves you all behind. Come, let’s hurry.”
    As the rest of the crowd followed the tour guide, Terri stayed behind, staring at the old, scarred door. How she itched to know what lay beyond. It was a shame the door was closed to visitors, and all because of a ghost.
    Terri had always believed in the paranormal after a strange occurrence in the old Virginia farm house she had been raised in. At first the hollow footsteps and doors that opened and closed on their own frightened her, but after a while she came to accept the fact that whoever it was would not harm her.
    She wondered if the ghost within that chamber would be the same. Just some poor soul who didn’t realize she was dead.
    Glancing over her shoulder, she looked at the empty hallway behind her. The tour guide’s voice faded as a door opened, sunlight filtered in, and long moments later closed.
    Silence. Terri chewed her bottom lip. Do I dare? Adrenaline rushing through her veins, she took a step toward the door, and paused. Seven hundred years was a long time for a door to be closed. And what if the ghost of the nun was actually in the room when that door opened? Had anyone ever been killed by an apparition?
    Stealing a last fleeting look down the long, secluded hallway, Terri lifted the plank and set it aside. Rubbing the soot from her hands onto her jeans, she pressed against the door, and an ominous creak vibrated down the hall.
    Just one little peek. That was it, then she would get back on the road and face her future.
    Taking a steadying breath, she stepped into the room but could see nothing because of the darkness. Cool air brushed across her skin, making the hair on her arms stand on end. In the corner she could barely make out what appeared to be a cot, and then a chair…and something, or rather someone else.
     
    Terri’s head hurt like hell.
    A horrible pain that throbbed, and sounded like someone pounding. The noise was so loud, she covered her ears with her hands.
    “Hurry, or you shall be late,” a voice said from the other side of the door.
    Terri sat up with a start, looking around the strange room that had a tiny little window, and a huge, thick door. The only furnishings a small cot, a high-backed chair, and a makeshift wood table with a candleholder, where a candle flickered in the waning light.
    “Annabelle, wake up.”
    “Annabelle?” Terri repeated, recalling the name from the tour of the priory. When had that been…yesterday?
    And was this the chamber she had walked into after the tour? The room at the Priory of Grace in Scotland, where Laird MacLellan killed the nun?
    Uneasiness rippled along her spine as she tried to piece together what had happened. Shivering, she ran her hands up her arms and looked down to find she wore a thin chemise, made of rough linen, and nothing else.
    She frowned. Where the hell were her clothes?
    After a quick search under the cot and about the room, she came up empty-handed. Her jeans, sweater, shoes, socks,and underwear were all missing, and the shapeless black garment flung over the chair must be what little she had in the way of clothing.
    Ripping the blanket off the cot, she wrapped it around her and stepped to the window. A secluded courtyard with beautiful roses of varying colors lined a pathway of smooth pebbles. Several ornamental stone benches sat about every twenty feet.
    Terri frowned,