Taming the Beast by Heather Grothaus Page B

man.
    â€œIf there is anything you have need of that the staff cannot accommodate—which would not surprise me as they’re hopelessly inept—simply send word. Sir Hugh Gilbert shall scurry-scurry to your side most obediently.” His tone was mocking to the extreme.
    â€œ Sir Hugh Gilbert?” Michaela asked pointedly, eyeing the man’s fine costume. Beyond fine—it was magnificent, with embroidery and deep velvet. Fit more for royalty than a lowly crusading knight. “Is that—”
    Sir Hugh’s eyes sparkled like deep, icy water and his beautiful lips thinned. “Yes. Sir . ‘Lord of Nothing’ is hardly impressive, is it?” He gave her a tight smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see that your trunk is brought up.” He gave a mocking bow. “Miss Fortune.”
    The chamber door closed.
    Michaela growled and spun on her heel, looking for any convenient object to hurl. But her loose, worn slipper slid from beneath her heel and tangled in the rug underfoot, wrenching her ankle and sending her to the floor with a cry. As she landed, she heard the odd sound of a musical giggle, like a child would make, and she rose up on her hands, searching the low shadows from floor level.
    â€œWho was that? Who’s here? Show yourself!” Michaela held her breath and listened, but heard not another whisper. A feeling of being watched tiptoed between her shoulder blades on icy feet.
    Was Cherbon Castle haunted? It would explain the morbid surroundings, but Michaela did not think she could resign herself to sharing a bedchamber with a spirit, no matter how outrageous the prize.
    How would she ever get undressed with any modesty?
    â€œHello?” she called quietly. She swallowed, and the sound was loud in the vast room. “Are you…are you a ghost?”
    The giggle sounded again, from behind her. Michaela sat up quickly and turned just in time to see the little boy dash from behind a drapery to the door.
    â€œWait!” Michaela called, and struggled to gain her feet.
    But the dark-haired child wrenched open the door and fled into the corridor on bare feet, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.
    Michaela sat on the floor, undecided. Probably the child belonged to some servant of Cherbon, brought to the castle by his parent and warned to stay out of sight—it would explain the hiding. She looked about the dismal room, the despair seeming to seep from the very walls, then to the open doorway and black corridor beyond.
    The boy, more familiar with the castle than Michaela, was likely already to the stone keep’s heart on his swift feet by now. She’d never catch him.
    Go about your business , Sir Hugh Gilbert had said.
    If she was to become Lady of Cherbon, wasn’t the manor’s children—their whereabouts and unruly behavior—her business? Besides, she must learn the passages of her new home eventually. And finding the boy might lend her some insight as to the strange and unconcerned behavior of the villagers. Perhaps she would even encounter the great and lordly Lord Cherbon in her explorations.
    Her stomach did a nervous wiggle.
    Michaela gained her feet and marched into the corridor, leaving the door standing open.
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    Roderick limped straightaway to his chamber, confident that Hugh would soon follow, and he was not disappointed. His handsome, dark-haired friend came through the door, chuckling, not long after Roderick had settled into his chair and began the struggle with his boots.
    There would be no further need for the damned things until nightfall, when he could move about the keep on his own, now that one applicant had fled and a new one—much to his surprise—had been installed. And this woman was one Roderick wanted nothing to do with at this point.
    She was dangerous to him, he could feel it. Dangerous, but also essential to his survival.
    Hugh closed the door, and as soon as the action was