drowned
some of the lesser Welsh nobles. It helped that the Duke of Hereford lived to be a
very old man and suppressed any rumblings from the Welsh courts.”
I shivered again, remembering the sight of that awful-looking woman on the bridge
with that chain slinking its way from her to Merrick Brown. “Mr. Crunn,” I said, wondering
if he might know anything about why she would be keeping Merrick’s spirit captive,
“this morning when we took the constable back through that tunnel on our way to find
your sister and we first encountered the Grim Widow, she wasn’t alone.” He cocked
his head quizzically and I had second thoughts about telling him about Merrick. I
didn’t want to upset him all over again. “She had another person bound by a chain.
Do you know anything about that?”
Crunn opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment a whole troop of people came rushing
into the main hall, filling it with their giggles, catcalls, and loud voices. I turned
to watch them file in, taking note that there wasn’t an ugly person in the bunch.
Or a short one.
In all I counted at least a dozen model-looking types, both male and female. At the
back of the group was a stately-looking couple who appeared to be dripping with money.
They wore luxurious fabrics and walked with a distinct air of importance. Just in
front of them was a man who was so striking that for a moment my breath caught.
He was dark-haired with a goatee and thin mustache. His hair was jet-black with a
hint of gray around the temples, and his features were almost elfin. He was tall like
everyone else, but too old to be a model; at least that’s what I thought. And then
my suspicions were confirmed when I noticed the expensive digital camera around his
neck and another one in his hand.
I must have caught his eye, because his gaze fell on me, then casually away, but came
back again and this time it came with a smile. He then stopped midstride, raised his
camera, and took my picture. I was so startled by the move that for a moment I didn’t
know what to think.
“Ah, Arthur, there you are!” said the gray-haired man who was part of the couple that
seemed to be dripping with money. “Are you ready to give up your magnificent hall?”
Arthur moved away from us to go speak with the elegant man and his wife. Meanwhile,
next to me Gopher nudged my arm and motioned to the photographer. “That guy just took
your picture.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, still watching the man as he scrutinized the shot he’d just
taken in his viewfinder. He seemed to nod to himself and raised the camera again and
pointed at us, his finger clicking several more times before he lowered the lens to
study the images again.
“Now he’s taking
our
picture,” Gopher said.
“Nothing gets by you, does it?”
Gopher eyed me crossly. “Well, he is!”
“He’s a photographer, Goph. That’s what they do.”
“Yeah? Well, two can play at that game.” Before I knew it, Gopher had his smartphone
out and had started snapping photos of the photographer.
Seeing this, the gorgeous man laughed and walked over to us. “You must excuse me,”
he said with a distinct Scottish brogue. Extending his hand out to shake Gopher’s
hand, he added, “My name is Michel Keegan and I meant you no harm.”
Gopher lowered his camera so that he could shake Michel’s hand, but he appeared a
little flustered by the encounter.
I stifled a laugh and extended my own hand. “No harm done, Michel. I’m M. J. Holliday,
and this is Peter Gophner.”
The photographer gripped my palm and immediately placed his other hand over it. “Oh,
my, but you’re freezing, lass!”
“She fell into the moat,” Gopher told him.
We both looked oddly at him, and Gopher cleared his throat. “Well, she did. And so
did her boyfriend. Remember your
boyfriend
, M. J.?”
I felt my cheeks flush. Stupid Gopher. But Michel only smiled kindly at me
some of the lesser Welsh nobles. It helped that the Duke of Hereford lived to be a
very old man and suppressed any rumblings from the Welsh courts.”
I shivered again, remembering the sight of that awful-looking woman on the bridge
with that chain slinking its way from her to Merrick Brown. “Mr. Crunn,” I said, wondering
if he might know anything about why she would be keeping Merrick’s spirit captive,
“this morning when we took the constable back through that tunnel on our way to find
your sister and we first encountered the Grim Widow, she wasn’t alone.” He cocked
his head quizzically and I had second thoughts about telling him about Merrick. I
didn’t want to upset him all over again. “She had another person bound by a chain.
Do you know anything about that?”
Crunn opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment a whole troop of people came rushing
into the main hall, filling it with their giggles, catcalls, and loud voices. I turned
to watch them file in, taking note that there wasn’t an ugly person in the bunch.
Or a short one.
In all I counted at least a dozen model-looking types, both male and female. At the
back of the group was a stately-looking couple who appeared to be dripping with money.
They wore luxurious fabrics and walked with a distinct air of importance. Just in
front of them was a man who was so striking that for a moment my breath caught.
He was dark-haired with a goatee and thin mustache. His hair was jet-black with a
hint of gray around the temples, and his features were almost elfin. He was tall like
everyone else, but too old to be a model; at least that’s what I thought. And then
my suspicions were confirmed when I noticed the expensive digital camera around his
neck and another one in his hand.
I must have caught his eye, because his gaze fell on me, then casually away, but came
back again and this time it came with a smile. He then stopped midstride, raised his
camera, and took my picture. I was so startled by the move that for a moment I didn’t
know what to think.
“Ah, Arthur, there you are!” said the gray-haired man who was part of the couple that
seemed to be dripping with money. “Are you ready to give up your magnificent hall?”
Arthur moved away from us to go speak with the elegant man and his wife. Meanwhile,
next to me Gopher nudged my arm and motioned to the photographer. “That guy just took
your picture.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, still watching the man as he scrutinized the shot he’d just
taken in his viewfinder. He seemed to nod to himself and raised the camera again and
pointed at us, his finger clicking several more times before he lowered the lens to
study the images again.
“Now he’s taking
our
picture,” Gopher said.
“Nothing gets by you, does it?”
Gopher eyed me crossly. “Well, he is!”
“He’s a photographer, Goph. That’s what they do.”
“Yeah? Well, two can play at that game.” Before I knew it, Gopher had his smartphone
out and had started snapping photos of the photographer.
Seeing this, the gorgeous man laughed and walked over to us. “You must excuse me,”
he said with a distinct Scottish brogue. Extending his hand out to shake Gopher’s
hand, he added, “My name is Michel Keegan and I meant you no harm.”
Gopher lowered his camera so that he could shake Michel’s hand, but he appeared a
little flustered by the encounter.
I stifled a laugh and extended my own hand. “No harm done, Michel. I’m M. J. Holliday,
and this is Peter Gophner.”
The photographer gripped my palm and immediately placed his other hand over it. “Oh,
my, but you’re freezing, lass!”
“She fell into the moat,” Gopher told him.
We both looked oddly at him, and Gopher cleared his throat. “Well, she did. And so
did her boyfriend. Remember your
boyfriend
, M. J.?”
I felt my cheeks flush. Stupid Gopher. But Michel only smiled kindly at me
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