CHAPTER THREE:

 

 

Sydney plunged down onto the bed, one hand firmly grasping Nigel's open collar, the other bunching up the shirt in the small of his back. His arms seized her hungrily as they sunk into the mattress, both hands creeping down until they rested dangerously near her backside - at least, they were in a place that was once dangerously near her backside. Now, as Nigel still had to remind himself after so much time, things were different. She was his lover, his fiancé. He was marrying her tomorrow…

After some impassioned clasping, and a little wriggling for a comfortable position, they ended up facing each other in the middle of the enormous bed, caught in the crack between the now displaced pillows. 'What’s our first move, then?’ asked Nigel, his mouth poised tantalisingly close to her dewy, parted lips.

'Our very first move?' Sydney’s breath ruffled a wandering strand of his fringe that flopped over his left eye. 'To make sure your brother knows just how much of a good time we’re having in here…’

Swishing out of reach of his expectant lips, she flung herself heavily onto her back, and bounced up and down several times to the rhythm of a steady beat, laughing lasciviously. The mattress creaked incriminatingly loudly.

‘Oh, good notion,’ said Nigel, clambering on top of her with a cheeky grin. 'There's no need to fake it, is there?'

'Nigel!’ hissed Sydney, feigning shock. ‘What happened to the sweet, reserved gentleman I once knew? I just want to put Preston off the scent! He realised we were after something - not that he's a threat, but I just wanted to keep the whole relic thing as quiet as possible.'

'Of course, of course,' nodded Nigel, forcing a serious frown even as his focus drifted down to the provocative sight of her substantial cleavage. ‘I was only joking anyway…’

‘Really?’ said Sydney coyly, stretching her arms decorously above her head, her fingers entangling in a mass of luxuriously spreading hair.

Nigel slapped her shoulder playfully. 'Stop toying with me!'

Sydney fluttered her lashes. 'You're the one lying on top of a poor, defenseless female before she’s even married! You should be ashamed of yourself, Nigel Bailey!'

'Maybe I should be,' growled Nigel, sliding his hands over both of her wrists, taking her as his captive. His moist lips brushed lightly against the tip of her nose, dusted her cheekbones; his sheer tenderness teased her, aggravating the warm desire that now radiated from below the pit of her stomach.

‘You're so beautiful,' he murmured, hanging above her mouth, wanting nothing more than to mould it to his own. ‘And here I am, taking advantage of you like this…’

Nigel knew it was coming, even before Sydney let slip a feral snarl; he couldn't resist it any more than she could. A deceptively slender, yet powerful leg hooked itself around his, as Sydney snatched her hands free. Effortlessly claiming hold of his shoulders, she flipped them both over so she was on lying top. Pulling his arms above his head, she pinned down his wrists, much as he had hers. Her full length, weight, and sumptuous curves pressed intimately against him.

'Who’s defenseless now?' Sydney's eyes danced with laughter and lust.

'I could fight back,' sniffed Nigel, barely pretending to be indignant. 'But I'm not so sure I want to…’

Easing his face up to hers, as far as he could, he willed on the inevitable kiss; Sydney shimmied out of reach, her open mouthed smile becoming the epitome of denial and torture.

'Oh, come on, Syd,’ moaned Nigel, his needs ablaze. ‘Or I’ll join a Union or something!’

'You’re not my employee anymore,’ she husked, her breath balmy against his skin. ‘Nobody can save you once you're my husband… like nobody can save me from you…’

Her lips were just on the verge of tumbling greedily onto his, when Nigel’s gaze bolted onto something located a distance behind her shoulder. His singular desire melted into shocked consternation.

Sydney sat up, releasing him. 'What is it?'

'Oh hell!' Nigel ran his fingers heavily down his face. 'I’m sorry, but it’s that bloody portrait again – Morholt is still staring right at me out of his frame - and now he's waving his ruddy axe at us too!’

Sydney twisted her neck and squinted at the portrait. 'You're right, he wasn't doing that before.’ She noted, not without concern, that the main subject had now raised his axe directly above his head, as if he wanted to execute the next person who walked by. 'I wonder what his problem is?’

'I don't know!' groaned Nigel, peeping out from between his fingers. 'I'm still hoping that I'm seeing things - but, if his spirit lived on after Tristan killed him, I'm guessing that Morholt must have been pretty annoyed to see his niece in love with the man who killed him. Maybe he's still bitter…’

'Or maybe he just hates lovers…’

Swinging a leg back over her future husband, Syd jumped off the bed and grabbed for a comb and a long, plastic pin to fix up her hair: ‘Come on, we’ve let ourselves get distracted. We need to find out what was behind that falling candelabra and find the relic before Francois gets his hands on it.'

Nigel, despite his distaste for his axe-wielding roommate, silently whimpered with disappointment. ‘Can't we just find another room...don't I even get my massage?'

‘Later…I promise!' Sydney mumbled through the pin she’d placed in her mouth as she fumbled with her tumbling locks.

'But it could be essential!’ Nigel propped himself up on his elbows. ‘All that tugging and pulling, and then dodging that falling candelabra - my muscles might cramp. If I can't move tomorrow for the wedding, it would be a disaster! And then, of course, I’ve got to be, err, fully functioning in all departments for the evening… '

'Later, Nige…’ Sydney finally popped the pin in her hair. 'Besides, this is hardly the first strenuous relic hunt you’ve been on.’

‘Yes, but it’s the first one where I’ve got to be in a condition to get married the next day!’

‘Nigel - Tristan and Iseult? Something which will shed new light on a legend your father told you?’

Nigel sighed, realised he was fighting a lost cause. Reminding himself just how much he did want to find the relic, he refastened the top few buttons of his shirt. Sydney threw her satchel back on, and flung a second torch heavily into his lap. This jolted Nigel into action and, after she turned away, causing him to wince with pain. Had she forgotten all of his earlier misfortunes?

'Right,’ barked Sydney, peeping out of the door. ‘Your brother has stopped snooping around - let’s go check out that minstrels gallery.’

……………………………

'Are you sure Francois couldn't have carried up the armour? Despite your suspicions about our long-dead, Irish adversary, he’s still our only, um, solid suspect?'

Sydney and Nigel stood in a high, narrow chamber at the back of the Great Hall. Once an entrance hall, the floors above had long since decayed and crumbled, and never been replaced. The original door to the outside had been blocked up and there were no windows or lights, so they shone their torches into a cavernous space above. There was no sign of a staircase either: the only access up to the back of the minstrel’s gallery was by a rickety and aged looking ladder.

‘I never thought Francois did it,' replied Sydney contemplatively, 'and now I know he couldn't have done.' She gripped the ladder firmly, and put one foot on the bottom rung. It groaned a little under the strain, but held. 'I'm going to look on the balcony itself, check out if there are any other clues up there.'

She tentatively placed her foot on the second level, which instantly snapped in two with a 'crack' that echoed all the way the high roof above.

‘Syd,’ Nigel placed a steadying hand on her back. 'I don't think it's safe.'

'No,' agreed Sydney. 'That’s my point. This ladder certainly wouldn't take the weight of a man wearing or carrying a suit of armour!'

'I guess not,' conceded Nigel. 'I just hope it takes yours…’

Sydney shot him a grin over her shoulder. 'Just be ready to catch me, okay?’

‘Okay.’ Nigel puffed and braced himself.

She held firmly on the sturdier edges of the ladder, rather than the rungs, and edged her way up. Testing each rung before she put weight on it, it took some time before she was even approaching the heavy, wooden gallery door. Nigel watched apprehensively from below, the darkness seemingly closing in around him the further away she climbed. It was all too easy to imagine the bearded axeman, looming behind him, his weapon raised on the verge of attack - or, even François, brandishing a knife, finally driven mad by his lust for Sydney. As Nigel tried to swallow his fear and hold the torch steady, Sydney discerned something too - her instincts were on high alert by the time she came in near reach of the handle of the door.

'Okay?' called Nigel anxiously. 'Are you there yet?'

'Fine… I'm nearly there….’ Her fingers outstretched, she reached for the handle…

‘Brrrrriiiiiing!’

The cheery ring cut through the loaded silence, shattering the tension like a sledgehammer.

‘Aaargh!’ Nigel yelped as Sydney, steel-nerved though she was, swayed dangerously on the top of the tottering ladder. Gathering her wits in fast, she flung the door open and swung herself onto the balcony, landing heavily on her bottom. She yanked the offending cell-phone out of her satchel.

‘Sydney Fox…oh, hey, Claudia. So glad you made it…oh…I will….uh?’

Nigel, peering up from the bottom of the ladder, could just see Sydney sitting on the gallery, holding her phone several inches away from her ear.

About thirty seconds later, she took a deep breath and moved it back close enough to speak.

'Yeah, I’m aware it's a fashion emergency! I'll be there… soon, I promise. We can pick one then. No… I'm not going back to the city. One of these will do just fine… Nigel and I are pretty busy right now. I know it's important… I’ll be there, I promise. Give me half an hour, Bye!’ Sydney hung up puffing out her cheeks exhaustedly.

'Claudia?' Nigel's questioning call filtered up from the depths.

‘Yeah,’ called back Sydney. 'We’d better tie up this business as quickly as possible, or she’ll hunt me down - to the ends of the earth, if need be! She is on the war path about my wedding dress… or rather, my lack of one!'

'Oh, fair enough,’ sniggered Nigel. 'Did she say anything about Preston? I hope he strained his back, carrying in all her things - that will keep him out of our hair!'

‘Nope,’ replied Sydney, jumping up and assessing her location. ‘She didn't mention him…damn - the fourth suit of armour is gone again!'

‘Gone?’

Nigel’s shout came as Sydney swivelled, detecting movement in the hall below. Standing there was a brown-suited man, with wispy grey hair poking from the sides of his head, his hand raised to his forehead in dismay.

'Oh!’ The newcomer had finally spotted Sydney. ‘Professor Fox? Please come down from there, I beg of you! I'm terribly sorry about what happened earlier - I'll get to the bottom of it, I promise.'

Sydney smiled graciously, doing her best not to stare at the way the coloured light from the windows reflected shiningly off his bald patch. 'You must be the hotel manager?'

‘Yes…yes… please come down, Miss. I can compensate you for the accident with the candelabra but, if you fell from there, the insurance would never cover it!'

'Don't worry,’ said Sydney casually. ‘I’m not blaming you for anything. I think somebody might have been trying to kill us, anyway.’

'Kill you! Good God - I'm certainly not covered against murder!’ His hand moved from his forehead to his fast beating heart. 'Have you any idea who or why?'

'Possibly… but first, I'd like you to answer a question for me. Is Carraghmount Castle haunted?’

The manager paled. 'No… no, absolutely not. This is a lovely place for weddings! Its romantic! It’s alive with mediaeval legend, but entirely safe for lovers of all varieties…’

Sydney's gut twinged. 'Why wouldn't it be safe for lovers?’

'Oh,’ stammered the manager, 'err, no reason. Just marketing jargon, I'm afraid. Anyway, we have no ghosts here, I assure you!’

‘No ghosts, huh?' Sydney’s smile did not falter, even as her glare hardened. ‘Then could you let me know what happened to the fourth suit of armour? The one with the axe that fell and cut the rope?'

The hotelier looked bewildered. ‘There was only ever three. There's no way another could have got up here. These three,’ he pointed to the three remaining figures, ‘ - which are authentic pieces from the English Civil War, incidentally - , were assembled from their disparate parts on the spot, when the castle was reconstructed. To get a suit of armour up there in one piece would be impossible! Hank, the tour guide who found you, mentioned a fourth one. But, he's very elderly - and he was a little shaken up by the whole incident.'

‘Well, I saw it too. And you still say there are no ghosts?…oh!’ A loud ringing interrupted Sydney again. ‘Would you excuse me?'

‘Claudia! I said I'd be there… Oh, hi Karen. What's wrong?’ Syd’s resigned smile vanished into a frown. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be right there…um, yeah, without Nigel. Bye'

'What is it, madam?' asked the hotelier, further upset by his client's evident downturn in spirits.

'That was my bridesmaid, Karen… she says the wedding bands have been stolen from the safe in her room.'

‘Stolen! I'll call the police immediately… oh heavens, what a day!'

‘No! I think I can get them back. But if you see a French guy in a leather jacket, don't let him leave - tell him I'll marry him or something, that'll make him stay…’ Sydney paused: François’ outbreaks of ‘itchy feet,’ which occurred whenever he got his hands on anything valuable, sprung to mind. ‘Or maybe that won't work. Whatever… don't let him leave the castle! '

Heedless to the manager's protests, she disappeared through the door at the back of the balcony again, and half climbed, half slid down the crumbling ladder, until she was safe in Nigel’s arms.

‘What is it? Was that Claudia on the phone again?’

'No, it was Karen. We’ve got a problem.'

'Another one?’ Nigel's fingers wove through his hair, his exasperation growing. ‘As if being hounded by a stalker and a possibly undead murderer isn't enough! What has gone wrong now?'

Sydney cringed, slightly guiltily. 'Our Aztec gold wedding bands have been stolen.'

'Oh great! That's just lovely! I’m just only we didn't each spend six months worth of salary of them… of course, we risked our necks retrieving them from an Spanish shipwreck in shark infested waters but now, no doubt, we’ll be risking our life and limb getting them back again…’ Nigel smothered his annoyance and mustered an optimistic, lop-sided smile. 'Won’t we?'

'Too right we will,’ growled Sydney. 'François is going to pay for this…’

'François? How can you be so sure it's him this time? What if it is our, um, mysterious axe wielding friend… who, of course, you claim is not François?'

Sydney’s features set grim and determined. 'Disappearing rings have François’ name written all over them – petty theft, not flying axes - much more his style! Now, you head straight back to our room. I'll meet you there as soon as I can. '

'Meet me there?’ questioned Nigel, frowning slightly. ‘Why can't I come and see Claudia and Karen?'

Sydney chuckled ruefully. 'Because they've got my selection of wedding dresses laid out over both their rooms, apparently! Not that I care for all that 'groom shouldn't see the bride's dress' tradition, but Claudia would freak out if you as much as got a whiff of chiffon before tomorrow...’

'Oh,’ shrugged Nigel. 'Fair enough. I’ve have had enough trauma today, without the wrath of Claudia! I'll head back to the room and, um, do some research or something.’

'Great! You do that…’ She pecked him on the cheek - 'love you, Nige,' - and tore off to the aid of her bridesmaids in distress.

Nigel was left alone in the chamber as the door swung behind her; the back-draft wafted swiftly across his face, tousling his hair, then all was still.

The urge to follow her was intense and instantaneous. Despite the darkness and the placidity, Nigel suddenly sensed, once again, he was not alone. He leapt for the door handle. He never reached it.

Nigel was yanked backwards with a much greater force than he had launched himself forward with. As he threw his arms out wide, scrambling to keep balance, the torch clattered to the floor and went out - not dropped, but snatched aggressively from his hand.

He inhaled raggedly, primed to cry out, but his voice snagged in his throat. Then a raw blanket of ice engulfed him, paralysing him completely.

As his mind screamed - 'Sydney!!!! - everything went black.

…………………………………………..

Sydney tapped the back of the door with her knuckles.

'Hey, Karen? It's me.'

'Right with you, Syd…’

Hot on the heels of the call, Sydney heard the latch chain slide. The door opened to reveal a sombre looking Karen, her eyes sparkling with un-fallen tears.

'Sydney,’ she began, stepping aside to her boss could enter. 'I'm so sorry. You entrusted me with the rings and I blew it. I feel so responsible for this…’

'I don't blame you, Karen. I’ll get them back….My God! What happened here?'

Sydney's jaw dropped as she observed the sheer volume of clothing that filled Karen’s sizable hotel room. In one corner, hanging on the front of the wardrobe was the small selection of simple but stylish ‘haute couture,’ including a sexy, figure hugging black dress she'd particularly favoured, and which she had ordered to be sent over for her consideration. The rest of the room, however, was a sea of white silk, satin, lace and chiffon: wedding dresses, in all varieties of cuts and sizes, were draped across the furniture and hanging from the lights and picture frames. Teetering amidst it all, wearing an indecently short lime-green mini-dress and ridiculously high-heeled matching shoes, was Claudia.

On seeing Sydney, she threw aside the tent-sized wedding veil she’d been examining and, with little squeak, flung her arms about her friend’s neck.

'Sydney!!! It's so good to see you - I can't believe that French guy stole your rings! You'll get them back though, won't you?’ She pulled away, imploring Sydney that the fun wouldn't be spoiled. 'Finding things is what you do, isn't it?’

'Of course,’ replied Sydney, slightly distracted. 'It's great to see you too, Claudia…err, what’s going on here?’

A cheeky smile twitched on her former secretary’s cherry lips. 'You like the dresses?'

'Yeah,’ replied Sydney, still slightly shocked. 'I, err, love them. Where did they all come from?'

Claudia scrunched her nose with joy. 'Oh, you know, I'm a very good customer at several top stores in Paris. We can send back anything we don't use… anyway, this is just the overflow. The best ones are in my room…’

Sydney ran her fingers admiringly across a slim-cut, ivory robe, embroidered with sparkling beads, which was displayed on the bed. 'They're beautiful! But I told you, I'm not going to wear white…’

'Oh, come on Syd,' drawled Karen, relieved at the respite from her worry about the rings. ‘Every girl wants to get married in a beautiful dress. You’ll looks stunning in any of these. I can’t wait to see Nigel's face when you glide up that aisle tomorrow…’

‘Listen to the girl!’ jutted in Claudia. 'You've got to make the most of this, you'll only do it once…’

Sydney raised an eyebrow slyly. 'Only once? But Claudia, haven’t you already done this three times?'

‘No fair!’ pouted Claudia. 'Each time, I only ever meant to do it once… and it was never my fault when it all went nasty! Anyway, I realise now I've been reading my tarot cards wrong… I shouldn't have married any of those jerks!’

‘I did to try to tell you that at the time,’ sighed Sydney, kindly. ‘None of us wanted you to get hurt…’

Claudia shrugged. 'Yeah, well, you always knew way too much for your own good, Syd… but, anyhow, I know I can trust the stars. And, according to my horoscope, I’m going to meet the man of my dreams this weekend!’ Claudia positively shimmered with excitement. ‘He's going to be tall, handsome and charming - and apparently, I'm going to meet him in a dark place… like nightclub or something, I guess!’

'I don’t think there are too many nightclubs in this castle,’ commented Karen, shadowing Sydney's quiet sentiments.

'The darkest place I seen so far is the dungeon,' murmured Sydney thoughtfully.

Claudia scrunched her nose again. 'A dungeon! Sounds kind of kinky…oooh, maybe if you catch that Frenchman, you’ll lock him up in the dungeon! Is he cute?’

'He's not bad, Claudia… but he is a rogue relic hunter with, err, stalker tendencies!’

‘Oh…’ Claudia, slightly deflated, sat primly down on the bed between the dresses. 'There is that, I guess. I’ve kinda had it with bad-boys.'

‘And there is the small matter of finding him…and the rings!?’

‘Of course,' interrupted Karen, sounding unnecessarily chastised. 'I’ll just show you the safe…’

It was only then that it occurred to Sydney that she had not yet spotted the safe from which the items had been stolen. There was a good reason for this. Karen had to look under several piles of draped wedding dresses to locate the scene of the crime. When she finally did, it was quite clear that the lock had been blasted away with a miniature plastic explosive. Sydney crouched down and examined it.

'Yup - this was Francois all right.’

Claudia, now kneeling at her shoulder, looked confused: 'You can tell all that from one screwed up lock?’

'I know this guy…’ She rolled her eyes. 'Too well, you might say.'

'Well, let's go find him then.’ The words were Karen's, and they were calm and resolute. As Sydney turned to her, doubtful, Claudia chipped in:

'Yeah. Let's get him! Anybody who wants to spoil Sydney's big day is gonna answer to us!’ She jutted out her bottom lip, prettily evoking her best air of determination.

‘Hey, guys,’ began Sydney, slightly taken aback. 'I'm flattered you want to help me, but this could be dangerous.'

'François is dangerous?’ queried Karen.

‘Err, no, not really… it’s not François I’m worried about. Nigel and I got wind of a relic hidden in the castle. François is probably after it, but someone else is trying to stop us… they, um, seem to want us dead.'

'Just a usual day at the office, then!’ Karen shrugged. 'I'm still up for helping, if you'll let us…’

‘Me too,’ added Claudia. 'Tho’, I'd rather we steered clear of the really bad murder-y people. The cute French not-so-bad guy is the one we want, right?’

‘I'll do my best. But please don’t get too many ideas about François being ‘Mr Right’…'

Claudia tilted her head questioningly. 'You don't want him any more… do you, Syd? You’ll never want anyone but Nigel, right?’

Sydney's stopped dead for an instant, as Claudia's words echoed in head. But they didn't resound in Claudia's voice: the voice inside was large, booming, strange and ominous. They told her she should doubt Nigel, they told her she was making a mistake. It took all her mental power to squash them quickly…

Claudia popped her hand to her lips, also wondering where her probing question had come from, and shared with Karen a look of concern: Sydney’s answer was way too long coming…

‘Of course - I only love Nigel!’ said Sydney at length, almost over-firmly. 'I just don’t want you getting upset again, mixed up with another lowlife…’ Changing the subject quickly, she pointed down at the tiny, pointy-toed stilettos that were squeezed onto Claudia's petite feet. 'And if you're going to be coming on the relic hunt, you might want to change those, err, shoes… you're limping!’

‘No way!’ Claudia winced: ‘They do pinch a bit… but they're worth every blister!’

Sydney laughed. 'It's great to have you back, Claudia! Come on, guys. Let's go find those rings…’

…………………………………………………………………………………………

It could have been seconds later, or it could have been hours. When Nigel awoke, it was still dark. There was a second of disorientation – why, oh why, was he were lying on a hard, stone floor rather than being comfortably ensconced in the honeymoon suite bed? - then the horror of his last experiences descended upon him like a shroud.

‘It still must be the after-effects of the alcohol…’

This time, Nigel just couldn’t convince himself with his preferred theory. Every muscle in his body clenched with fear as he raised himself to his knees and eased one hand forward, cautiously scanning the ground for the torch. He tremoured with relief as his fingers hit something likely – but, as they tentatively wiggled up a wooden handle, he realised it was not the object he sought.

His fingertips skimmed across, and quickly recoiled from, a cold, metal blade. It was an axe…

Nigel’s scream was stifled as an ill-defined force, like bands of artic snow, clamped around his fleeing wrist. As powerful as solid ice, it suspended his hand behind him, contorting his arm awkwardly. A raw wind scorched across the back of his neck.

'François?'

This time, Nigel's voice functioned, but it sounded thin and strained. He knew his plea was futile. No human hand was upon him.

A low, dissonant and infinitely cruel laugh reverberated around the chamber. Nigel swallowed hard - he knew who it was, even as his rational mind railed against him.

'Morholt?’

Nigel's whisper faded into a resonant, affirmative silence. 'What…what do you want? We haven’t found the relic… we don't even know what it is yet! And I'm sure Sydney will forget all about it tomorrow, what with the wedding and everything… '

Nigel trailed off, disgusted by his panicky babbling. The silence grew more menacing.

‘Are…are you going to kill me?'

This time, the laughter boomed again. ‘I see now there is no point in wasting my powers on that task.’ The Irish accent was laboured and deliberate, like Braingain’s, but coloured with a hideously lilting malice. Nigel winced and chewed his bottom lip as an unremitting force bit into his wrists, tightening like shackles. 'You are no threat to me,’ continued his captor. ‘The Gallic Knight! He is the one who could find the relic, and draw the sword… he is the one who can give her what she needs! I have seen the ardour between them - the bond that unites two halves of the same soul!’

'No!' Despite his utter helplessness, Nigel's anger boiled within him. ‘You're wrong. I trust her… I love her! And she loves me…’

'The man from Gaulle is the one she desires! He is the threat to me!’ roared the voice. 'You are no more than the messenger boy. You will tell them to leave now, leave or you all will die…’

‘NO’ yelled Nigel, his mind now an uncontrollable whirl. Sydney loved him, she loved him…

His confusion was eclipsed as the wrenching hold on his arm tightened faster still; Nigel gritted his teeth against the agony - surely the limb was about to break? White pricks of light began piercing his vision, and he was sure he was going to pass out again – then, and only then, his wrist was relinquished.

Gasping, Nigel cradled his limp arm against him, trembling to his core. Small comfort was afforded by the intrinsic knowledge of room was empty again - somehow, some way, Morholt was gone.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Nigel exhaled unsteadily, rubbing his bruised but apparently unbroken arm. The throbbing was nothing, however, in comparison to the desolate ache in his chest. Whether a delusion or an apparition, Morholt had opened a gaping wound, shattering the armour of Nigel's heart with the tiniest chink of doubt:

‘Am I really to one to make her the happiest?'

………………………………

Sydney cast the bedroom door open.

'Nigel?'

There was no answer to his call. He wasn't sitting on the bed reading, or, indeed, anywhere to be seen.

'Wow! Nice room!' bubbled Claudia. She bounced down on the bed, which emitted a suitably delicate ‘eek’ at the impact of her tiny weight. ‘Very springy…ew, yuck!’

Her nose wrinkled as she caught sight of the picture of Morholt, waving his shiny axe. 'That picture is gross. Why would anybody put that in the honeymoon suite…’

Sydney hadn't been listening. She was just peeping into the bathroom, establishing that Nigel had not hiding there quietly, as she imagined he might do if he'd been in an unclad state when he’d heard the gaggle of females approaching. 'That's weird,' she muttered. 'I told him to come straight back here…’

'Maybe he's gone exploring?’ offered Karen. 'I can just see Nigel getting kinda excited about a place like this.’

'But he was right behind me…’ Sydney's brow creased with worry. She'd assumed he had been right behind her, but now she recalled that she'd shot off so fast that she couldn't be sure he’d ever left the chamber behind the Great Hall - the chamber where she'd felt such an eerie presence.

She stared up in alarm at her two bridesmaids. Even Claudia had stilled her bouncing on the bed. They all sensed something was wrong.

'I’ve got to get back to the old part of the castle, right now….ah!’

Sydney snatched a sharp intake of breath, as a breeze swooshed across the room, sending a frigid spasm down her spine. Claudia squealed, leapt up in terror and grasped Karen's arm. The door behind them slammed hard.

'Sydney… what was that?'

Two pairs of liquid blue eyes were fixed upon Sydney, swimming with apprehension. The answer was slow, and not as reassuring as she would have liked. 'I don't know…'

She slipped by them and pulled on the door handle. Nothing. She tried the key. After some vigorous scrambling, she realised it would not even enter the hole: the lock, that she'd used only a minute ago, was blocked.

‘Damn!’ Sydney tugged the door towards her with all her strength. Still nothing. ‘It’s jammed.’

Karen, needing no prompting, picked up the phone to dial reception. She placed the receiver to her ear, then lowered it slowly. 'The line’s dead.’

'I don't like this, Syd,’ whispered Claudia. 'What's happening?’

'It's going to be fine,' stated Sydney, unable to repress the shiver in her voice. 'I'll see if I can climb out of the bathroom window. I know that's possible…’

She ran into the bathroom, as the wind wailed again: an angry storm appeared to be brewing. Grinding her jaw, she poured all her strength into yanking up the rain-lashed window. It was just as immovable as the door.

‘This is just great,’ she thought. 'How am I supposed to save François, if I'm stuck in here…’

Her hands tumbled lethargically from the bar of the window. ‘François?' The image of the Frenchman at the window flashed in her mind, bringing with it beautiful recollections of the Peruvian jungle, of romance, and passion... then he was replaced by Tony. Tall, dark handsome Tony, her high-school sweetheart, his memory intertwined with the careless freedom of her girlhood in Hawaii. Hot on his heels, she remembered Gray, so steady, so attentive - she'd been so convinced he was 'Mr Right.’ Then there was Alan - they'd be good together, once - and even Derek Lloyd. There'd been a spark there, yet she’d never kindled the flame …

The little voice in her head spoke softly and clearly: ‘So many avenues not taken, Sydney. So many possibilities for love and excitement turned down… how do you know? How do you really know you've chosen the right one…?’

Sydney screamed, thrusting her fingertips to the roots of hair - the memory of her first kiss with Tony was nearly melting her to the core, threatening to unleash an ocean of doubt. 'Stop screwing with my head – I love Nigel, I love only him! Leave me alone…’

Her quandary was only dispelled by the high-pitched scream from the bedroom.

‘Claudia! What is it?’

Back in the bedroom, Claudia and Karen were now huddled together, their arms around each other. Karen raised a shaky finger. 'The picture…'

Even Sydney recoiled in horror as she absorbed the site of Morholt, who now filled the frame completely - his handsome opponent was no longer visible in the picture. His axe, still raised menacingly, now dripped with blood.

‘Sydney,' whimpered Claudia, as thunder and lightning crashed. 'Did you know you’d organised your wedding in a haunted castle?’

 

Continue to chapter 4