Castle?
“Heard he’s fixing it up. Can’t imagine anyone living in that drafty old place. More for show, I should think.”
“Castle?” I said out loud.
“Can’t miss it. Three blocks down, turn right and go to the end of the street.”
I thanked the man and carried the bottle of water to my car. I took a long drink before I started the engine once more.
My phone rang.
“Where are you?” Kyle asked.
“Went for a drive,” I replied.
“I might have found Daria.”
I considered which direction to go. Visions of Ian clouded my senses, stealing my breath. I’d come this far. I needed to know why Ian affected me so deeply, or if the sparks that had flown between us were a one-time thing. “We can talk tomorrow.” I hung up and counted out three blocks, to Baker Street.
I drove to the end of the road, onto an unpaved turnaround surrounded by woods. On the opposite side of the turnaround, a crenelated tower rose against the horizon. Planks of wood created a makeshift drawbridge across a ditch that might be considered a moat. Stone walls guarded the castle keep. Something akin to a covered bridge connected the tower to a cottage made of flagstone. Three other lake houses made up the riverside neighborhood.
The tower tucked in amongst the trees looked like a pinky finger compared to Hannah Noonan’s castle conference center in Brown’s Landing, although it was no less impressive.
“Holy cow,” I said under my breath.
“I take it you like it,” Ian said.
I jumped, surprised to hear his voice.
He laughed, standing beside my open window. “You found me.”
I had. There he was, as ridiculously gorgeous as he’d been in the Indian market. My hormones went into a spin.
He opened the door for me.
“Is this for real?” I asked. “A castle?” I stared at him, still wondering if I hadn’t conjured him from my imagination.
“Technically, it’s a folly,” he said. “I did tell you my uncle was a tad eccentric. He had a tendency to be theatrical. He built it, in part, to impress a woman. Want to see inside?”
I stepped out of the car, staring into Ian’s eyes and breathing in the scent of the woods.
I touched his face, doubting my senses. A handsome man. A castle. I believed in magic, but this was straight out of a fairy tale.
Ian kissed my palm, his gaze locked on mine. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
I laughed, an odd breathy sound. “I was thinking the same thing.”
He reached into his pocket, withdrew a handful of white LifeSavers and offered one to me. After I took one, he popped one into his mouth. I unwrapped the wintergreen mint and tucked the cellophane into my pocket.
“The cottage is more comfortable for a proper welcome,” he whispered into my hair. “I can show you around the folly after.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant by after. A thrill ran through me, envisioning his idea of a proper welcome. Like at the market where we’d met, the chemistry between us flamed. “Works for me.”
He took my hand and we dashed to the cottage and straight to his bedroom.
An hour later, Ian tugged on a pair of pants and handed me one of his button-down shirts to cover up with. Feeling horribly underdressed, and yet thrilled by the way he made me feel, I followed him through the passage that connected the cottage to the tower.
“My uncle was inspired to build the folly after a vacation in Spain. His lady friend, unfortunately, was not as excited as he’d hoped. When she exited the picture, he moved his library here, along with the lab.” An arched wooden door marked the end of the passage, a door befitting a castle. Ian withdrew a large iron key from his pocket. His voice softened with a trace of melancholy. “We spent many hours here together.”
I wrapped my hand around my silver triquetra bracelet, feeling his grief. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“I visited last summer for a weekend. I should have stayed longer.” He unlocked the door and waved me in. “I live in Connecticut. Or at least I did until Uncle Edgar died.”
Live. Present tense. He would be leaving. “How long do you plan to stay in Wisconsin?”
As Ian closed the door, he toyed with my hair, his eyes sweeping my face. “I find I like it here.”
Were our elevated responses to each other organic? Or was there an outside influence? I sniffed the air, hunting for the telltale scent of maple, or something else with aphrodisiac qualities. “I don’t suppose you bought fenugreek, too?”
He laughed. “No. And since you haven’t offered me anything to eat or drink or even to smell, I know you didn’t use the leaves you bought on me.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ve never been so captivated. It’s as if we’ve found each other again after a long absence.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Come. Let me show you around before we get distracted again.”
He took me by the hand and guided me into a small room. The walls were a mix of stone and brick, enhancing the medieval feel of the folly. An open fireplace had been built into one wall. The sparse furnishings consisted of a cloth chair big enough for two people and a minimalistic couch. An area rug covered the stone floor and a television occupied a nook in the wall. The setting sun poured through arched windows with black grids.
“We’re on the second level,” Ian told me. “There’s a kitchen and laundry below, what my uncle used to call the dungeon. The appliances are thirty years old. I don’t know when they were used last or if they work. My uncle never moved in after his lady love rejected him. I’d suggested he list the folly as a vacation property, rent a castle for a romantic getaway, but he didn’t see the point. His romantic gesture had failed, so he couldn’t see how it might work for anyone
