Free Behind the Castello Doors by Chantelle Shaw Page A

castle steps, and once Beth had strapped Sophie into it and tucked a blanket round her she strolled around the courtyard. The Castello del Falco was much less forbidding in daylight, she noted. Built on a plateau close to the summit of the mountain, it was surrounded by higher mountains whichrose towards the sky, their lower slopes covered in dense woodland and their grey peaks resembling jagged teeth.
    The castle was like something from a fairy tale, Beth mused. Even the stone gargoyles looked impish and mischievous in the sunlight, rather than wickedly cruel as they had when she had arrived during the storm last night. Lulled by the motion of the pushchair, Sophie had drifted off to sleep. There seemed no point in disturbing her by carrying her back inside, so Beth explored the well-tended gardens at the rear of the castle, arranged in a series of terraces. Each tier was beautifully formal, with clipped yew hedges bordered by gravel pathways, ornamental fountains splashing into pools, and graceful marble statues standing serenely amid the lush greenery.
    It would be an amazing place for a child to grow up. Beth gave a rueful sigh as she recalled the graffiti-strewn stairways, which were the haunt of local drug dealers, and the acres of concrete on the estate where she lived. How much better it would be for Sophie if she was Cesario’s daughter and the castle became her home. But where would she live? she wondered fretfully. Would it be possible for her to move to the nearby town of Oliena and find some sort of job so that she could still be a part of Sophie’s life?
    Lost in her thoughts, she followed the path round to the front of the castle—and halted when she saw Cesario on horseback, riding into the courtyard. He was an imposing sight, and she felt her heart jolt beneath her ribs. Sitting astride a huge, powerful-looking horse, he was dressed almost entirely in black: black boots, jeans, and a leather jerkin worn over a dark grey loosely woven shirt. Curiously, on one hand he wore a thick leather glove that reached almost to his elbow. His dark hair was windswept around his hard-boned face, and even from a distance the lividscar on his cheek was clearly visible. But it did not detract from his rugged good-looks.
    There was a tough, untamed quality about him that touched something deep inside Beth. He was the man of her fantasies: a pirate, an adventurer, undoubtedly a dangerous adversary and a passionate lover. She drew a ragged breath, shocked by the train of her thoughts. He was out of her league, she reminded herself. But that knowledge did not stop her traitorous body from reacting to his potent virility.
    As her eyes met his glinting grey gaze she felt lightheaded, and she knew she could not blame her sudden breathlessness on her low red blood-cell count.
    He walked his great black horse forward, and as he did so a shadow swooped over Beth’s head. Startled by the beating sound, and the sudden rush of air that moved her hair, she glanced up to see a bird of prey circle the courtyard and land on Cesario’s gloved arm.
    His stern features lightened a fraction when he noticed her stunned expression. ‘This is Gratia,’ he told her, in the deep, gravelly voice that brought her skin out in goose-bumps. ‘You are honoured. Often she will not come to the glove if a stranger is near.’
    ‘She’s beautiful. What kind of bird is she?’
    ‘A peregrine falcon—the fastest of all birds of prey. Grazia means grace, and she is not just swift and powerful in the air but incredibly graceful.’ Cesario gave a low laugh. ‘To be honest, she is the only female I have ever truly loved.’
    Beth eyed the big grey and white speckled bird with its hooked beak and vicious-looking talons and wondered if he was joking. ‘But. surely you loved your wife?’ she faltered.

    His gaze became hooded. ‘If I had perhaps I would still have my son,’ he said harshly.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    He shook his head. ‘Forget it—it