Free Entwined by Kristen Callihan Page A

oven. It stopped her in her tracks and trepidation skittered over her skin. Perhaps this was a mistake.
    “Fuss and feathers.” Lu opened the door, and faced a dark outer hall. Slowly she crept forward, only to jump when the weighted door swung closed with a thud, plunging her in blackness.
    “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right.” Indeed, a sliver of golden light along the floor marked the inner door. She merely had to reach it.
    Heart pounding in her ear, she edged along, holding her hand out before her to warn her of any impediments. By the time her palm came into contact with the warm inner door, she was sweating beneath her gown.
    Fumbling, she found the door latch. A blast of heat hit her full-on. Lu blinked in the brightness.
    Eamon’s smithy sat empty. The fire of the forge was banked for the night, and his tools were hung neatly along the wall. A few pieces of wrought steel lay upon a battered worktable. Lu couldn’t make out what they were supposed to be, only that their shape appeared vaguely familiar. They looked almost like small renditions of branches or driftwood. But that wasn’t right. The pieces were something else.
    Frowning, she turned her attention to the back door, which lay open just a crack. Cool air drifted through the door, and a strange, cloying smell had her insides recoiling and her instincts clamoring to run in the opposite direction. It was tempting to do just that, but she moved closer. Eamon wasn’t here. And perhaps he had well and truly left her just as Aidan did. If so, she wanted to know for sure. She needed to see all of the smithy.
    Ignoring the sticky feeling of dread, Lu walked with assurance toward the door. She would not cower nor make excuses for being here. She was Eamon’s wife, damn it all, and she wanted answers.
    Oh, but this was bad. The door led to a cellar. Lu paused at the top. Darkness and dank air lay beyond. Grabbing a small lantern that hung by the side of the door, Lu lit it and descended.
    Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Turn around now.
    Lu continued on, the weak light of the lantern wavering under her shaking hold. Cool stone pressed against her feet with each step, and the air grew thicker, fouler. Death. It was death and decay.
    That scent was prevalent in London, where the corpses of horses and dogs would rot where they’d dropped. And the realization filled her with terror. Yet her damned, ridiculous curiosity pulled her onward, into the low, square cellar. The light of her lantern bounced off the damp walls and brought the room into blurry focus. There were worktables here, littered with bundles of wood, bleached white.
    White. White wood. The image rearranged itself.
    She stood frozen for one long, horrid moment. A scream rose and died in her throat. They were not wood. They were bones. Panting, she swung round, illuminating another table. More lumps, meaty and red, pale and swollen.
    A severed arm. A leg. A hand. Body parts.
    A gurgle rumbled in her throat as her vision went spotty. She was going to faint.
    And then she heard it, a low, pained moan. Lu screamed, stumbling backward in an effort to flee. Her foot caught on the edge of her skirt, and she fell hard, her bottom slamming onto the stone and her teeth rattling. The lantern landed at her side, illuminating the floor, and the light shone on a pair of eyes.
    She screamed again before realizing that she was staring into the eyes of her husband.
    * * *
    It was her scream that woke him. Eamon’s eyes snapped open in an instant, and pain followed. Darkness surrounded him and then a blinding light. He saw spots before he could focus. And then he saw her face, so pale and frightened as she stared at him.
    “Lu,” he whispered.
    She scrambled back, crab crawling to get away from him. Eamon frowned and then became aware of the cold stone beneath his cheek and the smell of decay filling his nose. Christ, he was in the cellar. Christ, she’d seen what he kept here.
    “Lu!” He