Free The Arrangement by Joan Wolf Page A

the depths of unconsciousness.
    “Tommy?” I said.
    “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Saunders,” said the Earl of Savile.
    I jerked away from him and sat bolt upright, horrified that I had been sleeping on his shoulder.
    He appeared not to notice my reaction. “You woke up just in time,” he said. “Savile Castle is just ahead.”
     

Chapter Six
     
    I gazed through the coach window and saw what looked like a magical castle right out of the Arthurian legend rising before me out of the snow.
    “Good heavens, it really is a castle,” I said.
    “Yes,” agreed its owner, “it is.”
    I stared at the distant, high gray stone walls, cornered with four perfectly symmetrical towers, and wondered if I would find noble knights and damsels in distress within. Surely they had to be in residence somewhere!
    Savile said, “You can’t see much of it now, because it’s frozen and covered by the snow, but there is a moat. Well, actually it’s a small lake. The castle is built on an island.”
    I turned from the window and gave him an incredulous look. “This amazing edifice actually has a moat?”
    He grinned, something he should not have been allowed to do.
    I turned back to the window, thus averting my eyes from that criminally attractive smile. “When was it built?” I asked. “During the same period as Camelot?”
    He laughed. “Not as early as that. One of my ancestors built it during the reign of Richard II.” His voice was pleasant and informative, but I could hear the pride he was trying to conceal.
    I couldn’t blame him.
    “The Hundred Years War was going on and there was fear of a French invasion,” he continued. “At that time the River Haver, which creates the lake, was a passable tributary of the Thames, so the king issued my ancestor a license to crenellate the manor house, which stood on the shore of the lake”—he gestured—“over there. My ancestor, the first Raoul, decided instead to pull down the manor house and build a fortified, castle on the island.”
    I looked at the walls and towers we were approaching. They appeared less magical and more formidable the closer we got. I stared at the notched battlements and said, “Well, it is most certainly crenellated and fortified.”
    “Yes, we are well equipped to pour slaked lime, stones, and boiling tar or water on any enemies who might make it past our outer defenses,” he assured me.
    I laughed.
    The coach bounced once and then rolled forward more smoothly. I could see from my post at the window that we had passed onto a narrow roadway from which all the snow had been cleared.
    “At one time, this causeway was made of timber,” Savile said. “Today, of course, it is made of stone.”
    The coach tooled along the cleared roadway, which apparently was really a bridge, until we reached a free-standing stone tower some two hundred yards in front of the main door set into the castle wall. I looked up, rather expecting to see Elaine hanging out the window searching for her long-lost Lancelot.
    “We are now on an island that is only a little larger than the tower next to us,” the earl informed me. “At one time this was the first line of defense for the castle.”
    The coach stopped, the tower door opened, and an elderly man stepped out. Savile rolled down his window and a blast of cold air rushed into the coach.
    “Welcome home, my lord!” the elderly man called. His face was beaming. “We made certain to get the causeway cleaned off for ye!”
    “Good job, Sims,” the earl said good-humoredly. “Tell me, has Lady Devane arrived yet?”
    The smile disappeared from Sims’s face. “That she has, my lord. And Mr. Cole with her.”
    “That’s no surprise,” Savile muttered under his breath. He nodded to the elderly gatekeeper, rolled up the window, and settled back against the squabs as the coach moved forward once more, a small frown between his brows.
    The earl had so obviously forgotten my presence that I hesitated to question him.