needing his hand there on her sex, where her pulse throbbed and blistered her skin. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, touch me. I’m on fire.”
The touch never came. She woke up with an unhappy gasp and stared at the ceiling, hating the dream for torturing her, and hating even more that she should have woken up.
Chapter Four
The next morning, Cora woke up with a plan. She couldn’t get the image of his shield out of her mind. Something about it was bothering her. She’d seen it before somewhere, she just knew it.
In the kitchen, it stared her right in the face. She picked up her favorite coffee mug and stared at it as she waited for the coffee to percolate. There was the same red design, with the white flowers. Slightly different, but it was the same concept. He’d been showing her a coat of arms.
His coat of arms?
Excited, Cora abandoned the kitchen and raced for the gift shop portion of the Abbey, still in her pajamas. She tore through the postcards and stacks of books, vowing to clean the mess up later. In her mind, she could picture him with the shield in his hands, and she pored through book after book, looking for just that image. When it wasn’t a quick find, she sat, cross-legged on the cold tiles of the floor, and continued to read.
And just when she was starting to despair of finding the exact same colors and design, she reached into an almost empty bookshelf at the bottom and found a narrow book. The same heraldry that he’d shown her last night graced the cover, blazing with color and making her breath catch in her throat. Another heraldry symbol stood beside it, one she’d seen in the house but didn’t understand the significance.
Almost reverently, she picked up the thin book and paged it open. It was a history of the Abbey, detailing back to the twelfth century, back to the reign of Henry II, and it was a castle built to house the baron and oversee the lands.
Stonewood Abbey had been built in 1168, she read on, and most of the original castle had long since disappeared, the current incarnation a mash-up of fanciful imaginings and myriad re-buildings throughout the centuries.
The first baron of Stonewood had been Hugh de Beauchamp, who had built the castle itself and ruled the countryside with an iron fist. He died in 1192 and the castle passed to—
“Hellooooo,” a voice called from behind her, and Cora nearly jumped out of her own skin in surprise.
A familiar head poked around the corner, cherubic despite the wrinkles lining her face. Muffin’s gray hair was pulled into a mass of ringlets, adorned by the ugliest assortment of butterfly clips that Cora had ever seen. She wore a tie-dyed crochet poncho over a yellow sundress and her flip-flops slapped against the marble tile as she approached Cora. “My, you look like a mess, dearie.”
She did? Cora smothered a laugh at that and glanced down at herself. She was still wearing the boxers and tank top that she normally slept in, and her tangled hair fell wildly about her face. “I must have lost track of time. Sorry.” She touched her hair and focused her smile on Muffin. “Do you want to join me for coffee and breakfast?”
“More like coffee and late lunch,” the older woman admonished her. “It’s well past noon, my dear.”
“It is?”
Muffin’s bright eyes studied the small portion of the main hall designated as the gift shop. “Are you…cleaning?”
The hesitation in Muffin’s voice made Cora take a good hard look around her, and she winced at the sight. The gift shop was as disorganized as she was herself. Books lay scattered on the floors, pulled from the shelves and tossed into random piles in her frantic search for knowledge. “Not really cleaning,” Cora said, grabbing one of the large gift shop t-shirts and pulling it over her head to serve as a make-shift dress. “I was looking for something.”
“If you haven’t eaten, I’ve made you some biscuits,” Muffin said with delight, holding up a
The touch never came. She woke up with an unhappy gasp and stared at the ceiling, hating the dream for torturing her, and hating even more that she should have woken up.
Chapter Four
The next morning, Cora woke up with a plan. She couldn’t get the image of his shield out of her mind. Something about it was bothering her. She’d seen it before somewhere, she just knew it.
In the kitchen, it stared her right in the face. She picked up her favorite coffee mug and stared at it as she waited for the coffee to percolate. There was the same red design, with the white flowers. Slightly different, but it was the same concept. He’d been showing her a coat of arms.
His coat of arms?
Excited, Cora abandoned the kitchen and raced for the gift shop portion of the Abbey, still in her pajamas. She tore through the postcards and stacks of books, vowing to clean the mess up later. In her mind, she could picture him with the shield in his hands, and she pored through book after book, looking for just that image. When it wasn’t a quick find, she sat, cross-legged on the cold tiles of the floor, and continued to read.
And just when she was starting to despair of finding the exact same colors and design, she reached into an almost empty bookshelf at the bottom and found a narrow book. The same heraldry that he’d shown her last night graced the cover, blazing with color and making her breath catch in her throat. Another heraldry symbol stood beside it, one she’d seen in the house but didn’t understand the significance.
Almost reverently, she picked up the thin book and paged it open. It was a history of the Abbey, detailing back to the twelfth century, back to the reign of Henry II, and it was a castle built to house the baron and oversee the lands.
Stonewood Abbey had been built in 1168, she read on, and most of the original castle had long since disappeared, the current incarnation a mash-up of fanciful imaginings and myriad re-buildings throughout the centuries.
The first baron of Stonewood had been Hugh de Beauchamp, who had built the castle itself and ruled the countryside with an iron fist. He died in 1192 and the castle passed to—
“Hellooooo,” a voice called from behind her, and Cora nearly jumped out of her own skin in surprise.
A familiar head poked around the corner, cherubic despite the wrinkles lining her face. Muffin’s gray hair was pulled into a mass of ringlets, adorned by the ugliest assortment of butterfly clips that Cora had ever seen. She wore a tie-dyed crochet poncho over a yellow sundress and her flip-flops slapped against the marble tile as she approached Cora. “My, you look like a mess, dearie.”
She did? Cora smothered a laugh at that and glanced down at herself. She was still wearing the boxers and tank top that she normally slept in, and her tangled hair fell wildly about her face. “I must have lost track of time. Sorry.” She touched her hair and focused her smile on Muffin. “Do you want to join me for coffee and breakfast?”
“More like coffee and late lunch,” the older woman admonished her. “It’s well past noon, my dear.”
“It is?”
Muffin’s bright eyes studied the small portion of the main hall designated as the gift shop. “Are you…cleaning?”
The hesitation in Muffin’s voice made Cora take a good hard look around her, and she winced at the sight. The gift shop was as disorganized as she was herself. Books lay scattered on the floors, pulled from the shelves and tossed into random piles in her frantic search for knowledge. “Not really cleaning,” Cora said, grabbing one of the large gift shop t-shirts and pulling it over her head to serve as a make-shift dress. “I was looking for something.”
“If you haven’t eaten, I’ve made you some biscuits,” Muffin said with delight, holding up a
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