Page 9 of Watch For Me By Candlelight

But in the three years she’d been there, she’d never heard anything chime in the blacksmith’s cottage. It was cause for further investigation and she was heading along there before she’d even stopped to think about it.

* * *

It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and the stars were bright. The moon wasn’t quite full, but it was full enough to light her way, picking out a trail through the leaded casements. One particular beam of moonlight shone right onto the ice-skates, making them glow and almost come alive.

There they were, on a rocking chair in the blacksmith’s cottage, twinkling invitingly and Kate smiled. She reached out for them, thinking she’d return them to the display case on her way back and—

Her fingers closed over the skates, just as she realised they had already been in the case when she’d done her lock-up at four o’clock.

And while she was there, what on earth was going on with that little clock on the mantelpiece? That was the one she’d heard chiming; but it didn’t belong there. She’d never seen it before.

Kate spun around, the skates in her hands and the room wavered in and out of focus. There was heat on the back of her knees from a low fire and a chill swept through her as the back door opened. A blast of icy air swirled in and took her breath away. A sharp pain shot up from her ankle and her leg buckled beneath her.

‘I told you to sit down,’ said a man who looked extraordinarily like Theo Kent. He grinned at her. ‘I’ve just fetched some more wood and I’ll have the fire going better in a moment. Please — rest awhile. I told you it would hurt if you stood up, didn’t I?’

* * *

Theo woke up with a start, his heart pounding. He’d had the weirdest dream.

He knew that red-headed Kate was in it, and he thought they were in the Folk Museum. She was in the middle of a room — it looked a bit like the one at the end, but different, if that made sense? He knew it was winter because it was damn cold and they had a fire going.

The thing was, it was so bloody cold, it woke him up. He realised at that point he was still in the tent and although it was June he was shivering. He lay on his back for a while and stared at the roof. There was an incessant drip drip drip on the fabric and he wondered if it was raining.

But the more he heard the noise, the more it resolved into an irregular tap tap tap; perhaps how hammering on metal would sound?

It was a very weird dream. He turned over and closed his eyes. He had a busy day tomorrow.

He realised just as he drifted off that of course he’d heard tapping — he lived right next to the forge, didn’t he?

Chapter Four

Kate just stared at the man, her heart pounding as she wondered what the hell was going on. She was dreaming, she had to be. She reached out her hand and hung onto the side of a table, the skates dangling from her fingertips. She couldn’t put her foot down without it being agony and she felt sick and dizzy with the pain.

‘Go on. You know he’ll not bite.’ He nodded towards a mongrel sort of dog that was doing that doggy-smile thing at her and wagging its tail.

‘I know.’ And funnily enough, she did know. ‘It’s all right, boy. You’re friendly. You’re lovely.’

The dog moved out of the way of the chair and Kate got herself over to it with a great deal of difficulty. She sat down, rather heavily, and was surprised to feel a weightiness as her skirts gathered up around her. She’d come downstairs in Chris’s shirt. Where had it disappeared to? If this was a dream, it was a bad one and she wasn’t impressed. She dropped the skates onto the floor and surreptitiously pinched herself; but all it did was hurt. Tendrils of fear began to creep up her spine. What on earth was happening to her?

Kate cast a glance over at the wall, where not five minutes ago she’d walked in from the school-room exhibit. There was no door; just a clean, bumpy, white-washed wall.

Shaking, she pressed her hands against her skirt, feeling soft wool beneath her fingertips. The firelight played on the fabric and she saw the skirt was dove-grey with some sort of patterned piping on it. It was also soaking wet around the hem and all down one side, with a huge tear in the material from hem to calf.

‘Here,’ said the man. Hefting the basket of wood under one arm, he dragged a footstool over to her and indicated she put her foot up on that. He stood up and looked around. Kate followed his glance and saw that there was a crochet blanket on the back of a second chair. ‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked. ‘I can bring the blanket over.’

‘I’m warm enough.’ She bit her lip. She had to ask him; she knew it was ridiculous, but still . . . ‘What have I done? To my foot. Or my ankle. Or whatever.’ The pain was coming over her in waves and she still felt horribly sick.

The man smiled and all of a sudden she knew his name. This was Will. William Haddon. And he lived here. Kate blinked, wondering where that information had come from.

Will Haddon poked at the fire. His arms were strong and muscular. His loose white sleeves were pushed up and the firelight seemed to be showering his forearms with golden sparks.

‘I’m not quite sure, Miss Catriona. I think you’ve done yourself some nasty damage. I would suspect it’s either twisted or sprained or broken.’ He frowned. ‘Perhaps you’d like some brandy? Would that help?’

The thought of something strong and alcoholic was very welcome. She wasn’t sure if she should be blaming Bob’s micro-brewery ales for this or not. He’d encouraged them to try his latest one out — and it must have contained a hallucinogenic. It had to. And if it hadn’t, it clearly didn’t mix well with the wine they’d had afterwards.

Kate nodded. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Very well. It may not be what you’re used to up at the Hall but it’s not too bad.’