Embrace The Coming Storm (The Seven Sentinels of Camelot Book 1) - D.S. Williams

Embrace The Coming Storm (The Seven Sentinels of Camelot Book 1) by D.S. Williams

Book excerpt

“Are you seriously going to sell all this?” Emma demanded. “It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! Honestly, Kennedy, it’s all yours – for free!”

I managed a faint smile in Emma’s direction but couldn’t draw my thoughts away from the ringing of an imaginary cash register; one which continued to tally the enormous costs of maintaining a place like this. Heck, it wasn’t even maintenance that was needed. From what I could see, thousands of dollars had to be spent to make it safe, let alone habitable. While Emma obviously thought the medieval castle nestled among wild, untended gardens was incredibly romantic, I was a realist.

“Yeah, I’m going to sell it and hopefully if I make a little money, I might be able to buy a place of my own back home.”

Emma’s warm brown eyes widened and she laid her hand on my arm. “But Kennedy, it’s been in your family for generations.” She added extra emphasis to the last word, as if I’d be guilty of destroying centuries of family history in one fell swoop by selling the place. The reality couldn’t be further from Emma’s romantic notions. This wasn’t some enchanting fairy tale where I’d inherited a magnificent medieval castle, one which turned out to be my birthright – instead I was inheriting a crumbling heap of ancient buildings because some obscure great uncle I’d never heard of died, leaving no known heirs. There was nothing romantic about it.

Emma wasn’t going to be dissuaded however. She’s been my best friend since childhood, and the two of us couldn’t have been more different. I was pragmatic, sensible – a realist. I’d needed to be after Dad abandoned us when I was three and Mom committed suicide when I was eight years old, and I’d heard it came about after years of mental health issues. In fact, I’d discovered a long history of alcoholism, mental illness, tragic accidents and suicide in both the Miller family and Mom’s family, the Atkinsons. Until I’d heard from the trustee dealing with Great Uncle Gilbert’s estate I’d been under the assumption I had no living relatives. Even my wayward father had been killed in a motorcycle accident two years after he’d abandoned me and Mom, which I discovered when I tried to find him after I turned eighteen.

I’d been fortunate; orphaned in my birth town of Liberty, Oklahoma I’d faced an uncertain future in the foster system until I was taken in by local widowed rancher Nell Purdue, and her daughter Maree. The two women showered me with affection as I grew into adolescence and I’d reached adulthood under their attentive gaze.

While I was utterly practical, Emma was the complete opposite. A dreamer and a hopeless romantic, Emma was convinced the world revolved around rainbows and unicorns. She was no doubt looking at the crumbling buildings and seeing a fabulously romantic future, filled with beauty and enchantment.

All I saw was a pile of collapsing architecture, massive restoration costs and a bucket load of headaches.

“C’mon, let’s drive up and check it out,” Emma suggested, already heading back to the rental vehicle. Settling in to the SUV, she was all smiles and sparkling eyes as she continued to eye the castle, her excitement barely contained. No doubt she was imagining ballrooms and glass slippers, Prince Charming and a happily ever after.

I sighed and stalked across the gravel. Slipping into the driver’s seat, I stared out through the windshield at my inheritance – ‘Les Sables Rideaux’. Perched high on the cliff, I suspected the castle had specifically been designed to resist attacks from outside forces. It was huge, overlooking the Loire Valley it consisted of walls which seemed to erupt out of the jagged precipice supporting them. The walls soared skywards, rough-hewn stone of a dark sandy color which contrasted sharply with the surrounding greenery. Many of the turrets were devoid of their conical roofs, and in other places I could see where the roofing on some of the main structures had collapsed.

Emma clasped her hands together under her chin. “It’s amazing,” she breathed.

“It’s a disaster,” I retorted.

“But Kennedy, it’s so beautiful!”

I snorted, a particularly unladylike sound, and pushed the ignition button. The SUV had been provided by the trustee – and clearly, he’d been aware of just how overgrown and jungle-like the land surrounding the castle had become because nothing less than a four by four could possibly traverse such rough ground. “I’m not keeping it, Em.”

“Think of the possibilities!”

“Think of the cost!”

“You could live here; it would be amazing.”

“No way.”

Emma pouted. “I would help you.”

I chuckled, accelerating and driving carefully between two vast trees, navigating what could loosely be described as a driveway. “What are you going to do, Em? You’re an obstetrics nurse – you’re not qualified to deal with this catastrophe. And my limited skills couldn’t accomplish a tenth of the work it needs.”

Emma wasn’t going to be deterred. “It would make an amazing hotel.”

“No.”

“You could open it as a tourist attraction.”

“No.”

“I’m sure Nell and Maree would fly here and help out.”

“I’m not discussing this,” I said, deliberately turning up the volume on the stereo. It was a French radio station and what sounded like a talkback program but I didn’t care what was coming through the speakers - I just needed to drown out Emma’s protests.

“Don’t you want to know more about the castle, how it came to be in your family?” Emma asked, raising her voice to be heard.

“Nope.”

Emma pursed her lips together in a frustrated line and crossed her arms against her chest. “Can’t you even try to see the possibilities?”

“No.”

“Can’t you wait to make up your mind until after you’ve seen the inside?”

“No.”

It was Emma’s turn to sigh, and she settled back in the seat, lapsing into stony silence.

I continued driving, not remotely convinced the argument was over. Emma had only fired her opening salvos in this battle – she’d no doubt use the remainder of the journey to shore up her arguments and create new ones.

I squared my shoulders resolutely. It didn’t matter what the hell we found when we reached the heavily fortified walls – I couldn’t keep it.

***

The drive twisted and turned between gnarled, ancient trees, their broad canopies blocking the sunlight. The castle disappeared and reappeared a number of times as I steered the SUV around hairpin bends and dealt with patches where the shingle disappeared altogether, leaving only a barely discernible track to follow. While I gripped the steering wheel firmly and negotiated some of the tougher aspects of the drive, Emma had overcome her mood of a few minutes ago and punctuated the tense silence with squeals of delight each time the castle reemerged.

I drove with the window down, inhaling the musky scent of damp ground and moss. In here, among the detritus of history long past, it was easy to get carried away by the idea we’d left our own time and travelled to a distant past, a time when this land was wild and untamed, filled with mystery and adventure.

I smirked. For a minute there, I’d almost sounded as hopelessly romantic as Emma. Inhaling sharply to clear my thoughts, I maneuvered through the last sharp turn and brought the SUV to a halt.

Before us, the rough drive petered out, leaving only a narrow bridge leading out across the chasm. I wasn’t certain I trusted the bridge structure enough to drive the SUV across it. From here, we would need to walk.

The bridge seemed solid enough, constructed of the same sandy stone as the castle itself; here it had darkened and discolored to a deep butterscotch hue over the centuries. It was patchworked with masses of dark green moss and a vigorous blue-green trailing plant curled across the stonework and draped down, reaching for the gaping chasm below. I stepped out of the car and walked over to where the bridge started. The location had no doubt been carefully chosen when this behemoth was built – the only way into it was across this narrow bridge and on every side it was protected by a sheer cliff face. Almost three quarters of the distance across, the bridge was secured by a tall, narrow guard house, consisting of an arched gateway with the castle revealed beyond. It was easy to imagine this gateway had long ago housed a substantial portcullis, lowered into place in the face of approaching danger. I visualized a parade of men galloping towards the gate, mounted two abreast on destriers. Wearing chainmail, and metal helmets to protect their faces, they would have broadswords and axes hanging from their waists.

Sheesh. Maybe romanticism was contagious, and I’d caught it from Emma. With a heavy sigh, I stalked back to the car and grabbed my purse, flinging it across my shoulder.

Emma was already stepping onto the bridge and I held my breath for an instant, wondering if the eight-hundred-year-old structure was sound. The trustee, Monsieur Perrault had already assured us in heavily accented English that the foundations of the castle and the surrounding structures were strong – in excellent condition, in fact. He’d taken great pains to reassure me that he’d visited numerous times, ensuring everything was prepared for my arrival. I suspected it was more because he was contemplating the exorbitant fees he’d rake in when I sold the place, rather than any pressing concern he might hold for our safety.

Emma leaned over the side of the bridge, gazing at the ground far below. “Isn’t it amazing!” she announced. “Just imagine how wonderful it would be to live here.”

I sighed heavily. For just a split-second I contemplated pushing Emma over the edge. I loved her deeply, but some days I wondered if she would drive me to insanity before I reached my thirtieth birthday. “No, I can’t imagine it. And I’m not going to imagine it. I’m not keeping it.” I stepped onto the cobblestones and started the walk across the bridge, Emma following along and chattering like an excited bird.

I glanced skyward when we reached the guardhouse, inspecting the gaping holes in the roof where it had collapsed, allowing sunlight to stream through. The remaining slate which maintained a precarious grip on the roofing beams was doing little to protect anyone from the elements.

Despite our visit coinciding with the height of a French summer, the air was cool – this area overlooking the Loire Valley was heavily wooded and had grown wild for the most part. My elusive great uncle abandoned Les Sables Rideaux some forty years prior, leaving it to decay while he retreated to the bright lights and ambiance of Paris. He’d never purchased a property in the city, instead choosing to live for nearly four decades in a penthouse suite at the Ritz, eating up the substantial funds he’d held on copious quantities of expensive wine and beautiful women. When he died this past September he’d been almost penniless, the only thing left being this castle, which by all accounts had been ransacked throughout the years to maintain his continued residence at the Paris hotel.

With no heirs, no wife and no family, the estate had been left in the hands of the trustee, Perrault, who’d searched the world for an heir, finally discovering my existence after a protracted search.

My cell phone chimed, indicating an incoming text message and I pulled it from my jeans pocket, surprised to be getting reception. The Loire Valley was pockmarked with magnificent vineyards and charming medieval villages, so I guess it stood to reason there would be a cell tower nearby.

NELL: Are you there yet? What’s it like?

I snapped a photo of the castle and sent it back in a return message. It only took seconds for the cell to chime again.

NELL: Oh heavens. Bet Emma’s already trying to talk you into keeping it.

I tapped out a response.

KENNEDY: Yep. Not happening.

Slipping the cell into the back pocket of my jeans, I hurried to catch up with Emma, bracing myself to ward off her over-exuberance. If she was this delighted with the outside, I could only imagine what she’d be like when she saw the interior.

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