Shadows at Stonewylde Read Free

Stonewylde moon-dance that had claimed her every month, she still felt the pull on her soul. Part of her longed to be with the wild hares up on the hill, dancing like a moon angel in the starry night, singing her ethereal song and marking the magic spirals into the earth with her bare feet.
    Curled into the cushions and bathed in silver light, Sylvie gazed up at the brilliant moon riding the shredded clouds. The Hunter’s Moon held dark memories that she found impossible to lay to rest. Even now, thirteen years later, she felt the past close behind her. It was as if the dust had never settled properly but still swirled and danced in the air with a life of its own. The pool of moonlight around her failed to penetrate the shadows of the cavernous sitting-room, and Sylvie peered alone into the darkness.
    She’d put up so much resistance when, after their hand-fasting, Yul had wanted to move into these apartments. This was where her final ordeal had taken place, the prison Magus had kept her in for the last weeks of his life. Today, the leather sofa where she’d slept in silk and diamonds was gone, as was the black marble bathroom and all the priceless fittings of his great bedroom. The only way she’d been persuaded to use these chambers was by altering them beyond recognition; by wiping out all traces of the man who’d been so obsessed by her moongaziness but had treated her so cruelly.
    Yet still he haunted her as if he’d never truly gone. So red-blooded and commanding when alive, echoes of Magus reverberated all around Stonewylde, particularly in the Hall and especially in these rooms. At moments like this, when the full moon blazed through the whorled glass, Sylvie felt Magus close by. She sensed the gleam of his silver hair and the flash of his black eyes just beyond the corner of her vision. She could almost – but not quite – hear his deep voice whispering her name, feel the brush of his fingers on her bare skin. It never happened when she was busy or surrounded by other people; it was always when she was alone. She’d mentioned it to others of course, but she knew from their reactions that they thought her ridiculous, or maybe even displaying something more alarming – a return to her illness. So Sylvie had learnt to keep quiet about her fears, hoping that as the years passed Magus’ spectre would fade until eventually, one day, she’d be free of his presence altogether.
    She rose and switched on a table lamp. The room sprang into existence, still luxurious but very different to Magus’ rooms. This was her home and not a shrine. She shouldn’t sit in the darkness like that. It was silly to give memories the chance to smother her, silly to let ghosts from the past find the opportunity to visit. She must be firm with herself and keep her wandering thoughts under control.
    Sylvie went through the connecting door into the playroom, formerly Magus’ dressing room, then into the bathroom. This was now decorated with pearly fittings and pale wood rather than dark marble and onyx. She moved on into the bedroom, an airy room with diaphanous drapes and soft turquoise walls, and a far cry from Magus’ lair of scarlet damask and dark mahogany. The next room was a smaller bathroom and then there was the children’s bedroom, tucked away in a room originally put aside for Sylvie and her clothes. Here, Cherry had hidden food for her under the bed and Magus had laced her tightly into a Tudor gown. The room was now bright and colourful, full of the pretty paraphernalia of young girls.
    She stepped softly across the floor to stand between the beds and gaze down at her two daughters, Celandine and Bluebell. Two white-blond curly heads lay in tousled sleep, little bodies curled up against the October chill. If her girls were moongazy they didn’t show it for both slept soundly, Bluebell with her thumb in her mouth. Sylvie felt the familiar heart-wrench of love as she watched them in the bright moonlight. They liked to