Excerpt from
"Castle Wrath" from Stake through the Heart

© Karin Kallmaker, 2005

No portion of this work may be reproduced by any means
without express written consent of the publisher.

From Chapter 3

Dark roads… A scare in the dark…
Tea in a castle kitchen…a surprising dream

I fell asleep two minutes into the drive, so didn’t get to hear Portia’s fantasies that night. I woke with a start and remembered all in flash my intentions to acquire a digital camera, sightsee and find something warmer than the thick sweater I’d hoped would be coverage enough for the Scottish early spring. There was no sign of a shopping mall outside the window. There, in fact, was no sign of anything but black.

I could use my dandy little laptop to order a camera and a jacket, I supposed. “Deliver to Castle Wrath” would look mighty fine.

My head felt like it weighed more than usual as I tried to sit up. I hoped I hadn’t been snoring. Something refined and heavy in violins was rolling out of the speakers—the kind of thing you’d hear in a castle drawing room.

“You were worn out.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I ran my hand through my hair, which felt greasy, and wished for a bathroom. The headlights illuminated a pitted road not even wide enough for two cars. “I slept some on the flight from San Francisco, but I haven’t been sleeping well overall. Excited about the trip.”

“That’s understandable.”

It felt downright weird to look to my right to study the driver of the car. The dashboard lights cast her face in shadow, but it was undeniable: P. Tennielle of Manchester, England, U.K., was a hottie. She’d look great in a castle drawing room. A rather short, perky and modestly-shaped American girl from Lodi, California, had little chance. While I was a couple of steps above “mousey,” I was the kind of person people had to be reminded they’d met before.

“How far are we from Durness?”

“We just passed through. Next stop is our new home.”

“Oh!” The car’s clock said it was after two a.m. “I thought we’d stop in Durness for the night.”

“The hotel was shuttered and dark—we can go back if we have to, but it looked as if there was no one awake.”

Portia was driving no more than fifteen miles an hour as the road narrowed even more. “How will you know where to turn?”

“If we get to the ferry that takes us across the kyle to Cape Wrath, we took the wrong turn about three minutes ago. But I think we’re fine.”

She had barely finished speaking when the headlights swept over a stone wall. Navigating carefully, she turned into a narrow entrance flanked by two square, enormous posts. A small building that looked as if it might be an old barracks of some kind, was built into the wall to the south, but our lights quickly slid past it as we turned north on a gravel driveway.

I repeated to myself, “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again,” but the driveway wasn’t long, winding and tree-lined. After only a minute of slow driving, Portia stopped the car at the foot of wide steps, then turned off the engine.

It was dark. Dark and windy. Windy enough that something spattered the car with each gust. I’d remember that sound effect for my scary movie, I thought, not wanting to admit I was frightened.

The set was great, couldn’t have been better. It didn’t matter that I was on the other side of the world from home.

Bravado was the only reason I opened the door. Portia quickly put her hand on my arm.

‘Hang on. Let me resettle the car.”

She backed carefully so that the headlights were on the front door. The steps were steep and old, nearly as treacherous as the ones I’d fallen on this afternoon in front of Mr. Stuart’s offices. Not all that deep down inside my inner scaredy-cat was yowling that it seemed like I was on the other side of the world from Mr. Stuart’s office as well.

Leaving our bags, we got out of the car at the same time. The wind felt like knives of ice, and it howled. Way, way more howling than “Funeral for a Friend” which wasn’t what I wanted to be thinking about at all. Funerals, I mean. There’s plenty of wind in the Bay Area but it never made this kind of noise. This wind was alive, howling furiously, and it was telling me to go home.

My sweater was a feeble joke. I’d meant to rent a car in Durness regardless, just so I would be able to get things if I needed them. I was betting it was a couple hundred miles to the nearest Gap. I was trapped here and I was going to freeze to death. If I didn’t die of exposure, there was always the possibility that the spider I saw scuttling out of sight on the steps would have a lethal bite when it returned, after I fell asleep, with all of its kin.

Portia clanged the heavy door knocker six times. The thuds resonated beyond the door into what sounded to me like an empty house.

“There might not even be beds ready for us,” I said. “Or heat and water. A bathroom would be a welcome sight.”

Portia clanged another half-dozen times. “We’re expected, so the caretaker is here somewhere.”

“Caretaker?”

“Place like this there’s got to be a caretaker.”

I wished I was as certain as she was. I realized I’d no idea what the expenses of owning even a small castle were and how the estate paid them. “We’re expected tomorrow.”

She tried the large knob and flashed me a brilliant grin when it turned. The door swung open with a creak that belied the idea that there was any kind of caretaker. A stone floor covered by a runner of dark carpet was illuminated by the headlights.

“After you,” I said.

“Right.” Portia led the way.

The widely flung door let in the car’s yellow lighting, but it also let in the howling wind. The edges of the carpet ruffled up, then flapped back down, and the echo did not make me think of snapping bat jaws.

Portia fumbled along the wall to her left while I carefully edged to the right, searching for a light switch. My hand encountered something stringy and soft, threads of some kind, fringe, not webs…of course not, and I wasn’t thinking about Frodo in the spider’s lair, not me.

“Nobody said anything about needing a flashlight,” I muttered.

“If we have to, we can empty the boot and see if there’s an emergency torch.”

I encountered something about half my height and as my eyes adjusted better to the dark I could tell it gleamed slightly. Something highly polished. I bent to try to figure it out just as Portia gave a cry of triumph. Light flooded the hallway and I found myself face to face with a grimacing gargoyle.

Okay, I screamed. Anybody would have screamed.

“Bloody hell!” Portia glared at me from the other side of the open door. “You scared the wadding out of me!”

I flushed. It was just one of those decorative items made out of the figure, with the flat of the creature’s back serving as a small table. I’d seen them as butlers and pigs but never anything so gruesome as this drool-dripping demon. The tray contained a short stack of cards that said, “Welcome to Castle Wrath. Please stay in the areas marked for public viewing. Your courtesy is appreciated.”

Not waiting for any apology from me, Portia stomped down the steps to the car. I hurried after, securing my cases from the back seat and struggling back up the steep stairs with them.

It felt much better to enter my new temporary but possibly permanent home with the lights on. The wind seemed less vocal and I could appreciate the stark simplicity of the narrow but high stone hall that ended in a velvet rope with a sign reading “Family only.” Beyond was a staircase that disappeared up a turret or something. There were two closed doors on the left and two open on the right.

Leaving my cases, I peeked into the first door on the right. A formal sitting room, not very large, and stuffed with the kind of antiques that looked torturous to use—sofas with large wooden arms and rock-like cushions, chairs with knobby backs, that sort of thing. The fireplace was covered by a grill that was locked.

The next room was a little museum about the castle, featuring a few paintings of previous occupants, some personal effects including a curved sword, a helmet with heavy engraving, an elegant, enameled hairbrush, comb and shaving set, a tartan throw that was primarily red, and a placard explaining the Wrath clan affiliations. The far corner promised information about the local dialect and Highlands customs. I’d have to study that myself.

The door slammed shut and Portia stood there, smoothing her wind-ruffled hair. She looked perfect against the old stone. I could see her in a suit made of that brilliant red tartan. In my imagination sometimes she wore a kilt with a cod piece only called something different—I was going to have to ask—and sometimes she wore a skirt and very high heels. She seemed like a flexible kind of woman. Regardless, her stance was positively regal.

“I’ve shut off the lights and locked the car.” She strode over to the first door on the left, opened it without hesitation and disappeared within. I was right behind her as she switched on an overhead lamp. A long hardwood table with seating for at least sixteen stretched the length of the room, which was lined with buffets and etageres, all empty. The clan tartan was used as a table runner, and the blue threading in the tartan matched the draperies and chair covers. The end of the table nearest us had an old, deep divot, as if some angry lord had thrust a dagger into it to make a point.

Portia had already walked the length of the room and disappeared into what was probably the kitchen. Sure enough, that was the second roped off room, and in its far depths were two very welcome sights: a small table for six, nestled into what might be a warm, sunny corner of the kitchen, and a bathroom.

I wasn’t proud. I scooted past Portia, found the light, locked the door and took care of my urgent needs.

When I emerged Portia had a kettle in one hand and was waiting at the kitchen sink. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m cold to the bone.”

She turned the spigot and I was pleased to see clear water stream out in response, albeit after an initial coughing sputter.

The stove she also quickly mastered, striking a match to light a burner before setting the kettle in place. She easily found mugs and tea.

“How do you know where everything is?”

She shrugged. “Everything is where it seems it ought to be. The kettle was there on the counter, the mugs in the cupboard above, the tea in the drawer below. There’s some sugar packets and powdered milk.”

Disquieted, I distracted myself by looking into the refrigerator. Only a dish with baking soda was to be found. It was turned on, but set to its least cold temperature. “We’re lucky to have tea and fake milk.”

“Likely the caretakers count on it being here.”

“How many times have you been here before?”

“The castle itself? Only once, to look round inside. But I had a couple of walking holidays, so I’ve seen the cape, the lighthouse and all that.” She excused herself to the bathroom, leaving me to study the clean white paint and simple wildflower drawings that graced the walls. I liked the kitchen, a lot. I could plug in my laptop at the table, surf the Internet and be very happy with some coffee and toast in the morning. Of course there was no coffee and toast. I’d make do with one of the nutrition bars squirreled away in my suitcase.

Morning, I reminded myself as I warmed my hands near the burner lit under the tea kettle, wasn’t that far off. The long sleep in the car had eased a lot of my exhaustion, and as soon as I had something warm in my stomach I only wanted to find a bed. Given the way I felt I’d be lucky to wake before nightfall.

Portia dropped teabags tagged “Typhoo” into the mugs and poured on the boiling water. The aroma of steeping tea chased away the faint dusty old castle smell. I smiled at the thought—I’d not known what dusty old castle smell was until just a short while ago.

“What’s amusing?” She slid gracefully into a chair at the table.

“I know what a castle smells like, now.”

“Ah. I was just thinking that I hope there are made up beds. The sun will be up all too soon.” She smiled into her tea as she sipped and I couldn’t help but notice how red her lips were against the ice white of the mug.

I couldn’t say what it was about her that I found so fascinating. Maybe it was simply that I’d never met anyone like her before. She was unusual in my world—sexy voice, elegant bearing and an unmistakable, at least to me, sensuality. I’d have to visit her web site again and find out just what kinds of performance art she, well, performed. I remembered photos of live models posed in public places, some painted, some draped, some artfully naked. I’d been more interested in who she was than what she did, wondering what would be judged in her favor as a claimant rather than mine.

Really, I hadn’t ever thought I’d be the one chosen. I was just here to collect the second prize. She was so much more suited to it all than I was, but part of me didn’t want to give up without some kind of fight.

“Something wrong?”

I shook myself out of my thoughts. “Sorry, I wasn’t staring at you, not really. Just…very tired.” I felt mildly dizzy as a tidal wave of jet lag washed over me.

“Perhaps,” she said, with a smile, “we might be entitled to carry a mug of tea around with us while we look for our bedrooms.”

“After all…” I hoped my smile was as jaunty as hers. “We own the place.”

We laughed like conspirators and turned off the kitchen lights on our way out. I grabbed the lighter of my two bags and followed Portia up the stairs. The stone walls were covered sparsely with tapestries and paintings, some of which were so grimy I couldn’t make out the subject. There were two small windows with thick, opaque glass, and cold air seeped in around them.

The second floor was noticeably colder than the ground floor. The stairs continued up one more flight, but we headed into the hallway, which, like the floor below, featured four doors, two on each side.

The first two, left and right, were both empty. I opened the second door on the left with a sinking heart, but was surprised by a fully furnished room, complete with a curtained four-poster bed. I guessed the previous occupant had been male, as the colors were predominantly deep blues and browns.

“At least there’s one bed,” Portia said from behind me. Her breath was warm and I suddenly hoped the last room was empty too. Sharing a bed with her was not an unpleasant prospect.

“We won’t freeze to death. I think that’s a good thing.”

I could feel when she was no longer behind me. Turning, I watched her open the last door and felt slightly breathless when her lips curved in a broad smile.

“What do you think?” She waved at the room with a graceful gesture of one arm.

I joined her to peer in, and immediately grinned as well. Though the furnishings were similar in quantity and size, this room was all whites and deep red, like a Valentine bower. The bed draperies were ruffled and appliquéd with English roses. It was a little more fussy and girlie than I’d have chosen, but I still liked it.

Sneaking a glance at Portia, who looked very amused, I said, “What do you say I take this one?”

“Bless you,” she said emphatically. “It’s a little dark, but the one across the hall will do just fine for me.”

Just like that it was done. I wheeled my suitcase into my room, and she into hers. I met her coming up the stairs with her second case as I went down for mine. She had at least one more suitcase in her car, but I was so sleepy I didn’t care if she needed help fetching it.

To my relief, I discovered I had my own small bathroom, obviously converted from a closet. When I spotted the tiny space heater near the bed all my needs were met. Well, all the needs I was allowing to surface at that moment, anyway.

In rapid order, I switched on the heater, unpacked my toiletries, brushed my teeth, snatched pajamas from the suitcase, scrubbed my face and headed for the bed. Once in, I untied the drawstrings on the curtains furthest from the heater. The little space quickly warmed and, after a few minutes, I knew I was comfortable enough to sleep. I quickly turned the heater off and closed the final set of curtains.

I was awake long enough to think that never in all my life had I thought I’d fall asleep in a castle, in a room I could—for a length of time—call my own. I had surely slipped into some alternative reality or gone back in time. Either way it didn’t matter…didn’t matter…

I dreamed.

There was a noise on the other side of the curtain but before I could be alarmed, she said, softly, “It’s cold.”

She slipped past the curtains into my warm, comfortable bed, her knees bumping mine. I gave her more room but she whispered, “No, no,” and put her arms around me, pulling us closer together.

“Portia,” I murmured, as the warmth around me intensified.

She glowed as if there were candles in her eyes. “Yes.”

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Stake through the Heart: New Exploits of Twilight Lesbians is a collaboration between Karin Kallmaker, Barbara Johnson, Therese Szymanski and Julia Watts, comprised of lesbian erotica novellas based on horror and supernatural themes. Part of the New Exploits series. Available from: