Highland Moon Box Set--BBW Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance by Mac Flynn

Author:Mac Flynn [Flynn, Mac]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crescent Moon Studios, Inc.

3

My laird led me from the dining hall and to the rear of the entrance hall. A pair of doors against the wall beneath the balcony led to the garden. The mid-morning sun shone down on us as we stepped out into the withered greenery. The raised beds built of stone and earth held plants blasted with the unforgiving cold of the first frost. All the beauty was gone save for a lone plant here and there.

The stone paths that started at the doors encircled a dry central fountain and wound their way to the hill. Old shrubbery grew against the hillside and flanked a large, heavy oak door that led into the depths of the earths. A half dozen steps led to a landing in front of the door, and a heavy, rusted brass handle allowed one entrance.

My laird guided me down the few wooden steps and we stood before the tall, arched door. He moved us so we faced each other with ours sides to the entrance and he clasped our hands together.

“My father has been laid to rest here, in the earthen vault of our family,” he informed me.

I furrowed my brow. “But is not the funeral-”

“Tomorrow? Aye, but I thought it prudent to keep his body from prying eyes,” he admitted.

My heart beat faster. “But what harm would it do?”

“A great deal of harm to both of us. Let me show you,” he pleaded.

My laird pushed open the door and a waft of grave dust flew past us. The crypt was carved twenty feet into the hill with hollowed out niches on either wall that were stacked three high. Many of the niches were filled with wooden coffins, and nameplates above the niches held the names, dates, and a few brief details about the deceased. A few sarcophagus rose on tall pedestals in the center of the long room with raised images of their interred carved from stone atop the lids.

My laird lit one of the torches on either side of the entrance just inside the door and clasped my hand in his. He pulled me down the long line of coffins and empty niches to the rear wall. A fresh coffin of oak wood was placed in the center niche, and the light from the torch glistened off the nameplate so that I could read the contents.

Kynan Campbell, Fifteenth Laird of Castle Campbell. Gone, but never forgotten.

“Try as I might, I shall never forget him as long as I live,” my laird admitted.

My laird placed the torch in a nearby holder set in the wall and gently pushed me back. He wrapped his arms around the width of the coffin and pulled the box from the wall. I watched amazed as he set the coffin on the floor. The resting box must have weighed several hundred pounds, and yet he managed its moving without so much as a grunt.

Tristan grabbed the torch from the wall and beckoned to me. “If you dare know it then I will show you the truth.

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