My Highland Rogue by Karen Ranney

Author:Karen Ranney
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-07-27T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Elizabeth Chapel wasn’t named for the period of time when it had been built or for any type of architecture. Instead, it had been named after a previous Countess of Burfield, Elizabeth, who was known to be devout almost to a fault.

Adaire Hall was laid out like a square, although after the north wing had burned down, it consisted of only two wings and the original part of the Hall. Behind the ruins of the north wing were a half dozen fair-sized outbuildings, plus the stable, dairy, and barns.

The chapel was located to the east of the Hall, at the end of a serpentine path winding through the statuary gardens.

Gordon opened one of the chapel’s double doors. The squeaking hinges made him wonder how long it had been since anyone had entered the building. Perhaps the last time had been the countess’s funeral.

His mother’s funeral.

He could still remember the procession, pallbearers carrying the coffin through the chapel to the crypt. He’d stood in the back, wishing he could be with Jennifer to comfort her, to hold her as she wept. She’d struck him as particularly alone, seated next to Harrison and McBain.

The rage that suddenly swept over him was boundless yet impotent. Who did he punish? Sean, a man dying in agony? Betty? She was already beyond any earthly penalties. The inescapable fact was there was no one to bear the brunt of his anger.

Since it was a bright day, the chapel was lit by yellow and red hues from the stained glass windows on three sides. The founding members of the family had been devout, but he didn’t think that Harrison had ever invited a visiting minister here.

Gordon made his way down the central aisle, passing all the pews that had been filled on his mother’s funeral. Like a larger cathedral, the chapel had an upper recess for the choir, its own impressive sounding organ, and an arched roof with crossed timbers. Above the altar was a stained glass window, one of three. Two doors sat side by side just beyond the altar. The one on the left led to the sacristy, the one on the right to the crypt.

He and Jennifer had explored the crypt once as children. They’d dared each other, and crept down the stairs. He remembered the musty odor that had seemed to cling to him for hours afterward. At the time, with a child’s logic, he had thought it was because of all the long-dead Adaire bodies.

Now he knew that it was simply because the crypt was below the earth, and what he smelled was dampness. There were no windows to allow sunshine to filter in. For that reason, there were candles in various spots, along with matches. At the base of the steps he found the nearest one and lit it, carrying it with him.

He went to stand before the wall facing east. One brass plaque was lighter than the others. He reached out with his right hand and placed his fingers over the incised letters.

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