The Lost Treasure of Lorne

Prologue

Lorne Castle, Scotland
31st August 1485

The English baroness, cornered at the top of the tallest tower, turned at bay and fixed the Marquis of Lorne with her pale green eyes, her dark hair spilling from her coif and shifting uneasily in the wind.

He laughed his triumph. Now he would complete his revenge. The Normington men had lost him his wife; had forced him to destroy Lorne's greatest treasure. He had hunted down the men, father and son. Only the mother survived. Until today.

Even as he gloated, she leapt up onto the battlement, one step from eternity. Just one step backwards. He grinned. Suicide was a sin, and she as devout as ever trod these stones, telling her beads and praying the hours. Let her call on her saints and her angels for mercy. Only Lorne heard her voice, and he had no mercy in him.

Before he could reach her, she spoke, her voice a low hiss, so cold it froze him in his tracks.

"Hear my judgement, Lionel Lorimer, Fourth Marquis of Lorne.

"By your own actions, you have cursed the house of Lorne. No son of your line will inherit from his father. No daughter will live to raise her own boy child.

"Thus shall it be until the Lorimer blood grows thin. For thrice one hundred years, the gates of Heaven will be barred to the bloodline of this house, and your dead will walk the halls of Castle Lorne, yearning for everlasting rest. Then at the last, Castle Lorne will fall to the enemy, Satan will reap his harvest of souls, and the castle will crumble to dust.

"One chance I give you and only one. If, as the time runs out, the warring houses are united and the last two Lorimers of Lorne find the lost treasure of Lorne, the curse will be over and love will have its reward."

On the final word, Lady Normington took a step backward, and fell silently into the void.

Her body was never found.