The Angels of Carrigan Castle

The Angels of Carrigan Castle: Chapter 22

Chapter 22

                Good god that was a strange dream, she thought as she lay on what seemed like the most comfortable bed in the history of the world. It really felt as though she was lying on a cloud. Perfectly soft and warm, the soft rolls of the cloud covering her body to make a blanket that is neither too hot nor too cold.

                Turning over, Eleanor reached out her arm looking for Sloan’s sleeping body, there was no one there. Well that is frustrating, she thought, smacking around the bed looking for any sign of him. She may have gotten drunk the night before but that didn’t mean he had to be an ass and ignore her.

                She rolled over and smacked around the other side of the bed looking for him, a pair of his pants, one of his shirts, or one of the electronic devices he may be working on and tossed it on the bed when he became bored with it, or broke it.

                Where the hell was he? She thought, she hated waking up and finding out he had already started his day and left her there. Sure she loved sleep, but she loved him more. Though sometimes she wondered why she had yet to wake up and find he had made her breakfast and brought it to her, so maybe this morning he was doing just that.

                Keeping her eyes closed she settled back down into the pillows, she was far too comfortable to even contemplate leaving her bed. If he was up and about then eventually he would have to come back to the room and pry her from their bed, she was never leaving. Or maybe he could join her and they could make love on this epically wonderful mattress.

                Sighing, she waited, and waited, and waited, Sloan never came, he never called out her name, he never kissed her on the lips and ran his fingers through her hair. Where the hell was he? “Sloan?” She called out, but her voice sounded weak, broken and cracked, was she sick? “Sloan, come back where’d you go?”

                “He’s not coming back.” A deep and unfamiliar voice said. Eleanor’s heart froze, the blood stopped pumping through her veins. Someone she did not know was standing in her bedroom, where was Sloan? What had they done to him?

                Slowly she opened her eyes and looked around. She was not in her bedroom, in fact she did not think she was still in the castle. The walls were not a sad grey, and there was light coming through the window. Flowers surrounded her bed and gorgeous paintings were on the walls.

                There was also an unfamiliar man standing at the edge of her bed, watching her as she slept, “Good morning Ellie,” He said, his British accent sounding very posh and distinguished, “How are you feeling?”

                She propped herself up, holding the blanket to her chest. Looking down she noticed she was wearing a white night gown, sliding her hand down her thigh, she realized it ended just before he knee, a modest cut for something she always thought as sexy, “Where am I?” She asked, beginning to freak out, “Who are you? Where is Sloan?”

                The man laughed and held up one hand, “Calm down, you are safe here Ellie.”

                Calm down? Calm down? How was she supposed to calm down? This huge man was standing in front of her telling her she was safe, but where the hell was she and how the hell did she get there? And where was Sloan? She just wanted to see him, she just wanted his arms wrapped around her, holding her close and telling her everything was alright.

                The man laughed and leaned casually against the wall, his reddish brown hair falling lazily over his eyes, which were a bright hazel, his arms folded across his chest, revealing his muscled features. This man was a warrior, a fighter, “Are you feeling alright, Ellie? You seem to be having a heart attack.”