It stood like a fortress, a mountain of hard, gray stone. Two lofty towers flanked the impres sive keep, the spire rooftops invisible under the blinding light of the morning sun. Adam stumbled toward the familiar entrance way, each step a methodical effort. The blacksmith had refused to escort him straight to the door, for fear of the master within. And so Adam had to make his way to the castle alone. The crippling anguish in his arms, the blister ing wounds burned into his breast had ceased to stir pain. He was numb. Intent on only one objective: to get to the duke and seek help for Evelyn. Adam approached the polished mahogany, skimmed his fingers across the ornate wood carv ing in the door, searching for the handle. He still could not see very well; color and light blurred together in his eyes. But the castle was his child hood home, and he remembered every aspect of it well. The latch was easy to find. Adam pushed open the door and stepped inside the main hall, quiet and cavernous.
