The drive north to the Estates was relatively smooth. Sam had left before evening traffic had picked up, and once she got out of downtown Denver, the GPS led her through a twisting road into the Rockies. The Estates were located in a valley nestled within the Rockies, near the city of Grand Lake, a little over two hours away. The roads were clear, but spring had obviously not yet come to the Rockies, as the peaks were a dusky white as the sun continued beyond them. The deep blue shadows kept the area cool, with the deep, dark greens of the pines contrasting against the ivory mantle of snow that lingered, resolute against spring’s advance.
As she turned off CO-25, she passed between a massive set of stone columns set on either side of the drive. The columns were both topped by marble-winged lions, the wings outspread as the lions roared. The road forked, with a signpost indicating Village to the right and Château to the left. Pulling left, the road twisted through the dense trees, oaks and pines that obscured the view, until finally she pulled into a clearing. Before her was a snow-covered field, stretching easily two to three acres, with the road leading through the field and up the curve of a hilly rise, where the Château stood proudly on a rocky outcropping overlooking the valley below.
The Château was a classic castle and keep, the pale gray stones dusted with the lingering snow and frost. The solid stone walls surrounding the main keep had crenulated towers at each juncture, with an actual drawbridge and open gate allowing access to the inner bailey. Following the road as it rounded around the hill to enter the keep from the back entrance, Sam let out a slow, low whistle before saying, “What do you think, Xalish? All kinds of awesome, yeah?” She pointed up toward one of the towers. “It’s even got gargoyles!”
The inner bailey had a small parking lot off to one side, separated from the main part of the bailey by a half-wall. Parking in an empty spot, Sam was glad she had changed clothes before heading out here. If it was cool down in Denver, it was downright bitter up here, particularly now that the sun was hidden behind the western peaks. Tugging her black beanie down lower to cover the tips of her ears, she jogged along the cleared path toward the steps leading up to the main entry. Three wide, low stone steps led up to a massive set of wooden double-doors, the wood dark with age and bound in blackened metal, with…of course…large lion-headed knockers.
These guys really like to beat a theme into the ground, don’t they? Sam wryly thought as she opened one of the smaller doors set into the larger wooden ones.
Instantly, it was like stepping into another world. They had continued the classic castle theme, but had given it a more modern, Rockies twist. Large slate slabs formed the floor, but a crimson and gold runner led directly from the entrance to a large front desk. Off to either side of the entrance were seating areas, with oversized, comfortable looking furniture in wood and aged leather, complete with bearskin—faux, Sam sincerely hoped—rugs set before roaring fireplaces. The walls were covered with shields and Medieval weaponry, and there were even suits of highly polished, and extremely fanciful, sets of armor situated about the Great Hall.
To either side of the reception desk were sweeping staircases that curled up toward a gallery on the second floor, while behind the desk an open archway led to what appeared to be a library, with massive windows overlooking the eastern valley below.
As she entered, a young man rose from behind the desk with a warm, welcoming smile on his handsome face. His long, blue-black hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung down his back, his dark eyes crinkled in a warm greeting. Sam struggled not to giggle as she saw he was dressed in a flowing, ruby red poet’s shirt that complimented his smooth, darkly-bronzed skin tone, the open neck revealing a rather impressive pectoral swell. As he stood, she noticed his breeches were just this side of being indecently snug—and she tried, she really, really tried not to sneak a peek—and low, soft leather boots. Catching Sam’s quick downward glance, and with her quick blush almost certainly giving her away, the young man grinned and swept a deep, courtly bow.
“Welcome to Château de Lyon, m’lady,” his voice was low and warm. “How can we help you?”
“Samantha!” Clara cried out in greeting as she trotted down the stairs. “It’s okay, Danny, she’s a guest of mine. I already set her up in the Maiden’s Tower.”
Sam muffled a cough at that, drawing a grin from Clara, who just shook her head as she asked the blushing redhead, “Did you bring your luggage and stuff?” At Sam’s affirmative, Clara turned back to Danny, “Could you get Misty to grab her stuff and take it to her room? Then have her park her car down in the garage.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Danny said with a cocky salute and a wink at Sam as he picked up the phone on the desk.
Clara came over and once more claimed Sam’s arm, hooking it with her own as she waved about grandly, “Welcome to the Château! Originally built in 1752 by my family, it served as a trading post and fort for fur traders and eventually the gold miners that came to the region.”
“1752?” Sam asked as she was led around the desk and through the archway. She wanted to go take a closer look at the library and take in the view, but Clara steered her down a hallway toward the left.
“Yep! My family was with the LaSalle expedition that traveled down the Mississippi from Canada to Louisiana in the 1600s, then traveled west since they weren’t too fond of the swamps,” Clara grinned and winked, “New Orleans was also a lot less fun back in those days, or so I’ve been told.” Shrugging, she continued as she led Sam deeper into the Château, toward the source of some truly incredible smells.
Yum, dinner time! Sam thought, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, though Clara intruded upon her reverie and saved her from the embarrassment of drooling all over herself.
“Anywho, westward ho the Leon’s went, and joined with the locals in keeping the Spanish from taking over. And yes,” Clara said drolly as she pushed open the swinging doors into a massive, absolutely immaculate modern kitchen that was buzzing with activity. “I am aware of the irony of Leons fighting the French, considering Ponce was a distant relative.“My great…great, great, so many times great he’s wonderful, grandfather found this place and fell in love with it,” Clara continued blithely, tugging on Sam’s arm as she drug her deeper into the kitchen, adroitly dodging the kitchen staff. From the bobbing of Clara’s head as she glanced around, she was apparently looking for someone. “Ah ha! Bertie!” And once again with the tugging! If Sam still had an arm after today, she promised to say a prayer of thanks. Hell, she’d pray the entire rosary if she had to.
At Clara’s bellow, an absolute mountain of a man poked his head up, a scowl on his craggy face. The man was an absolute beast, easily more than six-and-a-half feet tall, with huge shoulders and a barrel chest. A bristling black beard framed narrow lips, cropped close to his wide jawline, although the top of his pale head was as smooth as marble. Coal black eyes glared from beneath bushy eyebrows and above a wide, long, and crooked nose, adding to his already craggy look. With eyes too big for his face, that massive nose, and scowl, he was definitely not a handsome man; however, his features transformed as he flashed Clara a wide, bright smile that made his face heart-stoppingly striking.
“Clara girl,” Bertie boomed. His rough voice echoed through the kitchen and if not for Clara’s grip on her arm, Sam would have jumped out of her skin. “Are you here to steal some cookies again?”
Clara leaned over to whisper in Sam’s ear, “Bertie is the best baker, evah! Make friends with him, trust me!” A wink and a grin, then Clara shouted back at Bertie, “Not this time! Just wanted to show Sam around a little before dinner!”
The giant turned his attention down toward Sam, who was staring up at him with wide eyes. His smile turned gentle as he gave her a small nod. “Hello, Sam, and be welcome.”
Unable to resist the urge, Sam tilted her head slightly, gazing up at him over the rim of her glasses. Instantly, she saw his second self, a nearly translucent aura of stormy-gray stony flesh, wicked horns, and eyes that sparked with blue-white lightning dancing in their coal depths. The shadow of bat-like wings were tucked around those broad shoulders, and despite the wicked fangs visible between thin, smiling lips, she got the feeling of safety from him. A gentle giant. She returned his smile with a wide, happy one of her own.
“If you’re the Master of Cakes and Cookies, then you’re already my new best friend,” Sam said, earning a thunderous burst of laughter from the man.
“Deal!” Bertie boomed through his laughter, and once more Sam felt that strange prickling sensation she had felt earlier though instead of in her chest, this time the tingling seemed to wrap up her right forearm. Absently rubbing her arm, she didn’t notice the strange look she received from Clara, nor the glare the woman sent Bertie’s way.
Waving his arms in a shooing gesture, Bertie yelled, “Now go and leave me be! I have desserts to make.”
Laughing, Sam subtly pulled her arm free of Clara’s grip, choosing instead to follow on her own as the tall blonde turned and wove her way toward another set of doors, these apparently leading to the main dining room.
Although it was early in the evening, the dining room was already half full, apparently with guests either staying at the Château or those who had made the drive specifically for the fare served in the small restaurant. The decorations in the dining room were in line with those of the Château Sam had seen thus far, with slate floors, deep red carpets, heavy wooden furniture, and the “modern Medieval” theme. It was surprisingly welcoming, with a large, circular fire pit in the center of the room, a fire merrily crackling and filling the air with the faintest hint of sweet smoke.
Clara grinned at Sam’s expression. “Come on, it’s a ‘Renaissance’ restaurant in the Rockies, of course it’s going to be a steakhouse. I hope you’re not a vegan,” she suddenly blinked, looking rather aghast at the thought, “I know those people are common out there in Portland.”
With a laugh and a pat of her generous, but firm, ass, Sam replied, “Nah, I tried it, but the lure of bacon was just too strong.” Her tone turned teasing as she cast a glance up at Clara, “What about you, Miss Soy Latte Mocha?”
Wrinkling her nose, Clara put a finger to her lips and with a roll of her eyes responded in a conspiratorial voice, “Lactose is not my friend, but don’t tell my beloved cheesecake that. It’s not a pretty relationship, but he’s always there when I need him most!”
The two women collapsed against each other in a maelstrom of giggling that had more than one customer smiling in amusement, even if they had no idea what the two crazy women were laughing about.