Passions of the Ghost (15 page)

Reynald had always found peace in the castle
chapel, and this morning was no different. He sat, letting the voice of the priest wash over him and trying to pretend he was in his own time. The Latin service helped, but it wasn’t the same, and this man lacked Julius’s intensity and passion. He also lacked his steely eye when it came to those of his flock who did not show the appropriate level of piety and concentration.

The structure of the chapel was different, too. There were alterations, and someone had built an appalling stone plaque on one wall, to commemorate something called WW II. But, if he closed his eyes, and breathed in the smell of incense, then he could pretend he was home again.

He could hear some other members of the congregation stirring about restlessly on their seats. Amy had told him they were tetchy—her word—and that it was because the roads out of the castle had been closed by the bad weather. People were worried they might have to stay on after tomorrow instead of returning to their lives elsewhere, as if a day or two would mean the end of them. Reynald thought it was ridiculous and told her so. He could remember many such days during his winters here, days when both horse and rider could fall into a drift and perish, and not be found until the spring thaw.

He didn’t understand these people. They rushed about blindly, with never a moment to spare. Their cell phones rang, they had to check their e-mail, they had to network. Ridiculous words Amy had taught him. She said that they were frightened, that if they stopped rushing, they might have to
think.
And if they had to think, then they might realize how empty and pointless their lives were.

So what, Reynald thought, if they had to stay on another day or two? They had warmth and food and shelter. At times such as this there was nothing else to do but make yourself comfortable and wait it out. There were others far worse off. And in seven hundred years no one would remember them or what all the fuss was about.

That was one thing he had learned from the between-worlds. Mortal life was short, and you had to make the most of it.

Amy’s fingers were intertwined with his. He glanced sideways at her and found her staring intently at the priest. But she wasn’t listening; he could tell she was far away. He thought he knew what she was thinking. Amy was worrying about her brother and the choice she’d made.

“Jez and I have agreed to part company,” she’d said earlier. “He says he understands, but he doesn’t. He can’t imagine a life that doesn’t involve balancing on a knife-edge and waiting to fall.”

“You did the right thing,” Reynald assured her. “You told him the truth.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Now Reynald wondered if she regretted it. Perhaps she wished she had given her body to Nicco for this Catherine’s jewel, so that Jez could be saved from his own mess. But Reynald was glad she hadn’t. Such an action would have destroyed her. She had taken her own advice and listened to what her heart was telling her rather than to the persuasions of others.

Rey looked down at their fingers, joined, his and hers, and felt the peacefulness of the chapel stealing over him. In this place he had believed that one day he would be wed. But now, even if he was able to return to 1299, he knew he would not want a wife who wasn’t Amy…

A ripple disturbed his peace. How, he asked himself, could he marry her, even assuming he could, without remembering what she had been and what she had done? Was it possible to want a woman so much that your body ached yet be unable to accept her for what she was?

He sickened himself with his own thoughts. He was clearly no Julius, who was able to forgive any transgression, although sometimes he thought Julius was more saint than man, while Reynald was very much a man.

“Is it okay to make wishes in a place like this?” Amy whispered beside him. “It’s probably silly, but I feel like I’d like to make a wish.”

He drew a deep breath before he turned to look at her, trying to regain his equilibrium. Her eyes were wide and serious. “You can say a prayer, but I thought you were not sure you believed in God?”

Amy shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure I do.”

Reynald had been horrified—again—when she’d told him her views on religion and that she had never been inside a church in her entire life. In his time, life revolved around religion—saints’ days, holy days, the bells for prayer ringing throughout the day; the two were so tightly entwined there was no separating them.

“What do you want to wish for?” he asked softly.

She smiled, and he felt like his heart would burst. She was beautiful, with her red curls and green eyes, and the pink she had painted on her lips.

“It won’t come true, will it, if I tell you?” she teased. When he looked puzzled, she bumped his shoulder with hers. “See, Rey, you shake your head at my failings, but you’re as ignorant as I am. Haven’t you ever heard that before? I thought every child knew about not telling their wishes if they want them to come true.”

“While you were making wishes, I was learning to use my sword and ride my stallion,” he said evenly.

The expression in her eyes changed, turned to pity. “Poor Rey. No child of mine would miss out on being a child.”

“Even if he was a Marcher Lord’s heir?”

“Even then.”

Their gazes tangled, clung, then she looked away and bowed her head. He could see her lips moving and realized she was making her wish. And he wondered if it was the same as his.

Jez stood at the back of the chapel, but his eyes were on Amy and Rey rather than the service. He’d come here to see his sister and try and talk her into changing her mind.

After Amy had left him, Jez had felt bitter and angry, but he’d had no intention of crawling to her. After all he’d done for her! How could she have turned her back on him? There was no way he was going to ask her for any favors.

And then he got the phone call from reception.

It was the sweetheart with the big blue eyes, the girl he’d made a point of befriending from the moment he arrived. He always did that. It was a trick of his to have an ally who could let him know if anyone was asking for him.

Never leave your back unguarded.
That was a saying of his dad’s, one of his better ones, and Jez had never forgotten it.

The girl said that someone had just rung to ask if he was staying there, and when they learned he was, they asked to speak to the manager. She’d put the call through, and Mr. Coster had been on his phone for ages, then he’d come out and told her not to mention the call to Jez, or anyone else.

“You’re a treasure,” Jez had said warmly. “Probably one of the newspapers trying to track me down. Did they say who they were?
Daily Mail?
The
Telegraph
?”

“It wasn’t the newspapers,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It was a policeman. Detective Inspector O’Neill.”

Jez’s first thought, after he’d thanked her and hung up, was that the dodgy paintings he’d sold a couple of months ago must have been hotter than he’d thought. O’Neill had been poking around him for years, watching him, asking questions about him, tracking his movements. Maybe he finally had some piece of evidence he could use to bring Jez to justice?

In the beginning O’Neill’s obsession had seemed like a joke, a bit of a laugh, and he got a buzz out of keeping out of the policeman’s reach. But now…it just didn’t feel funny anymore. O’Neill was circling closer and closer, and Jez had the nasty feeling that he was just waiting for the moment to strike.

So he’d come to find Amy, to beg her to change her mind and go after Nicco for him. Once he knew where the Star of Russia was, he could get it, pay off his debts, and go somewhere where O’Neill wouldn’t be able to touch him. Spain, maybe, or Italy. Have a holiday.

Amy was right; this was no way to make a living.

But now, as he watched her and Rey, he began to remember all the years they’d been together, good and bad. And he knew he couldn’t do it to her. She was happy; he could see it shining from her, as if a light had been turned on inside her. Jez hadn’t seen Amy smile like that for a long time. He realized, with a strange sort of calm, that she really was in love with Rey, and she didn’t deserve for him to come and spoil it for her. She didn’t need him to protect her anymore, probably hadn’t for ages, but he’d refused to believe it. Maybe he had needed her more than she had needed him—she was his only link with the past, the only one who really understood.

But now, painful and difficult as it was, he needed to let her go, for both their sakes.

Jez went out of the chapel, closing the doors as quietly as he’d opened them.

The tunnel leading from the underground chamber was too narrow, and the dragon was having difficulty dragging herself through it. Her hard scales scratched against the rough-hewn walls, and once, when a small pile of debris fell down onto her, she roared from rage and frustration.

But gradually, inch by inch, she was moving forward.

For too long she’d been interred in the darkness beneath the earth, but soon she would be in the light of the outside world once more. She’d be able to breathe, and the fresh air would make her strong, make her feel young.

If only my beloved was here, with me. If only I could turn time backward, like the witch of the between-worlds, and make my decision over again.

This time she wouldn’t have been so careless of the life of the one she loved. This time she would have guarded that life with all her strength and cunning. But the decision had been made long ago. It was done, and there was no undoing it.

Exhausted, she rested, dreaming of flying through the crisp dawn air, the green forest laid out below her, and the blue sky above. She would stretch her wings wide and sail on the wind. She would bathe in the river and gorge herself on the fish she caught with her talons. It would be like it used to be.

But first she must kill Reynald and his mate.

What right had he to be happy? She hated him with a burning fire in her belly. If not for him, she wouldn’t have had to make the fateful decision. If not for him, her beloved would still be here beside her.

The dragon had seen Reynald’s mate in her mind. She had green eyes that saw much, and the bond between the two of them was very strong. She well knew that if she killed one of them, then the other would die of grief.

Aye, she knew all about grief.

The mock-battle was to have been held
outside in the bailey—a medley of jousts and tournaments, and a local historical reenactment group giving an exhibition. But the weather had changed that. Now, instead, there was a rather ramshackle affair, with men in armor charging up and down the pavilion, or else trying to knock each other out with an assortment of medieval weapons—clubs and battle-axes, lances and maces. All replicas, of course.

Rey kept a stern demeanor for some time, but eventually it was too much for him, and once he began to laugh, he laughed until his eyes streamed with tears.

Amy shook her head at him, but she was pleased to see him so happy. From what she could gather, she didn’t think he had much time to be happy where he came from, and although he talked about Julius and Angharad, he hadn’t had anyone to love, either. Not to really, truly
love
.

And everyone needed love.

Mr. Coster had asked him to participate in some of the “jousts,” and he’d agreed good-naturedly, even though there were no horses and the lances were made of cardboard. After he knocked down every one of his opponents in quick succession, Amy suddenly understood why he’d been laughing. What was just a game to the other men was a question of life and death to Reynald. He was good at it because he had to be.

He hadn’t had a childhood where he made wishes, and that was because he needed to learn to fight to stay alive. His world was full of people wanting to kill him or people he had to protect with his own life.

Amy wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, but she knew he would laugh at her. Or make love to her. He didn’t want pity, he didn’t need it, and she didn’t pity him. She admired him. She—oh God—loved him.

I love him.

“You are making more wishes, damsel?”

Amy blinked. Rey had returned to his seat, and she’d been too stunned by this new realization to notice. As usual when emotionally pressed, she made a joke. “I was wishing for you to win, and you did. You’re a champion, Rey!”

He gave her his most arrogant smile. She was sure he was going to say he always won, or something equally macho, but he never had the chance. Just then the pavilion started to shake.

The whole building was moving from side to side, and people were shouting and screaming, and trying to run. For a moment all was pandemonium, then it was over.

It took a few minutes for everyone to realize they were safe and unhurt, and that despite the violence of the shuddering, there was little sign of damage.

Amy was standing within Rey’s arms. It felt so natural she hadn’t even noticed, and she stepped away reluctantly, already missing the feel of him.

“That’s the second earth tremor we’ve had this weekend,” a precise voice said beside them.

“Ms. Ure.” Amy recognized the woman who had sat opposite her at the feast.

“It’s quite strange,” she went on, ignoring Rey and focusing on Amy. “According to Julius’s Chronicle, there was a similar occurrence in 1299. ‘The earth shook violently,’ he says. As far as I know we’re not on a fault line, so I can’t imagine why—”

Rey grabbed Amy’s hand and made for the door.

“It’s all right,” she said, wondering why he was in such a panic. “Rey, it’s stopped now…”

“No.” He halted and clamped his hands on her shoulders, gazing intently into her eyes. “It is not all right, Amy. It is very bad indeed.” Excitement, anger, trepidation…they were all in his face.

“What is it, Rey?”

“I remember. The ‘authority’ is right. The earth did shake in 1299. In the days before the dragon came, it shook often.”

Again, he was pulling her along, making no allowance for her smaller steps and shorter legs. Amy did her best to keep up, glad she’d forgone medieval costume this morning for slacks, sweater, her boots, and a thick jacket, as well as a bright blue woolen hat and the matching scarf she’d flung about her neck.

“They’re connected then? Is that what you’re—”

He spun around to face her, just outside the door, and she crashed into him. He hardly seemed to notice. “The dragon came from the west that day, from over the border, but could it be that its lair was closer to home?”

“Surely if it was living in the castle someone would have seen it?” she pointed out the obvious.

“Not if it was underground.”

“Rey…you don’t mean to tell me you think it’s still here? That after seven hundred years the dragon is starting to wake up again?”

She was frightened, and she couldn’t hide it.

“Aye,” he spoke grimly. “I do. I think this is meant to be.”

“But…”

There was a sound, an echo, like a woman screaming down a long tunnel. Amy lifted her head, eyes wide. Rey was frowning, staring toward the north tower.

“What was that?” she said.

“I do not know.” But he did.

“Rey…?”

But he shook his head, as if to dismiss it.

“Rey…that was a scream we heard. It was Morwenna’s scream, wasn’t it? You told me her story, and how your father had her thrown from the north tower. Why do you think we can still hear her screams seven hundred years later? Can her death have something to do with all of this?”

“Why should it? That was before the dragon came, before I was Lord de Mortimer. I did not order Morwenna’s death, and I did nothing to make her hate me. Although she did,” he added, remembering the expression on the girl’s face as his father’s men dragged her away.

“It was just a thought.”

He rested his gaze on her contemplatively. Amy was prone to saying things like this, and he had found them to be useful. It was as if she had a way of seeing through to the heart of a matter without having to take the slow, logical steps. Reynald hadn’t given much thought to Morwenna, not for many years, but since he’d met Amy, he had spoken of her, and now he was remembering her. Could she be important?

“My father told me that she confessed under torture to being sent to us by one of his enemies, but she gave no names. No matter how they tried to extract them from her, she would not name them. She did ask for someone, though.”

“Her master?”

“No. Her mother.”

Amy blanched. “Poor girl,” she whispered.

“Aye.”

He slid an arm about her, drawing her against him and cradling her there. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, feeling the soft spring of the curls that had freed themselves from beneath her hat.

“She made her choice,” he reminded her. “She must have known that her failure to kill me would mean her death.”

“I know,” Amy murmured. “And I’m very glad you’re alive. It just seems so brutal.”

“I live in brutal times,” he reminded her.

“But you’re a good man, Rey. I would trust you to do what was best and fairest. I don’t think I’d trust your father.”

He chuckled. “My father would have liked you, damsel.”

“Hmm.”

“My mother, too. You and she could have read poems together, about beautiful ladies, and men who prefer to gaze upon their faces and compose songs to them, rather than take them to their beds.”

“Not like you then.”

She grinned up at him, and he bent to kiss her. The kiss grew hotter, lingering, until he broke it off regretfully. He took a deep breath to clear his head.

“We must concern ourselves with the dragon, Amy. If it has been sleeping, then it will be vulnerable to attack. If I can find its lair, I can finish it before it reaches the outside.” And he turned and set off again.

He’s going to go down into the tunnels,
Amy thought, running after him through the snow.
He’s going dragon hunting.

And God help me, I’m going with him.

As he walked, Reynald was trying to map out the nether regions of the castle in his mind. There were so many tunnels, and some of them he had rarely traversed, if ever. He knew that when the castle had been built after the Norman conquest of the English, it was constructed on an old burial site. There were already tunnels in existence, and it was decided to turn one of them into an escape route—in case the occupants ever needed to send out a messenger during a siege or get away themselves.

Escape had not been necessary during his father’s days, or his own. His family had a tradition of taking its battles to their enemy rather than skulking at home. And then the escape tunnel had been more or less forgotten when the postern gate was built. But the Ghost remembered it now.

What better place was there for a dragon to hide than under the very noses of the enemy?

These people are pagans. There are no dragons, my lord.

Angharad’s scornful voice rang in his head. He’d accepted what she said, merely thinking it strange that anyone still believed in such arcane creatures. And yet, even as he’d agreed with her, there was something. Some doubt that plagued him. It plagued him now, but Reynald knew it would come forth when it was ready. For now, he had enough to do.

The antechamber outside the great hall was no longer empty. There was a table set up with coffee and tea, and a half dozen guests were chatting or admiring the ceiling painting. They all seemed very calm.

As Reynald and Amy passed through the reception area, they heard Coster assuring everyone it was over.

“There’s nothing to worry about!” he said.

Reynald knew that for a lie. There was everything to worry about.

The door he had come through when he first awoke was the one he wanted now. He knew that it led down into the tunnels, a starting point for the maze beneath his feet. The dragon was in there somewhere, moving, shifting in the earth, and he had to find it. He reached out to turn the door handle, already deciding on various strategies and counterstrategies, as he formulated his battle plan.

The door was locked.

Angrily, he wrenched at it, but it would not budge.

“Rey!” Amy shook his arm to get his attention. “You need a key. Coster probably has one.”

“This door was not locked before!”

“He probably locked it after the, eh, the Santa incident.”

“I need that key,” he shouted, “or I will smash it down.”

“Rey,” she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. “You know what’ll happen if you do that. Coster will send some of his security guys after you, and you’ll never complete your task and right the wrong.”

As much as he wanted to ignore her warning and crash his way through the thick wooden door, he knew she was right.

“We must find him then,” he said urgently.

She clung to his arm, refusing to let go as he tried to march away. “You can’t just ask him for it! He’ll ask you why, and he doesn’t think you have any business poking around in the dungeons or whatever else is down there. We’ll have to steal it.”

He turned to stare at her.

“And don’t look down your nose at me.” She sighed, impatient with him. “Do you have a better idea, my lord? Maybe you could
order
him to give it to you?”

He didn’t have a better idea.

“I thought not,” she said, with her familiar eye roll. “Come on then, we’ll find his office. Maybe it’s empty, and we can just sneak in.”

But the office was locked, too.

Seething with frustration, Reynald watched as Amy crossed to the girl at the reception desk. When she returned, she took him by the arm again and led him away toward the elevator. He was too busy listening to her explanation to be nervous of the small moving box.

“She says Coster will be back soon, and she’ll tell him you need to see him.”

“I need to see him now!”

“Rey, you can’t. Surely half an hour isn’t going to make a difference?”

He looked at her in amazement. She didn’t understand. Perhaps she didn’t even believe it, not really. She hadn’t seen the creature as he had. Reynald took her face between his hands.

“The dragon is waking,” he told her with a deadly seriousness. “It is making its way out of the tunnel. That is why the earth is shaking, because it is moving down there beneath the castle. Soon it will be free. I need to find it before then, so I can kill it.”

“Kill it?” she repeated, flinching.

“Aye, it will be easier. Once it is free…”

“I don’t like the thought of killing it,” she murmured. “I can’t even squash a spider—I always catch them and put them outside.”

“Then it will kill you,” he retorted. “And me. And your brother. And everyone else in this place. You can have no pity for the dragon, damsel, for it has no feelings for us. Its only wish is to see us dead.”

“But how do you know that?”

“I have looked into its eyes.”

He stood upon the north tower and watched it come. This was the second time it had swept down over his castle. The first time it had killed hundreds, among them his important guests, and turned to flame and ash the tents he’d ordered to be set up on the grounds beyond the moat. The village outside his walls was a cloud of black smoke as everything and everyone in it burned.

He had his Welsh longbow and bodkin arrows ready. He could fire at an object over two hundred yards away and usually hit it, and chain mail parted like butter before the steel tips of his arrowheads. Up here, on the highest point of the castle, he would be able to see the dragon as it flew toward him. He might be able to kill it, or at least wound it. He was arrogant enough to think his aim was better than that of anyone else in his domain, including the Welsh. He believed in himself. Or at least he had done, until Angharad seeded her doubts into his head.

The dragon flapped lazily toward him, its body covered in heavy scales that shone in the sunlight like the plates of steel of his own armor. The creature’s underbelly was unprotected though. Reynald had seen the soft flesh when the dragon came over him the first time. If he could send his arrow into that vulnerable place and wound it mortally, it would not matter if he died. At least he would have saved what remained of his people and his castle.