Passions of the Ghost (8 page)

Reynald watched her walk off. He was
disppointed that she didn’t accept the truth instantly, but he couldn’t blame her for her confusion and lack of faith. He was confused, as well, about why he was here in this time and what he was supposed to do. To learn.

Her question about his scar had really thrown him. Looking into Amy’s beautiful green eyes, and at the same time remembering how he’d come by the shocking wound on his neck, had felt like a kind of blasphemy.

Morwenna had been the last woman he’d wanted to hold in his arms, to join with his body, but now…He realized the feelings he had had for Morwenna were nothing compared to the raging lust he had for Amy.

And Amy was jealous of Terri. Did that mean she reciprocated his feelings? That she wanted him as much as he wanted her?

He wanted to smile. Julius would preach that jealousy was an evil, destructive emotion, and was not to be tolerated. But Reynald welcomed it. If Amy was jealous, she cared about him. She thought about him in the same way he thought about her, with the need to know and possess.

There was more to his feelings for her, but no doubt Julius would have something instructive to say about carnal imaginings, too.

“You and my sister seem very cozy.”

He hadn’t heard anyone come up beside him, but he recognized Amy’s brother’s voice. He found Jez’s expression less than friendly, but Reynald didn’t blame him for that—a man must protect the women in his family—but he did wonder if Jez’s coolness was more to do with his desire for Amy to spend her time with Nicco rather than him.

“I’m Jez, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Amy calls me Rey,” Reynald said, and took the hand.

“Look, mate, I don’t know you, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, but…Amy has a good heart, and I don’t like people taking advantage of her.”

“Other than you?”

Jez’s eyes narrowed. “See, you’re treading on dangerous ground now, Rey.”

“You are aware, Jez, that this is the Ghost’s castle?”

Jez raised an eyebrow.

“In the time of the Ghost, the men would use the women of their family to gain favor. If a brother could sell his sister in marriage to a man of wealth and prestige, then he would. It did not matter whether or not the woman was willing or happy. Women were only there to serve their menfolk, to be used…”

Jez snorted. “I don’t need a lecture on social history—”

“No, but perhaps you need to remember that what benefits you may not benefit your sister.”

“I’m not selling Amy to Prince Nicco!”

“No?”

“I would never ask Amy to do anything she didn’t want to.”

Reynald said nothing.

Jez’s anger waned, and concern flickered across his face. “I promise you, you’re wrong,” he said, and there was a sincerity in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “I watch out for my sister. I always have.”

“I, too, watch out for your sister,” Reynald said quietly. “I will not hurt her. You have my word.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, as if neither man quite knew what to say next, then Jez nodded brusquely, and said, “I might hold you to that,” and walked away.

Reynald watched him go. Of all the emotions he might have felt, he was surprised by what stirred within him. Envy. Reynald had no brothers or sisters—he was an only child. His mother had been an unhappy woman, an heiress forced into exactly the sort of situation he had been explaining to Jez. His father was often away fighting or traveling his lands; with so much to hold on to, he was always worried he might lose some part of it. Reynald’s upbringing had been left to the castle retinue, under his father’s instruction. He had longed for a sibling playmate, someone with whom to share his thoughts and feelings, but it was not to be. After he was sired there was no need for his parents to resume a union that made them both unhappy.

And as for friends among the castle children…it was discouraged. His father thought that his heir needed to stand apart from others, to be a man alone. He didn’t realize how much Reynald craved company, and the reassurance and love of others. Not to make him weaker but to strengthen him.

That was why he envied Jez and Amy their ties, and their love for each other. He was alone, and he had never felt it more than he did now.

Amy was walking aimlessly, her mind in a whirl. She felt as if there was a terrible conflict going on inside her between her need to believe Rey and her serious doubts about him. Her steps slowed. It was bad enough that he said that he was a man who had come back to life after seven hundred years, but now he was talking about real-live dragons. Ridiculous! Fairy book stuff.

She ran a distracted hand through her curls. What was she going to do with him? She’d have to send him away. But even as she made the decision, Amy knew she didn’t want to do that. She was attracted to him in a way she’d never felt before—not just physically, although there was that, but emotionally and intellectually. Besides, she trusted him, and Amy’s inner feelings were inevitably right.

Something small and gray scampered across the floor in front of her. A mouse? Startled, Amy looked about her, and realized she’d wandered deep into an unfamiliar part of the castle. This wasn’t the nicely carpeted section, where her room was situated. This floor was dusty, bare timber, and there were narrow window slits in the stone walls—or were they for arrows? Cautiously, she put an eye to one of them and peered down into a dim courtyard.

The snow was thicker than before. When she looked out into the distance, she could see the white-topped hills of Wales staring back at her. They looked ominous and foreign, or could that be because she was so used to the London skyline? She tried to imagine what it must have been like in the thirteenth century, living in what amounted to an Anglo-Norman outpost on the fringe of enemy territory. No wonder the people here were tough and serious, like Rey, and no wonder they made the most of their limited pleasures.

Amy stared at the horizon, trying to picture a dragon flying right at her. Big and angry, with its wings beating, and flames spewing from a mouth like an open furnace. Its face would be long, almost reptilian, with prominent nostrils and big eyes…

Black eyes, without any soul, without any feeling apart from a deep, abiding hatred. Now those eyes were fixed on hers. The lilting Welsh tones were unlike any voice she had ever heard before: “Ah, there you are,
cariad.
I see you now, pretty one. I see you now.”

Amy jumped back, heart thumping. She forced a laugh and shook her head, thinking that soon she’d be wishing upon stars and watching for Santa’s reindeers…But the frightening moment was slow to fade. It had seemed so horribly real.

There was a shuffle to her left. She turned sharply, and for the first time realized she was not alone. There was someone at the end of the corridor—a silhouette against a halo of light.
Light?
There wasn’t a window large enough to cause so much light. But then the figure shifted slightly, and she realized that whoever it was held the handle of an old-fashioned, swinging lantern.

“Excuse me?” she called out. “I think I’m lost. Can you tell me how to get back to—”

The figure turned and moved away. She noted that it was wearing a long, dark garment, a bit like a cloak, that seemed to cover it from head to foot. A monk’s habit, maybe? Although what a monk would be doing wandering around the castle was a puzzle, unless it was someone in fancy dress? One of the guests, or a member of staff, practicing their part? Whoever it was, Amy didn’t intend to let them get away.

“Is that the way out of here?” she said, quickly following. This corridor was gloomy and unfriendly, and she wasn’t going to be left behind.

But the figure was moving swiftly, as if he didn’t want her to catch him. Ahead was a bare, stone stairwell that appeared to be even more abandoned and desolate, if that were possible.

“Where are we?”

The figure was descending the stairs, and the light was fading. Obviously this must be the way back to the more familiar part of the castle—What else could it be?—but Amy hesitated. It felt wrong. She glanced behind her, and the darkness seemed to be closing in.

“Any other ideas?” she murmured to herself. But she hadn’t, so she started to follow the mystery monk down the stairs, the bells on her shoes tinkling forlornly.

The stone wall felt chill and damp to the touch, and the air was undisturbed, as if no one had walked here for centuries. Amy felt as if she’d taken a step through time.

At any moment, I’ll turn a corner, and there will be the Ghost, the real one, looking down his nose at me.

Except that now, when she thought of the Ghost, she saw Rey. Her Rey.

Amy stumbled. When did he become
her
Rey? A moment before she’d been promising herself she’d tell him to go, now he was
her Rey
. She shook her head; better not to think of that now. She needed to get out of here first, then she’d worry about what she was going to do with her pet thirteenth-century warrior.

The possessor of the lantern had reached a landing and started along another of those dank, dark corridors. Amy hesitated again. This section of the castle looked as if it was in the throes of a massive renovation. The floor was nothing more than planks laid over the original timber, with metal safety railings either side. There were also heavy wooden poles propping up the ceiling. The smell of sawdust and rotten wood was everywhere. Amy looked around, expecting to see keep out—danger signs, but there were none.

“Hello!” Her voice echoed mournfully. It was very atmospheric, and claustrophobic. It reminded her unpleasantly of the décor on the Parkhill housing estate—grim gray with a touch of menace.

She started down the corridor. The walkway felt stable, but just in case, she kept her hands on the railing. She was concentrating on where she was walking, and it wasn’t until she looked up that she saw that the lantern was getting brighter, and that at last she was catching up. Knowing that should have made her feel better, but instead it made her even edgier.

Was she doing the right thing? Instead of finding her way out, she was getting more and more lost, and whoever it was she was following didn’t seem to care. If it
was
a real person.

The figure in front of her stopped.

“Hello?”

Was he waiting? Amy, peering down the gloomy passageway, wondered whether she really wanted to get close to him after all. And then she saw him raise an arm, in a beckoning motion.

Uh-uh. This didn’t seem right.

As she dithered, the lantern suddenly grew so bright that it hurt her eyes.

“Hello?” she called again, taking a step, then another. “Can you turn that thing down for a minute? I can’t see where I’m going.”

Monkman said nothing, just stood there, waiting. And, suddenly, Amy knew that this really wasn’t a good idea at all.

She stopped and squinted her eyes, trying to see through the dazzling light, to the face of…whoever. “Who are you?” she demanded, sounding angry. She
was
angry. “I’m not coming any closer until you answer me.”

Nothing. Silence. In fact, it was an unnatural silence. The moment stretched out, and Amy had just decided to get out of here, when the monk began to shimmer, like dark water, against the light. Then, before Amy’s startled gaze, he began to fade to sepia, like an old photo. In another moment, the monk was gone, and, although the light remained, briefly, it, too, began to disappear. Soon it was nothing more than a pinpoint that hovered briefly in the air before it was snuffed out.

She was alone, with only the sound of her breathing to keep her company.

Amy didn’t turn and run. She would have liked to, but she knew she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t investigate. Was it a trick? Maybe one of the staff got his kicks by terrorizing the guests?

She took a step forward, looking down at the floor to see if there was a trapdoor. And that was when she saw the gaping hole.

For a heartbeat she was too shocked to do anything but stare into the murky darkness below. The drop looked to be about ten feet, at least, and there were broken beams and jagged slivers of wood at the bottom. If she’d kept walking toward the figure with the lantern, she’d have fallen into that hole. She might have been killed.

All the time she’d believed she was being led to safety, the monk was planning to hurt her. To kill her.

From somewhere in the darkness there was a rustle. Amy stumbled backward. She was very isolated. She needed to find her way back to safety and civilization, then she’d think about all that had happened.

She turned, her legs wobbly, and picked her way with extra care back along the walkway. The stairwell looked safe enough, and she began the descent. After a few turns, she found herself standing before a set of arches, rather like a cloister, that led into the grounds. Relieved, she recognized the pavilion where the sword tournament had taken place, and knew then that the main entrance to the hotel was just around the corner.

She was safe.

Why would anyone want to hurt her? Jez, well, she could understand people coming after him, especially at the moment, but not Amy. Whatever she had been following was something else. Something supernatural and beyond her understanding.

Amy stood in the growing cold darkness and tried to steady her nerves. She was a practical girl, not prone to letting her imagination go wild. What had just happened to her was impossible, she knew it, but she also knew what she’d seen. There seemed to be a lot of impossible things happening to her recently.

Amy had barely taken a step into the
reception area when Rey was there, right in her face, his cool eyes lit with excitement.

“Damsel, I need to speak.”

“Not now, Rey.” She kept walking. The trauma of the experience with the shadow with the lantern was still strong, and she needed to think.

But he reached out and clasped her arm with enough force to stop her, while not hurting her.

“Rey,” she whispered, “not
now.
”

To her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. Quickly she looked down, but not soon enough.

“Amy,” he whispered, cupping her face with his hand. “You are upset. Tell me what is wrong that I may make it right again.”

She smiled; she couldn’t help it. “You can’t fix everything, Rey.” Her smile faded. “You can’t fix
me.
”

“I can try,” he said.

His breath was warm on her lips, and for a moment she thought he intended to kiss her.

“You should be looked after, Amy,” he spoke firmly.

“Hmm, as a feminist, I probably should take exception to that,” she replied. But she didn’t. He made her feel special in a way she’d never felt before.

Amy lifted her chin, their lips so close now that she was sure he’d have to kiss her. She wanted him to. But instead he brushed her lower lip with his thumb and smiled.

“I respect you, damsel,” he murmured.

Amy nodded, wondering where the hell he was coming from. No man had ever said that to her before, not when she was all but offering her mouth to him. Suddenly it occurred to her that they were standing in a crowded lobby amongst plenty of interested spectators. She began to back away.

“Right, eh…I’ll see you later…” And Amy turned and fled.

But she wasn’t to get the peace she craved.

Jez was waiting in her room.

Amy stopped and stared at her brother from the doorway, then shook her head and went to the minifridge to pour herself a drink.

Amused, he watched her. “That bad, was it?”

“And more.”

“Where were you? I’ve been waiting for ages.”

For a moment she considered telling him the truth, but only for a moment. Jez was like her, he considered himself to be a practical and no-nonsense kind of person, and he’d laugh himself sick if she told him she’d been off following a ghostly monk with a lantern. Then he’d rationalize it. Amy didn’t need him to do that; she could rationalize well enough for herself.

“I was sightseeing,” she said. “How did you get in here without a key?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Amy couldn’t help but smile even though she knew she shouldn’t encourage him. She took a deep swallow of bottled vodka and lime before she sank down onto her bed. “What did you want, Jez?”

“I don’t have to want something to come and see you.”

“It usually follows. Anyway, you saw me at the feast.”

Jez seemed annoyed. “You make me sound like a selfish bastard. Am I really that mercenary?”

If he wanted home truths, then she’d give him home truths. “I’d call you single-minded, but yes, you can be, Jez. That’s not to say I don’t love you for it.” She smiled, and after a moment he gave her a smile back.

“Jez,” Amy began, more seriously, “I said I’d do this job for you, and I will. You should trust me. You don’t have to check up on me every other minute. Where is His Royal Highness, by the way?”

“I went to see him just now. He’s tucked up in bed. Seems he strained some muscle or other in his back during the sword business. He’s been resting. Personally, I think it has more to do with the nurse than any injury.”

“I’m jealous.”

Jez raised an eyebrow. “Of course you are, sweetheart. But never fear, Nicco promised me you weren’t forgotten. He’ll be at the cocktail party later tonight.”

“
Medieval
cocktail party. How do you mix a medieval cocktail, by the way?”

“Hmm. Carefully?”

Amy chuckled and took another swallow of her drink. “Will you be there tonight? Just in case I need your expertise.”

“Without fail.” He fiddled a moment with a pair of earrings she’d left on the table beside his chair. It was a nervous gesture, unlike Jez. “I spoke with your big friend after you left,” he said.

“Oh?” Amy felt herself stiffen with anxiety, and forced her body to relax. Jez was always hyperalert when it came to other people’s body language. It was embarrassing enough, being so attracted to Rey, without her brother knowing about it. “I wouldn’t have thought you and Rey had much in common.”

“Well, it seems we do. He was very protective. Of you.”

“Of me? You were talking about me!”

“Amy—”

“No, Jez. Don’t question me, and don’t talk to Rey about me.”

He gave her a look like he was trying to read her mind, but she showed him a stony face. In the end, he shrugged and stood up. “Okay, you win, I won’t interfere. Just be careful, all right?”

“Aren’t I always?”

He shook his head, and for a moment seemed about to say more, but then he changed his mind. He went to the door, and, with a wave of his fingers, left.

Amy stared down into her glass.
I should have told him I don’t want to do this thing with Nicco. Why didn’t I tell him?
Because she owed him too much to let him down, and it was the last time. The very last. It shouldn’t be worrying her—it wouldn’t be worrying her—except for Rey.

He was so straight, so honest. She’d never met a man before who impressed her so much. He was truly honorable in the old-fashioned sense of the word. Her father had been the exact opposite, and Jez, although she loved him dearly, wasn’t honest or straight. Perhaps, in his own way, he had a certain integrity, but he was no Rey.

And the depressing thing was, if he knew why she was really here at the castle, he’d despise her. He’d turn away in disgust. She didn’t want that. She was enjoying the way he was treating her. As if she were gold-plated. Special. No one had ever treated her like that before.

But she knew she wasn’t the woman he thought she was, and sooner or later he was going to find out.

You’re an idiot. You’ll probably never see him again after Monday. Why should it matter what he thinks of you? This is exactly the sort of situation you don’t want to get yourself into, Amy Fairweather
.

I just hope it isn’t already too late
.

Mr. Coster had proved a good source of information when it came to the history of the castle. He knew the stories and had done some research of his own. Reynald was able to confirm that Julius had survived the dragon’s attack, just as Miriam Ure said he did. Reynald was very glad to hear it, but he was also curious about the chronicle his chaplain had written afterwards.

“The original is kept in the British Museum,” said Coster, “but we do have some copies here. Would you like to borrow one? They’re just rough copies, black-and-white, nothing like as glorious as the original. Julius was certainly a talent.”

Reynald took the book from Coster. The cover was stiffened white parchment of some kind, and the pages within were thinner, covered in close black writing that was to Reynald unreadable.

Coster noticed his puzzled look, but misinterpreted it. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s in medieval Latin, but we have a translation at the back. The historian, Miriam Ure, did the work on the chronicle. In fact she’s here this weekend. Perhaps you’ve seen her about? She’s Lady Godiva.”

“I have met her.”

“Ah. She’s a great authority on the Ghost and his period in history, as well as Reynald’s castle.”

Reynald said nothing, fidgeting with the book and wanting to escape so that he could persuade Amy to read it to him.

“You’ll be at the cocktail party? Terri Kirkby will be here. She seems to be a fan of yours.”

Reynald smiled, but not for the reason Coster thought. “I will be at the cocktail party,” he promised.

Amy was jealous, he chanted to himself, as he walked away. She cared about him, and she did not like him to be with other women. Knowing it brought a spring to his step and a beat to his blood. Amy was everything he had been searching for—good and kind and true—although he hadn’t even known he’d been searching until he met her. But he understood at last how empty his life had been, how he had filled it with the business of his position and his lands so that he would not notice. But he knew now, he understood now what a difference Amy would make to him, if only it were possible.

If only they weren’t from different worlds.

In the dragon’s cramped chamber, deep under the castle, it was getting hotter. She dozed, gathering her strength. She was dreaming of long-ago days, when many more of her kind lived in the world, and they were content, she and her beloved.

After she had destroyed Castle Reynald and all who dwelt within it, she had been free, for a little while. But then the mortals returned and refused to leave, and she had sought shelter deep in the rock beneath the castle. A prisoner in her own land.

The witch of the between-worlds looked for her and could not find her, but she’d always known the witch would send someone to face her. She just hadn’t realized that someone would be Reynald.

“
Thank you,
cariad,” she mocked the witch. “
It will be my pleasure to kill him again. I will make it even more excruciating this time. I will boil him alive in his own blood
.”