Patricia Rice (26 page)

Harry ignored the pounding pain beneath the goose egg purpling his brow as he ran down the corridor. There had been far too many other incidents for him to doubt that Christina had run off into danger and her ghostly companion had come to warn him.

Some other time he’d ponder how his insane reaction appeared to others. Right now, terror clutched his lungs so tightly that he feared he would quit breathing before he found Christina.

He should have
known
she wouldn’t obey his order. He must have maggots for brains to believe she understood his concern. What the hell had she done? His imagination wasn’t large enough to encompass all the possibilities. Had she gone searching for her mysterious villain?

Of course she had. He would have pounded his head against the wall at his stupidity, but the general had already taken care of that.

A maid stepping out of the dining parlor screamed as an oil painting of a fox hunt fell off the wall and tumbled down the main staircase, galvanizing Harry into running faster. The ghost’s angry urgency grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let loose.

Christina had disappeared once before and been found unharmed. This time, the ghosts were telling him otherwise.
The
ghosts
. He must be as mad as his father. And yet he knew, deep down inside of him, that Christina was in danger. For a man with no imagination, he was picturing unspeakable horrors.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the upper hall and searched for the general’s path.

A wall sconce rocked and toppled from its hook in the direction of the family rooms in the old manor. Harry turned down that hall, keeping an eye out for any movement.

Ahead of him, the general was apparently running out of steam. A heavy statue rocked in its niche but didn’t topple. Still, the motion told Harry which way to turn when he reached the maze of corridors in the manor. He began praying the general had enough tenacity to get him to Christina.

Behind him, he could hear the heavy footsteps of a herd of Ives. He was glad someone had understood his orders, but if there truly was a villain in the house, and he had Christina, it wouldn’t be safe for her if they all came upon him at once.

Harry halted, swung around, and held up his hand. Big broad men carrying weapons they’d snatched from their surroundings skidded to a stop on the hall carpet. Aidan apparently thought his fists were sufficient. Drogo carried a heavy, nail-studded Bible. Behind them, the younger brothers wielded lamps and pokers.

Peter followed uncertainly, his hands empty, his gaze questioning.

Basil and Freddie were nowhere to be seen. If he was really lucky, they’d be rolling on the floor in laughter at their practical joke.

If only this were a practical joke. But Harry knew better. His unwelcome guests weren’t clever enough to create such chaos.

Down the corridor behind him, a door crashed impatiently. This definitely wasn’t a joke.

He had to believe in Christina. Ghosts existed, and they were trying to tell him something. He wished he could speak ghost language to be sure they weren’t on a rampage for the fun of it, but he couldn’t take any chances. He had to believe in Christina’s observations that the ghosts protected their home—and by extension, her as well.

“Block every exit,” he commanded his small army. “If someone means harm to Christina, we cannot let him take her out of here.”

None of them questioned his sanity, or even how he had come to the conclusion that Christina was in danger. Good thing, because he couldn’t have answered them if they had.

As eldest, the Earl of Ives and Wystan turned to interpret Harry’s commands to his family, ordering each of them to a specific door. One by one, they took off running to their assignments. To Harry’s relief, Peter was sent down to look after his sister. He didn’t know if he should trust his cousins, given Christina’s questions.

Only Drogo remained behind, probably due to a flurry of feminine voices drifting down the corridor behind Harry. His stomach lurched in hope, and he swung around to search the trio of Malcolm women forming in the hall. Christina’s tall form did not appear among them.

Another statue crashed farther into the interior.

Harry could see the fear in the ladies’ eyes. They knew what was amiss. “When did you see Christina last?” he demanded of them.

“A half hour or so ago,” Ninian replied. “She went to send servants for Meg and Peter. Meg arrived. Peter didn’t.”

“Peter came to us first. We just sent him back to Meg.” Harry wanted to race after the path of destruction, but he needed as thorough a grasp of the situation as possible. “Did Christina say anything before she left?”

“Not a thing she hasn’t already told you.” Lucinda held her aunt’s shoulder, preventing Hermione from dashing down the hallway in the same direction as Harry wished to go. “Tell us what we must do.”

“Arm the servants,” he ordered curtly. “Position them in every corridor throughout the house, including the castle. The walls have held this long; they’ll hold a while longer. We simply need to prevent anyone from leaving until we find Christina. Then I suggest you go to the nursery and keep watch over the little ones.”

Again, no questions, no laughter. The three concerned women consulted amongst themselves, discussing the most expedient means of carrying out his orders.

Not one of them doubted that he was the best man to give those orders. Harry wished he had their confidence in his abilities, but he didn’t have time for doubts. Another door crashed in the direction of the castle.

Refusing to imagine what harm Christina could come to in his home, Harry met Drogo’s solemn gaze. “There are three ways into the castle from the interior. Downstairs, through the old ballroom. Upstairs, through the tower door in the attic. And on the roof.” That is if his father had not boarded-up doors or built a dovecote in front of them or a chimney in the stairway. He hadn’t spent much time exploring the old manor since his return, and Rob’s report only covered the castle.

“I can hear the general taking the stairs up,” Harry continued. He didn’t add to the ramparts, where his father and brother had died. Fear clutched his heart at the thought that Christina might be up there. “Someone must guard the bottom of the stairs by the ballroom.”

“I know where to find them,” Drogo said. “Be careful. A great many people are depending on you.” Bowing to the ladies, the lofty earl took long strides toward the wide marble stairs down to the foyer and the corridor that would ultimately lead him to the downstairs door to the castle tower.

“We cannot sense her presence,” Christina’s mother murmured worriedly. “We had no idea—”

A painting spun impatiently on the wall.

Harry nodded his understanding of the marchioness’s concerns, although he really didn’t have a clue as to what she meant. He just knew that Christina was silent and the house was not. “I’ll find her. I fear for any villain who dares cross her.”

Despite their frowns of worry, all three women nodded agreement. “I cannot think she can come to harm from ghosts,” Ninian offered.

From what Christina had said to him, he didn’t think it was a ghost they should fear. Should he have placed a guard on Meg and Peter?

Hurrying down the hall to the attic stairs, Harry’s mind raced with doubts, recriminations, and should-haves.

He hated to think his childhood companions could wish to hurt his wife. What could it gain them? Perhaps if they killed
him
, Peter might stand in line to the succession, but his cousin had never showed much interest in titles or estates.

Still, Peter had sounded a trifle bitter earlier. He really should have taken more time to talk to the people around him, Harry told himself, but he had been eager to lay to rest the problem of the estate debts.

Eager to prove his competence, just as Christina had been doing.

She had come to him. And he’d turned her away. He’d traded her trust in favor of his dignity. He deserved to have a lintel dropped on his head. He fought a shudder of fear.

If he could just find her safe, he’d never laugh at her whimsies again. It wasn’t his duty to
protect
her, but to
listen
to her—as an equal, not as a child to be coddled.

With the urgent feeling that he’d lost the most valuable treasure in his possession, Harry reached the manor’s attic. Taking old corridors he’d once known by heart, he ran past newly refurbished servants’ rooms, down empty halls not yet touched by mop or duster. Then, turning toward the castle tower, he hit a blank wall.

He stared in confusion at the wall with a neat niche and a bust of Caesar in it. This wasn’t right. He’d lived here all his life, and he
knew
the door to the tower was right here.

Why the devil hadn’t he explored this blasted ruin more thoroughly after he’d returned home?

Because he couldn’t bear to see the evidence of his father’s insanity.

The hall had fallen quiet. Not a statue rocked; not a painting spun. The silence was positively eerie. Almost expectant. Had he imagined the havoc? Had he lost his mind and Christina was sitting in their chamber, laughing to herself at his foolishness?

No. Without giving it another thought, Harry gripped the blunderbuss by its barrel and pounded the heavy stock into the plaster blocking his path.

“Harry, have you gone mad, boy?”

So startled that he dropped the weapon, Harry stared as Jack appeared in the doorway to his right. Or Jack’s apparition. He blinked to clear his eyes and be certain he wasn’t dreaming. “When did you return?” he demanded.

“Last night,” the older man said in puzzlement, looking at the plaster dust on the floor where Harry had battered it loose. “I meant to come to you straightaway this morning, but I overslept.”

Jack used to live down the lane in the dower house with Meg and Peter, but Harry remembered Christina mentioning her explorations of the attic and finding the steward’s room. He hadn’t paid attention, per usual.

He’d better start paying closer attention—if he could just find her.

But he was stymied. Christina couldn’t walk through walls any more than he could. The general had led him up here, he was certain of it.

Surely she hadn’t gone out on the ramparts… The possibility made him dizzy with fear.

“Have you seen Christina?” Harry asked, still staring over Jack’s shoulder as if she might be hiding under a bed.

“Have you lost the gel already? That’s not like you, lad. What makes you think she’s missing?”

Once, he might have believed she could be out playing in the pond, planting fish in the potatoes, or picnicking in the ruins. Christina had a habit of disappearing. But the visceral fear tearing at his guts told him this wasn’t one of those times.

A brass candlestick behind Jack rewarded Harry’s realization by flinging itself against a wardrobe in a resounding crash and splinter of wood.

A wardrobe, like the one with the hidden stairs to the solar. With mad certainty, Harry knew what his father had done. He’d created secret doors and passages where there had been none, so that he could hide from the ghosts or his enemies or his memories. Whatever his father’s reason, the manor was riddled with places where a man could stay concealed.

With crystal clarity, Harry understood that only one man had stayed hidden these past weeks.

When Jack turned to investigate the source of the crash, Harry murmured an apology beneath his breath, swung, and smashed his fist into his steward’s jaw.

Jack staggered, looked at Harry incredulously, and just as he raised his fists to strike back, Harry plowed his other fist into Jack’s soft belly. The older man crumpled with an “oomph,” and Harry stepped over him.

“Christina!” he shouted, tearing open the wardrobe door, seeing only Jack’s coats hanging there. Humiliation ought to be tearing at him for acting as strangely as his father, but fear overrode any such weak emotion. He ripped at the coats, flinging them to the floor.

Did he imagine it, or did he hear a faint cry? “Christina, if you’re in there, I’ll find you if I have to tear the place down with my bare hands,” he shouted.

A jeweled dagger abruptly flew over his shoulder, into the wood of the wardrobe. Hearing Jack still groaning on the floor, Harry knew the steward hadn’t thrown it. “Thanks, old man,” he shouted at the air, using the knife’s point to pry at the back panels of the closet. “If you’ll help me find her, I’ll take better care of my treasure this time.”

Maybe he imagined the puff of cold laughter on his nape. Maybe Christina had taught him that the world was full of mysteries and that he couldn’t see beyond the nose on his face unless he opened his mind. He needed centuries of Christina’s company to find out. He wanted to spend his life and all eternity learning from her laughter and her keen sight.

Behind him, Jack groaned. Harry dug harder at the paneling, prying at a crack. “Christina! Tell me you’re all right!”

“To the left a little, Harry,” her voice whispered through the wood. “I can see the tip. I think there’s a lock. If I had a candle, I could probably spring it.”

He almost choked on the flood of relief swelling his throat. “Stand back,” he warned. “I’m coming through.”

To hell with locks and knives and cracks. Dropping the knife and keeping his balance by gripping the wardrobe sides, Harry rammed his booted foot through the center of the wardrobe’s lining. It cracked, crumpled, and gave way.

“That is the most beautiful boot I have ever seen, Harry,” Christina said faintly from behind the shattered wall. “May I see it again?”

Laughing until tears stung his eyes, Harry gladly kicked in the entire panel, giving her many opportunities to admire his boot as he unleashed his fury on the prison that held his beautiful, courageous, totally sane wife.

When the last sheet of paneling gave way, releasing a blast of icy air, he stepped through the wardrobe and into the large hole behind it. He tugged his disheveled wife into his arms, sweeping her off her feet so he could hold her tight and never let her go.

“I have never been so glad to hear you laugh at me in all my entire life,” she whispered into his coat collar, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on. “I didn’t think you’d ever find me, and I would be dusty bones haunting the house forever.”