Spirited Away (34 page)
"What, by the blessed saints, are you doing out here at this hour? And who are you having speech with? 'Tis a bloody good thing that the moon is high, or I'd see naught but your shadow. Now, why are you out of bed? What is this about the presence?"
She stared at the lists. "Kneel. Pray. Behind his eye."
Tristan blinked. "What?"
She shook her head. "That presence. You know, the voice I keep hearing and no one else can hear it? It led me out here." She pointed to the center of the lists. "Right there, actually. It said those three things. Kneel. Pray. Behind his eye."
" 'Tis passing strange."
She looked at him. "It makes no sense."
"Neither does a lot of things," he mumbled.
"What?"
An aggravated sigh tore from his lungs. " 'Tis naught. Come sit you on this rock as you were before and try to keep quiet for once." He stared at her. "I have something I wish to discuss with you."
"You want me to leave. Right? I knew it."
Tristan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Saints, nay." He pointed to the rock. "Sit."
Andi resumed her position.
By the devil, he felt like a bumbling whelp of nine in her presence. How could he even bring himself to spout the witless words from his mouth?
Somehow, they came.
"You've no idea what it does to a man, Andrea, when he feels—he knows he cannot protect the woman he loves." He looked at her. "And I cannot protect you. Not alone. Not without mortal help."
"Tristan, don't."
"Please, Andrea. If I don't say these words now, they may never come forth again."
She quieted and settled back against the rock.
"After you were attacked, I felt the only way to keep you safe was to send you away. Although my knights and I are a fearsome-looking lot, we're ghosts, Andrea." He started pacing. " 'Tis more than that, and we've yet to discuss it." He rounded on her and drew close. "What sort of life would you have here, with me? Have you thought of that? No intimacy, Andrea. No touching, other than my ghostly attempts. No real sex. No children. Have these things not crossed your mind?" He stared into her eyes. "I'm a ghost, woman. I'm quite well and used to not having substance. But how adjusted are you to never having a man's touch?" He began to pace once more. "Never have I felt so helpless. And yet—" He stopped and looked at her. "The more I thought on the matter, the more I knew I couldn't simply send you off, never to see you again. I'm much more selfish than that."
He ducked his head. "Did you know that about me? How bloody selfish I am?"
She pushed herself off the rock and stood up straight, wrapping her arms around herself as she spoke, staring up at the moon. "I'd always thought of you as my knight. Only mine. I shared my vision of you with no one." A small, tight laugh escaped her. "It's childish, I know. Completely illogical." She shook her head. "I snuck out here twelve years ago, fascinated by the legend of Dragonhawk and his missing knights. Little did I know then that I'd met the infamous Lord Dreadmoor." The quiver in her voice belied her bravery. "Now I know everything about you. And I can't stop thinking of you, thinking of our intimate times together, even if they are ghostly."
"God, Andrea." Tristan couldn't believe his ears. "Look at me." He watched as she lifted her gaze.
He couldn't see the bright color of her eyes, just the glassy softness of the moonlight's reflection in her tears. His heart felt as though it would burst, and yet he knew his ghostly form possessed no heart at all. His senses overwhelmed him; skin that could no longer tingle became alive with the long-forgotten sensation.
He glanced down at his tunic, for he was quite positive he could see his heart thumping against it.
And a bloody annoying lump had formed in his throat. The urge to touch her swept over him, and he clenched his hands at his sides to prevent himself from trying the like again. They stood no more than a foot apart, and not for the first time, his ghostly body reacted to her nearness.
" 'Tisn't childish. Nor illogical." His voice sounded ragged, even to his own ears. "Strange, but for us, it seems rather normal."
He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. She stepped back until her shoulders met the boulder at her back. Tristan loomed over her, wanting to be closer still. He stared into her eyes, so soft yet so alert, so painfully deep he thought his poor knees would fail him at any moment. He braced his hands on the rock, one on each side of her head as he bent closer. "Saints, Andrea." It took every effort to keep his voice from cracking. "You are so beautiful." He moved his head closer still, his lips a slip away from hers. His gaze moved to her mouth, then back to her eyes. "Christ, I want to kiss you."
Her chest heaved with every breath. "You look so real," she said, and reached to touch his chin.
They stared at one another without saying a word. Each breath became ragged, her chest heaving with each intake of air as she watched him. "You know? When I look at you, it actually hurts to breathe." She closed her eyes. "I crave your touch, your scent, your taste. Kiss me, Tristan.
However you can, just please." She gazed at his lips as they drew closer to hers. "Please don't stop what you're doing."
"Andrea." He lowered his head to her hair and inhaled. "I vow I can imagine what you smell like."
His head dipped until his lips hovered just above hers, his gaze caught with hers. He moved closer still and slanted his mouth over hers. Their lips met, not physically touching but emotionally entwining, their essence mingling.
"I swear I can taste you." His words whispered against her cheek. He pulled back and stared at her.
"What does it feel like, Andrea? Can you feel me?"
Andi looked up into his eyes and smiled through a haze of tears. "More than you know." She reached out to touch his cheek, but went too far. Her hand passed through it as though it were a shadow. Hesitantly she lifted her eyes to his, blinking in surprise.
"I vow it won't be enough, Andrea Kinley Monroe," he said, her name meant to be a caress on his lips. "It won't ever be enough. Were I alive, it still would not be enough."
"Wake up, my birthday wench. I vow you sleep longer than any live being I know."
Andi cracked open an eye. Tristan perched on the side of her bed, a thick arm on either side of her head, staring at her.
She'd overslept.
"Tristan, let me up," she said.
He didn't budge.
One side of his sensuous mouth lifted into a sexy grin. "Were I alive, you wouldn't leave this bed for a fortnight, at least." His grin grew more devilish as his head lowered to hers. "Unless, of course, it would be to move to the floor ..."
Scooting under his arm, she slid off the side of the bed. "You're a naughty man, Dragonhawk." She threw him a saucy grin of her own. "Tease."
Walking to the window, she pressed her face to the pane. The sun peeked in and out of gray clouds.
"What are the guys doing?"
Tristan walked up behind her and peered over her head. "Training. Jousting. Fighting. The usual.
I've two watching the pub where the masked man was seen entering. All the other knights are here."
She didn't turn around. "I asked the presence last night, in the lists, if she was Erik's mother."
He paused. "And?"
Andi sighed. "No answer. Only kneel, pray, behind his eye."
She turned around, leaned her bottom against the sill, and stared into his incredible eyes. "I've said those three things in my mind all night long. Kneel. Pray. Behind his eye. Over and over again." She pinched the bridge of her nose, then looked up. "I want to figure this thing out so badly."
Long, thick black hair fell over one broad shoulder as Tristan lowered his head. "If anyone can, 'tis you. I've no doubt about it. But I want you to put it aside for today, Andrea. It's your birthday, and I've a mind to woo you properly."
The smile on her face spread slowly. "Oh, you do?"
His mouth hovered over hers. "Aye."
"I love it when you say 'aye.' Very sexy."
That made his eyes churn a dark, dangerous blue gray. "Aye, then I shall remember to say it often.
Aye? Aye, aye, aye ..."
She laughed, and it took solid strength to look away. Another stream of curses made her peer out the window. "Are they waiting for you?" A line of jousters stretched for what seemed at least a mile.
"Jason told me in his day, there wasn't a soul around who could best the Dragonhawk, save his sire and Uncle Killian.
He snorted. "Even they had difficulty."
She smiled. "Ooh, you conceited man. Let's go. I want to watch for a minute before I start on my work."
"Ahem."
Glancing over her shoulder, she raised her eyebrows. "Just a little. I'm working on a theory. I just want to go over the blueprints." She smiled. "You can come, too."
"You are a most determined, tenacious wench, Andrea Kinley Monroe. Very well. You can watch me make a few passes, and then we'll go over the blueprints together." He ducked his head, his mouth positioned over hers. "We'll be in close quarters then. You'll have no chance of escape."
Pushing away from the window, she raised one eyebrow. "As if I'd want one."
Andi shielded her eyes. Tristan's horse tossed his head, ready to go again. Flipping his visor up, the big knight flashed the whites of his teeth as he grinned. She couldn't see his dimples, but she knew they were there, pitting his beard-scruffed cheeks. She smiled and waved, and he nodded in return.
With a flick of his visor he trotted off, back to his side of the field to ready for his next opponent.
Earlier, she'd whispered
I love you
to him from across the field; big fat mistake. She'd forgotten Tristan wasn't the only ghost around Dreadmoor who had an uncanny hearing ability. The bailey had erupted in shrill whistles and male voices shouting, "I love you, too, Tristan." He'd planted his fist in more than one nose for the teasing he'd received. So she'd refrained from whispering words of affection while there were other ghosts about.
She'd gladly reserve those words for later.
She shook her head and watched Tristan prepare for another pass. One more, and she'd head to the study and go over the blueprints of Dreadmoor's original building structures.
The wind caught her hair and tossed it across her cheek. Strange, to think they jousted right in the middle of where the original kirk used to be. She guessed they were running their mounts right over the altar. She stared, fixated.
She blinked.
Altar.
Kneel. Pray.
Behind his eye.
Her heart lurched. Oh God. Why hadn't she realized it before?
Leaping out of the chair, she ran toward the lists. "Tristan! Stop!"
A powerful and very sweaty Tristan pulled his mount to a halt and turned in his saddle, his eyes following her as she ran. She waved at him. "Hurry! Come here!"
He flung his helmet to the ground and slid off his horse, landing in a run. He didn't stop until they'd met in the middle.
"What's wrong with you, woman?" His face hovered less than a foot from her own, worry creasing his brow. "Andrea, for the saints' sake. What is wrong?"
God, he looked so real, standing there, sweating, his hair plastered to his head. It was so easy to forget he was a ghost.
But he
was
a ghost. And she just figured out what to do about it. She hoped.
"I need to dig up your lists."
An hour later, fifteen ghostly knights surrounded Andi in the study as she pored over the original blueprints of Dreadmoor.
The ones drawn by Tristan's very own live hands.
She lightly touched the pane of lead glass covering the aging parchment, dragging her fingertip from one corner to the other. "It's been right here all this time, staring me in the face. I didn't even see it." She peered at the fading ink indicating the area of the original kirk. "Kneel. Pray." Her eyes lifted to Tristan's, who stood across the table from her. "The presence wants me to search the spot where you would have knelt for Mass."
"Whatever are you looking for there, lady?" Jason asked. The other knights waited for her to answer.
Andi shook her head. "I'm not exactly sure. The other part of the message is 'behind his eye.' "
Shrugging, she held Tristan's unusual gaze. "Whatever it is, it has to do with you."
"What about her birthday?" asked Richard. The others mumbled their concern.
"Listen," she said, addressing Tristan more than anyone. "This
is
my birthday—to figure out this crazy mystery. And to help you guys any way I can." She smiled. "It's
passing
important to me."
The corner of Tristan's mouth lifted, the dimples pitting his cheeks. An intense look crossed his face. "I shall put my well-designed birthday plans off a bit longer, if you wish."
Their eyes met, and Andi gave him a knowing smile. "I do wish it."
The big knight gave a nod. "Then let's get at it, lady."
Andi lifted a ruler from her site kit, took a few measurements from the prints, and scribbled them down on her notepad. When she looked up, the knights had their stares fixed on her. With an encouraging smile, she inclined her head. "Okay, boys. Let's go."
"My lord, a phone call," Jameson announced. " 'Tis Constable Hurley."
Andi glanced over her shoulder at Tristan. "Do you need me?"
"Nay. Jameson can hold the receiver. I'll be only a moment." He turned and followed his man back into the hall. Once in the kitchen, he positioned his ear and mouth to the piece and spoke. "Aye, Constable. What is it?"
Constable Hurley cleared his throat. "Right. I'm afraid I've a bit of disturbing news, sir. I wanted to inform you first."
Tristan's stomach knotted. "What is it?"
Hurley cleared his throat. "The woman who paid bail on the two who jumped Dr. Monroe? She's been found in a car behind a pub, the Infidel. Dead."
Tristan's mouth tightened. "Christ."
"That's not all, I'm afraid. Just this morning, we found the bodies of the two men, along with a third, who happened to be dressed in all black, in an alley no more than three blocks from the Infidel." He heaved a sigh. "Their bloody necks had been snapped."