Beaudry's Ghost

by Carolan Ivey

  He quickly rerouted his thought processes. He needed all his energy directed toward her now, not toward fantasies about what could never be.

  She turned and snuggled her face into his chest, and he let out a slow breath. What now? What door within a spirit did one open to release powers such as hers? He knew of only one, and it was one he’d opened only in the direst of circumstances.

  Jared placed one hand behind her head, pulled her close, and prayed.

  If he’d been expecting an answer from the Almighty, a visit from Troy wouldn’t have been it.

  Jared, for once, found he wasn’t startled by Troy’s abrupt appearance. Thinking about it now, he realized he should have expected it.

  Troy knelt by Taylor’s side of the bed, one hand reaching impulsively for her forehead.

  “Don’t,” Jared whispered fiercely. “Leave her alone.”

  For a moment, Troy’s eyes flashed green fire, and Jared wondered if this woman’s brother had the power to send a bolt of lightning down upon him. Then, to his everlasting surprise, the fire died to a twinkle and Troy grinned at him.

  “Seems not too long ago I was barking those very words at you, my friend.” Then the grin faded and Troy dragged a hand down his face as he gazed sadly at his sister. “Is she…”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Troy had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I got lost again. It took me some time to find my way back.”

  Jared observed the way Troy was looking at Taylor, and refrained from further upbraiding him. “I guess there’s an advantage to being a spirit that’s anchored to one place, one event.”

  “Preach it, brother.”

  Taylor stirred, and without preamble, Jared and Troy lapsed into mental communication.

  “I think she’s going to be fine, once she’s rested.” His hand, cradling Taylor’s head, moved to caress her hair. Troy’s eyes followed the movement.

  “I saw what happened. Couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it.”

  “Nor could I.”

  “That’s the hell for creatures like us, Beaudry. We see so much more than mortal eyes, but our hands our pretty much tied. God, I hope no one got killed.”

  Jared raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t know?”

  “Hey, it isn’t my job to shepherd the new guys to the pearly gates. The dudes with the wings take care of that. You see any feathers or halos here?” Troy shrugged his wide shoulders.

  Jared snorted. “Not a one.” He fell silent while he watched Troy pass a hand a few inches above Taylor’s prone body.

  “She’s weak.”

  “She lost some blood, but I think it’s more than that. I think she has some kind of…gift.”

  “She won’t tell you about it. Only one other living soul beside myself knows about it. So don’t even ask.”

  Jared frowned. “Why?”

  Troy laughed. “Why should she? Things haven’t changed all the much since your time, Beaudry. Witches are still shunned in polite society.”

  “She’s no witch. She’s a…a…” What could he tell this woman’s brother that wouldn’t land him a bloody nose? Especially while he was snuggled up with her, buck-naked. His intentions could easily be even more misconstrued than they already were. “She’s about the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”

  Troy watched his wounded sister sleep. “What have you told her? About you?”

  Jared blew out a breath. “That I’m exactly what she fears. A ghost. As to how I came by this body, she hasn’t asked, and I haven’t said. I think the truth would terrify her even more than the fact that all her friends are possessed and in mortal danger.”

  Troy nodded. “That’s probably best. She has enough to deal with right now. Speaking of bodies, Beaudry, you’ll be happy to know that your replacement is now dancing circles around your horse on two good legs.”

  Jared closed his eyes for a moment in mixed regret and relief. “He gave me this,” and turned his head so Troy could see the small cut on the side of his throat.

  Troy whistled softly. “Damn. You’re lucky he didn’t slice your head off.”

  “I doubt he’d do that. It’s his head. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He disappeared about an hour ago.”

  *

  She was dancing. There was music…a waltz. Her best dress, emerald green satin with a beautifully scalloped hem over belled hoops, rustled as it brushed against a rainbow of other whirling skirts.

  She looked up and found Stephen Powell’s smiling face, his grey eyes sparkling gently down into hers. She turned her head this way and that, looking for Troy, finding him at the edge of the floor, deep in discussion with someone in a blue uniform.

  The Gettysburg Ball. She’d made that dress especially for that re-enactment, right before she’d learned Troy had re-enlisted in the Navy. Stephen whirled her away to the other side of the floor, and Taylor laughed at something he said. Of late, Stephen’s attentions had become more intense. Under the ever-watchful eye of her brother, Stephen had been dropping subtle, yet clear, hints that he thought of her as more than a friend. This night, she had decided she liked those hints.

  A gloved hand tapped Stephen on the shoulder, and he graciously allowed the newcomer to cut in. A blue uniform replaced Stephen’s grey, but Taylor didn’t have a chance to get a good look at its owner’s face before he swept her away on admirably nimble feet. At first, she laughed in delight and easily kept up.

  But gradually, as he turned her faster and faster, colors, lights and sounds blurred and mixed, leaving her dizzy and breathless. Her long, carefully arranged hair came loose and flew out behind her. Her partner danced faster and still faster, lifting her off her feet as she struggled for the breath to protest.

  She looked up to see who was dancing with her so fiercely, to see who would have his arm so tight around her waist, her hand gripped so possessively in his.

  Her gaze never got past a heavily blood-stained collar.

  Taylor opened her mouth and screamed.

  Chapter Eight

  The echo of her scream still bouncing off the bedroom walls, Taylor found herself sitting straight up in an unfamiliar bed. She also found her head remarkably clear and the pain in her shoulder mercifully dulled to a thudding ache. And someone sat right beside her, someone who grabbed the nearest tangled blanket and yanked it up around her neck.

  She twisted around and found Jared. Full night had fallen, but a few stripes of cold, white streetlight filtered through the blinds, one stripe catching his eyes. They were the color of slow-burning smoke.

  “Did you see it?” she gasped.

  “All I see is someone who’s going to start bleeding again if she doesn’t lie back down,” he said in a very careful tone, trying to make her do just that.

  She batted his hands away. “He had—you had—” Two legs! As the shreds of the dream slipped away, Taylor managed to rein in her mouth before she gave away too much.

  Still, she couldn’t help grinning at him, but he wasn’t looking at her face. Apparently satisfied that his patch job was holding, he directed his deep blue gaze at the wall, the ceiling, the window, anywhere but at her.

  Then she noticed it was awfully chilly in here. Early spring was not a balmy time on the Banks, and once the sun set, air temperatures could drop dramatically. Her back was cold where it wasn’t covered by the blanket. She looked down at herself and saw a neatly wrapped bandage that extended from her right shoulder down and around under her left armpit, but little else. Swallowing a squeak, she clutched the blanket to her chest. Jared’s too-large boots were gone from her feet, but she still had her uniform pants, preserving what was left of her modesty.

  “How do you feel?” He asked huskily, reaching out in the darkness to feel for the lump on her head.

  She swallowed and swayed toward him, and dizziness had nothing to do with the movement. She blinked and stopped herself just in time. What was she doing? Why did she suddenly lean toward his touch as if sta
rved a century for it? Only a short time ago she had done everything in her power not to touch him, so afraid was she of finding out what her terrible power would reveal to her. She closed her eyes as his warm, callused fingers probed gently, then slid lightly down her neck to touch the swollen, sensitive flesh of her right shoulder.

  She waited, poised to shut herself off should those strange tingling sensations shoot through her body; those unbidden and unwanted visions that had haunted her since childhood flicker behind her eyelids. But nothing happened. His fingers were just warm, just gentle, just…

  Very familiar. As if he had already touched her soul, and her soul, having decided there was nothing to fear, had laid its defenses down. Quite without her permission.

  “Better,” her gravely tone matched his. “Hungry, though.”

  His fingers stopped in mid-probe, and she realized what she had said. This was one other reason she’d never allowed herself to have a relationship with a man. Love made her spout the silliest double-entendres. Instantly she blanked her mind. For God’s sake, they were being pursued by a madman, and in less than twenty-four hours Jared would willingly face his own death for a second time. Love did not factor into this equation.

  Jared’s smile was hard to see, but the white stripe of light across his face showed his eyes were crinkled with it.

  “As our large friend Gulley said, I think you’ll live.”

  His voice held a pronounced note of relief, as if for a while he’d had his doubts. He removed his hand from her skin and the bed springs squeaked as he turned away and set his feet on the floor. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a way that said he wasn’t accustomed to apologizing to the same person quite so often. “This isn’t what it seems.”

  Then the reality hit her. Jared had tucked her into bed, then joined her. He hadn’t just magically appeared the moment she awakened. She looked around and tried to get a sense of how much time had passed. She remembered stumbling into the house, remembered clutching him to her as he rode out his storm of pain, and remembered him treating her wound, telling her he thought Stephen had shot her…then little except that she was suddenly cold, frightened, then surrounded by warmth and comfort for the first time in days. Shock, she realized. She had gone into shock. And Jared had known exactly what do to.

  She opened her mouth to thank him, to tell him he shouldn’t be embarrassed putting her in what to him seemed like a compromising situation, but he went on speaking.

  “I’d try to find you something for you to cover yourself, but there don’t seem to be any lanterns or candles about…”

  Her heart suddenly lighter than it had in a long time, she leaned toward her side of the bed, leaving behind the comforting nest of warmth their bodies had created in the middle.

  “Voila,” she announced, flicking on the bedside light. He made an involuntary sound of surprise. She slid out of bed, wrapping one blanket around her as she went. After all that had happened, she marveled at the smile she felt on her face, marveled at his expression. She walked around the bed and halted in front of him. And noticed what he was wearing. Or wasn’t.

  Jared had pulled another blanket around his waist, but if he had been embarrassed, he had forgotten about it in his fascination with the lamplight. He stared at it, a wondering smile on his lips. He was impressed. Suddenly, volunteering as his tour guide to the modern world didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Still smiling, she grabbed his hand and curtsied in an attempt to match his formal tone of voice.

  “Arise, Sergeant Beaudry,” she said solemnly, mouth twitching. “And welcome to the 21st century.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, studying the lamp, then her “formal” attire, with interest. Still holding her hand, the one she now realized she’d forgotten to pull away, he met her eyes.

  “Miss Taylor, thank you for your…ah…” this time she saw no trace of a blush as his eyes raked her boldly from head to toe, “most unusual introduction to your time.” He rose to his feet and bowed over her hand, the lamplight gleaming on his naked shoulders, and she laughed softly at the picture they made. And still she waited for the tuning fork to strike her bones. It didn’t come. A very healthy, red-blooded current passed from his hand to hers, but otherwise, her spine stayed relaxed, her heart beat in a normal rhythm. Or as normal as it should be with a dangerously sexy man holding the suddenly sweaty appendage at the end of her arm.

  This was very strange. And totally impossible, under the circumstances.

  A shadow of concern crossed her thoughts. What if she had lost it? Her ability? Her mouth went dry. With an effort she calmed herself, reminding herself that her power had often gone dormant for years at a time. But now? Not now! Not until she’d used it to see Troy. It just figured that the one and only time she wanted the phenomenon to happen, it deserted her.

  Jared noticed the change in her expression, for his own smile faded. He dropped her hand and stepped away to examine the electric lamp, the edges of his concealing blanket dragging the floor.

  “Magic lights that burn without oil, and indoor running water that flows without hand pumps,” he mused. Then he turned and held out one arm. “Now. If only there were clean clothing in the 21st century, too.” He shook his head and rapidly fanned his fingers through his hair. “Great God Almighty, the soldiers who were on permanent station here must have gone mad with all this damn…blasted sand getting into everything.”

  “As a matter of fact, they did. But these days, we can fix that.” She gathered her blanket closer to her body and tried to smile back, but her temporary sense of fun had vanished. A question had to be asked, and asked now before she lost the chance. “Jared,” she said, “did you see Troy this time?”

  His eyes flickered, and his silence told her all she needed to know. “I didn’t hear you call his name this time, but did you see him? Did he tell you anything? Ask you about…anything?” Me?

  She tried not to sound as anxious as she felt. For, if she had indeed lost her psychometric powers, Jared might be her only link to her dead brother. Guilt stabbed her conscience. He would think she was only using him to get to Troy. But she could no more stop the words than she could let go of Troy before she saw him one last time. “Remember, the first time you had the pain in your hand, you said my brother’s name. This time, when you had the pain in your leg,” she paused and measured her words, “did you see him again?”

  His expression barely altered, but she sensed a closing, an ending to the all-too-brief moment of relaxation.

  “Nothing has changed.” He stepped closer and raising his hand to touch her good shoulder.

  He said the words as gently as he could, but still Taylor flinched. He wondered himself at the twist in his own gut at her question. Perhaps because she was trying so hard to find some link to her dead brother, while Jared himself was trying just as hard to outrun the guilt over his part in his own brother’s death. Perhaps, too, it was only fatigue. Hunger. The leftover feeling of fragility that had lingered ever since Hell had spit him out on the beach.

  With an effort he softened his next words still more.

  “There are good reasons why he cannot reveal himself. Not yet. And it isn’t just because you’re a living being and he isn’t. Do you—do you understand?” Damn, he had promised Troy, but he had to give her something.

  “No,” she said in too-calm voice. Miraculously, she let him touch her, but he could feel tension gradually returning to her muscles. “Yes,” she amended. His heart broke for her as he watched her chin tremble, watched her steady it with a supreme effort. “Next time you see him, if you see him, tell him I do understand and I won’t ask about him again.”

  Oh, God, she thought Troy was angry with her and didn’t want to see her! How could Jared tell her that Troy simply didn’t want to frighten her with the sight of his terrible wounds? That alone would reveal exactly what Troy wanted to spare her.

  She straightened and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, by the way. I
must have gone into shock, and if you hadn’t been here, I could have been in serious trouble.”

  He sighed heavily and pulled her into his arms, too tired to care about propriety. After a moment, she relaxed against him, with a sigh weary enough for both of them. All his long-empty body wanted was to hold her. Surely he deserved that much. And so did she. As hard as she had tried not to touch him during their brief acquaintance, the way her body had melted into his only a short time ago told him a different story. And no mysterious, magic powers were needed to hear it. Her heart was as aching and lonely as his.

  “How did you do that?”

  He looked down at her upturned face, dangerously close to his. She was tall. Too conveniently so. Had she been a petite woman, her mouth wouldn’t be so temptingly close. Her lips were straight, strong, not overly curved, but a mouth that probably smiled easily, in better times. It was a mouth he had no right to take. He was a ghost, flicking through these few days in a borrowed casing of flesh and bone, to be gone in a day or two. She was anchored here in this time century, unable to follow him.

  But entirely, innocently capable of making him want to stay.

  But no, the cost would be too great, even if it were possible. He ought to release her and let his 19th-century sensibilities win out. He had caused enough pain in his former mortal life. The last thing he should do was leave more pain behind in hers.

  But his hands stroked her back, as if they had their own ideas. Her green eyes hypnotized him, and he sincerely hoped she couldn’t feel his simmering response low in his abdomen.

  “What did I do?” he roused himself enough to say.

  She looked around as if trying to estimate the passage of time. “A couple hours ago I was in shock. I’d been shot, and you told me my best friend did it. For a few minutes I felt like I was dying, and I couldn’t stop myself. But now…what did you do? I’ve seen shock victims before. I shouldn’t be feeling this healthy.” She tilted her head back to look at him, expecting an answer.

  I begged God not to take you away from me, not yet. He crushed the thought before it was fully formed. He could have sworn, before, that she could sometimes read his thoughts. He didn’t need to be sending her signals like these now.