Evermore (Knight Everlasting Book 3)

by Cassidy Cayman

  “Do you require assistance, Lord Jordan?” A nearby guard walked over and held up his lantern.

  Jordan snapped his head up and tried smiling. “No, thank you. Just a quick break on my way to the kitchen.”

  He never could open his mouth without saying something stupid, it seemed. Now the guard thought he couldn’t make it all the way to the kitchen without resting. He hurried on his way, not hungry at all anymore, but not wanting to go back to Leo’s chamber. He was sure if he saw food he’d get his appetite back. Oddly enough, he liked the medieval cooking. Sophie constantly complained about the lack of fresh fruits and vegetables, but he’d never been a big salad eater. He didn’t want to make a fuss, so he followed the long corridor leading to the servant’s entrance to the kitchen. He’d just sneak in, grab whatever was at hand and leave.

  He smiled as he came across the spot where he’d “accosted” Marjorie. They’d certainly come a long way in terms of trust since then. As he rounded the corner, a stabbing blow skidded across the back of his head. He staggered to one knee, his vision blurred by the intense crack he’d taken. He heard an intake of breath behind him, the soft patter of slippered feet running toward him. This time, the blow came down from above and he thought his brain might have been shaken into his throat. He crumbled to both knees and held his hands up, now hearing a cry of frustration. As a third whack struck him in almost the identical spot as the first, he thought of how many times he’d hit his captor in Drayton’s lair and how he’d refused to be knocked out. Jordan didn’t want to take that kind of a beating and he didn’t want to give in to unconsciousness either, no matter how his head screamed at him to take that choice.

  Already on his knees, he flopped around so he’d be facing his assailant, sweeping his legs and taking him down. Or her. She sailed through the air in a whoosh of skirts, landing on her back, the rock she’d been hitting him with rolling out of her hand. In an instant, she was on her feet again, but so was he. He’d never hit a girl before but he was about to tackle her back to the floor when he stopped dead in his tracks, arms out in front of him.

  “Marjorie?”

  His heart sank as she lunged at him, laughing quietly. Of course it wasn’t Marjorie. He sidestepped, tripping her again. He cringed as she fell and skidded several feet along the stone floor. He didn’t want Marjorie to be hurt. But he couldn’t let the insane ghost witch inside her continue to beat the crap out of him. He remembered the attempts on both Sophie’s and Fay’s lives. He had a good feeling he was facing the culprit now.

  “Leave her,” he said as forcefully as he could while still remaining somewhat quiet. He couldn’t have a guard seeing Marjorie like this.

  She laughed some more and crawled past him with alarming speed. Grabbing her rock back up, she jumped to her feet with the lightness of a professional boxer, bobbing on her feet. It enraged him and broke his heart to see Marjorie brought to such an undignified state. His Marjorie did so like to be dignified.

  “Lyra, I command you to get the hell out of her.” He forced himself to look her straight in the face, though he hated seeing the unfocused, empty eyes that gazed back.

  “What do you know of hell?” she hissed, flinging herself at him, rock hand ready to beat down on whatever she could get close to.

  Okay, he was done with Lyra. He sidestepped again but she managed to clip him in the shoulder with the rock. It hurt worse than his head and he wondered if she’d cracked a bone. Yes, he was one hundred percent over Lyra. He grabbed her raised arm and squeezed her wrist until she had to drop the rock. As it clattered to the floor, he wrapped her in a bear hug. She was like a cat stuck in a sack, writhing and spitting. He hated her for what she made him do to Marjorie. Releasing her, he took her by the sides of her shoulders in what he knew had to be a painful grip. Painful to Marjorie.

  She smiled as she struggled and kicked at him. He ignored each thud against his shins and pushed, forcing her to the ground. “You won’t hurt her, you weak fool.”

  He ignored the taunt. When he had pressed her to her knees, he dropped to his own, quickly taking both of her wrists in one hand and shoving her against the wall with the other. He hated himself as he shook her.

  “Marjorie, you’re strong. She told me herself. You’ve gotten away from her before. Fight, Marjorie.”

  “Simpleton,” Lyra said, trying to break her hands free.

  “Marjorie, can’t you hear me? It’s Jordan. You made me that awesome shirt. I kissed you and you said you liked it. Come back so I can keep doing it, okay?”

  The empty eyes stared at him, Lyra forcing her lips into a snarl. “She’s gone.”

  He felt tears on his cheeks. He couldn’t lose her. He was so angry he started pulling back his fist to smash the leer off Lyra’s face. She grinned some more and he realized that was exactly what she wanted.

  “She’s not gone, you—” he paused and let her go. He stood up and jumped back, his hands up at his sides. “Marjorie, please come back,” he begged, realizing why he could never make himself marry anyone, not even to break the curse. No one but Marjorie. “I love you. Please come back.”

  The smirk slid off her face and she collapsed to the ground. Horrified, he fell to her side, pressing his ear to her chest. Did the witch kill her? No, there was a heartbeat, racing fast. He leaned back on his heels and took her ice cold hand and chafed it between his own. A few seconds later, she opened her eyes. He leaned over. Yes, Marjorie’s eyes. Clear and intelligent and clearly terrified. He realized he’d been holding his breath and let it out in a gust.

  “Thank God it’s you,” he said, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it.

  She scrambled away from him, cowering against the wall. “Where am I? Jordan?” She leaned forward, reaching for his head. Trusting her not to attempt to kill him again, he let her gently pull him closer to her. She gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I imagine so,” he said with a humorless chuckle. The adrenaline of the fight and fear of losing her hadn’t worn off yet so he didn’t feel much except relief and gratitude. He wiped the side of his face and came away with a blood-smeared palm. “Yeah, it’s starting to throb a little now.”

  Marjorie hid her face against her knees and shook. “What did I do? What did I do this time? Why am I so cursed?”

  Yes, that was the question, wasn’t it? He patted her shoulder, one of the shoulders he had gripped with anger only a moment ago. “You didn’t do anything,” he said firmly.

  “But your head. You must hate me,” she sobbed.

  “No, I don’t hate you. That, I could never do.” He was disappointed to see she didn’t hear or recall his proclamation of love. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” he assured her. So was that how it was going to be? Too chicken to say it again, when she was actually lucid and not possessed? No. The feeling was too true, too strong. It fairly burst out of his chest. He reached and tipped her chin up with his fingertip so she’d have to look at him. Her pale, luminous skin turned pink and she opened her mouth, probably to apologize. He seized his chance, wanting to erase the sad, hopeless look on her face. “I love you, Marjorie.”

  It erased the look, all right. But it wasn’t replaced with one of joy, like he’d hoped. She gaped at him, eyes wide with … something quite a bit removed from joy, and shoved herself to her feet.

  “You can’t,” she asserted, backing away. “You can’t.”

  *

  Marjorie had never felt so ashamed, so sorry, so unworthy of such a declaration. It didn’t take any stretch of the imagination to figure out she’d tried to kill Jordan in one of her fits of madness. Blood streamed down his face and the back of his neck. As she cast her eyes around, she saw a bloody rock not too far away and she shuddered. How could she have? And Jordan, her dear, beloved friend. Her secret love. The merest thought of him brightened her day. And she’d run him down and smashed a rock into his head. From the looks of the blood, probably more than once. And now he said he loved her. Had she done tha
t much damage that he spoke without knowing what he said?

  He looked at her, waiting, holding out his hand. The times he’d taken her hand in his all came rushing back at her. “You can’t,” she repeated for the third time.

  He rolled his eyes at her. “Of course I can. And I do. I think I have for some time now, it just took me a while to realize it.”

  Why couldn’t he have been saying such things while they sat together under the stars? Why did it have to be now, at the lowest point in her life? Shaking, she prayed it wouldn’t get any worse. She’d rather die herself than hurt anyone ever again.

  “You must take me to Sir Walter,” she said. “I’ll confess everything. I should be in the dungeon with the likes of Lord Drayton.”

  He shook his head wildly and reached for her. Before she knew it, he had his hand clasped around hers. “No,” he said. “Definitely not. This has to be our secret.”

  “Why?” she cried, knowing she should pull her hand away, but her depraved mind wouldn’t let her. “After what I did to you? And then for you to declare … please, Lord Jordan, I think you may be seriously injured.”

  “I think I may be seriously injured, too,” he said. To her horror, he laughed. “But it wasn’t you who did it. And it’s not affecting my mind. I know how I feel and I wish you would say something about it. And not that I can’t. Because I can and I do.”

  “Even if I weren’t descending into madness, I don’t deserve your love. I’m only a servant.” She put her head down, unable to look at him. Why did he look at her that way? If only things were different and she could enjoy his look of tenderness. Instead, it made her feel lonelier and sadder than she’d ever felt.

  He wiped his hand across his face, grimacing at the blood. Looking around the hall, he gestured her to follow him. She shook her head. She couldn’t trust herself.

  “I don’t care that you’re only a servant,” he said. “And besides that, I don’t think you are. But it doesn’t matter to me either way. What I care about is your kindness, the odd things that make you laugh, the fact that you act so strong but are afraid of spiders. Now come with me before someone finds us. We’ve made such a racket already, I don’t know why the whole castle guard hasn’t come running by now. After everything we’ve been through, can you trust me one more time?”

  She closed her eyes, but her feelings didn’t go away by blocking out his yearning face. Of course she trusted him. He hadn’t let her down so far.

  “Where do you want to go?” she asked with a sniffle. The weak part of her that loved him so much wanted to follow him anywhere. Her heart wanted to sing at the lovely things he said, but her sick mind wouldn’t let it. But if she only had a short time left, she wanted to spend it with him.

  “Anywhere we won’t be overheard. I need to tell you some things. And they’re going to seem pretty weird. If you can even understand them.”

  Tired and heartsick, she nodded and followed him. Then she led him to an area behind the stables where they could be alone. Despite everything, she felt her cheeks heating up to be with him there. She knew she was at the end of her rope to have given up caring about her reputation, even to herself. She’d always wanted to appear so upright, so proper, so much better than she really was. Perhaps, losing her wits was a just punishment for such vanity. She sat listlessly beside him and leaned against the cold stone of the stable wall.

  “I don’t think anyone will bother us here.” She couldn’t help reaching for his head again. As far as she could see, the bleeding had stopped. It still stained his neck and tunic, but it was dry, not freshly oozing anymore.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I stopped seeing double a few minutes ago.” At her gasp, he nudged her arm. “I’m joking. I’m still totally seeing double.” He snorted, then grew serious. “I’m sorry, but this is way beyond anything I’m used to.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Lord Jordan,” she said.

  “That’s the second time,” he accused. “I thought you were flustered the first time, but now I know you’re doing it on purpose.”

  “What am I doing?” she asked. After nearly killing him, now she was annoying him.

  “Calling me Lord Jordan. I don’t like it.” He crossed his arms and refused to continue until she nodded her agreement. “Now listen to what I need to say and try not to get scared.”

  “I don’t think I could be much more frightened after seeing what I’ve done to you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t do anything,” he said, carefully enunciating each word. “You’re under a curse. You were being possessed by the ghost who helped you invoke it.” She had been wrong. She could be more frightened. He sighed and patted her arm. “Can you do me a favor and please repeat back to me what I said?”

  She closed her eyes. How things could get any stranger, she could not fathom. And yet, they continued. “I’m under a curse. I was being possessed by the ghost … I invoked it?”

  “That’s a relief,” he said, nodding.

  “Which part is a relief?” she demanded.

  He smiled. “I’m glad you’re getting your nerve back. You’re going to need it. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to understand me when I told you that.”

  “I don’t,” she said, scooting away so she could turn and look at him in the face. He didn’t appear to be toying with her. And he seemed completely coherent, despite the head wounds. “I don’t understand at all.”

  “I only meant you might not have been able to properly hear the actual words I said,” he explained, though it didn’t clear anything up. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me. But it’s true. I know because I’m part of the curse. Or, rather, it’s the reason I was brought here.”

  “From Italy?” she asked.

  “Much further away than that,” he said. “But that’s not the most important part. You’re going to keep getting possessed by that damned ghost if we don’t figure out your curse and end it.” He ducked his head and apologized for swearing. How she loved him, everything about him. Except the nonsense he was blathering on about.

  “My curse?”

  “Yes,” he said, a pleading note to his voice. “Can’t you remember anything?”

  She shook her head. “I—I don’t know. What am I supposed to remember?”

  “It’s to do with a dress. The dress that you took to the forest that time. Or that Lyra made you take.”

  “Yes, I remember. The beautiful wedding gown.”

  “Yes, a wedding gown,” he said. “Do you remember who was supposed to get married in it? Was it you?”

  The headache she’d fallen asleep with was creeping back along her temples. That was the last thing she remembered. Her crippling headache after hearing Sir Harold’s heartfelt confession to Anne and her heartbreaking request of him.

  “The gown is cursed?” she asked, not knowing what made her say the words.

  “Yes,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Can you remember anything else?”

  She wanted to please him, wanted to believe what he said was true. But she’d only been guessing, and was being under a curse so much better than going mad? She wasn’t sure. She was doomed either way.

  “How are you so certain that gown is cursed?” she asked, revealing that she’d only been guessing. He didn’t seem to notice in his excitement.

  “Because it’s what brought us all here. So, we know the dress is what’s cursed. We just need to remember why you wanted to curse it.”

  Brought who? Everything he said only led to more questions. It all led back to her being under a curse. No, her invoking a curse. How she hated hearing that word over and over again. She would never dare do such a thing, not even to an inanimate object.

  “The reason I’ve been waking up in the forest, stealing things that aren’t mine, and trying to harm you is because of a … spirit?” She whispered the last word, hating that she sounded so stupid, but it was all incomprehensible. “Tell me how that’s different from going mad. It’s
utter madness on its own.”

  He pressed his lips together, fighting impatience. “Because if we break the curse, all this bad stuff ends. But only if you can remember.”

  She huffed, impatient herself now. Back to that again. What was she supposed to remember? She could barely remember her own childhood. Standing up, she smoothed her skirts as best she could, trying to ignore the bloodstains on her hands. Jordan’s blood. He wasn’t trying to torment her, he was trying to help. It was clear he believed what he said. It came down to whether or not she trusted him. Again.

  “I can’t remember anything like what you’re saying. I’m sorry.” Of course she trusted him. And she wanted to stay by his side. “But if you think it’s to do with that gown, why don’t we go dig it up?”

  He jumped to his feet, a fierce grin on his face. “That’s my girl.”

  His girl. She only wished. If it was all true, if she could be freed … perhaps. She shook her head, knowing it wasn’t to be. She’d have to be happy to spend a bit more time with him. He held out his arm and she linked hers through it. Her head hurt, she was tired and sore. Traipsing into the forest seemed like a bad idea. But if he could do it after she’d conked him with a rock, then she supposed she could find the strength somehow. Perhaps that gown was the answer to everything after all. She ground her teeth together, not doing a thing to assuage her aching head.

  “I say we burn it.”

  He looked down at her in shock, then nodded. “Best idea ever,” he agreed.

  Chapter 22

  Jordan had trouble keeping up. Marjorie flew so quickly over the hills to the forest. He had a feeling she didn’t have a clue what was going on and he certainly hadn’t done a good job of explaining. He was grateful she could understand him since Sophie had warned that if he spoke of the curse within hearing of the castle residents, they would hear something completely different. But since Marjorie was so closely linked to it, it made sense she would understand.

  He puffed a little, practically running full out now. The trees were in sight, the moon rising above their dark outline. She was several feet in front of him, not turning back to make sure he was following. Had she forgotten he was with her? His vision still hadn’t completely gone back to normal after the blows she’d—no, Lyra, had given him. He thought Marjorie would have been relieved to know she wasn’t going insane. But now that he really thought about it, being possessed by a ghost wasn’t any better. God, he hoped destroying the dress would get rid of Lyra once and for all. He suspected it was wishful thinking to expect it to end the curse. It was most likely he still had to obey the rules on that one.