by Jane Charles
Another stack held nothing but clothing. Patrick recognized a coat he’d once worn. He tightened his fists so Laura wouldn’t notice they nearly shook with fear. There was no proof the three were murderers, but his belongings were against the wall and he was dead. What other explanation could there be? Would they also kill Laura when she was no longer of any use to them?
Patrick couldn’t think about the possibility. To do so would lead to uncontrolled panic and fear. He had to remain calm and find a way to save her.
The last stack was an accumulation of purses with money beside them. The rest of this makeshift chamber held little more than bedding for the three. “I don’t see any guns, but they could be hidden.”
“I noticed that too.” Laura nodded to the back wall. “Where does that go?”
He noted the door on the far wall. “It leads outside, to the back of the Abbey. Blake and I could never get it open because it had been sealed shut at one point in time.”
“Not sealed tightly enough,” she grumbled.
He attempted to squeeze her hand to offer assurance, but his fingers slipped right through because he used too much pressure. “Damn and blast.” This was a damned inconvenient time to be dead.
Laura’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but not censure.
“I apologize.” His face heated and he turned away to study the room further. There had to be a way for her to escape. There were knives by the fire, but Patrick dismissed the possibility and focused back on Laura. “I don’t like the idea of you using a knife because the men are stronger than you are.”
She paled and swallowed.
“Did Blake teach you any other ways in which ya could defend yourself?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Do you think someone is really with her?” the third man asked, concern marring his brow. All three of them continued to watch Laura with apprehension.
“No,” Ben grumbled. “She is playing a game is all.”
Patrick ignored them. He had to make sure she knew how to protect herself. He didn’t want to think about her being outnumbered three to one, but at least she could inflict some damage. “Most men expect women to aim for the groin.”
“Really?”
Actually, he wasn’t sure. If he found himself in a skirmish with a woman, that is what he would be most concerned about. Not that he would ever be in such a situation. “They don’t expect to be struck in the face.”
Laura fisted her right hand.
Patrick placed a hand over it. “Not a punch. That is too easily blocked.”
She relaxed her fingers.
“I am going to show ya exactly what to do.”
Laura nodded.
“Do not mimic my actions because we don’t want those miscreants to know about my instructions or anticipate what ya might do.”
“Show me.”
“When ya lift your arm, tilt your hand back, like this.” He instructed and she watched. “Then, with all of your strength, lunge up and keep going.” Patrick demonstrated on Laura knowing in his current form he would cause her no harm when the heel of his palm connected with the bottom of her nose.
“Does that really work?”
“Sometimes better than a knee to the bollocks because they won’t be expecting it.”
Laura grinned. “I’ll be sure and try it if necessary.”
“After the blow to the nose, then ya knee him in the groin, but be sure and lift your skirts out of the way for the hardest impact.”
She nodded.
Patrick glanced back at the three men. They continued to watch as she carried on her conversation. Ben’s eyes narrowed on her, as if he didn’t trust her. The other two had a mixture of confusion and fear. She would need to get rid of them first. Perhaps Laura could scare them into fleeing and then she would only need to worry about Ben.
“Why can’t I make noise like other ghosts?” Patrick asked in frustration.
“What do you mean?”
“Moanin’, groanin’, chains and all that nonsense we’ve heard about. Why can’t I do any of that?” It was damned irritating to be a ghost but not able to scare someone.
Laura shrugged. “Maybe it is a skill that has to be developed over time.”
“Do ya think so?” He was rather new to this. Maybe he just needed practice.
“Try picking up that club.” She gestured to the piece of wood against the wall.
Patrick rose and walked over to it. He bent and tried to grasp the handle. His fingers went right through it.
“Try again.”
“I am,” he bit out, frustration building because each time he attempted to grab hold, it was impossible to get a grip. How the hell was he going to protect Laura if they decided to do her harm? If anyone else could hear him, he would already be upstairs yelling at Torrington to come save his niece.
“Shut up,” Ben growled as he stalked toward Laura.
Patrick stiffened at Ben’s words.
“Pardon?” she asked. “Are you speaking to me?”
“Quit talking nonsense and sit there quiet like until I decide what to do with you.”
She stood and notched her chin. “I was speaking to Patrick.”
“You know there ain’t nobody here. Now shut your mouth.”
Laura edged back from Ben. “But he is right over there. I assure you.” She gestured to where Patrick stood.
This was getting dangerous. “Don’t anger him,” Patrick warned. “We are not playin’ a game.”
“I won’t,” Laura whispered.
“I said shut up,” Ben yelled before back-handing her. Patrick tried again to pick up the club, but it was impossible. He rushed forward. Laura lay on the bunk. A trickle of blood trailed from the corner of her mouth. She was out cold.
Patrick turned, raised his hands and went for Ben’s neck. “I’ll kill you for that.”
Patrick jerked awake in a dark room too hot to stand. Not Hell again. “I have to get back to Laura,” he cried out.
“Hush,” a voice whispered.
A gentle hand pushed at his shoulder. Patrick fought against it, his breaths coming in gasps as panic raged through his veins. He would not be dragged further into the heat.
“Sir, you must calm down.”
Calm down?
He turned and looked into the pale green eyes of an older woman with white hair and face deeply wrinkled. “Who? Where?” Was his spirit somewhere else? Why here?
“I am Niamh,” she said slowly. “You are in my family’s house.”
“Where?”
“Just outside of Tolbright.”
Tolbright? He was close to Torrington Abbey. He had to get to Laura.
“You can see me?” He pushed the blankets from his body.
“Of course I can see you,” Niamh chuckled.
Patrick stared at her. “Am I alive?” How could he be dead one moment and alive the next? Or, could she see him as well as Laura? He glanced down at his hand. It appeared solid, unlike how he was at Torrington Abbey.
Niamh looked at him carefully. “You are alive,” she explained.
He didn’t know how he came to be here or why he was alive again, but he must get to Laura. Those questions could be answered later.
“Sir, please lie down.”
He pushed her bony hands away and stood. The room tilted and Patrick closed his eyes hoping the room would settle.
Her gentle touch urged him to sit. “You are much too weak to move about.”
“I have to get to Laura.”
“Who is this Laura?” the older woman asked kindly. “You spoke of her in your dreams.”
“Dreams?” Had he not been dead? But that didn’t make any sense. How could he have been here dreaming and be with Laura at Torrington Abbey? He pushed his fingers through his hair. Had he dreamed all of it? Had he not been with Laura, never at the Abbey? No, not possible. He had been there and she was in danger. Patrick looked at Niamh. “I must get to Torrington Abbey.”
“You
may go in a few days, when you are stronger.” Her voice cracked with age. How old was Niamh? She was barely tall enough to reach his chest and bent over as if her back had curved downward.
“Ya don’t understand,” Patrick yelled, though his voice held little volume it was so dry. “She is in danger.”
“How do you know?” Niamh asked kindly. “You have been with us for almost a week.”
Patrick blinked. “A week?”
“Yes, we found you by the river, nearly dead.”
A week? His mind rushed with this knowledge, but he couldn’t make anything fit.
He would later, when his brain cleared. Right now he had to save Laura. Patrick pushed to his feet again and this time fought against the dizziness. “Where is my clothing? Where are my boots?”
“I cannot let you go,” Niamh insisted and yelled for someone called Cavan. A moment later a huge hulk of a man, near the same age as Patrick, entered the room.
“Ah, you are awake, finally,” he said with a grin.
“Where are my clothes?” Patrick demanded. What strength he had was waning. His body ached as if he had been thrown from a horse, but he couldn’t rest now. He had to get to the Abbey.
“He is awake,” a female voice cried with happiness. A petite woman with long black hair and light gray eyes stepped around Cavan. “See, I told you, Grandmamma, he was not ready to leave the world.”
Niamh said something to the young woman and the two were soon bickering back and forth. It took a bit before Patrick realized they were speaking Gaelic. He couldn’t understand the language, nor did he speak it, but he recognized it. Was that the strange language he heard when he thought he was in Hell?
“Stop!” he yelled.
Everyone turned in surprise and looked at him.
“I appreciate ya takin’ care of me, but I need to get to Laura.”
The young woman came forward. “You need to rest,” she said kindly and took his hand. She stiffened and stared at him before turning back to Niamh. “The one he loves is in danger.”
“How do you know it wasn’t a dream?” Niamh demanded.
“I know,” the young woman insisted.
“He can’t even ride a horse,” Cavan insisted. “How is he going to get there?”
“How far is it?” Patrick said, no longer able to stand. How could he free Laura if he couldn’t even remain upright for five minutes?
“It is just a short path through the forest,” the young woman answered.
“Is it dark yet?” Why did he not want to be in the forest after nightfall?
The young woman scooped something into a bowl and shoved it into Patrick’s hands before giving him a spoon. “Eat. You need your strength.”
He glanced down and determined it was some form of porridge. His stomach rumbled and he dipped his spoon into it.
“Eat slowly so it doesn’t come back up on you,” the young woman gently ordered before rushing around the room, gathering items.
As much as he wished to hurry, Patrick did as the young woman insisted. He was as weak as a newborn babe and unless he gathered some strength, he would be absolutely no help to Laura.
Cavan stood before him, feet braced apart and arms crossed over his large chest. “What kind of danger is this Laura in?”
“Three men,” Patrick answered. “They have been living in the cellars beneath Torrington Abbey. Laura went down to explore and came upon them. They caught her.”
The young woman gasped. “Are they the ones—?”
“—what do they look like?” Cavan demanded.
“One is older, with a full beard and rotten teeth. The other two are younger. I think the older one is the leader. Ben Skrewd is his name.”
“How do you know this?” Cavan demanded.
Patrick looked up at the man. How could he possibly explain? They might put him in Bedlam before delivering him to the Abbey. “I was there.”
“See, Grandmamma, I told you.” The young woman shook a finger at the older woman. “When we could hardly find a heartbeat and he lay so quiet and still, I knew he was not with us.”
The older woman snorted and dismissed the young woman with a wave of her hand. “Just like your mother.”
The young woman placed Patrick’s clothing on the bed beside him and took the empty bowl. “Get dressed and I will summon the others.”
She was out of the room before Patrick could ask who the others were. Niamh followed, closing the door and leaving Patrick alone with Cavan.
“Let me help you,” Cavan said.
Patrick moved to pull the oversized shirt off and winced as pain sliced through his arm. He hadn’t even noticed his arm was bandaged against his chest.
“Be careful, it ain’t healed yet.”
His entire body hurt and it was hard to determine what was most painful at the moment.
Cavan helped him pull the shirt over his head. It reeked of sweat and body odor. Patrick stood and Cavan assisted him with his breeches. It was embarrassing to need help with such a simple matter of dressing, but he might not have been able to do it himself with his arm in this condition. His breeches and shirt were torn, nearly shredded, but what was he to do? It wasn’t as if he had another set of clothes.
“My boots?”
“Didn’t have any,” Cavan shrugged. “This is all you were wearing when we found you.”
The memory of being beaten as everything was taken from him flashed in Patrick’s mind, along with being tossed into the icy cold water of the river. “Do ya have a pair I can borrow?” He couldn’t return to the Abbey in his bare feet.
Cavan nodded and led him from the small dark room into a larger common area. Three other men, near the size of Cavan, were shrugging on coats.
The door flew open and a lad ran in. “The horses are saddled.”
“He needs boots,” Cavan shouted.
The men looked at Patrick’s bare feet and from somewhere, a pair was produced. Patrick sat on a worn settee as another man pushed them on.
“You’ll ride with me,” Cavan ordered as he marched out the door.
Patrick followed. The cold air hit him with a force, but he stood his ground. It wasn’t far to the Abbey. He would be in the warmth again soon.
After Cavan mounted, another man gave him a foot up and then got on his own horse. “To Torrington,” Cavan yelled, and the horses took off through the forest.
Each pound of the hooves sent stabs of pain through his arm and other areas of his body. Patrick gritted his teeth against the onslaught and concentrated on getting to Laura. They had to arrive in time. What if Ben had struck her again? What if they killed her? How long had he been gone from her this time? Did she awaken to find him gone? She must be all the more frightened now than before.
Panic surged through him. What if…? No, he couldn’t think of what might have happened to her at the hands of those murderous thieves.
Yes, they were the same damn miscreants who had attacked him in the forest on his way to Torrington Abbey. He remembered them now, as well as the message he was to deliver from Blake.
Laura woke to a blinding headache. When she cracked her eyes open, she had to turn away from the bright light of the fire. The movement made her want to toss up her accounts.
“Ah, the lady is awake,”
It was Ben’s voice. “Make him go away, Patrick,” Laura mumbled.
“There ain’t no Patrick here.”
She slowly opened her eyes and looked about. She couldn’t see him. “Patrick?” She pushed herself to a seated position. “Patrick?” she called again. She wildly looked about the room. There wasn’t a fog, a mist, a cloud, nothing. Her heart beat against her chest and her breaths began coming in short pants. “He couldn’t have left me. He wouldn’t have!”
“He wasn’t here to begin with,” one of the younger men said.
“Yes, he was,” Laura bit back. Just because they couldn’t see him, didn’t mean he hadn’t been here. He was trying to grab the club. She closed
her eyes and tried to remember, but her mind was blank. “Oh, God, he’s gone again.”
The three men stared at her. Laura scooted back to the edge of the bed, her back against the wall and eyed her surroundings. Beyond them was blackness. If she could get away from them, she could hide for hours. The cellar was huge. Surely she could elude them. She just only needed to make her escape. There, she would wait for Patrick to return, which he must do. He would lead her out of here and into safety.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. As soon as her head stopped pounding and she didn’t think she was going to be ill, she would find a way to slip away. It wouldn’t do any good to run now when they would like find her by the sound of her retching.
“We’ve been trying to decide what to do with you,” Ben said.
“You could let me go,” Laura suggested without opening her eyes.
“Ain’t she the funny one,” Ben laughed. “We know you live in the manor. I seen ya. If we let you go, you’ll tell Ol’ Torrin’ton and he’ll be after us.”
“I swear, I won’t say a word,” she lied.
“She must think we’re the daft ones,” one of the younger men said before he spit on the ground.
“I wants to keep ya,” the other one said.
“I wants to kill ya,” Ben said.
“I think we should enjoy ya and then kill ya,” the one who spit added.
If she had a choice, Laura voted for the killing. Bile rose to her throat. She would rather be dead than have any of them touch or even try to kiss her. She gagged and covered her mouth.
“Don’t be getting’ sick on my blanket.”
Laura swallowed and took deep breaths. In death she could be with Patrick. At least she hoped that was how these things worked. Why hadn’t she ever asked him if he had encountered any other ghosts? She had only asked about the former earl. If he had seen another, wouldn’t he have told her?
Ben stood. “We’ll decide when we get back.”
They were leaving? She could escape while they were gone.
“Get the rope,” Ben barked.
Laura opened her eyes. “Rope?” Laura squeaked.