“No, the woman seated right there!”
Jackson looked again and squinted. “Sorry, no one is there. Son, you must be tired. I suggest you retire early.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it realizing he was the only one who could see her, and muttered, “Yes, thank you for supper. It was divine and really hit the spot. Please tell Margaret for me, would you?”
“I tasted the tea; surely you’re exaggerating when you say it was divine.”
Exhaling and reluctant to remove his gaze from the lady, who smiled bashfully, yet pleasantly, Christian addressed the old man. “I’m grateful for the meal; now please deliver my thanks….” He fell silent for a moment as her honeyed tresses were stirred to life from an unseen source. The colored ribbons adorning her curls also drifted with an otherworldly effect. The fabric of her dress moved along with her hair as though a gentle breeze had set upon it. However, he felt no draft that could be causing it, and the windows were tightly shut. Her image shimmered and she was bobbing, as if she were only attempting to create the illusion of actually sitting.
A ghost. He swallowed and waved a hand in her direction again. “You’re certain you see—?”
“Nothing, Christian. I’m sorry. It must be fatigue wearing on you. I’ll bring you some warmed milk to help—”
“No, thank you. I’m too old for that,” he snapped, and then cringed because he hadn’t meant to be so short with the age-frail butler.
After passing one more nervous gaze in her direction, Jackson nodded slowly, his mouth almost gaping, and then he left.
Christian scrubbed a hand over his face and wondered what he should do next. He knew troubled thoughts had been taxing him when he’d first sat down to dinner, but he couldn’t recall much else besides his name at the moment.
She spoke again. “Can you truly see me? I’ve wanted so badly to talk to someone—anyone.”
“Yes, I can see you. How long have you been here?” He couldn’t believe he was actually starting a conversation with an apparition, pretty though she may be.
“I know not. I awoke and have been wandering this empty demesne for days now.”
Nervously, though he tried to hide how nervously, he stepped toward her, took hold of a chair in the middle that was closer to her end of the table, and sat down.
She may’ve been dead, but she was a breathtaking sight to behold. The candlelight picked out the strands of bright-gold in her hair, and he wanted to touch it, but knew that may not be acceptable. He didn’t want to frighten her, then chuckled internally at how silly it was that he didn’t want to frighten her.
“You’re the earl?” she asked, and her words brought him back from his thoughts.
“Yes, my name is Christian.” He knew it wasn’t exactly proper to introduce himself in such a casual way, but the last thing he needed was someone else calling him my lord. “And your name?”
Somehow, she actually paled at that seemingly simple question. “I, well, I do not know it.”
“You cannot remember?” This baffled him.
The ghost shook her head.
“And do you remember how—I mean, do you recall who—er—” Christian wasn’t sure how to broach the touchy subject of her death. He halted his questions and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Do you mean to inquire about how I died?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.
“I suppose, but I didn’t wish to be unkind.”
“I have been wondering the same thing myself.” That quiver in her voice was also reflected in her bottom lip.
“You mean to tell me that you don’t know your name, and you don’t know how you…?”
“Or where I am. I have never been to this castle before, at least not that I recall.”
“You’re in England, the northern part. And to me you sound English. Your speech is not touched with any hint of an Irish or French lilt.”
“Oh.” Her face screwed up with a cute frown as she appeared to be considering that. “I-I wish I could remember more.”
“What can you remember?”
“I have ideas in my head about inconsequential things, like clothing.”
“How do you mean?”
She turned away, as though embarrassed suddenly. “Well, I did see your clothing in your wardrobe,” she muttered softly, chancing a glance in his direction, “and it was unusual.” He perceived his smile encouraged her to continue. “I have a vague memory of men wearing different styles.”
“Such as?”
“Well, men’s…um….”
“Shirts?” he offered, because she was motioning to her bodice.
“Yes, shirts were laced. They were not held closed with a row of little, round….” She frowned, apparently not able to find the word she wanted.
He dropped his chin to consider his shirt. “Oh, you mean buttons?”
“Is that what they’re called? I do not recollect that, yet I think we had them. But it seems they were used more for embellishment than function.”
Around a smile, Christian asked, “What else is unfamiliar to you?”
She glanced toward his soup bowl. “Where is your trencher?”
“My what?” His grin faltered.
“Do you not keep your food in a trencher?”
A trencher? That—those haven’t been used since.... In truth he wasn’t exactly certain when that change had come about. Clearly this spirit came from a time not his own. “We use dishes now and forks and spoons,” he said, mentally trying to pinpoint her origin.
“What of your dagger?” she asked, giving him another clue.
“We use knives too, but we no longer eat with our fingers.”
“Oh.” Her gaze shifted to the doors. “And why do you take repast in this small chamber and not in the great hall? And where is your garrison of knights?”
“Times are much more peaceful, they’re not needed. And dwellings are no longer built with a great hall.”
“But this castle has one.”
“It does, but only because it was constructed many years ago.”
She looked shocked, then shifted her green eyes to his teacup. “Is that ale you’re drinking, or is it wine in that tiny cup?”
“It’s tea.” Things had changed considerably since…. Of course people still drank ale and wine, but from her words, he suspected she was from a time quite far back in English past. Then he considered her dress, which appeared medieval to him. It was almost eighteen seventy currently. “It sounds like you’re from the late thirteen hundreds or perhaps the early fourteen hundreds. It’s nearly five hundred years later.”
She gasped, and her big green eyes got even bigger. “I have not been—I suppose I was sleeping.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like this before. Generally, I think, well, I’m not an expert on the preternatural, but I thought ghosts only lingered if they’d been murdered. Were you murdered, then, not a natural death?” He regretted the blunt question as soon as the words left his mouth, especially when sparkling tears welled up in those emerald eyes and spilled down her pale cheeks. That undid him, and he felt like an utter dimwit. “What a kingly dolt I am! I apologize. I should not have asked that.”
“I have wondered about that, too,” she said so softly he could barely hear her.
“You don’t remember in nightmares, or relive…? I thought—”
“No. My memory in this is quite missing,” she said taking a shaky breath, and he could see she was struggling to rein in her emotions. Obviously, this could be a touchy subject for anyone, in truth.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She met his gaze. “Just talking to you is a delight. Truly, it has been horribly dull here all by myself. I do hope we can carry on?”
He could thoroughly relate to that. “Of course.” And this would be an interesting change of pace.
“Thank you.” The look of joy on her sweet face made his heart thump harder.
There was something about h
er that stirred tender and deeply buried emotions within his chest. An urgency to aid and comfort her had risen. This poor, dear girl! Yet these emotions were intense enough they also made Christian feel slightly vexed with the idea that perhaps he should not feel such a potent want. This can’t be good, he thought. He shouldn’t be feeling this way about a ghost he could never have.
Shoving those thoughts aside, he searched his mind for something to talk about, but was suddenly at a loss for words. “I have just gained Krestly Castle. I’m the earl,” he began lamely.
“I gathered that.”
Of course she had! He was behaving like a silly schoolboy! “Right. Well, I like to hunt, and ride horses, and fence.”
She looked at him as if to say, What man doesn’t? And, obviously, if he’d considered what men did in her time, he might not have made the ridiculous comment. Christian couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable when he kept shoving his boot into his mouth like this. Near desperate to make it lighter with humor and sarcasm, he asked, “Do you plan to haunt me?”
He held his breath until she giggled, the airy sound went right through him, touching his very soul, and then a sheepish smile lifted her cheeks. “I thought about it,” she said shyly.
He laughed out loud. “Being haunted by a lovely lady like you would be quite enjoyable.”
“Really?” She seemed surprised by his jovial jesting. “What if I’m scary?”
“Can you be terrifying?” he asked, almost taunting her. He couldn’t imagine this charming girl being anything disturbing.
“I could try.” But he could see from her innocent expression that she couldn’t think of anything frightening to do right away, until she focused on the candelabra and shifted it toward him. He jumped and nearly knocked over this chair, too.
“Whoa! All right, I must confess, that was a little alarming.”
“Really?” She seemed so proud of herself he had to smile.
“Yes, ‘twas definitely quite a trick! What else can you move? Can you lift things?”
She stared at his teacup. He watched in amazement as it rose from the table, drifted toward him and then plopped a little too roughly onto the table. Tea sloshed over the lip.
She gasped. “I-I did not mean to drop it. I’m sorry. I fear I am inexperienced.”
Chuckling, he waved her words way. “Nonsense. That was fascinating and delightfully entertaining. Do it again.”
This time she focused on the chair next to him. His eyes widened as it slid back from the table, rose about two feet, and then lowered back to the floor.
“What a wonderful skill you have. Although, it could be dangerous, if say, you had a knife.”
A squeak of alarm burst past her pink lips.
Scrambling to soothe her, he said, “Of course you wouldn’t. I can see you do not have anything that dark within your nature—” He cut off his words abruptly because he’d meant to address her by name, but then recalled that he didn’t know it, and she couldn’t tell it to him. Then a thought occurred to him. “The library!”
“Pardon me?”
“The library!” He reached for her hand that appeared to be resting on the table and they both shuddered when his fingers passed through hers. He felt an odd tingling sensation, though no substance. And it was warm, not cold like he thought apparitions should feel. “Forgive me—it seems I—”
She stared at their hands seeming as shocked as he.
Christian withdrew his hand. “Please, follow me and I’ll show you.”
He shoved away from the table, rose from his seat, strode to the door, and opened it for her. He then watched in awe as she drifted toward him and out into the hallway, where she immediately turned to face him and said, “You did not have to open the door for me. I could have gone through it. Just as our fingers....” She shuddered.
“I suppose you’re right, but as a proper gentleman, I’m afraid I must open doors for you.”
“If you wish.”
“I insist.”
Christian couldn’t stop himself from spying back at her as she followed him toward the library. He realized he should have been horrified and alarmed that he had a ghost in his home, and that he could see her, and converse with her. But he wasn’t. Peace and gentleness radiated from this shimmering spirit. He considered himself thoroughly bewitched. She made his worries about money seem inconsequential. His father would give it to him eventually. And this lady served as a fine distraction.
A special message from me to you...
This story has played through my thoughts for many years, and a sense of undeserving awe fills my soul, and gratitude overcomes my heart that you chose my book to read. That may sound a little over the top, and I suppose it is, but a writer is not successful if not for their readers.
From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU for taking a chance on me, and for allowing me to share this story with you! It’s my deepest wish that I’ve been able to entertain you, or enchant you, or distract you from any distress that might be in your life, or touch your heart, or uplift your soul with my book...even in one small way.
I’m perfectly aware of the fact that I’m nothing special. I’m just someone with an over-active imagination. Because of this, I’m not sure how to adequately express how much your uplifting blog posts, kind comments, and encouraging emails mean to me. Each one touches me and brings a smile to my face that lingers for days. I cherish each one of you for your generosity towards me. If it was not for your kindness, I couldn’t keep sharing the stories that are such a part of me. I’m sharing a bit of myself with you and that’s a terrifying thing sometimes. Again, I say THANK YOU!
Forever (Book #3 in the Fateful Series) Page 30