It was now October 31 and if anything supernatural wanted to make itself known, she was more than ready. She knew there was nothing there, of course, but she was ready for whatever was there.
And so ran her thoughts, in numbing, exhausting circles.
Nevertheless, she was ready.
Upon leaving her room, she rushed through the castle and out into the sunshine. It was sunny, finally, and she reveled in the feeling of the sun on her skin. Wearing a very fetching light blue day dress with a scalloped detail on the neck and sleeves edged in dark red embroidery, her favorite shawl draped elegantly over her arms, she walked with a swinging, confident step toward the stable block.
She was ready.
Lord Death’s stallion was not in his stall, nor in any of the stalls. Lord Death’s dog, Companion, was not to be seen. Shoulders drooping just a bit, she walked back out into the sunshine.
There was no cold wind to press itself down upon her head. The only thing she felt on her head was warm, golden sunshine.
Still, she was ready. If only something would happen, she would be able to demonstrate how very ready she was.
Morgan readjusted her bonnet, straw, with a very fetching ribbon, and girded herself for . . . something. After walking from the stable to the kitchen garden to the maze to the edge of the wood and feeling nothing but warm sunlight, and seeing nothing remotely interesting, Morgan was feeling a bit letdown. She had spent two days in her room preparing for this?
Without thought, and without a cold wind to direct her, she found herself wandering down a horse path through the wood that led, if she remembered correctly, to the cliff that edged the coast. It was a wild path, untended, seldom used. The sunlight filtered through the canopy of branches turning the light tawny gold. The birds were silent. The wood felt unnaturally still. Readjusting her shawl to sit higher upon her shoulders, the scent of Lord Blackwater still held within the fabric, and still just as enticing and comforting to her, Morgan strode down the narrow path, deeper into the wood. The sea was just ahead, just around a turn or two. She was almost certain.
It was All Hallow’s Eve and she was walking in a woodland upon her father’s own property on a sunny day. She had nothing to fear. Even so, she held the shawl to her face and breathed deeply of the scent.
“Look at her,” Nell said. “You cannot deny that she’s a brave one.”
“I never said the Banfields lacked bravery.”
“You said they were scurrilous, treacherous, and any man was a fool who turned his back on one,” Nell said.
“And every word of that the truth. But not cowards, madam,” Roland said, running a hand over his beard. “I never called any Banfield a coward.”
“Only everything else.”
Roland shrugged.
“She won’t acknowledge us,” Nell said, “no matter how we torment her. She has resolve.”
“She’s stubborn and obstinate. Like all Banfields.”
“We have to do something. The will reading is soon and then they will all depart, Hal may depart at any time; he has no reason to stay for the will, and then where will that poor girl be?”
“If she doesn’t marry Blackwater she can marry some other fool. There are men enough out there. She can live without this one.”
“Are we onto that again?” Nell said, swirling the dust on the path, creating a tiny whirlwind of leaves and twigs. “He is for her and she for him. It has been decided.”
“Decided by you,” Roland said. “The two parties have gone their separate ways. Let their hearts decide it, Nell. Would you have wanted outside interference in our love affair?”
“If the interference had resulted in a marriage?” Nell asked, her eyes narrowed. “Yes, and yes again, my love. Dragging you to the altar would have been worth any price.”
“Aye, and dragging it would have been! Why would any woman want a man taken so?”
“You never minded how you took me, sweet,” she said. “You would have been happy. I would have made certain of it.”
“Would you?” Roland said, his dark eyes gleaming. “I think you would have done, my Nell. Aye, indeed, I am sure of it.”
“So you should be. And so will she be, if we can but soften her heart towards him again.”
“Nell, did you not see how she caressed that scrap of shawl? She’s ne’er been without it since Blackwater had it at his throat. It’s the scent of him she’s got and she’s not going to let him escape, no matter what she thinks of ghosts and hauntings and whatever else she’s heard at the castle. Let her sniff him out. She’ll find him soon enough and work her female ways upon him until he’s not fit for dog scraps.”
“A fine opinion you have of females! Dog scraps, is it?”
Roland looked as innocent and confused by her remark as it was possible to look. “It was a compliment, Nell. How can you think otherwise? She’s got the scent and she’ll run him to ground. What finer thing could be said of anyone?”
“Oh, ‘tis a compliment, verily,” she said, her brows raised as high as they would stretch. “I’m off to find Lord Death. I’ll aid him if I can. He’ll need help against the bitch hound of Keyvnor.” And with those words, Nell vanished, twigs falling through the sunlight as she passed.
Roland stood a foot above the path, hovering, the sunlight shining through him in golden rays that sliced into his gray vapor. It created a striped pattern that he found amusing, and he found so little amusing any more. This battle of the sexes, this marriage war between the Banfield girl and Blackwater, was the most fun he had found in half a century, maybe longer. It was far more entertaining than listening to Mary bleat her love to him using Benedict’s name.
So, he had teased the girl a bit, here and there. He had haunted her and wooed her, as much as any ghost could woo, all to break the tedium of this half-life of never-ending death. But Mary was poor sport for a gentleman, and he was a gentleman. She was like to go mad if he didn’t leave her alone, which he had, upon the arrival of Blackwater, his stallion, and the Banfield girl.
Truthfully, they made a fine looking pair. The man and the girl, though the man and the stallion were magnificent. Blackwater had worked that stallion to a fine point, learning his habits, working out the bad ones. That stallion wanted to balk at jumps, and Blackwater had worked him out of that in the past two days. The girl had been in her bedchamber, hiding, declaring with every thought in her head that she did not believe in ghosts while the man had been working with his stallion, accomplishing something of worth. Thus were the two sexes revealed.
Still, a man without a woman was a pitiful thing to behold. The world did need women in it. Blackwater did seem to find the girl, Banfield though she was, attractive, and her dowry would be very helpful in getting the man’s estates on sound footing.
Roland sighed, his mind made up for good. Blackwater would get the girl. Banfield or not, Roland had confidence Blackwater could manage her and whatever mischief she got into. Look what he had accomplished with the stallion in only a few days.
Yes, Lord Death could handle Morgan Hambly, Banfield’s stubborn daughter.
Chapter 9
Nell found Hal Mort on the cliff walk, a narrow path set at the cliff’s edge, the wood acres distant, the path set amidst wild grass. The ocean’s horizon swept away as far as the eye could see or ghost could sense. The ocean was a vast place, abounding in life and death, wrecks and mayhem. She had never seen the sea until she came to Keyvnor. It was a beautiful part of God’s creation, so boundless, so blue.
Hal was working his stallion in a series of turns, his mane flying in the high sea wind, his coat gleaming. Off to the side, out of the way and lying in the golden grass of autumn, was the dog. He was chewing his right front claws contentedly. Companion, Hal had named him. Well, a man deserved more than a dog for a companion. He needed a good woman at his side; they all did, each man God had made. Had God Himself not said so, in the beginning? He surely had and Nell could not see that questioning God’s will had ever d
one anyone any good.
She floated over the golden grass and the dog, who stopped chewing his nails to sniff the air below her feet, and to the man upon his horse. His thoughts were all of his stallion.
“Work your will upon the girl, Lord Death,” she said. “You know she is for you. You can sense it, can you not? This girl was created for you as I was created for Roland.”
The dog sat up and barked at her.
The stallion tossed his head and jerked the reins.
Hal said, “None of that, now. A sea wind can be a chill wind. There’s nothing to fear in it.”
Nell sighed and dropped lower, to just above Hal’s right shoulder. The stallion pulled to the left, sidestepping. The dog leapt to his feet, lowered his head and began barking in earnest.
“As Roland and I are, so shall you and Morgan be. A love for all time. A love to last through centuries,” she said.
The wind of her cold breath ruffled his dark hair. He did not so much as shiver. He was a proud man. She admired that in him.
“Easy,” Hal said, pressing his knees into Keystone’s sides, holding the reins with a firm hand. “Companion, down.” His dark brows drew down into a frown and he said, “‘Tis a mouthful, isn’t it? Something shorter, quicker to say, I think.” Nell hovered at his shoulder, wanting to get Hal to think of Morgan in a hurry, before Roland arrived and set her off course. Roland could be a torment to her. “How does Roland sound to you, boy?” The dog looked at Hal with a turned head, ears upright and alert. “Roland? Roland,” he said, testing the name in his mouth. “It has an easy sound to it. It sounds right, doesn’t it? Roland it is,” Hal said.
Nell threw up her hands and let the ocean breeze carry her inland. Of course, Lord Blackwater had heard that.
“Morgan! Morgan!” she said, voice rising to push against the wind. “Seduce Morgan Hambly and make her your wife, you daft, dull man! Men are all the same, no matter the century. As dull as iron and as deadly to a woman’s joy,” she said, muttering, the wind of her anger fighting the clean sea breeze, the air around the man and the stallion and the dog growing more and more turbulent.
“I shall not seduce any woman, forcing her into marriage,” Hal said, speaking to the space between Keystone’s ears. “I shall not be bullied and I shall not be coerced, and I shall not allow Lady Morgan to be. Get that in your head, whatever you are.”
Nell spun to face Hal and then dropped down until she was right in front of him. Keystone did not like it one bit.
“You can hear me, Lord Death?” she said.
Hal swallowed, looked out to sea for a moment, then turned and patted his horse on the neck. He said, “No, Lady Ghost. I cannot hear you. I cannot see you. I deny your existence. I do not believe in ghosts.”
“Well spoken, Blackwater,” Roland said, coming from the shadowed wood, out into the bright sunshine of the cliff walk.
Hal did not so much as twitch. He kept his hand upon his warm-blooded horse, patting, stroking, soothing.
“No sane man should believe in ghosts,” Roland said. “It defies reason.”
“And God’s plan,” Nell added. “Yet here we are. If we are not ghosts, I don’t know what we are.”
Hal said nothing. He turned his gaze out to sea. The clouds were building a few miles off, fat white clouds with purple centers. It was late afternoon; the moon was rising in the east, pale and ghostly and full.
“We only want to see you happy,” Nell said.
“No,” Roland said. “She wants to see you married. She’s a woman. That is her logic.”
“Are you saying that Hal would not be happy married to Morgan?” Nell said. “I disagree.”
“Of course you do. You’re a woman,” Roland said. “Though I find no fault in that.”
“How kind,” Nell said in a clipped, furious voice.
Hal cleared his throat. “I have always intended to marry. It is my duty to my family and my title.”
Roland nodded and stroked his beard. Nell opened her mouth to say something. Roland shook his head at her ever so slightly. She decided to hold her tongue, for now.
“I must marry carefully,” Hal said.
“No one should marry carelessly,” Nell said, unable to hold her tongue one moment more. “Yet one should marry. God teaches us that it is better to marry than to burn.” When Hal said nothing, she asked, “Do you not burn for Morgan? She is a comely girl, of good family.”
“Of good family!” Roland barked. “Descended from whoremongers, traitors, and cutthroats, she is, and I’ll not let him forget it.”
“I’ll hear no word spoken against the Lady Morgan,” Hal said, setting his heels to his horse and starting off at a sharp walk. “No, nor against her family, ancestors included.”
Nell, who was floating along behind Hal, Roland a few feet from her, raised her brows at Roland and stuck her tongue out at him, more in play than in scorn.
Roland frowned slightly and made a shooing ‘be still’ motion with his hands.
“He scarcely knows the girl,” Roland said to Nell. “A wise man would take counsel from someone who has known the family for centuries.”
“Hated them for centuries,” Nell said, “and that’s not the same at all. A Banfield killed him in battle, Lord Death,” she said, “and that has strongly influenced his thinking on the matter.”
Hal barked a quick, sympathetic laugh. He did not respond more than that.
“He is not afeared of you, Roland,” Nell said, “so you can stop trying to make the man jump when you bark.”
“I do not bark,” Roland said.
The clouds thinned over the ocean as the sun lowered in the sky, turning pale purple and gray and pink against the vivid blue of the sky and the hot gold of the sun. In the east, the moon rose white and round, pocked and ethereal.
“‘Tis the night of the year when the portal between the living and the dead is thin,” Nell said.
“That is the explanation, then,” he said, setting his horse into a trot. The stallion moved easily beneath him, the dog running effortlessly on the right side of his master, the seashore far, far below. The sound of the waves crashed like a distant orchestra.
The path along the cliff led away toward the wood and it was at this bending of the path that Hal saw Morgan. She stood standing within the shadow of the wood, the light dim and dappled, and she looked more elf sprite than woman to him. Though that may have been the company he was keeping, inspiring such a fanciful thought as that.
Hal did not hesitate. He turned Keystone and rode straight to her. She did not move. Could she see what he saw? The ghosts, felt only before, he could now see and hear as plainly as any living being. It had begun with the tolling of an unearthly bell, a hollow, otherworldly bell that struck once, twice, thrice, and then the ghosts had materialized. Because he had felt their presence first, that frosty air that announced them, he had not reacted in the way that might be expected; namely, falling in a dead faint or throwing himself, screaming, off a cliff or any other normal, healthy response to finding oneself surrounded by chatty ghosts.
That the two were lovers was plain to be seen.
In their conversation, the looks they exchanged, the by-play of their every interaction, the deep union they shared burst forth like lightening bolts. He had rarely seen living couples display so much passion and connection. It did give one hope in the power of love, love that survived even death.
Still, having seen them, heard them, conversed with them, he still did not believe in ghosts. He had worked it all out. He believed in a living God, the God of the Holy Trinity, and he believed in the good works of the Church of England. He believed, he put his trust and his hope, in that. One did not believe in dead autumn leaves. One did not believe in wood ash in a cold hearth. One did not believe in the dead.
He was entirely at ease in that conclusion. It seemed most brilliantly logical to him. And if Lady Morgan could see the dead, he would put it to her in those terms and she would find peace as well.
But, the closer he drew to her, the less he thought of peace.
In truth, he did burn for her.
She watched him come, stepping out of the wood and into the falling sunlight. The sun hung over the sea, a pulsing flame of orange and gold, the ocean a blue magnet pulling the sun down and under. The sunlight reached out to light her hair to gleaming gold and her eyes to silver blue. A sprite, an elf, she surely was. Her small chin lifted, so delicately formed, her mouth opened and she said, “I was not looking for you. I had no expectation of seeing you today.”
Hal turned his head slightly to gaze upon the ghosts. They were just behind him; the woman was smiling at the girl and the man studying her as one would inspect a squirming rat. Hal turned back to Morgan. She was looking directly at him.
“Understood, Lady Morgan,” he said. “Who did you expect to see today?”
That seemed to catch her by surprise. She shifted her weight on her feet, looked at the ground for a moment and said, “The usual people, I suppose. I have not seen you in days, Lord Blackwater. I had--”
“Given up hope of ever seeing me again?” he finished for her.
“Good,” the male ghost, Roland, said. “Lay on. Keep her off balance. That’s the way to win a woman. They love to be kept on their heels.”
“Of all the ridiculous notions!” the female said. “Off their heels and in bed, that’s your method and there’s no point in dressing it up now. Lord Death has more finesse than that. He means to marry this girl, and you’ve no idea how that’s done, do you?”
Hal looked at Morgan. She did not respond to the ghostly chatter, did not look at them, but she did wrap her shawl more tightly about her throat. What sort of curse was it that only he could see the damned things? And damned they surely were. ‘Twas unnatural to linger about so.
“Hardly, Lord Blackwater,” she said stiffly. “I have not seen anyone much lately, truth be told. I have been in my room, suffering a mild chill.”
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