by Eliza Knight
Her father’s sword lay on the ground beside her, destined to belong to Jenny when she was truly old enough to learn. It struck Senara how much it would fill her parents’ hearts to see her so happy. The very thought brought tears to her eyes, but it also carried with it the same kind of peace she’d only ever felt the day Balthasar disappeared.
She hoped Balthasar had found such peace after his wall had been removed and his remains carefully gathered and returned to the MacKintosh clan for proper burial.
Senara’s families would live forever in her heart, the one she’d lost, beside the one she had now, and she’d be forever grateful for having both with her always.
The End
Thank You for Reading
Thank you so much for reading A Ghostly Tale of Forbidden Love. Please know that I read all my reviews and welcome your thoughts on my book.
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Books by Madeline Martin
Highlander Series
Deception of a Highlander
Possession of a Highlander
Enchantment of a Highlander
Novella
The Highlander’s Challenge
About the Author
Madeline Martin lives in Jacksonville, Florida with her two daughters (AKA the minions) and a man so amazing, he’s been dubbed Mr. Awesome. Madeline has an affinity for cat videos and wine memes as well as anything Scottish or rippled with muscle and wearing a kilt. She enjoys giving workshops and loves to help promo other authors. Make sure you check out her Facebook page every Friday when she features and gives away a book by a fellow author in her Free Book Friday event.
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The Maxwell Ghost
Ruth A. Casie
The Maxwell’s Caerlaverock Castle, on the Scottish border is in an uproar. Traitors, deception, murders and ghosts run rampant. The crops have failed and the granaries set ablaze. Rumors fly when servants Evan and his bride-to-be, Angel are found murdered and Evan’s ghost haunts the castle. Did Evan kill Angel then take his own life? Sonia, a young cook is sure everyone has it wrong. The ghost haunts the castle seeking justice. She will move heaven and earth to get to the truth, but she is helpless.
Laura Reynolds travels from England to her cousin, The Maxwell’s castle to put Evan’s ghost to rest. She has one week to complete the task or Evan’s ghost is doomed to haunt the castle forever. The Maxwell, while he loves his cousin, doubts her sorceress ways and has more important issues at hand, a traitor in their midst.
Jamie Maxwell Collins has finished his service to The Maxwell and eager for his promised farm. While long-time friends with Laura, he has little patience for her sorcery, but in order to get his farm The Maxwell requires Jamie protect and help her. Will Sonia’s information tip the scales and help them find the true murderer and bring justice to Evan and Angel? Will Sonia’s insight help Laura and Jamie realize their destinies are intertwined with hidden passions? All is in jeopardy when Laura becomes the murderer’s next target. Jamie will find he needs more than ghostly assistance to save Laura and realize they have a love that will last for eternity.
Dedication
To my steadfast champion, the person who listens to me spin stories and gave me the model for happily ever afters. PS, I love you.
Acknowledgment
Caerlaverock Castle, on the southern coast of Scotland in the Dumfries is the location of this story. The unique triangular design and beauty of the castle, from the way it’s sited to its rich history, made Caerlaverock the perfect setting.
There were several original fortifications that preceded the current castle, a Roman fort on Ward Law Hill and a British hill fort that was used until 950. Work began on the castle in 1220. This early site, which can be found 600 feet north of the present castle, was abandoned. It flooded.
Construction on the new (present) castle, on a solid rock outcropping began in the 1270s. Herbert Maxwell (1240-1298) was its first occupant. He is the only true character in the story.
The Maxwell stronghold underwent several sieges over the centuries and was finally abandoned in 1640.
Chapter One
A dour faced James Maxwell Collins, in full regalia, rode atop his destrier, sixteen of his best men rode with him. They cantered through the forest. The metal tack on their mounts’ harnesses tapped out a rhythmic beat. He breathed in the heady aroma of damp leather, musty moss and fallen leaves. The rain drenched landscape turned the rutted trail into mud and forced them onto higher ground. Just as well. While he preferred to take his time to walk the woods between his home at Cumgour and the Reynolds’ Glen Kirk Castle at the edge of the Northumberland Forest, today he chose a more dangerous route. They’d suffer the bad weather no matter which track they took, and speed was of the essence.
Richard Reynolds was dead, killed on a Welsh battlefield serving his English king.
Jamie and his men had spent the last eighteen months with Jamie’s uncle, Herbert The Maxwell at Caerlaverock Castle. They were both stunned when they heard the news. Richard was too young, too brave, too good to leave this world.
They had left immediately and spent three days riding hard to Cumgour where Jamie stopped long enough to change horses and inform his family of Richard’s passing.
Lord Wesley and Lady Darla had buried their only son before the news reached Caerlaverock. No time for Jamie to say a final good-bye to the man he knew from childhood, a distant relative, but closer friend.
“No other person could represent me better,” The Maxwell said. “I would go myself, however, with my obligations to the Parliament in Scone, the uproar here concerning the spoiled stores and ach, ghost I can’t possibly leave now. People and their superstitions drive me senseless, but I must stay. Instead of going with me, you’ll go for me. With your closeness to our cousin, Darla, and her family these many years, I couldn’t send a better man.”
“I completed my year of service six months ago. After delivering your message, I’d like to go back to my Cumgour, farm my land,” Jamie stated more than asked. This wasn’t a new request. He’d asked The Maxwell several times.
“I know you want to return to your home, but not now. Not with the problems with the grain and this damned ghost. You’re to return within the week.” The Maxwell held up his hand to ward off Jamie’s objections. “That will give you one day with the family and I’m sorry for it. Once this problem is solved, you can return home and be a farmer, although it is a waste of a good fighting man. You’ve served me well and earned your farm. Too bad you can’t bring Darla to us when you return. With her special gifts she would know how to quickly put this ghost to rest.”
Jamie didn’t believe in magic, but he would believe in the devil himself if that would help make things right at the castle so he could finally go home. He slowed his horse to a walk.
“I’ll take four men and go on. You and the others wait here. We’ll be back by morning.” His captain inclined his head in acknowledgment and signaled the troop.
Twelve of Jamie’s men peeled away and rode toward the cliff where a dry cave would give them shelter. He was sensitive to Wesley and the situation. Tensions by the border were high and he would be on English soil. A larger traveling party could be… misinterpreted. Jamie and his remaining four men navigated across Bells Burn, the stream separating Scotland and England, then headed up the rocky pass through the dense Northumberlan
d Forest.
Richard had been one of the best soldiers he knew. No one could stop the man. Jamie let out a bitter laugh. He understood his friend’s capability better than most, as many times as the two boys sparred without holding back. Every bout ended the same, no matter the winner. They laughed and shared a draft of Wesley’s fine ale.
What did that matter now? Richard lay cold in the ground. Jamie blew out a strangled breath around the knot in his chest. At least Richard hadn’t been left to rot on some forgotten battlefield as so many others. For all the man’s faults, Bryce Mitchell did the decent thing and brought his friend home.
He snapped a low hanging branch as he passed, wishing he held the neck of the man who killed Richard. Over and over again, Jamie berated himself. He should have been with Richard, protected his back. Except, his allegiance lay with Scotland, not the English or their king. Jamie pulled his wool around him. The light drizzle that added to his misery had stopped and the small party trudged on.
He stopped at the forest’s edge. Glen Kirk Castle stood tall and welcoming across the broad meadow. Jamie gave the signal to the tower guard then trotted across the field and through the gate. The hollow clop of their horses’ hooves on the wet cobblestones echoed through the empty bailey. No rousing greetings. A somber mood permeated the grounds. Even the castle dogs that usually ran to greet him were nowhere to be found. If not for three horses equipped for a long journey tied near the stable, he would have thought the place deserted. Jamie dismounted. The stable boy appeared and took his horse’s reins.
“Jamie. The guard told me you were here.” Lord Wesley’s captain came out of the gatehouse.
“Gareth.” His somber mood lightened at the sight of his old mentor.
Weathered with thinning salt and pepper hair, he remained tall and straight, his eyes clear and wise. This was the old warrior who instructed the young squires in soldiering. Jamie, along with Richard and Bryce, practiced and battled while Richard’s sisters, Laura and Lisbeth, cheered them on. That was before Bryce’s taunting created a rift between the two of them that became intolerable.
Jamie gave Gareth his hand. The old soldier threw his other arm around him and pulled him close.
“You’ve been away too long. I must be getting old. I actually miss you and your rowdy ways.” Gareth shook his head. “I’ve already sent a message warning the women in the village you’ve returned. Now that I think of it, I may have done you a favor.”
A flush rushed up Jamie’s neck. The fact Jamie listened attentively, especially to women who always appeared to be around him, left him with a reputation. Well, perhaps he did more than listen on occasion, but not as indiscriminately as everyone would believe.
“I swear you’ve grown taller. And here I worried when you were a boy, the runt of the litter. There must be Viking blood in the family line. Now you’ve outgrown them,” Gareth eyed him from his toes to his head, “and definitely the broadest of the three.” He placed his hands on either shoulder as if measuring the expanse. “You’ve turned out well, for the runt.” The months of absence melted away as they renewed their easy camaraderie.
“You think I’m brawn, you should see my wee sister,” Jamie teased and sent Gareth into peals of laughter.
“You forget I know your wee sister. She may be five feet and a slip of a thing, but she certainly knows how to keep you in your place.” Gareth’s drawn face glanced toward the Great Hall. “In truth, it’s good to have you here. They can use your company.”
“I wish I returned for happier reasons rather than this untimely duty.” He started for the hall. “You coming along?”
“Not right now. I’m here to see Alex Stelton and his men off. You go on. I’ll settle your men at the barracks.” Jamie nodded and made his way across the bailey to the hall.
“Good day, Ann.” The housekeeper held the door wide when he reached the top step. “Still as beautiful as ever.”
“You save your sweet talk for those ninnies who don’t know any better.” Ann’s severe expression didn’t fool him. It was the same one the housekeeper used when he and Richard were boys and filched freshly baked tarts set to cool.
“You know, sweet Ann, you’re the only one for me.”
The housekeeper chuckled.
“How are they?” Jamie took on a somber tone and glanced toward the hall as he removed his cloak and gloves and gave them to Ann.
“As good as one can expect. The family will be glad you’re here. You go on.” Ann padded off leaving him to find his way.
He stepped to the doorway and stood at the Great Hall, a place as familiar and comfortable as his own. Servants were busy at the raised dais with a large table at the far side of the room, preparing for the afternoon meal. Trestle tables and benches were already pulled away from the walls and ready for the others in the castle.
The whitewashed stone walls were adorned with large silk tapestries; a few depicted armies and others portrayed gardens. All the wall hangings added color and warmth to the room. The sideboard, dressed with linens, displayed silver plate. Family banners hung from the rafters. A large fire roared behind the grate and above the fireplace hung the family crest. The hall was warm and comfortable and filled with the aroma of lavender and spice, but none of that dispelled the sadness that hung everywhere.
As soon as Darla noticed him, she sprang from her chair near the fireplace, ran to Jamie and hugged him close. A handsome woman, her hair had turned a glistening snow white since last they saw each other. Her face lit up in a smile although it didn’t hide the stress of the day.
“Jamie, I’m glad you’ve come to us.”
“I was with Herbert when the news arrived or I would have been here sooner. He’s sorry for your loss. We all are.” She gave him a weak smile and patted his arm. Darla’s tear-swollen eyes said it all and he grieved even more. He offered Darla his arm and escorted her back to Lord Wesley, their daughter, Laura, and a gentleman who sat with them, Stelton he assumed.
“Do you know Alex Stelton?” Darla asked. “His mother and I are friends at court.”
Alex put down his tankard and rose.
Jamie nodded. Yes, he knew Stelton. He had only seen him from afar, but he was one you didn’t easily forget. Richard told him Stelton was one of the English king’s favorite knights. Shorter than Jamie, which was nothing out of the ordinary. Stelton had dark wavy hair with a lock that fell over his forehead. His eyes were a silver-blue and held vast knowledge and understanding. The words just and honorable came to mind.
“You’re not leaving?” Darla asked Alex.
“It’s time for me to be on my way. I’ve overstayed my welcome and have drunk too much of Wesley’s ale.” Wesley let out a rusty laugh. Alex bowed to Darla and her daughter and approached Jamie.
“We meet at last. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. Richard spoke of you often and with great respect. Many will miss him. My family and I included.” Alex’s voice faded.
“Richard told me much about you and your brothers, how as boys you terrorized the court with your games and antics. For a moment or two I resented not being English.” The two men shared a common ally.
“Someday, we will have to sit, drink Wesley’s ale and talk of Richard. I’m sure we both have stories to keep us up until morning,” Alex said.
“Any excuse to drink Wesley’s ale. Have you been able to get his recipe?” Jamie asked in a conspiratorial whisper. Alex’s eyes lit with laughter.
“No, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try over the last few days.” Alex took his great coat off a bench and put it on.
“Keep the wind at your back,” Jamie said. With a nod, Alex turned and left.
Wesley slouched in his chair and stared at the fire, the grief still raw on his face. The man had aged over the year. His gray hair thinned. His eyes, well, they were rimmed in red and dulled with pain.
“He’s been like this since we buried… the burial.” Laura, Richard’s little sister, stood next to him. “Father tires
easily and stays locked up inside. Mother is the sole person who can reach him, although I have hope. Alex did make him laugh.”
Jamie’s focus turned to Laura, the younger of the two sisters. Laura and Lisbeth were similar from their slender, petite size, long dark hair and large green eyes to their fan of thick dark lashes. The sisters may be similar in appearance, however not in temperament. Lisbeth was the deep thinker. Laura was head strong and outspoken, the feistier of the two.
“How are you and your sister faring?” he asked, his gaze back on Wesley.
“It’s a challenge keeping everyone’s spirits up. At times, I succeed. Other times, I fail miserably. Lisbeth stayed at the keep for a while then left for the hunting lodge to be alone.”
Jamie turned to her. Her drawn ashen face disturbed him.
“The rain has stopped. Would you care to take some fresh air in the garden?” Laura answered by looping her arm through his and drew him out the door. Her warmth chased away the lingering chill from his journey. She’s Richard’s little sister, a warning voice whispered in his head. He took a breath and went on.
“I know you’re skeptical of Lisbeth’s gift, but she told me she saw Richard’s death before Bryce carried him… brought Richard home. Now, she blames herself for not taking action.” Laura sighed heavily. “Everyone blames themselves. Father shouldn’t have let him go, not that he could stop Richard. Mother should have seen this coming, not that she could. And Lisbeth…”
“I understand all too well. I berated myself for not being with him, protecting his back.” They reached the stone porch.