The Lady Series

by Domning, Denise

  Jesus save him, Belle was right! Where there should have been eyes there was naught but two gaping, blackened holes. His heart leapt up to lodge in his throat, all the while pounding out a frantic denial of what stood before him.

  The sound of sobbing was now so loud Jamie's ears ached against it. Belle cried out and cupped her hands to her ears. The spirit's head began to move as if the specter were scanning his office, seeking something.

  Or, someone.

  Stunned, senses reeling, Jamie found himself staring deep into the fathomless wells of Mistress Miller's White Lady. Fear tore through him. What if the housekeeper was right and the specter meant to bewitch them into leaping off the wall? However grief stricken he might be over Nick, he wasn’t ready to join his friend in death.

  Ah, but escape meant walking through the creature to reach the gallery.

  Heart pounding at the thought, Jamie pulled Belle closer to him and started toward the door. Belle moaned when she realized what he meant to do, but shuffled along with her head yet buried against his chest. Its empty gaze still fixed on him, the specter held its position until they were within arm’s reach of it. Then, as if it had seen them coming and meant to let them pass, it drifted back onto the landing.

  Jamie's stomach twisted at this proof of its awareness. Was it biding its time before entrancing them? Ducking his head over Belle's, he closed his eyes and stepped out of his office. Unnatural and bone-chilling cold enfolded him.

  He took a step then opened an eye to gauge where they were. His shoulder was passing through the ghostly woman's chin. Her empty eye sockets were but inches from his face. Jamie recoiled from the eerie contact, stumbling to the side and carrying Belle with him as he went. By the time they caught their footing they were standing on the upward stair's lowest step.

  Below them on the landing the White Lady drifted to block the gallery door, her empty eyes yet watching him.

  Anger came to life beneath Jamie’s terror and his arms tightened around Belle. The ghost was trying to drive them onto the wall top! He wasn’t going to let this awful creature kill them, not when he was so close to happiness.

  “You vile bitch,” he tried to shout at her, his voice hoarse. “We’re not going up these stairs."

  Belle heard Jamie’s voice but her terror was so deep she could make no sense of his words. Hoping that he was saying the ghost was gone, she lifted her head. Just as had happened all those nights ago, she once more found herself staring into the White Lady's orb-less eyes.

  Even as Belle yelped and turned her head back into Jamie’s doublet, images flashed through her mind. She saw a man and a woman, laughing, loving. Children, then blood and tiny bodies sinking beneath the river's surface. There were blocks of stones being laid as a wall was built and the light disappearing, little by little. At last, there was only the woman, bound and grieving, trapped in a fearsome, lonely and unending darkness.

  Belle blinked in horrified astonishment. The specter was telling her a tale! Behind terror, curiosity woke and she again dared to lift her head from Jamie's shoulder.

  As she did, the sound of weeping rose until it thundered in the tower's stairwell. There was now a note of panic behind the sound of the tears. Belle frowned, knowing the ghost meant something in the sound, but utterly confounded over how to decipher what the message was.

  On the landing the specter spread her arms wide and lunged at them. Belle screamed and once more cowered into Jamie's arms. Jamie cursed and caught her closer still.

  "Begone you foul creature,” he shouted.

  New images flooded Belle's mind. Now, it was as if she stood on the wall top looking down into Graceton's valley, only where the village should have been there was a small city instead. Tall houses crowded one against the other, narrow streets dashing and darting through them. A thick wall enclosed it all. Only the church's tower was the same.

  The image settled on the church. Set directly before the sanctuary door was a scaffold, the sort used to dispense justice to murderers.

  Or witches.

  Belle’s blood ran cold. She jerked her head up out of the protection of Jamie’s chest. This time it was the living woman who sought out the dead woman's gaze. Like a candle's halo, panic shimmered from every misty line of the specter's cloudy body.

  Belle couldn’t have explained why she knew, but with every fiber of her body she knew what the ghost was trying to tell her. With a shout she thrust out of Jamie's embrace and wrenched around on the step. Snatching up her skirts, she flew up the steps, praying with every step that the White Lady was wrong.

  Belle’s push sent Jamie staggering back on the step. He crashed against the tower's curving wall, his breath nearly driven from him. Belle turned and dashed up the stairs.

  "Nay Belle,” he shouted, lunging after her and missing. "Don’t give way to her spell!"

  As he started after her, sound roared from the walls around him. Faster than he could ever have imagined, the specter streamed past him to block the stairway. Jamie threw himself at the creature's unearthly body. It was like slamming against a block of ice. Bellowing in pain and surprise, he stumbled back down the steps to the landing.

  At the top of the stairs the tower door opened. May God take him! Why hadn’t he installed a lock upon it after Brigit's death?

  Rage exploded in Jamie. "You can’t have her,” he shouted, once more hurling up the stairs toward the ghost.

  The specter dissolved, gone in the blink of an eye. Panic shattered Jamie’s rage. The White Lady was following Belle so she could push his wife over the wall’s edge! He raced up the stairs.

  "Don’t leave me, Belle,” he shouted.

  “Jamie!" She turned his name into a bloodcurdling scream.

  Jamie swore he flew up the remaining steps. On the wall Belle stood before the first merlon. There was no sign of the ghost. He snatched her into his arms nigh on trembling in relief only to have her fight free of his embrace.

  "Look,” she screamed, pointing down into the village.

  In the churchyard a bonfire burned, just bright enough to turn those folk gathered around it into naught but dark forms. By their number Jamie guessed most of the village was there. Raised before the church door was a makeshift scaffold, naught but a few planks of wood laid atop upturned barrels beneath the spreading arms of a tree. The noose already dangled from the thick branch. It was the red of Cecily’s bodice that identified her as the crumpled form lying upon the scaffolding's surface.

  Jamie cursed himself for a fool for not having sent someone home with Cecily to guard her. Rage at himself evolved into a cold hard hatred. By God, he'd see every last ignorant man among them dead for what they did even if he had to kill them all himself.

  Grabbing Belle's hand, he whirled and started for the stairs, already shouting for Kit and Graceton's men.

  From the corner of what had once been Nick's bed, Peg gave a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens, she sleeps at last."

  Belle nodded. It had taken them nearly an hour to cajole Cecily into drinking a little of the potion that had so eased her husband’s pain. Now, Belle leaned into the bed to pull the blankets up over the healer's shoulders.

  "Poor thing,” she said softly. "How dare the villagers burn her home then try to hang her!"

  Peg gave a snort. "Who can account for what folk will do when they’re afraid? I say it’s a good thing that you and Master James saw her from the wall top. I hope the new Lord Graceton keeps his word and deals most harshly with that Northfield family for destroying her property. Aye, and he should flog that old biddy, Mistress Miller for inciting the crowd. I vow she only did so because you protected her!"

  Belle laughed. "No need for flogging, I think. Lord Graceton has wounded Mistress Miller far worse than any blow could by refusing her plea to be reinstated as housekeeper here."

  Silence woke between them for a moment as they both watched Cecily stir in her sleep, then Peg shot her mistress a sharp glance. "You wouldn’t be ready to tell me what you were d
oing with Master James out on that wall, would you?"

  So it had been since Peg witnessed Belle and Jamie standing so close in the stairwell after Brigit's fall.

  "It’s none of your business,” Belle replied with a lift of her chin. So she would have said even if she'd been out on that wall by herself. She doubted anything could induce her to speak about their ghostly encounter.

  Belle led the way into the sitting room. Much to her surprise, Jamie stood at the hearth, his back to the bedchamber door as he studied the flames. He wore no cap and the fire’s light made his hair gleam a deep red brown. So too, had he stripped the sleeves from his black doublet. The white of his shirt sleeves seemed brilliant in the room’s dimness.

  He was waiting for her. In that case and no matter what it was he meant to say, it was certain she didn’t want Peg overhearing it. It was a quick, dismissing glance she shot her maid.

  The woman's eyes, already narrowed, tightened even more until they were naught but slits. She glanced from the steward to her lady. Her arms crossed, her toe tapped.

  A laugh bubbled up in Belle. What would Peg think if she knew she was too late with this? Belle swallowed her amusement and again sent her maid a look of dismissal.

  Peg’s brows rose. She gave a great huff, the sound loud enough to make Jamie turn. With them both watching her, she stomped from the room, leaving the door open wide behind her. It was a warning that she meant to linger to see if Belle would dare to close it.

  Jamie offered Belle a small smile. "How is Cecily?" It was a quiet question.

  "Only bruised," she replied. “I’ve given her a potion to help her rest.”

  "Good,” he said with a nod. “I suspect she hasn’t slept much these past weeks." Again his mouth quirked upward. "What a night, eh? That creature was so, well, unbelievable."

  It wasn’t a discussion of Graceton's White Lady that Belle wanted to share with him just now. Two months ago she would never have dared it. Now, she strode to stand before Jamie and looked boldly up into his face.

  “You lingered here to see me. Why?” However confident the question, she waited breathlessly for his answer.

  His eyes warmed. The corners of his mouth lifted. "To ask you a question,” he replied.

  “What question?" Belle demanded although her voice trembled.

  "Not yet,” he said, a teasing gleam coming to life in his gaze. He reached out and tugged at her headdress's tie. Belle tried to stop him, but was too late. Her headdress clattered onto the floor behind her.

  “What are you doing?" she cried, turning to retrieve it, only to have Jamie catch her hand and pull her back around toward him.

  "Leave it,” he said, studying her face with a smile. “I didn’t like you in it the first time I saw you wearing it. I find I like it even less now."

  Belle eyed him in consideration. What sort of game was this? Did he think he could speak like a husband without having finally confirmed that he owned that position?

  "By what right do you criticize my clothing?" she demanded, fighting a smile.

  Laughter flashed in his gaze. "By no right at all save my own judgment,” he retorted, still withholding what she so needed to hear.

  As he spoke he slid his hand beneath her plait at her nape. Shivering, Belle leaned forward to brace her hands on his chest. As desire rose, her need to hear the question dimmed.

  He tugged on the string to her ruff then removed that bit of pleated lace from atop her shirt collar and dropped it.

  Belle watched it slide down the folds of her skirt until it lay upon the floor at her hem, then looked back at Jamie. "What are you doing?"

  New heat filled his gaze. With a touch of his finger to her lip, he bade her to silence. The brief brush of skin against skin was as much a caress as a warning. His hand dropped to her shirt collar. It opened. With his fingertip he traced the edges of her shirt against her newly bared skin.

  Belle caught her breath. Sliding her hands up his chest, she laced her fingers behind his nape then lifted her face in invitation. He lowered his head to press his lips to one corner of her mouth, then the other.

  "I warn you, I'm a solitary sort of man, given to moods and melancholy,” he breathed against her lips.

  "I know that,” she whispered in reply, her heart soaring with his words. Now certain of what he intended, she let him remove the tie at her plait's end, then loosen her hair until it hung free around her.

  "Ask me,” she whispered as he combed his fingers through those strands. When she heard him say the words aloud, their marriage would be complete, even if he insisted on a second ceremony.

  "What is this?" he complained, kissing his way across her cheek to the corner of her jaw. "Here I am trying to do this properly and you're rushing me."

  He kissed the corner of her jaw then touched his lips to her ear. "After all, you're now a widow."

  He lowered his mouth to the curve of her throat. Belle's eyes closed as she tilted her head to the side, giving him leave to do more of this sort of thing. "Why rush, when you've two months of mourning ahead of you?"

  "Two months,” she cried in protest, even as she stood still, not wanting his caresses to ever stop. "Nay, I'll not wait so long. If you’re right that Cecily and I shared a husband between us, doesn’t that make me but half a widow with only a month's seclusion ahead of me?"

  He laughed quietly against her throat. "Hardly proper,” he murmured as he kissed his way downward toward her shoulder.

  “Please,” she whispered, begging him to both speak and continue kissing her.

  He touched his lips into the hollow at the base of her throat. The next caress was placed at the upper edge of her bodice, in the valley between her breasts.

  Belle gasped. Her fingers threaded through his hair. Lost in pleasure, she closed her eyes and arched into his caress. He groaned, his arms coming around her waist to pull her against him. Lifting his head, he caught her mouth with his. It was the memory of the pleasure they’d made on her wedding night that filled their kiss.

  After a moment Jamie tore his mouth from hers and gave a shaken laugh. His eyes had lightened to the color of the sky. "You're right,” he agreed. “Two months is too long.”

  With that, Belle's need to hear the question grew until she thought she might die if he didn’t speak it in the next instant. "Say it,” she demanded.

  He grinned. "Wed with me, Belle." Lowering his head, he touched his mouth to hers.

  Belle gave a joyous cry and tightened her arms around his neck. Their mouths met again and she filled her kiss with happiness. Jamie's hand slid up her back to cup her head in his palm, and he returned her joy with passion. The heat they shared was a promise that their next bedding would be far better than the first.

  "Jamie?!" came the new Lord Graceton’s shocked call from the sitting room's doorway.

  Cursing Kit Hollier and then himself for not closing the door, Jamie released Belle. She sprang back from him as if she thought there was some way to hide what they'd been doing. It was a useless ploy. Her ruff was off, her shirt open, her hair free and uncovered. Her sultry lips looked all the more alluring swollen from his kiss.

  Holding two folds of paper in his hand, Kit stared at them, his eyes wide. “Egad,” he said, his voice low and astonished. "Nick told me the night Mistress Atwater died, but I didn’t believe him."

  Jamie frowned at that. “What did Nick say?" he demanded.

  Kit’s astonishment transformed into amusement. "It seems Cecily mentioned that you and his wife were in love. I said he had to be wrong." He grinned. "Lord, but I was certain you’d never give your heart to any woman, Jamie. But then, she"—Kit gestured with the papers he held toward Belle—"wasn’t truly his wife, was she?"

  Flickers of concern shot through Jamie. He glanced at Belle. She had pulled her hair over her shoulder and was rapidly replaiting it. Worry, relief, confusion all showed in her eyes as she met his gaze. There were traces of embarrassment yet burning on her cheeks.

  Soon, Ja
mie wanted to tell her. Soon, we'll be married and we'll never again have to care that someone witnesses our affection.

  He looked back at Kit. "Since it seems you know Nick married Cecily, you must also know that Cecily had begun annulment procedures. I think it would take a court to decide which marriage took precedence."

  Kit only waved away his words. "I neither care nor need to explore the details of what Nick did. I just wanted to show you this. With Cecily here and safe, we'll read Nick’s will upon the morrow. It was my brother's desire that this be read at the same time. I thought it a cruel request when he had me write these, given your years of faithful service to him. Now I see he knew you even better than I thought.”

  Jamie's confusion grew “What are you talking about?"

  "These codicils to his will.” Kit gave him the papers he held. “Read the top one first as that's the order Nick intended, then the second."

  Opening the uppermost paper Jamie glanced at the date on the sheet. Written in Kit's hand, just as he’d said, it had been scribed the day prior to Nick’s passing. Scanning the customary legal verbiage, he jumped down to the meat of the message.

  Once he’d read it, a strange ache took hold in his heart. He flipped it over to read the second sheet. When he was finished, he wasn’t certain whether to be angry at Nick or to laugh until he cried. Here, in Jamie’s hand, was Nick's last attempt at forcing his steward to admit that he had an interest in Belle.

  He motioned to the woman he would soon confirm as his wife. “You should hear this, considering it concerns you almost more than it does me.”

  Belle shot him a worried look then came to stand beside him. Jamie dared to put an arm around her and pull her nearer to him. Although she gasped and glanced at Kit, she didn’t try to free herself from his embrace.

  Jamie read: