One More Haunted Evening

by Ava Stone

  “This is the room, is no’?” the man asked, his soft brogue filling the air as he clutched a worn Bible in his hands.

  The room where Vicar Southward had slid that ring onto his finger? Yes, it was that room. How in the world could the old Scottish priest tell that? Quent nodded once.

  “I’ll be sure to bless each of the rooms before I leave, my lord, this one in particular,” he said, as he began to walk the perimeter.

  Quent glanced over at Thorn, just a few feet away. Did his friend really think this meek looking fellow was going to be able to help them?

  Thorn shrugged as though he could read Quent’s thoughts. “Father Matthew has experience in exorcisms.”

  What a bizarre thing to have experience in.

  “It’s a specialty of yours?” Garrick asked, sliding his arm around Matilda’s shoulders.

  “Aye.” Father Matthew stopped his perusal of the blue parlor and turned his attention back to the assembled group. “I’ve participated in a number of them, my son.”

  A number? Well, one was a number, and Quent would really like to know exactly how many times the Scot had been involved in such a thing before.

  “We were told,” Garrick began, rubbing his hand down Matilda’s arm, “that a Druid priest was needed.”

  Father Matthew sighed softly as he shook his head. “If a demon has taken possession of a host body, ye willna find a better man than me to help, sir.”

  At least he was confident, which was more than Quent was. And really, what harm was there in letting Father Matthew give it his best shot? If he failed, they’d be in the exact same position they were in now. And if he succeeded…Well, then all would go back as it should.

  “The vicar is in the dungeons,” Quent said. “We weren’t sure where else to put him where he wouldn’t harm himself or someone else. A footman is sitting with him now.”

  “Aye, that’ll work just fine.” The priest gestured towards the doorway with a tilt of his head. “The ladies should remain here, but if ye gentlemen will show me the way.”

  Quent released his hold on Lila and cast her what he hoped was his most supportive smile. “This way, Father,” he said. Then he led the way down one corridor and then another towards the dungeons.

  “So, Father,” Garrick began from behind him, “how long do these sorts of things usually take?”

  “There is no time frame, Mr. Garrick. Each case is unique unto itself.”

  “Well, on average?” Garrick pressed as they started down the stone steps. “A couple hours? It’s Saturday. He’s supposed to give his sermon tomorrow.”

  “I willna ken until I see the victim.”

  And as if on cue, Vicar Southward called out, “When I get free, I will kill each and every one of you invaders!”

  And if the man was released in his present condition, Quent had no doubt that he would try to do that, and that he’d most likely succeed in his efforts. “It’s the first cell here, on the right.”

  The vicar looked worse than he had when Quent had sat with him earlier in the day. Lesions scarred his face as though the evil trapped inside the man’s body was destroying his host from the inside out. His lips were cracked and his black eyes focused at once upon the slight man who had come to do battle.

  Quent glanced at Fielding, the footman, who’d spent the last few hours watching after the vicar. “You can go now.”

  “What’s this?” An unnatural laugh echoed off the walls of the dungeon as the vicar’s chains rattled. A trail of blood began to drip from his eye and Quent was glad Lila wasn’t down there to see her father in his present condition. “You’ve brought me a man who has to hide his belief every day?” That horrible voice that sounded like it came from the bowels of Hell sent a shiver racing down Quent’s spine. “Surely you can find a better champion, one who doesn’t hide in shame.”

  “Doona speak directly to the demon,” Father Matthew replied calmly. “It can sense yer secrets and fears and will try to manipulate ye.”

  “I am not a demon, I am a warrior!” The vicar’s chains rattled once more.

  Father Matthew glanced at Quent and the other assembled men. “I’m goin’ to need my portmanteau.”

  “I’ll get it, Father,” Wolf said, and then started back up the stairs to the main part of the castle.

  The priest shot a look at Garrick. “I doona believe yer vicar will make his sermon tomorrow, sir. Ye’d best make other plans.”

  “Already taken care of,” Braden muttered, his eyes locked on the vicar, strung up on the dungeon wall.

  “Let’s begin, then.” The priest retrieved a string of black beads from his pocket and ran the strand between his thumb and forefinger.

  “No matter what happens, doona speak. Stand firm and strong in yer convictions. Doona let doub’ enter yer mind.” He looked at them, one at a time, meeting their eyes so that they understood the seriousness of the situation.

  “Has he eaten?”

  “We brought food,” Quent answered. “The body is still Vicar Southward and we didn’t want him to starve, but each time he flung it back at us.”

  “With his hands?” the father questioned.

  “No.” Quent shivered. “It was if he did it with his mind. He looked at the dishes and the next thing they were flying across the cell. We gave up brining him anything after the first day.”

  The priest nodded.

  Wolf returned a moment later carrying the priest’s portmanteau, which he placed on a bench.

  “If you are praying men, I’d suggest you start now.” He walked to the case and opened it. “And, doona stop.”

  David had never been much for prayer, not that he didn’t believe in the almighty, he’d just never given it the time he should if he wanted to arrive at the correct destination upon death. Perhaps when this was over, he’d return to visiting the church on a regular basis.

  That would surely set London on its ear. First, he’d married and next, he’d start attending services. The ton would think he was the one who’d become possessed.

  Father Matthew retrieved a bottle from his bag, crossed himself then lowered his head, muttering something under this breath that Thorn did not understand. After a few moments, he crossed himself again and approached the cell where he tossed water, which Thorn assumed was blessed holy water, on the vicar. The droplets sizzled as they touched the man’s skin causing immediate blisters.

  Vicar Southward roared, his voice so loud it nearly shook the room.

  The priest began speaking again. This time his voice was loud and booming, surprising for someone of such a slight stature. He spoke in Latin, which David remembered from school, but not enough to know what he was saying.

  Vicar Southward replied, but it sounded Gaelic to David’s ear, not that he understood that language either.

  By the look on the vicar’s face and tone of his voice, David assumed he was probably throwing more insults at the priest. But Father Matthew remained calm and in control, as he continued to chat. Sometimes in Latin and other times in Gaelic.

  When Father Matthew invoked the name of the Virgin Mary in Latin, which David did understand, the vicar roared and nearly pulled the chains from the wall. And with that, David began praying harder than he ever had in his life.

  If someone had told Sidney he’d be party to an exorcism this time last year, he would have laughed in their faces and suggested they take themselves immediately off to Bedlam. But that was before Callie had been sucked into some middle world by a long-dead great grandmother of Quent’s. Ever since that particular night, Sidney was prepared for most anything. Even still, it almost surprised him that he wasn’t at all surprised by these strange events. Who would have believed this tiny little Scottish priest, who stood praying before the demon vicar, would be the one to rescue them from an ill fate?

  “Exorcizamus te, omnis immunde spiritus,” Father Matthew chanted, for what must have been the thousandth time that day. Sidney had studied Latin quite a bit in school, but most of th
e priest’s chants were lost on him. Something about casting out unclean spirits and dragons, but that was about all he could make out.

  Either way, after what seemed like a lifetime, the priest’s formidable opponent finally slumped forward, clearly exhausted by the steadfast holiness aimed at him.

  Father Matthew retrieved a small bottle from his portmanteau and, on silent feet, approached the vicar. He doused the man’s hand in what Sidney could only assume was Holy Water, and much to Sidney’s astonishment, the ring slid right off the man’s finger.

  “Bloody hell,” Sidney whispered, but thankfully the priest hadn’t heard that.

  “Ye have the box?” the priest asked, sounding rather exhausted all of a sudden.

  Sidney shook himself out of his trance. “Yes, yes.” He gestured toward the wooden box on a bench against the opposite edge of the cell.

  “Open it for me, will ye?”

  Sidney retrieved the box while Father Matthew crossed the cell and plucked the ring from the ground, using the cloth as a barrier for his skin.

  As he dropped the ring into the box, he uttered, “Signaculum gratia Dei.”

  The lid to the box snapped closed of its own accord in Sidney’s hand, both frightening and exciting him all at the same time.

  “Is that it?” Thorn ventured. “Is it over?”

  Father Matthew shook his head. “After he wakes, we’ll ken for certain.”

  Another cry seemed wrenched from the dungeons and Lila held tightly to Tilly’s hand. Heavens! The men had been down there for hours and the gut-wrenching screams had shattered every nerve in her body.

  There was something different about Anna, who was pacing the side of the room on her own, like she was hiding something, which was odd. Lila really hadn’t known her cousin to ever hide anything. Was it just her nerves? Or had something else happened? Did she lack faith in Father Matthew’s abilities? Another blood-curdling scream echoed from the dungeons, momentarily breaking Lila from her thoughts.

  “I’m surprised you traveled to Scotland,” she said, because she was so very tired of thinking about Papa and wondering what was happening to him in that subterranean cell.

  “I thought I might go mad if I sat here, just waiting.” Anna stopped mid-pace.

  “Yes, well, it wasn’t easy,” Lila said and realized she sounded the slightest bit waspish. But really, it would have been nice to have Anna’s support the last few days.

  “I can see that.” Her cousin frowned. “I am sorry. Truly, Lila.”

  “Anna Southward!” Tilly sat forward on the settee. “What’s on your hand?”

  Anna folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “It’s nothing really.”

  “It’s a ring!” Tilly accused. “What sort of ring is it? Not something you found lying around Marisdùn, I hope.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake! Lila’s heart began to pound. “Tell me it’s not something evil, Anna. I don’t know—”

  “It’s a wedding ring.” The words flew from Anna’s mouth and then she covered her lips with her hands. And sure enough, a golden band on her finger caught the candlelight.

  “A wedding ring?” Tilly leapt from her spot. “Where did you get a wedding ring?”

  But the answer was quite obvious. Lila’s mouth fell open. “You got married in Scotland?”

  Sheepishly, Anna nodded. “I wasn’t so certain Uncle Walter would approve of David…Mr. Thorn…and we were in Scotland, and…Well, I would do it again.”

  Tilly lifted her hand out to Anna to inspect the little golden band. “Father Matthew married you?”

  “Blacksmith,” Anna replied.

  Heavens. Lila didn’t know which was worse. Papa would certainly never approve of either, and yet…He hadn’t approved of Quent, had he? If Father Matthew’s exorcism was successful, would Papa give his blessing for Lila to marry Quent? Or would she have to follow Anna’s lead and hie across the Scottish border too? “I would have done the same, if I was you,” Lila said softly.

  Anna smiled then. “Thank you. I wish you both could have been there.”

  “Was it very romantic?” Tilly asked, her eyes shining with joy…Until another scream from the dungeons reminded them all that Papa was still not free, and that he might not ever be.

  Anna rushed to David as soon as he entered the white parlor. His arms went around her and squeezed tightly, as if he were drawing on her strength. She tilted her head and looked up into his brown eyes. They were soft, but tired, and there were slight smudges beneath them as if he’d not gotten any sleep. Which she knew very well he hadn’t. None of them had been able to rest. He black hair was mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it over and over. The stubble that had been on his chin when they first arrived was getting thicker by the moment. If he didn’t shave soon, David would have a beard. She rather liked the idea. It added to his roguish looks.

  None of them said anything about what had happened below and Anna was almost afraid to ask.

  Anna searched the room and glanced to the open doorway, but Father Matthew hadn’t joined them. She looked back into David’s eyes. “Is it over?”

  He gave a quick nod.

  “And my uncle? Is he…?”

  “Resting, or unconscious,” David answered.

  “And Cynbel?” Certainly they wouldn’t be up here if her uncle was still possessed.

  “Gone. We think.”

  Anna blew out a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over. “You need to rest.”

  David caressed her cheek and offered a hint of a smile. “We both need to rest.” Pulling away from her, he grasped her hand. “Why don’t we retire until we’re needed?”

  Goodness, she was going to retire with him. She’d never slept with anyone before, but as they were married, she’d no longer sleep alone. Unless David was of a mind that they would have separate chambers. She snuck a look up at him from beneath her lashes. Her parents never had separate chambers and she sincerely doubted David would want them either.

  He led her down the corridor and into a chamber and then closed the door behind them. Anna simply stood there, looking around. A massive bed set in the center of the room, and a low fire burned in the fireplace. David tossed a few logs on the flame and shivered. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to thaw out from being down in the dungeon.”

  Anna frowned. “Was it so terribly cold?” She recalled it being chilly earlier, but not uncomfortably so.

  “As soon as Father Matthew was present, the room became most definitely colder. A few times I could swear I could see my breath.”

  She took his hand in hers. It was rather chilly, but not overly so. She rubbed it between her hands. “I’ll help warm you.”

  A seductive grin formed on his lips as David turned to her and drew Anna close. “I am hoping for that very thing, wife.”

  A thrill shot through her as his lips met hers.

  “Turn around,” he instructed after breaking his knee melting kiss, and Anna did what he asked.

  He gathered her hair in his hands and lay it across her shoulder and began unfastening her gown.

  A metal object sat on the table beside the door and she eyed it rather curiously. “What is that?” She pointed to it.

  David chuckled. “Would you believe it’s a chastity belt?”

  She turned. “Why ever would you have something like that?”

  “We found it when we found the other items in the Priest’s hole.”

  “I’m not sure I like that anymore than the ring.” She glanced back. “It looks rather barbaric.”

  Her husband laughed again. “Trust me, the last thing I want you wearing is that.” His arms went around her, unfastening the rest of the gown, then he pushed it from her shoulders. “Shall we retire?”

  Lila’s heart pounded when Quent returned to the blue parlor. She leapt off the settee and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his middle. “What happened?” she asked. “Please tell me.”

  Mr. Garrick, Mr. Thorn, Lord
Bradenham and Lord Wolverly were right behind him, but Lila didn’t pay any of them any attention at all.

  Quent smoothed a hand down her back and kissed the top of her head. “You’re still awake?”

  Dawn was about to break and she was more exhausted than she’d ever been, but she certainly couldn’t have fallen asleep, not even if she’d taken a sleeping draught. “Please, Quent,” she whispered.

  He nodded and smiled slightly. “I’ll tuck you into bed and then tell you everything, all right?”

  Bed. Was there ever a more heavenly word? She nodded, even though the suggestion was beyond scandalous. Of course, it was scandalous that she and Tilly had taken up residence at Marisdùn the last few days, as neither of them had been willing to stay at the vicarage without Papa too. But she was going to marry Quentin Post as soon as she was able, whether he tucked her into bed or not.

  He threaded his fingers with hers, nodded a good night to his friends and then led her down the corridor that led to the family wing.

  “Father Matthew managed to get the ring from your father’s finger,” he began after they’d made their way into Lila’s borrowed set of rooms and she dropped onto the edge of her bed.

  That was wonderful news. “And Papa?”

  “Out cold.” He pulled back her counterpane. “You don’t want to change?”

  “Too tired,” she muttered, snuggling under the bedclothes. Luckily, the dress was one of her most comfortable. “What do you mean out cold?”

  “He passed out before the ring fell off his finger. Father Matthew says we’ll know more when your father awakes.”

  “He’s still alive?” she asked, needing to know the answer to that before she could close her eyes and try to fall asleep.

  “Still breathing,” he assured her.

  Lila took her first sigh of relief in days, but when Quent pushed up to his feet to depart, she sat back up and reached a hand out to him. “Just stay for minute, Quent. I just want you to hold me, and make me forget all of this—”