Sea Wraith

by Jocelyn Kelley

  Sea Wraith

  ***

  by

  Jocelyn Kelley

  E-Book ISBN: 978-1-61026-006-0

  For Anita Greene and Tina O’Reilly

  my RIRW NaNo partners-in-crime

  Thanks for keeping my fingers on the keyboard all year long!

  Other Books by Jocelyn Kelley

  Writing as J.A. Ferguson

  Call Back Yesterday

  Daughter of the Fox

  Dreamsinger

  Dreamshaper

  DreamMaster

  Dream Traveler

  Luck of the Irish

  My Lord Viking

  Timeless Shadows

  The Wrong Christmas Carol

  Sworn Upon Fire

  Writing as Jo Ann Ferguson

  Regency Romance

  My Lord Viking

  Gentleman’s Master

  Marry Me, Millie

  Chapter One

  It began with such a simple mistake.

  No, not a simple mistake. Sian Nethercott knew she should never have allowed the betrothal to go on this long. But it had, and she could not avoid ending it any longer. She walked in silence with her fiancé through the garden at Nethercott Castle at the edge of the North York Moors. Shrubs smashed the previous summer had been replaced by ones of an exuberant green. Flowers in bright reds and yellows bloomed with enthusiasm within the criss-cross pattern of the bushes.

  The hour was very close to midday. The shadows of the three wings of Nethercott Castle that made up the great letter E swept out and away from the garden.

  It was easier to look at those shadows than at the man beside her. Sir Henry Cranler, her betrothed. Tall, dark-haired, and well-favored. His clothes were always modish, and his smile so warm that he was welcome everywhere he went. He never had ill-will toward anyone, but she guessed he soon would.

  Ill-will toward Sian Nethercott, the youngest of three daughters of an eccentric baron who had died more than two years ago. The one who looked the most like their late father with his medium blond hair and dark brown eyes. After her sisters went to make lives elsewhere, the great house had felt deserted. She had not guessed that loneliness could be an infection, eating at one until the dismals overtook every aspect of her life. Nor had she guessed she hated her solitary life so much that she would make the greatest mistake of her life.

  “I do not understand, Miss Nethercott,” Sir Henry had said in the foyer when she greeted him and again when they paused to open the gate into the garden. He said it a third time as if by repeating the words, he somehow would change her mind. “I do not understand. When I asked you to marry me and you gained permission from your oldest sister’s husband who served as your guardian for such matters, you seemed so pleased with the offer.”

  “I was.” Maybe not so pleased, but happy enough. . .or she had thought it was enough.

  “Yet now you wish to put an end to our betrothal.”

  “Yes.” She wished she had the words to make him understand. How could she tell him the truth and not hurt him?

  He was a fine man, gentle and intelligent, but his chaste kisses did not stir her soul. Only one man had ever done that, and he had not even kissed her. Because that man had not kept his pledge to write to her at Nethercott Castle, she was sure the delight had been one-sided. She had tried to put Constantine Lassiter out of her mind during the past year, but she had failed as utterly as she had at convincing herself she could fall in love with Sir Henry.

  “Will you tell me why?” He did not raise his voice nor could she see anything other than dismay on his face. He never acted out of hand, always composed and in control of each of his emotions.

  She wished she could act the same way. Her emotions were boiling like a pot left too long on the fire. She wanted to cry for the grief she was causing him, even though he did not reveal it. She yearned to shout that he should know quite well why she must not marry him. She ached for him to be less accepting of her breaking their betrothal, for him to rail about her capriciousness and to show her some sort of true passion.

  He regarded her with gentle eyes that suggested she should remain calm. Maybe she was wrong to expect more, because he was such a pleasant man and he treated her with courtesy. How could she tell him that was not enough? That she wanted true passion, even though she had had only a hint of it?

  “Sir Henry,” Sian said, trying to keep her voice as steady as his and failing, “you deserve a woman who will love you as much as you love her. That is not me.”

  “But love comes with time.”

  “We have known each other for more than a decade, and I have come to consider you a dear friend. I can offer you no more affection than that.”

  “I would be satisfied with that.”

  “You should not be. You deserve more.”

  “But I want you to be my wife, Miss Nethercott.” He groped for her hand, pressing it between his.

  She was startled because he had seldom been so bold as to hold her hand unless he was bowing over it in greeting. Knowing she must not allow this aberration to persuade her to change her mind, she shook her head. “I am sorry, Sir Henry. I must put an end to our betrothal before I leave tomorrow for my sister Jade’s house in Cornwall. It would not be right to let you continue to believe that when I come back to Nethercott Castle, it would be to plan our wedding.”

  “How long will you be visiting Bannatyne Hall?”

  “Jade has asked me to paint murals on the walls of the rooms she plans to use as a nursery, and I plan to remain there to be with my sister after the baby is born. Six months at least.”

  “If we postpone our decision until then. . .”

  Again, Sian shook her head. “It would not be fair to you.”

  A faint frown etched lines into his brow. “Does your sister have someone there for you to meet?”

  “My sister and her husband will be coming down from London soon, but the household will tend to me until then.”

  “That is not what I meant. Does your sister have someone special there for you to meet?”

  “Jade? Matchmaking? Sir Henry, you know she would never do such a thing to you or me. She was happy for us when I wrote her of your offer and gained her husband’s blessing on our betrothal.”

  “Maybe you should consider that your older sister and her husband are wiser in such matters.”

  “Sir Henry, please do not make this more difficult. I had hoped we could end our betrothal quietly and remain friends.”

  His shoulders slumped beneath his black coat. “I see I cannot change your mind.” He released her hand and bowed. “I regret your decision, Miss Nethercott, and I hope you do not come to regret it as well.”

  Bidding her good day, as if they had discussed nothing of importance, he strode away. He looked over his shoulder once, and she met his eyes steadily. It took every ounce of her will to keep from calling him back. Prolonging the conversation would exacerbate the situation. Or would it? Sir Henry would remain serene and accept her apology with the same aplomb he had her dismissal. And how could she explain she had fallen in love with a man who seemed to have forgotten they ever met?

  Sian blinked back tears when the baronet turned away and walked out of sight. She did not move until she heard his horse heading toward the gate, going at the same slow, steady pace as Sir Henry always rode.

  Her own steps dragged as she went into the house where she had been born. Built on the ruins of a priory, Nethercott Castle never had faced a siege even though it had battlements and a gate. The Chinese art and porcelains that her father had collected decorated the rooms updated by his parents. Bright and inviting, the house and its lands at the edge of the moors had offered her vistas to sketch. Today, everything seemed dark and as low as her spirits.

>   She climbed the stairs to the wing where once her whole family slept. With her parents dead and her sisters gone, only she remained in that wing. That was why she had been thrilled to receive the note from Jade, the middle of the three sisters, asking her to come to Cornwall. Her eagerness to see her sisters again had shown her how miserable she was in Nethercott Castle and with a betrothal she should never have agreed to.

  “Oh, Miss Nethercott!” cried a gray-haired woman as Sian walked toward her bedchamber. “‘Ow do ye fare?”

  “I am fine.” She had known that her personal maid Helen would be anxious to learn how Sir Henry had reacted, so she was not surprised to see the short, squat woman pacing in the corridor. “He was kind. . .as always.”

  “Sir ‘Enry be a fine man.” The maid hesitated, clasping her hands over her round belly. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Nethercott.”

  “No need to apologize. He is a fine man, but not the man for me.” She went into her bedchamber. The room was not grand, but had the excellent northern light for painting. All her materials that had been scattered in the bay at the far side of the chamber were now neatly packed in crates stacked by a chair upholstered in pale green.

  “Ye need to stop bein’ sweet on that Lord Lastingham,” Helen said as she went to the large tester bed and shouldered aside the green curtains. She began to put folded garments into another box on the floor beside her.

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “No, not easy, but ye ‘ave a life of yer own to consider. Ye cannot be waitin’ on the earl to make up ‘is mind about the two of ye.”

  Sian smiled sadly. “It would seem that he made up his mind long ago. I am the want-witted one who still harbors a hope that he thinks of me.”

  “I am sure ‘e does,” Helen gave her a bolstering smile. “Any livin’ man would not be able to forget a lovely lass like ye.”

  “You are kind.”

  “Nay, ‘onest.” She bent to continue her task.

  Picking up another stack of clothes, Sian carried them to the bed and began to fold them.

  “Leave them be,” the maid ordered. “I can tend to them. Take yer book and go and draw some pictures that we can look at when we be far from ‘ome.”

  This time, Sian’s smile was more genuine. Helen had been working at Nethercott Castle since before Sian was born. When Helen gave such an order, Sian obeyed it, knowing she was interfering with the maid’s work.

  “All right,” she said. “I will sketch a portrait of Angus, so you can enjoy it until you get back to him.”

  Helen flushed to the roots of her pale hair. The maid and the stableman had been flirting for the past few months, and Sian suspected they had recently become lovers. Helen had been humming as she worked, and crotchety Angus had been pleasant when Sian had her horse saddled earlier in the week.

  Picking up her sketch book and the pouch that held her charcoal sticks, Sian went to the stable behind the house, but Angus was not there. The stableboy reminded her that he had gone to the market in Pickering to sell two horses. He suggested she return in the morning, and she thanked him. She would find time to come back and do the sketch before they left for Bannatyne Hall.

  As she passed the well house, she glanced at the moors rising in the distance, folding one into another like a collection of knees belonging to sleeping giants. That thought made her shudder as she remembered the whispers of ancient giants last year. She was glad those whispers had faded.

  The door banged against the well house. The building was about six feet square and not even a full story high. Made of the same stone as Nethercott Castle, it protected the water from debris and droppings. Sian sighed as the door struck the wall again. One of the servants must have forgotten to latch it.

  A glimmer inside caught her eye. Was it sunshine reflecting off water in the well? Usually the well house was as dark as she felt right now, but the pattern on the wall was intriguing. She flipped open her sketchbook and bent to search her pouch for the right charcoal.

  When she looked up again, the light was not there. Confound it! Had the sunlight gone behind a cloud, taking the illusion with it? No, there it was. It had shifted over to another wall where she could see only one edge of the reflection.

  Sian stepped inside, keeping to the narrow space around the raised stones of the square well. At one time, it had been called a holy well, so steps had been cut into one side to allow pilgrims to step down into it. That belief had ended with the razing of the priory by the agents of King Henry VIII. She squatted, balancing the sketchbook on her knees as she began to draw. The light danced as if the waters were stirred by a high wind. With the ease of practice, she glanced up, looked down to draw a few strokes, then up again.

  Her hand slowed on the page as she realized the light was changing. The flickers became more solid, a glowing orb.

  “Oh, my goodness!” she breathed as she stood. Was she seeing what her sisters had seen since their father’s death?

  Lord Nethercott had instructed his daughters in metaphysics. He had never been able to prove the existence of ghosts, even though he had made every possible attempt. Yet, in the wake of his passing, two ghosts had appeared at Nethercott Castle. One to each of her older sisters. She had envied them.

  Was it her turn now?

  Holding the book over her heart, not caring that the charcoal would stain her gown, she watched the light. Both Jade and China, the oldest of the three, had described the process as light took on a solid form. She had not guessed it would be exciting and frightening at the same time. Beneath her sketchbook, her heart pounded like a bird trying to flee a closed room.

  Arms and legs and a body appeared out of the light. At the top, a head remained a glowing blob. She held her breath, wondering whose spirit haunted the well house. She had heard stories of lovers who drowned themselves in the deep well hundreds of years ago. Was the ghost one of them?

  Sian waited, but the metamorphosis stalled. It was as if she looked through a thick mist with the sun glaring behind it. She could not see features, although she could tell the spirit was male because his legs were visible against the brighter light.

  “Who are you?” she asked, amazed she could speak.

  “You are sad,” came a voice from within the mist. Like the specter’s image, it was indistinct. “But you were wise to do as you did.”

  “Have you been watching me?”

  “Every old house has guardian spirits.”

  She almost thought she heard amusement in the voice, but it was so veiled by the mist, she could not be certain. “Are you one of those guardian spirits?”

  “I am now.”

  “And before?”

  The voice, deep and pleasant on the ear in spite of being muffled, said, “I came to speak with you, daughter of the house, of the future, not of the past.”

  “The future of Nethercott Castle?”

  “Your future.”

  She shook her head. “Forgive me, because I know it must have taken a great deal of energy for you to appear, but I have no interest in speaking of my future right now.”

  “Because you sent that man away?”

  “You have been spying on me!”

  The sound might have been a chuckle or the tinkle of water from the spring at the bottom of the well. “I am a guardian for this house, and its inhabitants are my responsibility.”

  Sian swallowed roughly, unsure what to say next. She was fortunate that the ghost—was a guardian something different?—had not taken insult at her accusation. Recalling how pale and shaken her sisters had been after their encounters with phantoms, she knew she needed to be cautious.

  “What do you want of me?” she whispered.

  “I want you to heed my warning.” On the last word, the stones in the small building seemed to shiver.

  Or was it her imagination? Her sisters praised her logic, but they never guessed it was because she could see many different alternatives to each decision. Her father had understood, urging her to releas
e that creative way of seeing the world into her art.

  Whether the rocks really quivered or not, she was shaking. “What warning?”

  “You soon travel far from here.”

  “Yes, to visit my sister in Cornwall,” she replied, even though she suspected the ghost was already privy to the plans.

  “Be wary while you are there, daughter of the house.”

  “Wary?” She squinted as she tried to discern the guardian’s face. “Of what or whom?”

  “Of ghosts.”

  She could not keep from laughing. “You are warning me about ghosts?”

  “Who better?”

  She could not restrain her laugh. “It was a silly question. Forgive me.”

  “Hear my warning, daughter of the house, and take it into your heart.”

  “I will.”

  “Be wary of old ghosts and new ones while in Cornwall.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean I will see more ghosts there?”

  “You will encounter more ghosts—both old and new—there. You may not see them, but they will be there. They are waiting for you. Be wary.”

  More ghosts? Her sisters had seen only one each. Why would she see more? She was about to ask when she realized the light was swallowing the form into it. The guardian was leaving!

  “Be wary,” she heard him repeat as if from a great distance.

  “Wait!” she cried. “Tell me more! Where will I see the ghosts? What do they want of me?”

  She got no answer. The light was gone, the well house as dim as it usually was.

  Sian leaned back against the moss covered walls. Sliding slowly down to squat once more, she held her charcoal over the page where she had been drawing. She stared at the page. It was blank! Flipping through the book, she saw sketches she had done earlier, but not the one of the light gathering to open a portal to the plane of existence where spirits resided.

  If she drew a picture of the nebulous figure that had spoken to her, would that sketch vanish, too? She raised her eyes to the spot where the guardian had appeared. She did not need a drawing to recall how he had looked, because she was sure of one thing.