The Haunting of Castle Dune - A Novella: Book 10.5 of Morna’s Legacy Series

by Bethany Claire

  “It counts for much.”

  Silence lay heavily between them as she continued to work on his hair. As her fingers scrubbed up and down his scalp, he allowed his eyes to close and leaned back into her.

  It took most of the evening, but if it had been up to him, her work would never have come to an end. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such pleasure.

  When all was finished, she stood in front of him, her eyes wide as she examined him. For the first time in years, he felt exposed and vulnerable.

  “Do you have a looking glass, Monroe? You need to see yourself.”

  He directed her to the armoire inside his late sister’s room and waited nervously as she went to retrieve it.

  When she returned, she stood before him smiling with the looking glass behind her back.

  “Brace yourself, Monroe. I’m afraid you’re not going to recognize yourself.”

  He laughed as he rose from his chair and reached up to feel his face.

  It felt strange to feel the shape of his jaw.

  “Surely, it canna be that different, lass.”

  With her brows raised, she extended the mirror in his direction.

  He couldn’t understand it, but as he looked at his reflection, his eyes filled with tears.

  Chapter 14

  The bone-rattling, scary ghost of Castle Dune was a babe. Underneath that mass of hair was a man with the bone structure of a Greek god, and he had skin like that of a baby’s rear end to boot.

  It shouldn’t have—I was grown enough to know that looks were really the least important thing about a person—but seeing the man underneath the mask he wore totally changed my entire perception of him.

  It was a crime for this man to have locked himself away for such an incredible length of time. Genes like that owed it to the gene pool to go forth and reproduce. Why else would God have ever made anyone that good looking?

  I knew seeing himself would come as a shock, but as his eyes filled with tears I found that I choked up as well. How much pain did he have to be in? How badly had his heart been broken to make him feel like he couldn’t even stand the sight of his own reflection?

  “I…I canna…” He faltered. On instinct, I moved to wrap my arms around him. His arms came around me in an instant as he let tears fall that I suspect had been held inside for far, far too long. “Thank ye, lass. It feels as if I’ve been set free from chains I dinna know I bore. I forgot this man existed, Eleanor.”

  I squeezed him tightly and leaned away far enough to properly look at him.

  “Shall we continue with that theme then by eating a proper dinner?”

  “Proper dinner? I wouldna think ye would have been able to find the food for that. ’Tis only a week until the man comes with new supplies. I am always running low this close to his arrival.”

  “By proper, I meant that we would eat it at a table rather than me delivering it to your bed. It’s still the same dried fish and loaves of bread I’ve been feeding you for days. But…” I hesitated to increase his anticipation, “I did find a couple of unopened bottles of wine that I’ve had aerating. That will help make it feel like a treat.”

  His bare face showed so much expression that I could read him like a book. His smile was one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. As I led him into the dining hall lit with candles, I found it difficult to believe that I’d ever found him scary—even in death.

  “This is truly a greater send off than I ever imagined I would receive, lass. I doona mind telling ye that I’m rather glad ye stowed away in my boat.”

  “Let’s not speak of send-offs tonight, okay? Let’s just spend some time together making memories so we can part as friends come morning.”

  He grinned and moved to pull my seat out for me.

  “Sounds lovely, lass.”

  It was amazing to see the difference a simple haircut had made in him. He stood straighter, walked more confidently, and as he sat down across from me, he looked relaxed. The crease that had been burrowed deep between his brows almost every minute since I met him was gone.

  The food was terrible, but he didn’t act as if it was. He closed his eyes every single time he took a sip of wine.

  “Been a while, has it?”

  “Aye. Not since before my father died. ’Twas his collection of wine. I doona know why, but something has kept me from touching it all these years.”

  “Oh my God. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry I opened something you wanted to remain untouched.”

  “No, not at all, lass. I’m pleased ye opened it.”

  He downed what was left in his cup and poured himself another.

  “I should have asked you first. It just wouldn’t have been a surprise then.”

  He surprised me by reaching out and gently touching my hand. It was an instinctive gesture—one unguarded—one that showed me he was beginning to let himself be in the moment just a little. It pleased me.

  “I’m glad ye dinna ask, for I would have given ye a reason not to open it, and I havena enjoyed anything this much in a verra long time.”

  “The wine or the company?”

  The moment the question slipped out of my mouth, I regretted it. What in the world did it matter to me anyway? I was helping him, nothing more. If I could make him want to live again, then I could convince him to help me change things. Then, I could return home from the adventure of a lifetime.

  He lowered his cup as he regarded me seriously.

  “If I had to give up one this moment, it wouldna be the company no matter how delicious the wine might be.”

  His answer caused butterflies to spring to life in my stomach. The sudden nerves should have been a giant neon warning sign, but I quickly dismissed them as a consequence of the wine that I was certain was just a little too fermented.

  “Can I ask ye something, lass?”

  I nodded.

  “Have ye seen anything since ye’ve been here? Heard any of the strange noises I mentioned to ye before?”

  To my surprise, I’d experienced nothing strange or supernatural since arriving in this time. I hoped that perhaps his questions were an opening I could use to search for answers, but I would tread carefully. This was a night he needed more than he even realized. I didn’t want to say anything to upset him.

  “No, I haven’t. Should I have?”

  He pursed his lips, clearly surprised by my answer. “Never mind the question.”

  He poured himself another glass. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to have a headache come morning.

  “You better slow down. If it’s been as long as you say it has since your last drink, it’s liable to go straight to your head. Especially since you’ve been so ill. You probably don’t have as much in your stomach as you normally would.”

  “Mayhap I wish for it go to my head. Mayhap, if this is to be my last night spent in the company of another, I doona wish to think.”

  He leaned forward, and the candlelight illuminated his eyes. Some of the sadness from before had returned.

  “Do ye know what ’tis to only have yer own mind to occupy ye, lass? It can be a torturous thing. The thinking never ends, never for a moment.”

  I couldn’t begin to imagine what a basket case I would be if my only source of company was my own mind. It was part of the reason I worked so much. I knew the crap that resided up there, and it was just easier if I ignored it.

  I shook my head in answer to him just as a sudden clap of thunder caused me to jump hard enough to shake the table.

  The sudden sound seemed to stir him from his rumination. Finishing his drink, he stood from the table.

  “Do ye know what else I havena done in far too many years?”

  I imagined there was a great many number of things that could answer his question.

  “What’s that?”

  “Dance with a woman.”

  My entire body flooded with warmth as he walked around and extended his hand toward me. How could I deny him such a request?
<
br />   “I’m terrible. Truly, I am.”

  He grinned and reached for me as I pushed myself away from the table.

  “I’m rather out of practice myself, Eleanor. Indulge me anyway, aye?”

  Something about the way he said my name lit me up every single time. I just wanted him to finish every sentence that way, so I could hear the way it rolled off his tongue.

  He pulled me close the moment I stood, and with no effort at all, he spun me into the sitting room and toward the fire.

  “This is out of practice?”

  He laughed and bent so that his cheek was near my own.

  “Aye. Verra.”

  “Where’s the music?”

  I asked the question in jest, but in answer, he began to sing a song I’d never heard before softly into my ear. His voice was velvet. As we spun around the room to the rhythm of his voice, my insides turned to liquid, as did my resolve to do anything but enjoy this moment with him.

  We danced for what seemed like hours. He only stopped when he noticed me yawn against his chest.

  “Ye need rest, lass. I canna imagine the work ye put in to get this ready for me. Allow me to walk ye to yer room, and I’ll bid ye goodnight.”

  He took my hand as he stepped away but then paused.

  “I’m afraid I’ve not been out of my bedchamber since ye arrived, and I doona know where ye’ve slept. Which room did ye choose?”

  Sheepishly, I pointed to the couch next to the fire.

  He reared back in horror. “Please tell me ye are lying, lass. Ye dinna truly sleep in the sitting room? How did ye keep warm?”

  I nodded toward the wool blanket I’d draped over the back of the couch as I answered him.

  “I was plenty warm. I did go in search of something to cover myself, but…” I hesitated. I didn’t want to seem like a total snob. “Every room I entered had just been unattended for too long.”

  He surprised me by laughing. “Ach, lass. I am a wretch of a laird. O’course the other bedchambers wouldna be fit for rats to sleep in. I rarely enter them. I canna believe I dinna think of it before now. I’ll not have ye sleep in this room on yer last night here. I will show ye to my bedchamber. Then I will return here to sleep.”

  I immediately protested. “No way. It’s really no trouble. I slept fine.”

  “Only because ye were so weary from tending to me every moment since ye’ve been here. This is not a discussion, lass. Ye will sleep in my room, and I shall sleep here.”

  He ended the conversation by turning and beginning the walk back toward his room, his hand still wound around my own.

  He only slowed his determined march as we reached the darkened hallway leading to his bedchamber. I’d forgotten to light the torches that lined it before dinner.

  “Oh goodness, I’m sorry about that. It didn’t occur to me to light all of these. I hope you know your way around the dark up here.”

  “Doona apologize. Ye’ve done more than ye can possibly know this evening. Besides, I know this castle’s every corridor. Step in front of me. I shall lead ye there.”

  Releasing my hand, he gently touched my shoulders as he ushered me in front of him.

  The hallway was drenched in darkness and I leaned back into him for comfort as we stumbled along in the dark.

  Eventually, as we turned the corner, we could see the light coming from underneath Monroe’s bedroom door.

  He saw me all the way to the doorway, as promised, but he didn’t let go of my shoulders as I reached for the handle.

  “Wait just a moment, lass.”

  I turned toward his voice and allowed my back to press into the door behind me.

  “What are you thinking? It’s okay to tell me.”

  He sighed and moved one hand from my shoulder long enough to run it through his hair. I couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or frightened. I guessed it was a little of both.

  “Something I have no right to.”

  My heart was hammering in my chest so loudly I imagined he could hear it.

  “Which is?”

  “That if I am dying, I want to die with the memory of the taste of yer lips pressed firmly against mine.”

  I reached for his shirt, all of my plans wiped away by my desire to have the same memory of him to pull from on my most challenging days.

  My gesture was all the permission he needed. As a masculine, needy groan escaped him, he crushed his lips to mine.

  He kissed with the hunger of a man too long without joy, and I was the lucky recipient of his suppressed talent.

  In the darkness of the hallway, we kissed one another until we both shook with passion. When he finally pulled away, it took all of my resolve to let him.

  “I’m not sure a dying man would have the strength to kiss me like that, Monroe.”

  He sighed and leaned his forehead into my own.

  “There is nothing that terrifies me more than that, lass. Nothing at all.”

  Chapter 15

  Wine, dancing, kissing—his heart was pounding in his chest with a virility unknown to him for years. Surely if his body had shown false strength in one last act of protest, it wouldn’t have been able to withstand all he’d put it through this night.

  But he felt no weariness as he lowered himself onto the couch where Eleanor had spent her past nights in the castle. Instead, all he felt was life pumping through him. Life and an eagerness for more of it.

  Deep inside he’d known he was healed. It was the fear of health that had held him steadfast in his denial of it until now.

  Death seemed an easy thing to resign himself to, but how could he go on living as he had been now that he’d tasted what life could be?

  He wasn’t sure he could. He knew he had no other choice.

  Come morning, he would have to row Eleanor safely back to the mainland, and that was just as it should be.

  Eleanor was too good, too kind, too precious and lovely for him to keep her here. But God, how he wanted to.

  If life was fair, the lass would live another sixty years. If not for his sister’s early death, he might have been willing to risk it—might have been willing to ask Eleanor to stay for a while longer so they could see where things might lead. But Emily’s death had shown him all too clearly how unfair life could be. He wouldn’t put Eleanor at risk of the same eternal prison as his sister.

  It was strange to him that she’d not seen them. That somehow, their noisy chatter and sudden apparitions had ceased since Eleanor’s arrival. Was it possible they did so for his benefit? Perhaps they wanted her to stay. They’d certainly seen the terror they could inspire when they showed themselves.

  Such a thought was too much to hope for. And even if his deceased family wanted Eleanor to stay, it didn’t mean that was what needed to happen.

  No. He would sleep tonight with nothing but gratitude for the gift her presence had brought him. And when it was time to say goodbye, he would just have to hope that the memory of his brief time with her would be enough to sustain him for another decade if he managed to live that long.

  He rose early to prepare for their journey back to the mainland. Those in the village wouldn’t recognize him. He doubted if even Sorcha would. He hardly recognized himself.

  He would allow Eleanor to sleep for as long as she needed. She certainly deserved a proper rest after all she’d done for him. Despite the sadness lodged deep in his chest, he couldn’t help but smile every time he thought of the lass whose speech was as strange as the way in which she’d entered his life.

  His boat, of all things. That she would have chosen his, the smallest of the lot in the harbor.

  Something wasn’t right as he looked out to sea. Something was missing from the usual view. It was only as he neared the dock that he realized what it was. The boat—his only means of seeing Eleanor safely away from here—was gone.

  Chapter 16

  I woke early, just as the sun was beginning to rise. My mind was filled with the lingering memory of my dreams. I pressed my palm
s to my eyelids in the hopes it would press the dreams into my brain. Whether it was the kiss or the way I could smell him as I crawled into his bed, Monroe filled my dreams as we kissed and caressed each other before he plunged inside me, making me moan and cry out in his arms.

  I was fairly confident I’d cried out more than once in my sleep. Thankfully, it was a large castle with thick stone walls. I imagined it was safe to assume my cries had gone unheard.

  Despite the deliciousness of my dreams, I woke filled to the brim with guilt. Today, Monroe would discover the boat was missing. I could only imagine how much distress it would cause him.

  Would he believe me if I came right out and told him the truth? I doubted it. While we’d gotten along swimmingly last night, we were still strangers. If I told him I was a time-traveling psychiatrist sent back to save him from becoming a ghost, he would think me certifiably insane. Which meant I would have to lie to him about the boat, and most likely about a lot of other things, as well. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I would have to continue my Machiavellian commitment to seeing this through for a while longer.

  I rose from the bed naked and quickly slipped back into my one and only gown in an effort to keep away the cold and gave myself a quick look over before heading downstairs.

  I’d been almost certain he would still be asleep, but when I found the sitting room to be empty, I knew there was only one other place he could be. Outside—staring at the boatless dock.

  While he would have no reason to suspect the role I’d played in the destruction of his property, I still imagined that I would be the one to get the blame. I had, after all, been the one to secure it when we arrived.

  As I braced myself for his anger, I made my way outside.

  It didn’t take long to find him. He sat on the rocks near the sea, his head in his hands as he looked out over the water.

  He turned toward me as I approached, but I could see none of the anger I expected in his eyes. Instead, all I saw was pain.

  He stood and walked over to wrap his arms around me.