Lord Brien. Joanna let out a shuddering breath. Her great-great uncle's ghost. Would he truly haunt the place? Why?
She felt a tingle down her spine and looked up. Someone was watching her.
It was not, however, a departed soul. She looked straight into the eyes of Lord Dougal. As she met his eye, the face changed. He looked for an instant younger than she knew he was, and his lip curled, making him haughty, arrogant. Cruel. Then it changed again, becoming the care worn, ruggedly handsome face she recognized as Lord Dougal.
Joanna shook her head, feeling it ache. She realized then that, for a moment, the sight had overtaken her normal seeing. That had been a vision. It was meant to tell her something. But what? Her head clearing slowly, Joanna forced herself to focus on the woman before her.
“I am here now, Bet. You don't need to be frightened. I am here to fix this. I will not let this haunting harm anyone. You will be safe now.”
She was not nearly as confident as she made herself sound, but she needed to reassure her.
Bet breathed out, clearly feeling better. “I'm glad tae hear it, so I am. I know ye'll set the place to rights.”
“Hold on, here,” Lord Dougal said, coming forward. He looked cross. “I'm the master here, and I demand to know...”
Joanna glared at him. He stepped back as if struck. She turned her back on him, blocking him out of the conversation. How dare he let his arrogance get in the way of reassuring this woman? Who was or was not the lord of Lochlann was, in this moment, immaterial. The servants trusted her and that was what counted now.
“Bet,” she said gently, helping her to stand. “Come back to bed. It's safe. You're safe. I'll see to it his ghost is put to rest. Promise you.”
Bet smiled. “Oh, milady. I am right glad you're here again. Now it'll all be set to rights.”
Joanna felt herself warm at the compliment. “Go back to bed. If anything happens, call me. We'll face this together.”
“God bless, mistress.”
Bet walked slowly up the hallway, continuing to say kind things about Joanna and how happy she was. She passed Lord Dougal without looking and then disappeared to the upper corridor, where she slept.
Joanna sighed. She leaned against the wall, feeling exhausted. Being reassuring had drained her more than she realized and the sight always left her drained. What was happening here? What had she returned to? She rubbed her forehead, feeling her head start to ache as it usually did after a glimpse like that into some past or future happening.
“Lady Joanna?”
Joanna found herself looking up into the weathered face of Lord Dougal. His dark eyes shone in the light of his candle. He looked concerned and she felt bad for her earlier anger.
“Sorry,” she murmured wearily. “I had to. I know I, um, overrode your command here. I did it because I needed to.”
“Why are you apologizing?” he asked. Joanna shook her head.
“I shouldn't have hushed you like that. I know it disrespected you before your servants.”
“I know,” he said. His expression was oddly gentle, and his eyes lifted at the corners, a soft smile playing about his full lips. “It's not like they had respect to begin with, is it now?”
“They would respect you. But they're frightened.” Joanna said. She bit her lip, looking away. His eyes on hers were intense. Something about that look, the tender gaze, drew her forward. Made her want to lift her face to his and...
Stop it, she chided herself. Here she was, wearing a night shift, her hair down, in his hall. He was, she noticed with surprise, also scantily dressed. A long white linen shift, his nightclothes covered his body from neck to toes, though it did, she couldn't help but notice, only enhance his broad shoulders.
Hating herself for the sudden brightness inside her, she looked at the opposite corner.
“There's something odd here,” Joanna said quietly.
“A ghost? I...”
“No,” Joanna said curtly. “I mean...I don't know. Please,” she added, looking up into his gentle face. “Can we discuss more tomorrow? I'm very tired.”
He winced as if she had hit him. “Of course. I'm terribly remiss. Forgive me.” He frowned, standing back. “Please, go to bed. Sleep. All can wait for morning.”
Joanna smiled a little sadly. She moved out from where she stood, standing next to him. She stared up at him. Something inside her insisted that she stand here, not wanting to leave quite yet.
“Joanna,” he said softly. “You're cold.”
His hand rested for a moment on her shoulder. Joanna closed her eyes. His touch was warm and strong. It reached inside, touching a place in her heart where nothing ever touched.
She let out a shaky breath. “Sorry. Yes. I'm cold. I'll sleep now.” She shook herself, and he removed his hand. She felt the loss of it. Feeling restless, she walked back towards her room.
“Goodnight, Lord Dougal.”
He was where she had been, staring back. “Goodnight.”
Joanna entered her room and closed the door.
Leaning against the door, she let out a shuddering breath. She was here, in the castle. It was dark, deserted, and haunted. She had seen a vision of the past. How it linked to the present, or changed the future, she had no knowledge. Oddly, though, she felt a wild elation fill her.
She laughed. All she knew was that this man made her feel things no one had ever made her feel before. New things. Frightening things. Wonderful, confusing, lovely things.
Sighing, she climbed into bed, slipping under the cold linen of the coverlet.
She closed her eyes, finding her thoughts returning repeatedly to their conversation. To when he looked into her eyes like that. To his hand on her shoulder.
Goodnight, Lord Dougal. Goodnight.
Her words, and his, chased each other about in her thoughts, tender, soft, full of feelings she did not understand.
Still frowning, expecting to be troubled by dark dreams, she fell asleep.
She had no dreams that night. Or if she did, they were not dark.
When she woke in the morning, soft dawn touching her eyelids, she had a clear head, a sense of calm. However, no more answers than she had before.
She did, however, have a plan to get them.
Feeling full of energy and purpose, Joanna knew, in that moment, that she would not let this defeat her. She would not stop until the mystery was solved. Whatever it led to for them both.
CHAPTER FIVE
ENCOUNTER OVER A MEAL
ENCOUNTER OVER A MEAL
The view out of the solar was gray and dull. Dougal, sitting at breakfast, the tapestry drawn back from one archway to let in light, found himself looking at leaden sky. He shrugged.
Strangely, for the first time that morning, he had woken with an appetite. Len, the one man still working in the house, had brought up a dish of bread and hard-boiled eggs from the kitchen. He ate with relish, thinking as he did so. Thoughts of Joanna strayed into his mind, and he wished she were here at the table with him. He pushed those thoughts aside, made himself focus on the more important matters at hand.
There is a ghost in this place.
The thought filled him with a cold, dead despair. It wasn't that he feared the dead. Rather, he worried what would happen as a result. The servants had already left, leaving him with Bet to bake bread, and Len to maintain everything else. He brought his steward with him, but how long before Greer too decided to leave him? And what of the guards? His tenants?
I don't like this. I don't like this at all. However, what could he do?
Joanna's confidence had given him hope, too. He was not sure how long her influence would last. It was clear the servants believed in her absolutely – something which he felt resentful for – but would that prevail?
He chewed the hard bread, thinking. Could he really turn things around here?
I don't know if I can do as Father wishes.
That was the worst part. This extra holding in the north could bring his fa
ther tactical advantages. Make him that much more useful to the king, as little as that may be. His father, wealthy, in favor with the monarchy, always working, needed him to do this. Nevertheless, he would not be pleased if Dougal lost it for him.
Moreover, how will I hold the place against some outside danger, if I can't hold the men here against an inside threat?
That was what worried him most.
Someone coughed in the doorway, disrupting his gloomy thoughts. He looked up, hoping to see Joanna, and felt his heart sink to see the gaunt, serious face of Greer, his steward, whom he had brought with him from Castle Blackheath.
“Yes?” He sounded irritated and hoped the man didn't notice.
“Sir, It's...” the steward licked his lips, looking around nervously. “It's the rents. I'm...it's difficult. Um...”
“What, man? Out with it!” Dougal felt his heart beat faster and knew he looked worried and couldn't hide it.
“Some tenants refuse to give their share,” his man said, looking away from him. “I sent the men there and even with my presence they...they refused us.”
“What?” Dougal felt his worry convert to sudden fury. “You're my representative! With my rights...”
“Um, yes. Quite,” the man said, eyes fixed on his long, knotted hands.
“What are you trying to say, steward?” Dougal breathed.
“They don't want you here.”
Dougal gasped. To hear it said so blankly was a shock.
“Sorry, my lord,” his steward was hesitant again, instantly apologizing. “But that's what they said. They don't want you.”
“Why?” He snorted. “Because I'm cursed?”
It was Greer's turn to look surprised. “Yes. How did you know? Who told you?”
Dougal let out a shuddering breath. “Call it a wild guess.” he chuckled ironically.
Greer looked worried. Dougal, seeing that, felt as if all his energy had been drained from him. He had enough to worry about, without new problems with the rent!
“I'll...I should go, milord,” his man said. He licked his lips, clearly nervous.
“Yes,” Dougal said wearily. “Thank you, Greer.”
Greer said his farewells and exited hastily from the room, leaving behind him a monumental headache.
Dougal closed his eyes as his head pounded.
“”What am I going to do now?”
He opened his eyes again, and looked over the slate roof of the great hall, out to the hills and lead-gray clouds. If he had been so inclined, he would have wept. He felt like it. Instead, he stared out of the window, watching as some birds – sparrows, he thought – tumbled past the window, calling crossly in the cold air. For some reason their sudden liveliness cheered him somewhat. Let him feel a little flame of hope.
“My lord?”
Dougal looked up, heart suddenly pounding. He knew that voice!
She was in the doorway and she cleared her throat again. “My lord?”
“Enter,” Dougal said tiredly. “Please,” he added. “I would offer you to break your fast, but it seems strange to welcome you into your second home.”
Joanna smiled. She looked into his eyes, her own narrowed, as if she searched for the irony in his words. There wasn't any. He meant it.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, and took a seat opposite him and then proceeded to help herself to bread. She buttered it, sniffing as she did so. “It's rancid. I should talk to Will about it.”
Dougal shook himself. Tried to concentrate on the present. He had been watching her soft pink lips as she took a bite, the way a crumb stuck to the moist paleness of her mouth. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and a little moue of surprise pursing her lips. Even the expression made his loins ache with wanting.
“My lord?”
He groaned.
I want her too much.
“Sorry,” he said, hand waving in dismissal. “Got distracted. You were saying?”
“I just said I should contact our farmer,” she said, looking at him a little askance. “The butter should have been here yesterday. This is a week old.” She sniffed.
Dougal watched as she ate it, feeling amused. She was a hearty eater, and something about that made him smile. She looked up to see him watching her once again.
“Sorry, my lord,” she said quietly. “Did I say something that offended you?”
“No!” he said quickly. “No. Not at all. Carry on.”
Joanna frowned at him. She chewed her bread, then swallowed it, then cleared her throat. “Pardon me, Lord Dougal. But you seem strangely out of sorts. Is something amiss?”
Dougal let out a heavy sigh. “Would you like to know? Or should I say what isn’t going wrong – it's a short list.”
Joanna smiled. She had a soft smile, he thought. Sweet and tender, crinkling the corners of her gray eyes. He felt warmth fill him. He smiled back.
“What?” she said gently.
“I'm sorry, my lady,” he said, feeling drained. “It's me. I'm bad company. It's just...these problems. The servants, the guardsmen. Now the farmers, as you say. And, apparently, tenants too. At least according to Greer. My steward,” he explained, when she looked slightly curious.
“Oh,” Joanna said briefly. “What happened to Lewes?”
“Who?”
“His lordship’s steward. He was here last time. Managed the place for years.”
“Oh.” It was his turn to be confused. “No idea, my lady.”
“Well, we should try and find out,” Joanna said lightly. “The tenants won't like some strange man coming to take their tribute. Let Lewes do it – he always did it well. He knows their stories.”
“Well,” Douglas agreed, lifting the mug of warm ale – boiled, again – that sat opposite his place. “I suppose that's common sense.”
“Yes!” Joanna smiled. She grinned dazzlingly, and when her eyes shone like that, it made his heart flip.
He laughed. “Well, Lady of Common Sense. I am glad to have you with me on this mission.”
Joanna blinked. He had the rare pleasure of seeing her blush. It was spectacular. It surprised him, too – so worldly and confident, he had not thought he could catch her off balance. He felt a warm pleasure at having complimented her.
“I...thank you, my lord. I think.”
They both laughed.
Dougal found his appetite returning, and they shared some of the bread, companionable silence filling the room as she tapped the eggshells and peeled them, brow frowned in focus.
“Did you sleep last night?” Dougal asked. He couldn't stop himself from thinking of her in her gown.
“Actually, well.” Joanna said. She laughed. “I surprised myself. I thought I'd dream badly.”
“Oh?” Dougal frowned. “You have nightmares?”
“Not exactly,” Joanna said. She looked uncomfortable, and Dougal decided it was better not to pry. He changed the subject.
“This...happening...we saw...”
“The visitation?” Joanna said brightly.
“Yes,” Dougal said, surprised that she could talk of it so lightly. It worried him. More, really, than he wanted to tell. Ghosts were not things to be laughed off. He wanted a priest at least, perhaps two or three, to face this thing down. Even then, he would not feel comforted. Not until he was sure its baneful presence had departed.
“It's not one,” Joanna said.
“I beg your pardon?” Dougal, his reverie interrupted, blinked and focused on her. What did she mean?
“I said the haunter. It's not a ghost.”
“Oh.” Dougal felt a shudder down his spine. If it wasn't, then what was it? A demon? Some other foul occupant of hell?
“No,” she said. “It’s human.”
“What?” Dougal said. He stared at her. “But how...?”
“Don't ask me how,” Joanna said solidly. “I just know. We need to catch him. Or her. I don't know yet who it is.”
Dougal stared at her. He had lifted his slice of bread. Very del
iberately, he lowered it again. “What?”
Joanna cleared her throat. Looked at him. Enunciated well. “The thing. The ghost in your castle. It's a person. Somehow disguised as Uncle Brien. We can find out who, and we can stop the hauntings. Then your servants will come back and,” she added, reaching for a beaker, “we can all relax and return to a vague state of normality.”
He laughed. She was amazing! How could she be so confident, so assured all the time?
“My lady!” he said.
“What?”
Her eyes, meeting his, were so strong, so sure. He wanted to fall into their gray depths and remain there. He knew, now, how it felt when his own men went to battle, how reassured they felt by his strong hand. However, in this battle, he was unarmed. She, it seemed, had all the armor. Thankfully, she was sharing it with him. Lending him her strength. It was a unique feeling. He had forged his own way all his life. For him to find an ally, someone who could stand beside him, offer him a hand, was unheard of.
She was laughing, too. They sat together, tears washing their cheeks, as they laughed wildly at the small, but remarkable thing that had happened. They were starting to be friends.
The laughter was slightly hysterical, Dougal noted, both of them feeling the burden of their position. Both feeling relief, it seemed, in finding each other.
They sat for a while, just looking at each other. Her face was flushed, her gray eyes bright, the redness of her cheeks in stark contrast with their depth of color. She looked vital. Alive. Joyous.
He drew a sharp breath between his teeth. He would give anything to have that face across the table from him more often. To see her in his solar, in his garden. In his bed. He swallowed hard. He would love to have his lips against her own, to feel those soft ones part beneath his tongue, her soft body snuggled to his own.
“I...”
Joanna looked at him. “What?” Her voice was gentle, and reached to the depths of his soul.
“I'm just glad to have you here,” he said.
Joanna beamed.
“Well, then. That makes two of us,” she said briskly. “We should get to work. Plenty to get done.”
The Cursed Highlander Page 4
