Fair Maiden (3 page)

“You’re the earl?” she asked, and her words brought him back
from his thoughts.

“Yes, my name is Christian.” He knew it wasn’t exactly
proper to introduce himself in such a casual way, but the last thing he needed
was someone else calling him
my lord
. “And your name?”

Somehow, she actually paled at that seemingly simple
question. “I, well, I do not know it.”

“You cannot remember?” This baffled him.

The ghost shook her head.

“And do you remember how—I mean, do you recall who—er—”
Christian wasn’t sure how to broach the touchy subject of her death. He halted
his questions and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Do you mean to inquire about how I died?” she asked with a
tremor in her voice.

“I suppose, but I didn’t wish to be unkind.”

“I have been wondering the same thing myself.” That quiver
in her voice was also reflected in her bottom lip.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t know your name, and you
don’t know how you…?”

“Or where I am. I have never been to this castle before, at
least not that I recall.”

“You’re in England, the northern part. And to me you sound
English. Your speech is not touched with any hint of an Irish or French lilt.”

“Oh.” Her face screwed up with a cute frown as she appeared
to be considering that. “I-I wish I could remember more.”

“What
can
you remember?”

“I have ideas in my head about inconsequential things, like
clothing.”

“How do you mean?”

She turned away, as though embarrassed suddenly. “Well, I
did see your clothing in your wardrobe,” she muttered softly, chancing a glance
in his direction, “and it was unusual.” He perceived his smile encouraged her
to continue. “I have a vague memory of men wearing different styles.”

“Such as?”

“Well, men’s…um….”

“Shirts?” he offered, because she was motioning to her
bodice.

“Yes, shirts were laced. They were not held closed with a
row of little, round….” She frowned, apparently not able to find the word she
wanted.

He dropped his chin to consider his shirt. “Oh, you mean
buttons?”

“Is that what they’re called? I do not recollect that, yet I
think we had them. But it seems they were used more for embellishment than
function.”

Around a smile, Christian asked, “What else is unfamiliar to
you?”

She glanced toward his soup bowl. “Where is your trencher?”

“My what?” His grin faltered.

“Do you not keep your food in a trencher?”

A trencher? That—those haven’t been used since.... In truth
he wasn’t exactly certain when that change had come about. Clearly this spirit
came from a time not his own. “We use dishes now and forks and spoons,” he
said, mentally trying to pinpoint her origin.

“What of your dagger?” she asked, giving him another clue.

“We use knives too, but we no longer eat with our fingers.”

“Oh.” Her gaze shifted to the doors. “And why do you take
repast in this small chamber and not in the great hall? And where is your
garrison of knights?”

“Times are much more peaceful, they’re not needed. And
dwellings are no longer built with a great hall.”

“But this castle has one.”

“It does, but only because it was constructed many years
ago.”

She looked shocked, then shifted her green eyes to his
teacup. “Is that ale you’re drinking, or is it wine in that tiny cup?”

“It’s tea.” Things had changed considerably since…. Of
course people still drank ale and wine, but from her words, he suspected she
was from a time quite far back in English past. Then he considered her dress,
which appeared medieval to him. It was almost eighteen seventy currently. “It
sounds like you’re from the late thirteen hundreds or perhaps the early
fourteen hundreds. It’s nearly five hundred years later.”

She gasped, and her big green eyes got even bigger. “I have
not been—I suppose I was sleeping.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like this before. Generally, I
think, well, I’m not an expert on the preternatural, but I thought ghosts only
lingered if they’d been murdered. Were you murdered, then, not a natural
death?” He regretted the blunt question as soon as the words left his mouth,
especially when sparkling tears welled up in those emerald eyes and spilled
down her pale cheeks. That undid him, and he felt like an utter dimwit. “What a
kingly dolt I am! I apologize. I should not have asked that.”

“I have wondered about that, too,” she said so softly he
could barely hear her.

“You don’t remember in nightmares, or relive…? I thought—”

“No. My memory in this is quite missing,” she said taking a
shaky breath, and he could see she was struggling to rein in her emotions.
Obviously, this could be a touchy subject for anyone, in truth.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

She met his gaze. “Just talking to you is a delight. Truly,
it has been horribly dull here all by myself. I do hope we can carry on?”

He could thoroughly relate to that.
“Of course.” And
this would be an interesting change of pace.

“Thank you.” The look of joy on her sweet face made his
heart thump harder.

There was something about her that stirred tender and deeply
buried emotions within his chest. An urgency to aid and comfort her had risen.
This poor, dear girl! Yet these emotions were intense enough they also made
Christian feel slightly vexed with the idea that perhaps he should not feel
such a potent want.
This can’t be good,
he thought. He shouldn’t be
feeling this way about a ghost he could never have.

Shoving those thoughts aside, he searched his mind for
something to talk about, but was suddenly at a loss for words. “I have just
gained Krestly Castle. I’m the earl,” he began lamely.

“I gathered that.”

Of course she had! He was behaving like a silly schoolboy!
“Right. Well, I like to hunt, and ride horses, and fence.”

She looked at him as if to say,
What man doesn’t?
And, obviously, if he’d considered what men did in her time, he might not have
made the ridiculous comment. Christian couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable
when he kept shoving his boot into his mouth like this. Near desperate to make
it lighter with humor and sarcasm, he asked, “Do you plan to haunt me?”

He held his breath until she giggled. The airy sound went
right through him, touching his very soul, and then a sheepish smile lifted her
cheeks. “I confess I did entertain the idea,” she said shyly.

He laughed out loud. “Being haunted by a lovely, lady-like
you would be quite enjoyable.”

“Really?” She seemed surprised by his jovial jesting. “What
if I’m scary?”

“
Can
you be terrifying?” he asked, gently teasing
her. He couldn’t imagine this charming girl being anything disturbing.

“I could try.” But he could see from her innocent expression
that she couldn’t think of anything frightening to do right away, until she
focused on the candelabra and shifted it toward him. He jumped and nearly knocked
over this chair, too.

“Whoa! All right, I must confess, that was a little
alarming.”

“Really?” She seemed so proud of herself he had to smile.

“Yes, ‘twas definitely quite a trick! What else can you
move? Can you lift things?”

She stared at his teacup. He watched in amazement as it rose
from the table, drifted toward him and then plopped a little too roughly onto
the table. Tea sloshed over the lip.

She gasped. “I-I did not mean to drop it. I’m sorry. I fear
I am inexperienced.”

Chuckling, he waved her words way. “Nonsense. That was
fascinating and delightfully entertaining. Do it again.”

This time she focused on the chair next to him. His eyes
widened as it slid back from the table, rose about two feet, and then lowered
back to the floor.

“What a wonderful skill you have. Although, it could be
dangerous, if say, you had a knife.”

A squeak of alarm burst past her pink lips.

Scrambling to soothe her, he said, “Of course you wouldn’t.
I can see you do not have anything that dark within your nature—” He cut off
his words abruptly because he’d meant to address her by name, but then recalled
that he didn’t know it, and she couldn’t tell it to him. Then a thought
occurred to him. “The library!”

“Pardon me?”

“The library!” He reached for her hand that appeared to be
resting on the table and they both shuddered when his fingers passed through
hers. He felt an odd tingling sensation, though no substance. And it was warm,
not cold like he thought apparitions should feel. “Forgive me—it seems I—”

She stared at their hands seeming as shocked as he.

Christian withdrew his hand. “Please, follow me and I’ll
show you.”

He shoved away from the table, rose from his seat, strode to
the door, and opened it for her. He then watched in awe as she drifted toward
him and out into the hallway, where she immediately turned to face him and
said, “You did not have to open the door for me. I could have gone
through
it. Just as our fingers....” She shuddered.

“I suppose you’re right, but as a proper gentleman, I’m
afraid I must open doors for you.”

“If you wish.”

“I insist.”

Christian couldn’t stop himself from spying back at her as
she followed him toward the library. He realized he should have been horrified
and alarmed that he had a ghost in his home, and that he could see her, and converse
with her. But he wasn’t. Peace and gentleness radiated from this shimmering
spirit. He considered himself thoroughly bewitched. She made his worries about
money seem inconsequential. His father would give it to him eventually. And
this lady served as a fine distraction.

Chapter 3

Nonexistent

Whilst traveling down the wide hallway with Lord Krestly,
she could not help but be pleased with how this day was turning out. She’d
decided she did not care about being a prisoner unable to leave. With
him
here, she wanted to stay.

Finally someone could see and hear her. And she could not
help but notice how handsome he was. His wavy brown hair just barely curved
over his ears and the back of it brushed against the collar of his…doublet? His
features were angular, though not too much. The planes of his cheekbones slid
down to a strong jaw which framed lips that were slightly thin, but still
becoming. The brown-flecked color of his nearly black eyes was her favorite.
Well, besides the distinctive dimple accenting his left cheek that deepened
when he smiled. She liked that, too. Or perhaps she favored the fringe of dark
lashes that framed those eyes so deep she thought she could drown in the depths
of them.

The sight of his long muscular body striding along just
ahead of her was proof that he may be too good-looking, though. She was
beginning to wish she was not dead at all. Clearly she’d almost married once,
and the girl inside her heart still wished for that. But ghosts do not marry,
do they?

At the library, he opened the door for her again and
motioned for her to enter with a gallant flourish of his arm. She could not
help but giggle as she went past him.

Subconsciously, she reached for the long skirts of her gown
to lift them so she could walk, even when she really could not do anything
besides glide.

On the way to the library, he walked slightly in front of
her, leading the way, but as she entered the large room their positions had
changed. And she’d forgotten about her bridal attire until she heard him make a
strangled sound as he was then faced with the back of her dress. She twisted to
gaze at him over her shoulder, and then nibbled her lip when she noticed the
shocked look on his face.

“What sort of dress is that, miss?” he asked, his eyes now
traveling the long veil, which he’d obviously missed seeing before.

“A wedding dress.”

If he opened his eyes any wider, they would have popped out
of his head. “You were a bride? Were you killed on the wedding night or
before?”

“I think before, because I wear no ring.” She lifted her
left hand to display the lack of gold around her ring finger.

He gazed blankly at her for several long moments before his
expression changed. Instinctively, she moved farther from him when fierce anger
burst to life in his eyes, and the dimple disappeared from his cheek. “Then…no!
No! Could the groom have done it? He must have! That filthy blackguard! What
sort of killer were you engaged to?” He paused. “Oh, you were probably
betrothed to the wretched—and had no choice in the matter. Was justice served?
I hope he was caught and….” His fists clenched and unclenched a few times, and
then it appeared he was struggling to tamp his wrath down when he gathered the
frightened look on her face. He swallowed what seemed to be more curses before
continuing, “…which is why we’re here. There is a record of all of the past
occupants of this castle. We could learn your history and his fate. We could
see a photograph—”

“A what?”

He lifted one brow. “Oh, pardon me. That would be after your
time. A painting then.” Turning away, Christian began scanning the ceiling-high
shelves of books. When he spotted the one he clearly wanted, he strode toward
the ladder on a roller that traveled a track which circled the room.

“Wait, my lord, you do not need that. I could fetch the
tome.”

He halted and smirked in her direction. “Please, call me
Christian. And, of course you may help. I’d be grateful.” He motioned to a book
on the uppermost shelf. “The brown volume that says ‘Krestly Castle,’ if you
please, my darling.”

She wanted to blush at his use of endearments toward her,
but figured she probably couldn’t do that as a ghost. Her eyes focused on the
book; it slid from the shelf and floated down to the large desk on the right
side of the library.