Passions of the Ghost (22 page)

“Do you mean I have a choice?” he said, striving to understand.

“I don’t know. Is there a reason you might wish to remain here?”

“There is Amy,” he said.

“What of Amy?” the witch mocked. “I do not have long, Reynald. Speak to me. Tell me what is in your heart!”

He felt Amy’s gaze on him, but he didn’t look at her, not yet. His heart was too full.

“Amy and I are two halves of a whole, alike enough in mind and heart to have the same goals, but different, too, so that we challenge each other. I feel as if there is a chain linking us together, despite the seven hundred years that separates us.”

The witch smiled but said nothing, while downstairs O’Neill and his men pounded furiously against the door.

Amy touched his arm, then his face, turning it toward her, forcing him to look at her.

There was an expression in her eyes he didn’t understand. So sad and yet so brave. “It’s all right, Rey,” she said quietly. “I’m all right. I can manage here. This is what you want, what you need to do. Go back and do what you must. Create the world you’ve always dreamed of. Don’t worry about me; I can take care of myself.”

She didn’t want him, he thought, bewildered. And then he realized that that wasn’t it at all. She thought she wasn’t good enough for him, and he’d let her believe it.

Reynald shook his head, pulling away, and with two strides was standing before the witch of the between-worlds.

“I cannot leave her,” he said stubbornly.

“But she is tainted, isn’t she, Reynald? She is everything that you would have avoided in your own time…a woman who lies and steals, who has lived the life of a criminal, who has slept with other men—”

“I do not care!” he roared. His chest was rising and falling, and each breath was painful. “I do not care,” he whispered. He turned back to Amy; he felt as if he was being torn in two. “You are all to me, damsel. I see past what you did before, those things do not matter, because I see you as the woman you are now. Strong and beautiful, good and true. I love you, Amy, with all my heart.”

She was smiling, tears spilling from her eyes. “Oh Rey, I love you, too. So much.”

Behind him the witch laughed, and he staggered, struck by her power. “Now that’s more like it, Reynald. You see, you are learning at last.”

Confused, frustrated, he threw up his hands. “What more must I do, witch, to convince you?”

“You need an heir, Reynald,” she told him.

“I…”

“Do you or do you not need an heir, Ghost?” It was a demand and not a question.

“Yes. But I do not see—”

“Of course you do not see! None of you mortals see. That is why I am here to guide you, and sometimes prod and push you, along the right road. You have an heir, Reynald, or you will have in nine months’ time. Amy Fairweather is carrying your child.”

He was stunned, but no more than Amy.

“Now wait a minute,” she began.

“I do not have a minute,” the witch replied. “Decide now. Will you take her with you to your own time? And, Amy, do you wish to go? Quickly.”

Below them there was a splintering crash, as the door finally began to give way. Voices rose in triumph.

“Yes,” Amy said, shaking, crying. “Yes, I do, I want it more than anything.”

Reynald laughed wildly, and pulled her into his arms. “Aye,” he declared. “I want her with me. I cannot imagine my life now without her. I want her and our child.” He felt tears burning his own eyes, melting the cold man he once was into the living, feeling man he would be in the future. Amy had done that.

“I love you, damsel,” he said, kissing her face. “I love you with all my being.”

“That’s much better,” the witch murmured, and folding her hands before her, began to chant.

Caught fast in Rey’s arms, loved and in love, Amy heard the footsteps of O’Neill and his men, coming fast up the stairs, then the world began to spin, as if she’d had too much champagne, and only Rey was keeping her from falling.

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

She blinked. It was daytime, and it was summer. A warm breeze fanned her face. She stared out over Rey’s green lands, toward the Welsh hills, and saw the colorful canvas tents and the flags flapping in the wind.

“It is the same day I died,” he murmured in wonder. “We are signing the peace, Amy. It is 1299.”

“You have your chance to right the wrong,” Amy said, shaking from head to toe.

Rey laughed aloud. “Life is good,” he said, his voice deep and husky with joy.

There were voices approaching. For a moment she thought it had all been a dream, and it was O’Neill, but then a group of soldiers appeared from the stairs, clanking in their armor and chain mail, prickly with weapons.

“My lord!” the one in charge said, frowning at the sight of Amy in her strange clothing. Rey drew her even closer against him, and the men stood at a respectful distance, waiting to be spoken to, their eyes flicking only briefly in Amy’s direction.

“Captain, is Angharad here?” he said sharply.

The man shifted, glancing back at the others.

“Answer me!”

“My lord, I know no one of that name.”

“Who arranged this peace then? Who spoke with the Welsh?”

“My lord, ’twas you…”

Rey gave a deep, relieved sigh. “Good. That is well.”

The captain shuffled again. “My lord?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“The bishop is asking for you, my lord, and your chaplain—”

“Julius?” said Rey. He looked down at Amy, his expression fierce and possessive with love. “I have some extra work for Julius. I want him to perform a marriage ceremony. If my lady is willing…?”

But he knew she was. Amy laughed in delight, taking his big, scarred hand in hers, and lifting it to her cheek. “Aye, my lord,” she said carefully, “I am very willing indeed.”

The soldiers stared, openmouthed, at the sight of their stern and serious lord holding hands with a woman. And then he laughed, too, and said, “Congratulate me. The Ghost is to be wed.”

That caused them to send up a cheer that echoed all around the castle.

“Thank you,” he murmured in Amy’s ear. “You have done all of this, my lady.”

“My pleasure,” she whispered back. “Does that mean we get to sleep together tonight? In your bed?”

The Ghost smiled down at her, his gray eyes gleaming lasciviously. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

The Sorceress sat quietly. This room was
one of her favorites, full of crystals and candles, so that the light shimmered and refracted. She felt as if she was floating in time and space, a small fragment within the greatness of the universe, but an important fragment nonetheless. Without her, time could not function.

She sighed, and the candle flames danced.

The Ghost and his Amy were alive and well in 1299. The world they created would be a remarkable one, and an inspiration to others for centuries to come. That was how it always should have been, if not for Angharad. As the changes rippled out through time, the castle that was now a hotel would become a home again, a place for the descendants of the de Mortimers to gather and remember their famous ancestors. For Amy’s child would be one of five.

One of the tricks of being a Sorceress who could travel through time was her ability to visit different time periods and the people who dwelt there. Recently she had been checking up on her other two warriors.

The Black Maclean and his Bella were content in their home at Loch Fasail, Scotland, where their harsh life was warmed by the depth of their love. Maclean had always been a great man, but with Bella’s help he’d forged a new understanding between himself and his people. They had begun their own family, too, with a boy and a girl. Although the authorities in Inverness had questioned him, they had more or less left him alone. Mainly because Maclean had become a hero to the Scottish people, and they were afraid to touch him in case it began another rebellion. Besides, he had important friends. Bella was busy writing a diary of her days, a book that would become famous down the centuries for the love story woven through it.

As for the Raven and his Melanie, they were happy living in Cornwall. Their life was busy and full, and Nathaniel had settled into his position as squire. He was admired and loved in the district, and the wild reckless streak that had once threatened to destroy him was channeled into breeding horses and the occasional race at Truro under his wife’s anxious eye. Melanie had shifted faultlessly from London solicitor to Cornish lady, although she spent a great deal of time instructing her husband on his duties as magistrate, and it was said by some that it was Melanie and not Nathaniel who should sit upon the bench. Their love for each other was an inspiration to all, and the portrait Nathaniel had commissioned showed the two of them, together with their three children, standing before their home, Ravenswood. It would hang there long after they were gone.

Another triumph.

The Sorceress knew she had completed what she set out to do. These men, who had once been sleeping in the between-worlds, lost souls who had left shattered lives and broken dreams behind them, were now successful and happy. They would be an inspiration to those who came after. The universe would be a better place for the changes she had made.

Then what was the harm? Why not do it again?

But what if the next Immortal Warrior failed? What if her little hobby was discovered by the Lords of the Universe? They would be angry. She might even lose her position as Sorceress of Time. Maybe it was better to quit while she was ahead.

And yet…there were so many more deserving warriors awaiting their chance. So many almost heroes who could be helped. And each of them had a mortal woman who was a perfect match.

The Sorceress smiled, and her power caused the crystals to ring.

So, what was it to be? Would she awaken the next Immortal Warrior? Or would she stop now and play it safe?

After a moment she had made her decision. The Sorceress stood up and, with a wave of her hand, snuffed the candles. The crystals fell silent, as if they were holding their breath. Waiting to see what would happen next.

S
ARA
M
ACKENZIE
has long had an interest in the paranormal, and it seems appropriate that she should live in an old house with a resident ghost. When she’s not writing she spends time reading or watching movies and trying to keep up with the housework. She also pens historical romance for Avon Books as Sara Bennett. You can find her at her website,
www.saramackenzie.com
.

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