Penmort Castle (29 page)

“That’s okay,”
she muttered into his neck.

“Do you feel
like cooking tonight?” he asked and she tilted her head back to
look at him. His chin dipped down and she felt his eyes on her in
the early morning dark.

She also felt
herself wishing, even though she knew she shouldn’t, that his
gentle concern was real.

“I conked my
head and scratched my arm, Cash, I’m not an invalid,” she told him,
her words made soft by her voice. “Stop worrying about me.”

His head
dropped further, his forehead coming to rest against hers.

“Abby,” he said
and something in the way he said her name made her brace, mentally
throwing up walls because she knew that tone, harsh but sweet and
unbelievably warm, a tone she’d never heard from him before, was
akin to an emotional battering ram. “Darling, you show it, you act
it but I need you to say it.”

Abby’s breath
caught and she forced herself to let it free.

“Say what?” she
whispered.

“That you
forgive me,” he replied.

Her throat
closed and tears burned the backs of her eyes.

She was right,
the walls around her heart splintered ominously under his
attack.

“Say it,” he
demanded.

She
swallowed.

“Abby, please,
fucking say it,” he growled, the words were curt, their meaning
anything but.

“I forgive
you,” she whispered and she knew she did and further, she knew that
was stupid too.

She had no time
to dwell on this, his arms went tight around her, his mouth crushed
down on hers and he gave her a world-tilting kiss.

When his mouth
broke from hers and Abby’s mind and body recovered from his words
and his kiss, she realised she was in worse trouble than she first
imagined.

And she
imagined it being pretty, dang bad.

But she knew
then this wasn’t just going to be a battle over her emotions.

This was going
to be the epic battle of a lifetime.

Cash broke into
her thoughts. “I’m sorry, love, but you’re going to have to get up
with me.”

Her body went
still at that alarming news.

What was next?
Was he going to handcuff her to his side and make her spend the day
with him?

“Why?” she
asked, her voice as alarmed as she actually felt and he
laughed.

Her head tilted
back to look at him, not thinking one damned thing was funny.

His chin tipped
down and she saw the white flash of his teeth indicating he was
still smiling.

“You can go
back to bed in a minute,” he assured her. “I just want to check
your arm.”

Oh, that was
it.

Abby
relaxed.

“I’m sure it’s
fine,” she told him dismissively, sliding her head down on the
pillow.

“I want to
check,” he returned.

“It’s fine,”
she repeated and got a tight, warning squeeze of his arms in
response.

“Abby, I want
to fucking check,” he finished in a not-to-be-denied voice.

With no other
choice Abby gave in but not without muttering, “Geez, you’re
stubborn.”

His arms got
tighter and he said, “Yes, I am and I’ll remind you why.”

Abby didn’t
like the sound of that.

Cash went on.
“You’re mine. And, darling, I’ll repeat as necessary until you get
it into that obstinate head of yours, I take care of what’s mine.
Is that clear?” he finished on another arm squeeze.

Her mind on the
epic battle that lay before her which seemed to get worse by the
second, Abby grumbled a barely distinguishable, “Yes.”

When she did,
the tension she didn’t realise was in Cash’s body slid away, he
rolled, taking her over the top of him and pulled them up.

He knifed out
of bed, Abby going with him, he took her to the bathroom and did
exactly as he wanted.

Fifteen minutes
later, her cuts covered with antibiotic goo and bandaged anew, Abby
crawled back into bed as she heard the shower start.

She lay awake
in bed long after Cash got ready, came back to bed, pulled her hair
from her neck and kissed her there after telling her he was
leaving.

She didn’t just
lay awake.

She lay awake
gripped with fear.

Fear of
ghosts.

Fear of
Alistair’s intentions.

Fear of
Cash.

Fear of her own
weakness.

And fear that,
one way or another, either propelled off the side of an ancient
castle by a vengeful spirit, or conquered by a beautiful warrior,
her life as she knew it was going to end.

Battle
Stations

Abby waited
until she’d gotten dressed and taken two more paracetamol to combat
the nagging headache that started some time after Cash left. A
headache that was only partially due to her misadventure with the
ghost and also partially due to her crazy, screwed up life.

She waited
until she was sitting on the train platform to slide open her phone
and hit the speed dial number that would connect her straight to
Jenny.

When Jenny
answered, Abby proclaimed, “Battle stations.”

“Oh my God.
What happened?” Jenny asked.

“I’m in Bath. I
should be home in an hour. Be at my house when I get there,” and as
an afterthought she demanded, “Bring donuts.”

“Oh no, is it a
donut drama?” Jenny moaned, knowing exactly what that meant.

“No, it’s an
ice cream and tequila drama but it’s only eight o’clock in the
morning. We’ll wait until ten to break out the tequila,” Abby told
her.

“Shit,” Jenny
muttered, said good-bye and rang off.

A little over
an hour later when Abby turned the key in her door and shoved it
open, Zee darted out without saying hello.

Abby knew
immediately why.

All three of
Mrs. Truman’s spaniels came crashing toward Abby to give her a
hearty doggie greeting.

Abby bent down
to offer them strokes and Mrs. Truman appeared in the hall.

“Where have you
been?” she demanded, hands on hips. “The coffee’s cold.”

Abby
straightened.

Mentally, she
cursed Jenny to perdition for letting Mrs. Truman in.

Verbally, she
said good morning, took off her coat and hung it on the coat
stand.

When she did,
Mrs. Truman gasped.

“Is that
blood?
” she screeched and ran forward with the energy of a
woman half her age.

Jenny came
shooting out of the living room and her eyes widened at what she
saw.

Mrs. Truman had
Abby’s forearm in a gentle grasp and she was pushing back Abby’s
sleeve to expose the bandages.

“Abigail, what
on earth happened?” Mrs. Truman asked.

“Are you okay?”
Jenny called, coming forward.

Abby squeezed
Mrs. Truman’s hand and replied, “I’m fine. I need to change. Can
you warm up the coffee? I’ll be down in five minutes.”

It was then
Mrs. Truman’s eyes narrowed on Abby’s outfit.

“Abigail
Butler, you’re wearing the same clothes from last night,” she
accused.

“Um, yes,” Abby
told her.

Mrs. Truman’s
narrowed eyes came to hers. “Are you engaging in hanky-panky with
your young man?” she snapped and Abby felt her face flush.

“Mrs. Truman –”
Abby started to tell her this, above all, was none of her business
but didn’t get anything out before Jenny spoke.

“That’s hardly
the point. Her arm is covered in bandages!” Jenny had walked up
close.

“It
is
the point, Jennifer,” Mrs. Truman shot back. “A good girl doesn’t
do
that
before marriage.”

“You were awake
when we celebrated the millennium, weren’t you?” Jenny returned and
Abby pulled in breath waiting for Mrs. Truman to explode.

She wasn’t
disappointed.

“Well, aren’t
you Mrs. Fancy Pants?” Mrs. Truman asked sharply on raised voice
and one of her spaniels yapped in support of its mistress. “It’s
clear to see Abigail has enough emotional distress with losing her
grandmother and her job and overall stress with all this banging
and new roofs and men in and out of her house all day. Not to
mention, her first romance after the death of her beloved. She
doesn’t need sex mucking up the waters.”

Mrs. Truman was
right about that. Alas, it was too late.

Clearly Jenny
also knew the older woman was right. This was evidenced by her lack
of retort accompanied by a stubborn glare.

Abby
sighed.

“Ladies, can I
change?” she asked.

Mrs. Truman let
go of her arm. “You change. I’ll make more coffee. Warmed up coffee
tastes funny. You need fresh when blood’s involved,” she declared
with authority as if this kind of situation happened to her
frequently.

Abby escaped to
her room, tore off her dress, thigh high stockings and boots, threw
on some jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt and dashed, barefoot, to
the bathroom.

She said good
morning to the two workmen who were installing her basin, asked if
they needed a cuppa (they didn’t, Mrs. Truman had serviced them)
and then she ran downstairs.

The donuts had
been arranged artfully on one of Gram’s china platters. It sat on
the table in front of the couch with Gram’s silver coffee service
and china.

Mrs. Truman had
been busy.

Abby perused
the selection of donuts.

English donuts
were different than American. There was less variety, which was
disappointing. But many of them involved custard and/or cream which
Abby thought, as a plus.

While Mrs.
Truman poured her coffee, Abby selected a long donut, split
lengthwise and piped along the split with mixture of cream
and
custard and dropped to her couch. One of Mrs. Truman’s
dogs jumped up beside her and sat panting and staring at Abby’s
donut.

The whole time,
Abby felt Jenny’s eyes on her.

When she
settled, Jenny impatiently demanded, “Start with the blood.”

“Well,” Abby
began, not knowing how to say what she had to say without them
thinking she was insane.

“Spit it out,
Abigail, we don’t have all day,” Mrs. Truman asked then bit into a
sugar-coated jam donut, consuming at least a quarter in one
bite.

“I was shoved
into a mirror by a ghost,” Abby blurted.

Jenny
gasped.

Mrs. Truman
snapped, “
What?
” but since her mouth was full, bits of donut
flew out.

Abby took in a
breath and explained, “Cash’s family owns Penmort Castle. It’s said
to be haunted and I’m here, just barely, to tell you that is most
definitely
true
.”

Jenny shot out
of her chair and leaned toward Abby. “I
knew
this would
happen. I
told
you.”

Mrs. Truman
swallowed and decreed, “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“There is!”
Jenny shouted, clearly beside herself.

“Is not!” Mrs.
Truman shouted back, never really needing a reason to raise her
voice.

“Trust me, Mrs.
Truman, I would have been fighting your corner but I saw her. I
knew what she was. I could see
through
her. She was there,
she was real, she was angry and she shoved me,” Abby told her and
looked up at Jenny. “Then my hand went through the mirror, I cut
myself, slipped, banged my head on the basin and went
unconscious.”

“Oh
God,
” Jenny breathed and collapsed back in her chair.

“What does
Fraser say about this?” Mrs. Truman asked.

“I haven’t told
him the ghost part,” Abby admitted.

“Well I can see
why not considering if you did he’d rightly think you were mad,”
Mrs. Truman retorted.

Abby turned her
body to face the older woman. “Honest, I wish it wasn’t true. But
I’m telling you, Mrs. Truman, she’s real and she means to hurt me,”
Abby’s eyes moved to Jenny. “And, in less than two weeks from now,
I’m supposed to go back there for the anniversary celebrations and
stay there,
overnight
.”

“You can’t do
it,” Jenny told her immediately.

“I know!” Abby
agreed. “But I can’t not do it either, Cash would be –”

“You have to
get rid of her,” Mrs. Truman butted in and both women’s eyes moved
to her.

“Get rid of
her?” Jenny asked.

Mrs. Truman
waved her donut in the air. “Yes, get rid of her.”

“Who?” Abby
queried.

“The ghost!”
Mrs. Truman replied with severe impatience.

“How’s she
going to do that?” Jenny enquired.

“I don’t know,”
Mrs. Truman admitted, “but we’ll sort something out.” Then she took
another bite of her donut and calmly chewed.

It wasn’t lost
on Abby that Mrs. Truman said “we’ll”.

Abby decided
not to fight it, she wouldn’t win. It seemed post-dinner-party that
Mrs. Truman had decided to become a fixture in Abby’s life.

Abby had to
admit she didn’t mind in the slightest.

“I don’t think
it’s that easy to get rid of a ghost,” Abby told the older
woman.

“I didn’t say
it’d be easy,” Mrs. Truman noted, waving the remains of her donut
again. “I just said we’d sort something out.” She leaned forward
and took a sip of coffee before sitting back and saying, “I know a
few people. I’ll make some calls.”

Abby couldn’t
imagine what kind of calls she’d make to find someone to get rid of
a ghost but she didn’t have time to ask, Jenny spoke.

“Are you okay,
your arm, that is?”

Abby nodded.
“Yes, Cash found me in the bathroom and carried me to a couch. He
cleaned me up and then demanded that the paramedics look me over
before he’d even let me sit up. I had a little headache this
morning but mostly head and arm are both fine.”

“He’s a good
boy,” Mrs. Truman muttered but Jenny was watching Abby closely and
Abby knew why.

Abby took a
bite of her donut and assured Jenny, mouth full, “It’s all
good.”