The Haunting of Grey Cliffs (15 page)

"They are well-behaved boys," I said, picking my words carefully. "And they are doing their best to fit in." I sighed. "But Ned does not fully accept them. He treats them more like servants than like friends."

Edward sighed. "That’s how it has to be, I suppose. After all, he is going to be the next earl. That separates him from ordinary people."

"Everyone needs friends!" The words burst from me before I could stop them. "Ned is already surrounded by servants." Expecting at any moment to have Edward pull away from me, I hastened to explain more calmly. "He's not an earl yet, you know. He's a lonely little boy, and he desperately needs friends."

"He has you." Edward's voice was strangely husky.

"I am his mother," I replied. 'There's a difference."

"Yes," Edward said slowly, as though he were considering each word. "There's a vast difference."

His hand moved upward, came to rest on my breast. "Speaking of mothers," he went on, his voice a throaty whisper. "Shall we see if we can provide you with yet another child to mother?"

I was not deceived by the gentle sarcasm of his words. Edward was no longer bothered by my desire for his child. In fact, he seemed to share it.

I turned into his arms, my lips close to his. "Yes, " I whispered. "Yes."

And in the passionate moments that followed I gave no thought whatsoever to any misgivings about bringing another child into the world, or to my suspicions of its father.

* * * *

The days wore on, following each other in orderly progression. And my love for Edward continued to grow. I basked in it and tried to put thoughts of the previous earl and his strange death completely out of my mind.

A week passed, a happy, almost ordinary week. And early one afternoon I retired to the closed courtyard garden for a walk. After the mishap on the moor and the shot I thought had been fired at me on the cliff, I was uneasy going alone outside the castle walls. Yet I felt the need for occasional exercise and fresh air.

And so I had begun to frequent the courtyard, a garden formed by the four sides of the castle. It was a relatively large area, bordered with beds of flowers.

Of course they were all withered and dead, the first frost having killed them. Still, the air was fresh and the sun could be felt, at least in the early afternoon. And so I went daily for a little stroll, a little time to myself.

I took care to inform Hillyer first. Edward's anguish the day he couldn't find me had stuck in my mind. I hadn't dared ask what he'd feared that day, but I knew he feared something.

At any rate, on this particular day I was feeling rather well, congratulating myself that the week had gone smoothly. Perhaps I had exaggerated the things that had happened, I told myself as I took another turn about the garden. Cousin Julia's incessant references to the spirits of the dead had unnerved me. Coincidences
were
possible, I told myself, trying to believe,
wanting
to believe. And I actually had no evidence that I'd been shot at—only that brief sound.

So I paced, round and round the courtyard, almost talking myself into a better, more optimistic frame of mind. The high castle walls kept out the wind. The sun was warm, its cheerful heat raised my spirits, helped me think only of the best things.

Finally I smiled and set myself to imagining how I should have the flower beds planted come spring. Over there I would have a great bed of wildflowers brought in from the moor. And in that corner—a corner that seemed particularly dark because the sun had moved and the walls now threw it into gloom—in that corner I would have the gardener plant a bed of bright marigolds.

Their brilliance would brighten the entire courtyard. I paused for a moment, turning my back to the shadows by the wall, and contemplated the entire courtyard. It was sadly overgrown by tall ragged weeds, but come spring I would make of it a—

A sound behind me made me start. I whirled, thinking to catch the boys creeping up to play a trick on me. But before I could see anything, I felt a terrible sharp pain on the back of my head and the world exploded into a blackness laced with stars.

* * * *

I don't know how long I lay unconscious. I remember a vague feeling of unrest as I slowly struggled toward consciousness. My head was throbbing with the most dreadful pain and my elbow felt wrenched.

I lay still, trying to make some sense out of my hazy recollection. There had been the noise. I remembered that.

Had I turned too quickly, tripped and fallen, hitting my head in the process? Yet I distinctly remembered feeling the pain
before
I fell. And what was that strange odor, that rustling noise, that prickling sensation against my head and cheek.

Slowly I opened my eyes.

And then the horror of it hit me! It was hay I smelled, straw I felt against my cheek. And the dark shape that loomed over me was a horse! The big black stallion that Edward had recently purchased, the horse that I believed had tried to trample me on the moor!

I shrank back against the floor, choking down the scream that burbled in my throat. A horse! This was no accident. Someone had brought me here, had left me at the mercy of this great brute. Someone who knew— I could not think about that now.

I cowered against the stable wall, my limbs gone into a wild trembling. The stallion, smelling my fear, shifted uneasily, whinnying deep in his throat.

My mind raced, my thoughts in chaos. "No," I moaned. If I could have, I would have clawed my way out through the stable wall, but of course I could not. I could only crouch there, trying to think, trying not to scream.

The horse snorted and danced sideways, tossing his dark mane. Another, even worse, fit of trembling overtook me.

I tried to think. Think! I told myself sternly. I wrapped my arms around myself to still my quaking. And suddenly, in the back of my mind, I could hear Ned's voice. "Horses don't hurt you on purpose," he was saying. "The thing is they get afraid too. You have to move slowly. And talk to them. So they know you like them."

Slowly, slowly,
I repeated to myself.
They get afraid too.

The horse danced again, his hooves moving closer, striking the straw near my skirt with sharp, deadly blows.

"Easy, easy," I said. "Easy, boy."
Slowly, move slowly.

My back to the wall, my eyes on the huge animal before me, I pushed myself slowly erect. Inch by quivering inch, I pushed myself up. The wall behind me was rough. Splinters caught at my cloak, gouged my trembling fingers, but I persisted, slowly bringing myself upright.

"Nice boy," I crooned. "You're a beauty. Such a beauty. I won't hurt you. Easy, easy now."

Finally I stood erect, my knees barely keeping me upright. Carefully, step by step, I edged toward the stall door. The stallion snorted again, moving closer to me. I froze. He was huge, a tremendous animal whose bulk stood between me and safety.

I took another breath, swallowing the scream that wanted to rip from my throat. The horse moved closer still.

I pressed back against the wall, my breath catching in my throat. And the stallion thrust his great head toward me. In the gloom I could see him bare his huge teeth. They came closer and closer.

And then, just before my knees gave way and I slid to the floor, the beast brushed my cheek with his nose. I gasped, thinking he meant to hurt me. And then he nuzzled me, slowly and carefully.

The animal meant its overtures to be friendly. It liked me!

I reached a tentative hand to stroke the big head, feeling the silken hair, the warm rippling muscle. There was a comfort to the feel of the horse, a warmth under my fingers I had never imagined.

The horse whuffled, shaking his head slightly, nosing against my shoulder. Laughter bubbled out of me—half-hysterical laughter it was true, but laughter nevertheless. Still laughing, I threw my arms around the horse's neck and buried my face in his sweet-smelling mane.

"Bless you, Ned," I murmured. "Oh bless you." The boy—and his advice—had probably saved my life. I stroked the great horse's muscled neck. "Such a beauty you are," I whispered. "Such a marvelous beauty."

I stroked the horse for a while longer, then made my way to the door and eased out of the stall. My mysterious assailant had failed again. His effort to frighten me had, instead, cured me of my fear of horses.

I brushed the straw from my clothing and turned toward the house. I wished that I could forget this latest attack on my person, but I could not. There was no possible way that this could have been an accident.

Though I might have fallen, I could not possibly have gotten into the stable by myself. Someone had carried me there, someone who knew about my fear of horses. But no one knew about that—only Ned.

I stopped on the darkening pathway to the castle, almost overcome by the terrible wave of paralyzing nausea that swept over me. Edward knew. That first day Edward had told me I would not be required to ride with Ned. Oh, Edward!

My knees failed me then, and I sank down on the cold stone walk, overcome by my fear. Oh God! Edward, my Edward, knew my fear of horses.

I buried my face in my shaking hands. Edward
had
been the one to benefit from his father's death. He, after all, had succeeded to the title. But why then had he married me? Why had he brought me to Grey Cliffs, to this godforsaken place? I could see no reason for him complicating his life by taking a wife.

But perhaps there
was
a reason, some reason I could not ascertain.
Oh God,
I prayed.
Help me. Help me know what to do.

After my prayer, I felt somewhat better. I had no solution to my dilemma, of course, but putting my problems in God's hands had relieved my mind, at least a little.

I got slowly to my feet and prepared to return to the castle. I had made two sacred promises—the one about Ned to his father, and the other—my marriage vows—to God. I could not break either of them.

But even had I been willing to break my vows, I would not have left Edward. My life was inextricably interwoven with my husband's. And I knew, to my dismay, that I would reject anyone or anything that tried to separate me from him.

By the time I reached the castle my head was pounding horribly and my elbow felt bruised to the bone. But that pain was nothing to the pain festering in my heart.

I made my way to the library, determined to present a normal face to the world. Perhaps my reappearance, looking ordinary, would startle the attacker, cause him to give himself away.

I had about decided that my attacker must be male. Someone had transported me from the courtyard to the stable, after all—a considerable distance. Surely Cousin Julia could not have done such a thing, at least not alone. Although I had heard that demented people sometimes were capable of deeds of great and marvelous strength.

I sank down in my chair, holding out my icy hands to the warmth of the flames. As always, the heat barely reached me. The room remained chill and dank. But my heart was even colder.

As I waited for Hillyer to bring the hot tea I'd ordered, I allowed my eyes to close. I was a strong woman, determined in my purpose, but I didn't know how long I could bear up under such strain.

Though I had stopped asking questions, the attacker had not let me be. Someone still believed me a danger—and would continue to believe so until he disposed of me or I found him out.

It seemed I had only one choice—I must find the killer and expose him. But how?

Chapter Fifteen

The next day the weather turned really warm. The sun and the heat made it seem almost like spring outside. Yet the castle remained cold. Gazing out the nursery window, I shivered at the prospect of yet another day in the castle's dark environs. I simply would not do it.

I turned to the boys, occupied with the sums on their slates. "Put down your chalk," I said cheerfully. "Put on your stout walking shoes and warm clothes."

"Where are—"

"We going?" asked the twins.

"Are we going for a walk?" Ned asked, glaring at the other two.

"Yes," I replied, ignoring his bad manners. "We're going for an excursion on the moor."

The twins looked at each other and smiled.

"Captain, too?" Ned whistled for the dog.

I nodded. "Of course. We wouldn't leave him at home."

The boys were ready in no time, and, leaving Betty with instructions for ordering up a supper against our return, we set out.

As I watched the boys trudging ahead of me, I mused on the relationships between them. Ned was still the undisputed leader. That didn't bother me so much, but I still didn't care for the way he ordered the twins about, as though they existed merely for his convenience. However, I knew talking would have little effect on him. It would take something else—at the time I didn't know what—to convince the boy that friends were more valuable than servitors.

For some time we made our way through the twisted stunted oaks where the sun barely reached, and then we were on the moor. We had not come out where I had been the afternoon the horseman tried to trample me, but farther toward the sea. The smell of it was strong in my nostrils, the taste of salt on my tongue.

I smiled. I loved the ocean—its beauty and its grandeur. But I knew it could be capricious.

"Stay back from the waves," I instructed. "I don't want you to get wet and take a chill."

The boys nodded and began exploring the shoreline for the kinds of treasures boys are always excited by—a shell, a feather, a piece of weathered wood.

I found a big flat rock and made myself a spot on it—a nice warm comfortable spot—and prepared to spend some soothing hours in the sun.

But I had no sooner removed my bonnet and disposed my skirts nicely around me than the dog yapped excitedly and broke away from the boys, rushing off across the sand at a great pace.

"Captain! Come back!" Ned yelled after him. But to no avail—the dog just kept going.

"He's not gonna come," Peter said.

"He wants that rabbit," Paul added.

Ned was already chasing after the dog, disgust in his voice as he cried, "Captain, stop! Come back here!"