Passions of the Ghost by Sara Mackenzie Read Free Book Online Page A

saw that it was still snowing outside. Maybe it was the snow that made the air feel damp and cold, or maybe it was because he was in a part of the castle that hadn’t been modernized. No one had painted these walls or added soft floor coverings. It was much as he remembered—a stark fortress with few comforts for the men who dwelt here. And why should it be anything else, when their every waking moment was spent keeping watch over the Ghost’s borders?
    He’d spent the last few hours making an inspection tour of his castle, as far as he was able. There had been additions since 1299, such as a new outer gate to the south, and new timber buildings in the bailey to replace the stables and kitchen and various workshops he remembered. In parts, the inside of the castle was almost unrecognizable, where rooms had been added or divided. Reynald felt angry when he thought of someone turning his home into a fairground for fools.
    Were people no longer under attack from the Welsh or the Scots? Was the greed and treachery of their neighbors no longer an issue? Did no one take anything seriously anymore?
    But there was satisfaction in finding that the secret passageways and stairways he’d built into the walls were still here, and untouched. By the thickness of the dust and the cobwebs inside them, it was likely no one had used them since 1299. He could move about the castle as he wished, without being observed. These people here now might believe they were safe and secure, but the Ghost had come from a time when nothing was certain, and he knew better.
    “They say that the dragon will come and destroy us all.”
    Angharad’s voice was like a distant echo as he remembered that day. She was translating for him in the great hall, he sitting in his ornate lord’s chair and she standing before him in her simple gown, her long gray hair loose about her. A small group of Welshmen were gathered below the dais, proud, watchful, and suspicious.
    They were right to be so. In his father’s time they would have been thrown into the dungeon as a matter of course. It had taken Reynald years to gain their trust to this point. To make them realize he was not a man like his father.
    “Dragon?” Reynald frowned. “Are they threatening me?”
    Angharad smiled serenely. “I do not think so, my lord.”
    “Then they truly mean a dragon? A real dragon?”
    “It would seem so. My lord.”
    “That is primitive nonsense, my lord.” Julius spoke up. He was Reynald’s chaplain and scribe, but although he wrote Reynald’s letters and read those sent to him, he was more concerned with heaven and hell than day-to-day problems. And he didn’t like Angharad; he didn’t like the fact that Reynald paid so much attention to her. He took every opportunity to undermine her position. “These people are little more than pagan savages.”
    “Of course it is nonsense,” Reynald said levelly. He met the old woman’s eyes, trying to read the expression in them. Was it mockery he saw? Reynald knew she thought Julius a fool, despite his learning. “He is afraid of life, so he hides behind his God and his books,” she’d scoffed often enough. As for her countrymen: “They squabble amongst themselves; they will never agree long enough to unite against their enemies.”
    Sometimes he wondered what she really thought of him, but she never said—not to his face, anyway. It mattered not. She was a very wise woman, and to his mind she had proved herself. He found he was taking her advice more and more. She was his tongue, when it came to speaking to the Welsh, but she was also his eyes and his ears.
    Even so, she had died that day with the others. He should have protected her, been able to save her. He should have kept his word.
    Reynald shivered as frigid air blasted through the arrow slit in the wall. He was tired, and it was time to return to Amy’s room. He took a step down the stairwell, almost stumbling, and it was then that he saw it.
    A light.
    Like a