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

candle flame, it was flickering below him, moving down the twisting stairwell. As the light vanished around the corner he saw a shadowy shape that looked like a monk in a robe.
    “Julius?”
    It was madness to think that his chaplain might be here, but still his heart leapt. A familiar face would be welcome in this unfamiliar time. Had the witch given him a friend in his exile?
    He began to follow.
    When he reached the bottom of the stairs the shadowy figure was already well ahead of him, gliding across the floor. Was it Julius? He couldn’t be sure. As it reached the door, it seemed to hesitate, half-turning toward him. As if it wanted him to come after it.
    “Who are you?”
    It paused a moment more, but it was only a black shape against the light. Then the door opened and closed, and it was gone. Reynald started after it, determined to discover who or what it was.
    The door led into a corridor, and the figure was already moving away. After a while he realized that the light and its keeper were remaining just out of his reach, no matter how he quickened his steps. And the light wasn’t like one of the lights he had seen in this new world; nor was it like one of those he had left behind. Rather, it was something from the between-worlds, ghostly and intriguing.
    It had passed through another door now, into the bailey. By the time he ran outside, the figure was at the castle wall, already climbing upward.
    Snow covered the ground, thick enough to sink beneath his boots. He shivered. He was wearing only his trousers and tunic; the bulk of his clothing was still in Amy’s room. Ahead of him he could see the mysterious light on the top of the battlements, appearing and disappearing between the crenelations. Reynald considered himself a physically powerful and fit man, but whatever was ahead of him was far stronger and fitter.
    If it was a mortal being! Perhaps it was an apparition? Did his chaplain really haunt the castle? He couldn’t imagine anything less like Julius than wandering about with a light. If Julius was a spirit, then he would prefer the chapel, or a warm corner with some of his intellectual books on religion.
    The wind was stronger up here, and the cold made his eyes sting. The light bobbed ahead of him, moving across the wall above the old gatehouse. He blinked. It seemed to be closer than before. He quickened his pace, thinking that at last he was catching up.
    “Julius!” he called, and despite all his reasoning he was still hoping it was so. “Speak to me, old friend…”
    He ducked through a low doorway, feeling his way along a passage in almost total darkness. Only the unearthly light ahead of him showed him the way. The men of his garrison had once slept here, when they guarded the wall day and night. Now the place was musty and empty, a desolate reminder of what had been. He turned a corner in pitch-blackness, and found himself momentarily blinded.
    There, directly in front of him, was the light.
    His quarry had proceeded through an archway and was now facing him head-on from the other side. He was sure that whoever it was was watching him.
    “Julius, is it you?” Reynald’s voice sounded very loud. He hadn’t realized until now how alone he was—the music from the party was barely more than an annoying buzz.
    The unmoving shadow said nothing, but the light was growing brighter, making it difficult to see. Reynald stretched out a hand to grasp one side of the archway, feeling the old stone crumble. Still the figure didn’t move. He stepped out from the arch, through to the other side, and as he did so the light grew even more brilliant, dazzling him. Quickly, in an effort to escape being blinded, he looked down. And saw, fifty feet beneath him, the frozen ice of the moat.
    Reynald grabbed desperately at the stones of the archway, his forward momentum already taking his body out into emptiness. One hand found a gap, where some of the mortar had fallen out. He dug his fingers into the crevice