Passions of the Ghost (14 page)

“Oh Rey, you’re good,” she said huskily. “You’re
very
good.”

That made him laugh, and warmth flooded his normally cool, gray eyes.

“I’m glad you waited for me,” Amy added, and she was only half-joking. “Maybe chastity is underrated these days.”

“Perhaps not everyone has my incentive,” he replied wryly.

“No.” She frowned. “I suppose a would-be lover who cuts your throat can be a life-changing experience.” Amy hesitated. “Sorry, that was a terrible thing to say.”

“I do not mind, damsel. I want to hear about your life. But first…” He bent his head to nibble her earlobe, and his arm slid around her, turning her and drawing her against him until they were pressed together, skin to skin.

“Is that your sword?” she joked weakly.

He gave her that smile, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Aye, it is. Can I use your scabbard to sheath it in?”

“Oh God, Rey,” she groaned, “that’s a terrible metaphor.”

His smile broadened. “Terrible or not, what is your answer, damsel?”

And Amy leaned closer, gazing hungrily at his lips. “Be my guest.”

Reynald felt a new lightness. As if his body
might just float off the bed if Amy wasn’t there to hold on to him. It wasn’t just the physical release of their mating, there was much more to it than that. He’d made a joke about his sword and her sheath, but there was a truth in his words that went far beyond the surface crudity.

They fitted together. They were made for each other.

Together, he and Amy were complete, and for a moment his inner conflict was stilled.

He stroked her bright curls as she dozed against his shoulder. If he could have his way right now, he would take her back with him to his own time, and together they would create the world he had always dreamed of. But time was not his to meddle with, and besides, she mightn’t want to go. Ultimately, frustratingly, Reynald knew he had no control over what happened to him.

Having found Amy, it seemed unjust that he would soon be leaving her, but Reynald had grown up in a world where justice was something few expected. Crops failed, wars erupted, disease spread. A man prayed to God to save his family, but he did not expect his overlords to do so. Love was but a dream, to be looked forward to in the next life rather than this one.
That
was reality.

To have a woman like Amy at his side, a woman he desired, to walk with him through the years ahead. To lie down with her every night, be held in her arms and to hold her. To be content and
happy…
Aye, Reynald would give much for that.

Outside in the darkness the snow was falling again, blown against the glass by savage gusts of wind. He admitted to himself that he would miss things such as double-glazing and air-conditioning, but he could live without them. He would have to. There were other matters he would certainly not miss; the crowd of fools who were currently inhabiting his castle, for instance.

I need to be in control of my destiny again.

The words lingered in his mind. Something the witch had said to him had been nagging at him ever since.

I always did what was right.

But how did you know it was right?

I asked questions.

What was wrong in asking questions? Advice was important in making decisions, and Reynald liked to hear what others thought. His father had been single-minded, always believing he was right, but Reynald wasn’t so arrogant. He knew he had been wrong before, and nearly died for it. He could not afford to be wrong again.

But he had been. He had been wrong about the dragon. And his aim with the longbow, that fateful, terrible day, had been astray. Because even as he was preparing to shoot his arrow, he hadn’t believed he was capable of destroying such a creature. He hadn’t listened to himself, to what was in his own heart. Was that what the witch had been trying to tell him, in her oblique way?

After Morwenna, Reynald had found it difficult to believe in himself. Such a mistake—almost fatal—shook him to the core. He’d begun to listen to others, growing more and more cautious of his inner voice. All great men, even kings, had advisors, there was nothing wrong in that. And he didn’t always take their advice; Reynald was an intelligent, clearheaded leader. He knew what was right and what was wrong.

But gradually, over time, he’d stopped listening to the voice of his own heart. He’d stopped believing it.

“Rey?”

Amy was staring up at him, her curls rumpled, her eyes sleepy, and her lips swollen. He had that light-headed feeling again, as if he was floating with sheer happiness.

“I’m hungry,” she complained. “Starving, actually.”

“Hungry?” He examined his own feelings and discovered an emptiness in his belly, too. “Do you think there is any roast beef left from the feast?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “I’ll ring for room service,” she said.

Amy made the call, and they sat up in bed and ate roast beef sandwiches with fries—American style, she told him, and he smiled even though he didn’t understand. She knew he probably didn’t understand half of what she was saying to him, but it didn’t seem to matter. They were communicating perfectly in the ways that were important.

When they made love again it was just as good as before. She’d half thought that last time might just have been the emotion of the moment—Rey’s seven hundred years of chastity coming to a climactic end—that had made it seem better than any sex she had ever experienced before.

But she was convinced now; to her, it really was special. A forever-after situation. And comparing Rey to her other sexual partners was like comparing the sun to a twenty-five-watt bulb.

Did Rey feel the same? He certainly enjoyed making love to her, he couldn’t hide that, but did that mean he wanted to stay with her forever? Perhaps it was just the novelty, after being celibate for so long. Perhaps it didn’t really matter who she was, as long as she was a woman and had the required parts.

Rey hadn’t made love to any woman since Morwenna. She wanted to believe that made her special, but Amy wasn’t sure. And she was practical enough not to build up her hopes. But she knew her life could never go back to what it’d been before, and the realization was wonderful, and bleak, at the same time. Because when it came to boyfriends, Rey was as short-term as it was possible to be. She believed that the eagle was right. They were meant for each other in every sense of the word, and it seemed cruel and unfair that there was no future for them and never could be.

She lay, listening to Rey sleeping beside her and wondering what she was going to do. Outside, she could hear the wind moaning around the castle walls, and she shivered, wondering if the roads would be open in the morning. It sounded like a blizzard out there. She might never get back to her flat in London, and the life she had planned out for herself.

Just at the moment she didn’t really care.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep.

Amy glanced at his closed eyes and snuggled closer. “Are you awake? I was listening to the storm outside.”

“We are safe in my castle,” he said dreamily, drawing her in against him, one arm heavy about her waist. “The walls are strong, they can withstand sieges and storms, and my garrison is well trained. I promise you, damsel, nothing can harm us.”

He seemed to have forgotten where he was, as if just for a moment he’d slipped back into the past. Amy opened her mouth to remind him, but then changed her mind. Maybe it was kinder to let him dream, and, anyway, it was nice to pretend. Who knew how much longer they might have together? Reality would raise its ugly head soon enough without her raising it for him.

“I know I’m safe with you, my lord,” she whispered.

“In the morning I will send some of my men out to see whether any of the villagers are in need. The winter is difficult for those who are old and young in years. I will need your help, Amy.”

“So it’s the lady of the castle’s job to supply hot soup and blankets?” she asked, curious. In her ignorance, she’d always thought of the lady as someone who was unlikely to soil her hands with anything more strenuous than embroidery and a little singing.

“The lady is the heart of the castle. It is she who makes of it a place of warmth and joyfulness, or misery and darkness. It is the lady who must look to everyone under her lord’s roof, and beyond it, making certain they are fed and cared for. She must make a tally of every morsel of food in the storerooms, and every jug of ale in the great hall. She must know exactly how long the castle can last under siege, or through a bad winter. She must kiss her lord without tears when he rides out to battle, even if she knows he may not come back again alive. To those she rules she is the lady, but when she and her lord are alone in their bed at night, she is a woman, and she opens her body and her heart to him, and him alone.”

Amy chuckled. “You’re a romantic, Rey. I don’t know about the tallying up the food bit—math was never my strong point—but I get your meaning. I could do most of that. But I think, if I were the lady of the castle, my first job would be to teach the children to read. Their parents, too, if they wanted me to.”

“Julius will look upon you with disfavor.” He said
will,
as if it was actually possible.

“Well, Julius
will
just have to bite his tongue, won’t he?” Amy could play the game, too.

“He can be intimidating to those who do not know him well.”

“I’m not scared of him. Anyway, I’m the lady of the castle. I’ll tell send him to clean the privies, or something.”

He opened his eyes and looked a little shocked. “Julius is the youngest son of a baron, damsel. He has never cleaned a privy in his life.”

“Then maybe he should.”

He smiled again, then laughed softly. “Ah, Angharad will like you. She is strong and speaks her mind. Julius calls her…” His voice trailed off.

“Pig-headed?”

“Aye, that’s it,” he said lazily, grinning at her.

“Angharad meant a lot to you, didn’t she?”

“I trusted her, and offered to protect her, but I failed her, and she died, in the end, because of me.”

“Are you sure she died? You said that you didn’t actually see it happen. Remember, you thought Julius was dead, and he turned out to be alive. Angharad might have gotten away. Who knows, she might have lived out her days quite comfortably in her, eh, hut.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, and he was bleak now, the playfulness gone.

The Ghost was done with pretending.

Amy pulled a face. So it was back in the real world now. As if on cue, she heard someone ringing the bell, calling the guests to breakfast. Jez had probably spent all night waiting for Amy to explain herself. It was a wonder he hadn’t come looking for her.

It was a confrontation she could have done without.

“I’ll go alone,” she said.

“Very well.”

It was only after he answered that she realized she’d spoken aloud, following her own line of thought, and he had answered as if he was quite easily able to read her mind.

Jez answered his door on the third knock.
Silently, he stood leaning against the jamb. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was untidy, and his shirt, usually immaculate, looked as if he’d spent the night in it. Amy wondered what he thought of her own dark-circled eyes and whether he’d guess her reasons for not sleeping were probably a lot more pleasant than his.

“Hiyu,” she said, a little warily.

“Hello, Amy.”

“I wanted to talk.”

“I don’t know if I want to listen.”

“Can I come in if I promise not to yell and scream?”

“Or toss me onto my back on the floor?”

“When have I ever tossed you onto your back on the floor?”

At least she’d made him smile. He stepped aside and allowed her into the room.

The remains of his breakfast was still on a tray in the middle of his unmade bed, and he shifted it to the table. “There’s some coffee left in the pot if you want a cup while we talk?”

“No, thanks.”

“I think I will. I need all the caffeine I can get before I face Nicco today.”

Amy sank down into a chair. So much for preliminary chitchat, they’d already got to the unpleasant part. “I’m very sorry, Jez…”

“I don’t understand,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Couldn’t you just have said no?”

“He wouldn’t listen,” she murmured, staring down at her hands, held tight together in her lap. “I was being candid, but he thought I was playing games with him.”

“I suppose he had a right to think that. You were playing games, Amy.”

There was enough justification in that to stop her from arguing with him, although she still believed Nicco was as much in the wrong as she. The silence dragged on, and she shifted uncomfortably, saying in a small voice, “Do you think I can make it all right with him?”

“Do you want to make it all right?” Jez had poured himself coffee and was watching her over the rim of his cup. “It’s just that I got the impression you weren’t keen to go on with it.”

This was the moment she’d been dreading. Whatever she said it was going to be difficult…No,
horrible
. It was a no-win situation for her.

Jez set down his cup. “Tell me the truth,” he said gruffly. “I always thought that between us, at least, we could be honest.”

“All right.” She met his eyes. “You’re right, I’m hating this weekend with Nicco. But I know how much you need the diamond, Jez. I don’t want to let you down.”

“Amy—”

“No, listen to me. Now I’ve started talking I have to finish.” She took a breath. “I owe you a lot, Jez, more than I can ever repay, and I want so much to do this for you. But it’s tearing me to pieces. If I sleep with Nicco—and that’s what it’ll come down to—I’ll rip away all the good things in my life that I’ve been building up for the past four years. I’ll be right back where I started.”

He seemed flattened. “I didn’t realize you felt like that.”

“I should have said. I’m sorry. I know how much you love all this, but I don’t, Jez. For me, it was over a long time ago.”

He nodded. “So, what are you going to do?” he asked, and his smile was painful. “Take a trip around the world? Climb mountains and fly planes?”

“No, Jez,” she whispered. “That’s what
you
would do. I don’t want or need that sort of buzz. What I’m doing is something that doesn’t involve lying or cheating or stealing.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t believe her. “You’d miss it, sweetheart. Whatever you say, you’d start to get bored, then you’d give me a ring and—”

“I wouldn’t, you know.”

“What about that diplomat with the dodgy bank account and the taste for young girls? Don’t you remember him? When we took off with his cash and left those photos with the cops, you said we’d done a good job.”

“I know I did. But there weren’t many days like that. I want to be a grown-up, with a grown-up job, and a life where I’m not waiting for the authorities to come pounding on my door in the middle of the night. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder all the time, wondering if I’m being followed by that pal of yours, what’s his name.”

“Detective Inspector O’Neill.”

“Yep, him. When someone offers to give me a body search, I want it to be my lover and not some constable with a smirk. When I say I’ve done ten years, I want to mean my job and not prison. Do you see what I’m getting at here, Jez?”

She was breathing quickly. Amy realized she’d been close to shouting at him with frustration. It surprised him, she could see that, and upset him. He’d had no idea she felt like this; he’d been oblivious to everything but the game.

“I should have told you a long time ago,” she admitted.

“No, no, I should have seen it. I just never…” He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “I just never thought we were that different. Two of a kind.” He gave a weak half laugh that made her heart ache.

There was a silence while he went to peer out of the window at the falling snow. He’d done that, she remembered, when they were children. It was as if there was always something more interesting beyond the room he was standing in, while she’d been content to stay put. She wanted to go to him now, but she didn’t quite dare.

“Will you be all right?” she asked him softly.

“Sure, why not?” He shrugged, hands in his pockets.

“So…what are you going to tell Nicco?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Jez, I have some savings. I can help you to pay off these people.”

He turned to her, pulling a face. “Sweetheart, your savings wouldn’t even make a dent in what I owe them. Don’t worry. I’ll get hold of the Star somehow. My lucky star, hey?” And he laughed, sounding like their father when he was in trouble, as if he expected her to join in. Amy didn’t even smile—it was beyond her to pretend this was anything other than an awful moment.

“Jez, please…”

“Better get moving,” he cut through her briskly. “What’s on today? My memory is still recovering from those cocktails.”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I think there might be a service in the chapel, and then some sort of battle reenactment. That’s just this morning. Oh, and a fair.”

“Rustic handcrafts with four-figure price tags. Wonderful,” Jez said, smiling and showing his teeth.

Amy hesitated. She had the urge to explain herself again, but he clearly wanted her out of the room as soon as possible. “Okay then. I’ll talk to you later.”

He closed the door and left her standing there in the muted luxury of the corridor.

Amy felt sick. Whatever her justification, the truth was she’d failed her brother. Disappointed him. Left him in a dangerous position. There was the possibility that he was playing up his situation, overreacting, but she didn’t think so. The truth was, she hadn’t seen him that shattered since they were children, and their father had smashed his skateboard to pieces for some imagined transgression.

On the way back to her room, Amy could see through the glassed-in windows that the snow was falling harder than before. It was piled up everywhere, covering paths and roofs. When one of the kitchen staff approached her, wheeling a trolley, she asked whether the roads were closed.

“Yes, madam, the main highway into London is closed, and most of the minor roads are shut, too. They say there’s more snow on the way, too, so it’s not going to improve just yet. Is there a problem?”

As far as Amy was concerned there wasn’t a problem. Here she was, trapped in a snowbound castle, with Rey. If it were just him and her, then she’d be celebrating, but there were also Jez and Nicco. And, she reminded herself, an apparition with a lantern who seemed to want to kill them. Would the snow help Rey discover where he had gone wrong in 1299, or would it hinder him?

Maybe if he didn’t find out, he could stay a little longer?

It was a nice thought, but Amy didn’t think the witch from the between-worlds worked like that. Once the clock ticked down, that was probably it, and he’d either return home to the past or be locked away forever.

She’d reached the corridor to her room and started to walk toward it. For some reason, the closer she got, the more she began to worry that Rey might be already gone. How did she know how much longer he had? He could vanish as suddenly as he’d appeared.

Amy picked up her pace. By the time she opened her door, her heart was thumping, and she was breathing hard. “Rey?”

The room was empty. Sheets and quilt were tumbled over the floor, and clothes were everywhere, but no Ghost. In that instant she felt as if she’d died. And then she heard the shower.

Laughing at her own stupidity—it was better than crying—she opened the bathroom door. She could see the shape of him through the stream and the glass, and her heart began to beat to a different tune. She didn’t even bother taking off her clothes, just opened the shower door and stepped in.

The surprise on his face turned to pleasure, then quickly to desire. “Damsel,” he said, his voice deepening as he reached for her and drew her beneath the water.

Amy lifted her mouth to his, and he tasted like heaven.

“You bathe in your clothing?” he whispered, kissing her, hands stripping her of her soppingwet garments.

“Only when you’re here,” she gasped, as he found naked skin and began to stroke her. She arched against his fingers, every nerve ending concentrated between her legs as he touched her with a certainty that belied his inexperience.

“Amy,” he groaned, lifting her, her thighs clasped about his waist.

“I don’t…think…there’s…enough…room…” she managed, as he filled her. She gazed down into his face, both of them wet, hair dripping and skin flushed from the warm water and their desire for each other.

He was perfect.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I wish—”

But Amy didn’t want to hear whatever it was he wished for. She had a horrible feeling he was wishing she was someone else, another Amy who hadn’t been brought up on the Parkhill Estate with a violent drunk for a father, and a thief for a brother. An Amy who was pure and saccharine sweet.

Not her at all.

So she kissed him, their lips clinging and sucking, as their bodies began to move together.

And that was perfect, too.