Passions of the Ghost (5 page)

Reynald woke to the sound of a bell. Deep,
somber notes echoing through his castle. He sat up, heart beating hard, wondering what catastrophe was taking place that it was necessary to sound the warning. Were they being attacked? Had the kitchen caught fire? Was there sickness abroad? And then he realized where he was—
when
he was—and fell back with a sigh.

His gaze drifted lazily about the room, then sharpened.

Amy was at the bottom of his bed. She was still dressed in her semitransparent gown from last night, and she was lying on her side, one hand curled under her cheek, her lashes dark against her pale skin, and her lips slightly parted.

He peered closer. There was a sprinkling of freckles on her face. He hadn’t noticed them last night, but now in the morning light they were clearly visible. For some reason they made him smile.

As if she felt his gaze, Amy began to stir. That was when Reynald remembered that he was naked and hastily pulled the quilt up over his hips. To have a woman here in the morning was not something he was used to. There were many serving wenches in his castle, and some of them would be more than willing to share his nights, but Reynald had his reasons for being cautious where the act of sex was concerned.

Amy yawned, gave a big stretch, then froze. Her yawn turned into a groan of agony, and she reached up to clutch her head. “
Oh my God,
” she gasped.

Fear laced through him. “Damsel, are you injured?” He searched with his eyes, but could not see any wounds upon her. Should he feel with his hands? He became distracted at the thought, and also that, because of her transparent clothing, he could see the lines of her body and the pale color of her flesh. Touching her was a temptation he was having difficulty resisting.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, she opened one eye and rolled it toward him. It was bloodshot and dulled with pain, and she closed it again quickly.

“You’re not here,” she croaked. “Please, say you’re not here.”

The deep bell sounded again, echoing through the castle.

“Why is the warning being sounded?”

“I thought that was in my head.”

“No, it has been ringing out for some time.”

Amy opened both eyes wide. “Oh no! It’s the gong to let us know about the sword-fighting tournament.”

“Sword-fighting tournament?” he echoed. “What madness is this?”

“It’s a contest kind of madness. I put you down for it last night. Nicco was needling me. He says he’s an expert at fencing, and I thought it would be…fun?” She grimaced. “I think I put myself down, too. What was I thinking?”

“Put me down for it?”
he quizzed. “What do you mean, damsel?”

Instead of answering him, Amy moaned and rolled off the bed and onto the floor with a soft bump. Concerned when she didn’t reappear, Reynald moved down toward the end of the bed to see if she was all right. Just as he went to peer over, her head bobbed up, and they nearly cracked skulls.

“We have to get down there,” she whispered, staring woefully at him from her green eyes, while her red curls stood up in disarray all over her head.

She was serious. She wanted him to go downstairs and play at swords. Did she know this was no game, and he was no child?

“If we don’t turn up, then Nicco will come and find us. I can’t let him see you here.”

“Never fear, I will protect you.”

Amy blinked. “Do people still say that? ‘Never fear’? Anyway, I didn’t mean that. I don’t need protecting. It’s
you
that needs protecting, Rey. Despite the pretty suits and the prettier smile, Nicco isn’t a very nice person. He’ll probably try and kill you.”

“He cannot kill me,” he said evenly. “And wenches always need protecting.”

“Not this wench. Come on, get dressed. Hurry up and get your, eh, armor on. At least he can’t hurt you if you’re covered with that.”

He found her concern for him pleasing, if ill conceived. It was a very long time since anyone had worried like this for the Ghost; usually
they
came to
him,
and expected him to take on their burden. He found himself obeying her without argument because of the sheer novelty of the situation. Besides, he’d nothing else to do, and he would enjoy putting the execrable Nicco in his place.

Amy crept into the shower, and stood under the hot water. Gradually her head cleared, and she began to feel more human. Quickly she dressed in black jeans and a green sweater and black boots, and brushed her hair before venturing back into the room. Reynald was dressed, too, thank God. She didn’t need any more distractions.

Why had she thought it would be amusing to see Nicco and Rey fight each other? Some sort of warped vision of knights of old battling over the lady of their choice—that lady being her? Or had she just been hoping that Rey would bring Nicco down a peg or two? She glanced at the sword and scabbard strapped to Rey’s side. “Can you even use that thing?”

His mouth twitched as he pulled on his helmet. “I think I can manage.”

The helmet made him seem far more intimidating. A stranger. As she snagged her jacket, and led the way out, Amy had to remind herself he was on her side.

Downstairs there were guests milling about, some in medieval costume, some in their holiday clothes. The sword tournament was to take place in a purpose-built pavilion in the castle grounds, and a buffet breakfast had been laid out for those who needed refueling before they made the trek through the snow. Amy couldn’t face more than a cup of coffee, and Rey looked askance at the selection of muffins.

“Is there no beef and ale?” he demanded.

“I take it you’re no vegan?”

“I am of Norman stock, I told you. I do not know this place called vegan.”

“A vegan is someone who doesn’t eat meat or dairy and…” Amy stopped, turned, and studied him. “Oh, you’re good,” she complimented him. “I particularly like that slightly bewildered look. ‘Place called vegan,’ huh? You even had me fooled then.”

“I do not—”

“Come on, we’ll be late!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the outside doors.

They dashed through the snow to the pavilion. Amy caught sight of Jez, looking sharp, and Nicco huddled in an ankle-length fur coat, as if he’d never seen snow before. He looked hungover, too, which pleased her. She hoped his headache was as rampant as hers, because she blamed him for making it necessary for her to have to drink him unconscious. The alternative had been to sleep with him. He was attractive, in a bad-boy kind of way, and maybe a few years ago she might have returned his interest, but not now.

He repelled her.

The realization made her shiver. She was trapped, and there was no way out, not without someone getting hurt.

It was a relief when Mr. Coster started clapping his hands, calling for attention, and she didn’t have to think about it anymore.

The instructions for the sword tournament were simple. The first person to touch the other with the tip of his sword over the heart was the winner. “The swords are replicas, of course, but I would still remind you to be careful. No rough play, please.”

Amy was quickly demolished by her opponent, but she knew she wasn’t concentrating. She was too busy watching Rey, and worrying. But after the first two bouts, she was relieved to realize he wasn’t going to get hurt. He wasn’t going to get beaten either, not easily. For such a big, strong man he was nimble on his feet. Nicco was also working his way through his opponents, and as the names were crossed off the board and the winners of each bout paired together, the two men came ever closer to fighting it out in the finals of the tournament.

It won’t happen,
she told herself.
You’re worrying about nothing.

But it seemed that both men were determined to make it happen.

Rey swept through his last two bouts, and after a nasty tussle with Robin Hood, Nicco also landed in the final. Tense and worried, Amy watched on as “Lord Reynald de Mortimer” and “Prince Nicco” faced each other in the final bout. Whoever won, it would be a disaster, but as much as she wanted to cover her eyes, she couldn’t. She had to watch.

Nicco was giving his replica a scornful look. “This is no longer a game, it is the final. I will use my own weapon,” he said haughtily.

“You can’t possibly—” Coster blustered.

“I will use mine, too,” Rey cut in.

“You must take off your fancy dress,” Nicco said, with a smirk. “I want to see who I am beating.”

Rey shrugged and swiftly stripped down to his trousers and tunic. He’d hardly broken a sweat, Amy noticed, as the two men eyed each other like bristling dogs. Her heart sank. This wasn’t going to be a gentlemanly contest.

As if to confirm it, Nicco said, “You will take back what you said to me. You will apologize for calling me a toad.”

“I believe it was a
shit-spitting
toad.”

“You will pay for that,” Nicco said between his teeth.

“I can’t take responsibility—” Coster began again.

“No one is asking you to,” Nicco interrupted coldly. “We are grown men, are we not? This is a personal matter. We can take responsibility for any injuries.”

Amy didn’t like the way Nicco dwelt on the last word. The sword he’d produced from a leather case was slim and wicked, and as he made a few practice swipes through the air, no one could mistake him for anything but an expert. In contrast, Reynald slowly withdrew his sword from its scabbard and stood with both hands resting on the hilt, the tip on the floor. He looked big and slow, compared to Nicco’s darting swiftness.

Quietly, Rey bowed his head, as if he were performing some kind of ritual.

“Say your prayers, riffraff,” the Russian mocked, as if he had already won.

Amy groaned softly.

Coster, looking as edgy as Amy felt, called to silence the noisy crowd that the final bout in the tournament had attracted, and began the match.

Nicco circled his opponent, like a snake looking to strike, while Rey turned slowly, following his movements. Nicco smiled. “I will try not to hurt you too much,” he said. “But you must learn to respect your betters.”

“You will not hurt me, little toad,” Rey said.

With a growl, Nicco pranced in, pricking at Rey with his sword. But effortlessly Rey knocked Nicco’s weapon away—or maybe it was just luck.

Nicco favored the latter. “You were lucky then,” he said. “It will not happen again.”

But it did happen again. And again.

Despite her feelings of guilt and dread, Amy was riveted by the contest between the two men. She didn’t want anyone to be hurt, but she didn’t want Nicco to win, either. She wanted Rey to win. Absolutely, no doubt about it.

As the bout went on, Amy could see Nicco becoming more and more frustrated and angry, as he wasn’t able to claim victory as quickly as he’d believed he would. Maybe he’d never been beaten before. Then Nicco came in again and was knocked away again, but while Rey’s weapon was still lifted, Nicco struck like lightning, ducking under Rey’s guard. Amy thought then it was all over, but the next moment Nicco was flat on his back on the ground, with Rey standing over him, the point of his heavy sword resting lightly in the middle of Nicco’s heaving chest.

There was a collective gasp from the audience, as if everyone had been holding their breaths until now. It had happened so fast. Rey looked up, his eyes searching the faces around him, and found hers.

He stared at her for a moment, so that there was no mistaking it was she he was seeking.

And then, like those knights of old she loved to read about, he inclined his head to her in homage.

Amy couldn’t think straight. Did he mean to
dedicate the victory to her, as in the days of old? She could see now that he’d anticipated Nicco’s every move and countered it with deceptive ease. If this had been a fight to the death, rather than a game, Rey would have decided the outcome much sooner.

Everyone else was applauding, and belatedly, a little dazed, she put her own hands together. Rey, looking more like the Ghost than ever, acknowledged the crowd. Nicco was cursing, pushing Rey’s sword away, but Rey stepped back and offered his hand. Nicco ignored it, climbing angrily to his feet.

By the time Amy reached them, Rey already had a gathering of well-wishers around him, but Nicco was alone. She felt as if she really should do something to make it up to him. In a way his public humiliation was her fault—if she hadn’t egged him on last night, when he had too much to drink…

“Nicco, are you all right?”

Wrong choice. He gave her an icy look, his eyes glittering like the jewels he loved so much. “The man is a cheat. He did not fight like a gentleman.”

Her sympathy evaporated, but she didn’t show it. After all, her cynical side reminded her, here was a chance to inveigle her way into his good graces and get the information Jez wanted. “I’m sure you’re too much of a gentleman yourself, Nicco, to make a fuss. The poor man obviously hasn’t had your advantages.”

He hesitated. The narrow look he gave her told her he suspected she was manipulating him, but maybe he decided she was right anyway, because he gave a magnanimous shrug. “Of course.”

“There will be other opportunities this weekend. Perhaps you can have another go? Take him on at chess or something.”

Nicco’s eyes were still fixed on hers and she could see his mind ticking. He smiled like a shark. “Yes,” he said softly, “before it is over I will teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”

No you won’t, not if I have anything to do with it.

Amy murmured some more words of commiseration, before the resident hotel nurse arrived to check whether Nicco was harmed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Coster’s orders,” she said, over his complaints.

“You’d better let her do her stuff, Nicco.” Amy caught the other woman’s grateful glance.

“It won’t take a moment. My name is Gretel, by the way,” she added, in a lilting Welsh accent.

Nicco took a second glance. Gretel was a pretty blonde, and now she gave him a smile. Nicco smiled back and theatrically began to unbutton his shirt. Amy laughed and left them to it. She was making her way to the door, thinking she might have time to nip back to her suite for a nap, when Jez came up behind her and followed her outside.

It was bleak and bitterly cold, and although it had stopped snowing for the moment, the sky gave warning of further bad weather. “At this rate the London road will be impassable,” Jez complained. “We could be trapped here.”

Amy knew she should be upset about that. Strange that she wasn’t.

Jez didn’t give her time to ponder over the reason. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, sweetheart, but you aren’t helping me.”

Amy shot him a knowing look. “You’re just saying that because you bet on the wrong man. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Jez shrugged, but his eyes shifted.

“Amy, I need you to come through for me. How am I supposed to know where Nicco’s hidden the Star of Russia if he bursts into tears and goes home?”

“It’s not my fault.”

“It
is
your fault. What was last night about? And just now, cheering on the opposition?”

“I wasn’t! I didn’t say a word! And I sympathized with Nicco afterwards. You saw me.”

“Nicco isn’t a fool. He likes you, but he’s not looking for your sympathy. He wants your full, uninterrupted attention.”

“Jez—”

The door opened behind her, and Jez looked up, his expression turning hard. “Your champion is here, my lady,” he said, giving her a final warning glance before he walked away.

Rey was watching her solemnly. Had he overheard them? For the first time, Amy felt awkward around Rey, and as usual when she was nervous she tried to shrug it off with a joke.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “My brother had his money on Nicco. It’s a wonder he didn’t get you to throw the fight.” And she laughed.

Reynald stiffened. “Throw the fight? I do not understand.”

“Lose it on purpose. So that Jez could win his bet.”

She could actually see the cold anger icing over his gray eyes. It was just like water freezing. His voice was equally chilly.

“I do not lie or cheat, lady. I am a man of honor. A man of my word.”

Amy’s smile faded as she looked into his eyes. She believed him. He
was
a man of honor, old-fashioned as that seemed these days, and she admired him for it. Rey was unlike any man she’d ever known, and she’d known a few. Maybe that was the attraction for her. He was beyond her reach.

Because if Rey was honorable, then he certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

If he knew her, knew her family, knew her reasons for being here, he’d run a mile. He might not lie and cheat, but she did. Nicco might be deficient when it came to kindness and charity, and his business dealings were questionable, but that didn’t give her the right to try to take something from him that didn’t belong to her. That didn’t make what she and Jez were doing right.

“Amy?”

Rey was watching her with concern, as if he sensed her inner turmoil. Sweat had dampened his short-cropped hair; in spite of the cold he was hot. She wondered how his skin felt. How it
tasted.

“It…it’s nothing,” she stammered, and forced a smile. Suddenly she couldn’t bear to be in the same space as him in case he guessed what sort of person she really was. It was shocking to know just how much she wanted Rey to think well of her.

“I have to go,” she added, and walked away.

As she plodded through the snow, her feet slowly freezing solid in her thin but very fashionable boots, Amy was suddenly flooded with memories of the past. Her childhood hadn’t been happy, far from it, but she wasn’t ashamed, it wasn’t that. It was just that sometimes she wished things could have been different.

Even now, so many years later, Amy remembered sitting on the swing in the playground. It had started to rain, and she kept her feet up because she knew the muddy ground would ruin her new white shoes with the strap across the instep. She’d only had them three days, and she’d been trying her best to keep them clean.

Her father had given them to her, with a warning about making sure she looked after them. “Shoes like that don’t grow on trees,” he’d said. “No, they fall off the backs of lorries,” her mother had retorted, which meant her father’d stolen them.

He’d been in and out of prison all of Amy’s short life. For petty crime mostly, he couldn’t seem to help himself. There was a perpetual bitterness inside him, as if he believed he deserved better and the only way he could have it was to take it.

“Amy!” Suddenly Jez came running up to the swing, grabbing her hand, and pulling her after him through the puddle. She squealed as muddy water splashed up her legs and soaked her shoes, but he only laughed and wouldn’t let go.

“Stop it,” she wailed, tripping and almost falling, close to tears. Jez drew her into the shelter of a gray cinder-block wall. His hair, dark rather than Amy’s fiery red, was wet and dripping, and he was shivering. His face, at ten years old already showing the beginnings of his reckless good looks, grew pinched and serious, like an old man’s.

Amy watched him in silence. She knew what that look meant.

“We need to get away from the flat for a bit,” Jez said. “Mom gave me enough money for fish and chips.”

“Is Dad—”

“I’m starving.”

Jez was always starving. She didn’t argue, trotting after him down the hill in the direction of the greasy shop. She knew without asking that their father had come home from the pub, drunk and dangerous. It wasn’t safe to be in the flat when he was like that. One wrong look, one clumsy move, and he’d focus in on you with a stare like he hated you. Really, truly hated you. Even when you hadn’t done anything, you found yourself searching your memory, thinking there must be something you’d forgotten.

Jez said it was the drink that did it, but Amy thought whatever made their father change was already inside him, and the drink just set it free. Her father terrified her more than she could say, but she didn’t have to tell Jez that. He frightened Jez, too. Her brother pretended to be brave, but Amy knew he was more than happy to escape with his little sister for a few hours, until things calmed down.

Afterwards, they’d come back and find their father snoring in his chair in front of the telly and their mother quiet, moving a little stiffly probably, and maybe with a bruise or two on her face. It was the bruises you couldn’t see, Jez said knowledgeably, that were the worst. Sometimes he seemed far older than ten.

That day when they came home, she was terrified, she with her muddy shoes, but for once it was fine. Their father was awake, and cracked silly jokes and laughed loudly. He didn’t notice her shoes, he was too busy boasting about his latest venture. Her dad was a great one for swindling people out of their property—he liked to think of it as an art—and yet he despised his victims. If someone was stupid enough to trust him, he said, then they deserved all they got.

The next morning, Amy woke to the bedclothes being dragged off her and her father’s red, furious face as he held up her shoes and shook them at her. She’d carried the stripes from his belt for weeks.

A year or two after that incident—one of many—Jez started stealing cars, and joyriding around the streets with his friends, and sometimes Amy. The fear of being caught and the excitement of riding in someone else’s car was thrilling at the time. Before long Jez moved on to bigger and better things. He’d been lucky to stay out of prison, and after a close call and a sympathetic magistrate, he’d sworn to Amy that he’d never do anything so foolish again. “So foolish as to be
caught,
” he’d laughed.

And so far he hadn’t. Not that the police weren’t keeping an eye on him. They’d known about him for years; they just couldn’t get the evidence to put him away. Detective Inspector O’Neill, he was the one. He seemed to have made Jez his personal crusade, but so far Jez hadn’t slipped up. He’d learned from their father’s mistakes, and he didn’t drink and never boasted.

For a while, he and Amy had teamed up. She’d been as wild as he was, and there were times when the buzz of it kept her on a permanent high. And then she turned twenty-two and suddenly everything changed. She woke up at 6:00 a.m. with a man she hardly knew in her bed and the police banging on her door. They were looking for Jez, but they were happy to arrest her if they could find the evidence. She sat in a cell for a couple of hours, was interviewed, then released.

It was horrible. She felt horrible. Later, Jez apologized for getting her into trouble.

“It’s that Detective Inspector O’Neill,” he’d said, as if he’d swallowed something nasty. “He’ll use anyone to get at me.”

“It was him who interviewed me!”

“I’m sorry, Amy, but he’s made catching me his New Year’s resolution.”

Amy remembered the cold glint in his eyes. She shivered. “I don’t like it, Jez. He’s not mucking around.”

Jez laughed, said something about it taking more than O’Neill to trip him up. But as the nightmare birthday wore on, Amy began to come to an understanding about her life—perhaps she’d known it, deep down, for a while.

The life she was living wasn’t the life she wanted.

She got a job, a proper job, in a bakery. The woman in the flat next door worked there, and she and Amy had become friends. Over the past months, listening to her talk about her ordinary life, Amy had begun to crave such a life for herself. She wanted to go to work somewhere she didn’t have to lie about, she wanted her wages to pay the bills and to save up for special occasions. She wanted a boyfriend who didn’t forget her name in the morning.

So, in hindsight, maybe the change in her hadn’t been as sudden as it seemed.

Jez didn’t understand. She’d tried to explain to him, but had given up when it threatened to cause a major argument. Amy owed Jez so much, and she loved him, but she knew with a bleak certainty that, if she was going to survive, then the time had come to break away from him.

They’d drifted apart. A couple of times over the past three years, Jez had come looking for her and persuaded her to help him with a job—which she’d later regretted. He hadn’t been around for a while, and recently she’d been getting along on her own perfectly well. But now Jez was back again.

He was in trouble. She’d known it the moment she’d looked into his eyes. He admitted that he was in debt, but joked about it. Amy knew the names of the men he owed money to—they were dangerous. Jez said he had a scheme, though, and if it came off, he’d be able to pay his debts and have some left over. The only thing was he needed her to help pull it off.

“It’ll be just like old times.” He’d grinned, as if he was looking forward to it. As if she should be, too.

He really did need her. Despite his smiles and games, he was in trouble. What could she say but yes?

And now she’d met a man who was the direct opposite of everything Jez and her father stood for. And she hated what he made her feel about her family.

She hated what he made her feel about herself.