Spirited Away (15 page)

"He's dead, Jameson."

"Aye. And has been for quite some time."

Andi stood and drew in a deep breath. She could do this, couldn't she? She'd heard of psychic mediums, ESP, and many other unexplained phenomenons. Time travel had been studied extensively. None of it had been proven, no solid evidence, no proof she could sink her teeth into.

Yet all of those things fascinated her. At least, the possibility of those things did.

Ghosts. Impossible, and yet she found herself believing it;
wanting
to believe it. God, she had no choice but to believe it. She knew what happened last night in the dungeon really did happen—not an illusion. Her freaking fingers had gone right through him! It went against all things logical. And she was all about logic. Had based her entire life on science and logic. And in a few short weeks, all her solid beliefs on life and the universe were thrown efficiently out the window. Good Lord, it was enough to give her a migraine. She rubbed her pounding temples, contemplating her next move.

She looked up at Jameson and threw him a grim smile. "I guess you're right. Besides, I'm a forensic archaeologist. I'm all about solving mysteries." She picked up her cup of tea and drained it in one gulp. "Where can I find him?"

"I'm quite sure he is on the battlements by now, lady," Jameson began, "but most likely 'twould not be a grand idea to go there. He does possess an uncanny ability to hear rather well, though. More likely than not he will come to your voice, given his mood is sweet enough." Jameson turned back to the stove. "Which I can assure you, it is not."

"Thanks a lot." She shoved her hands in her pockets. "Can he hurt me?"

Jameson shook his head. "Nay, child. He wouldn't, even if he could. An honorable sort, that one."

Andi nodded. "I'll find him." She turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jameson to his duties.

Jameson turned, once he thought she wasn't looking, and watched her go. "Good luck, my lady.

You, no doubt, shall need it."

Andi turned and stopped once she reached the great hall, unable to decide just where to go. She tried not to think too heavily on what she had to do, but it was an impossible feat.

Tristan is a ghost. He's Dragonhawk ...

Breathe, Andrea Kinley, breathe.
She needed lots and lots of air. Drawing several deep breaths, she headed out the main doors and out into the inner bailey, past the gardens and stables, then into the outer bailey and past the cutaway. Even that held no appeal to her right now. From there she headed straight for the cliffs.

The wind blew fiercely from the sea, and she welcomed it. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked to the sky. The sun beat down from a cloudless canopy of bright blue. A variety of sea birds called out to one another as waves rolled in to greet the sheer cliff rock Dreadmoor rested upon. The sounds, the wind, and the saltiness from the surrounding sea life soothed her, but not nearly enough to rid her mind of the craziness that had just coldcocked her.

Andi drew in another deep breath and exhaled it through pursed lips. As a second thought, she drew in several more, inhaling, exhaling ... Now was just as good a time as any, she supposed. Gathering her nerve, she cleared her throat. "Tristan?" she asked just above a whisper. "Can you hear me?"

Several seconds passed with no answer. A seagull screamed overhead. Waves crashed against the base of the cliffs.

"Aye."

She jumped. Slowly, she turned toward the deep voice behind her and her breath snagged in her throat. Tristan materialized before her, legs spread wide, his arms folded across his wide chest.

Good Lord, the man towered over her. Her mouth went dry, as if she'd been chewing on a handful of cotton balls. Nervous? Apprehensive?
Try terrified.

She looked down at the rocky ground, then over her shoulder to the sea. Moments passed before she turned back to him. He stood still, patiently waiting for whatever she was about to say. Dragging up what little courage she possessed, she drew closer to him and met him with a steady gaze. "Are you real?"

Tristan stared down at the woman. He could tell she wrestled herself from within, but there was naught he could do, save tell her what she wanted to know. "What think you?"

She stared at him, from his boots to the top of his head. "You look pretty real to me. You've ...

always looked real."

He chuckled softly. "From that gandering look I'll take that as a compliment, lady." He stepped a bit closer to stand beside her, and then looked out over the ocean. "How does it smell this day? I vow

'tis one of the simpler things that I miss."

"You can't smell?"

Tristan shook his head. "Nay. Nor can I touch. Or taste." He turned to face her. "But I can hear the slightest of mumblings, be they intelligible words." He shrugged. "And a few other unusual things.

Now, about the smell?"

"Oh." She drew in a lungful of sea air and smiled. "Quite salty, actually."

"Ah, 'tis how I remembered, then." He nodded. "A most pleasant scent, indeed."

"Can you hurt me?"

Tristan glanced at her, then frowned. "I can do many things, Andrea, but harming a woman is not one I partake in." He inclined his head. "At least not on an empty stomach. Mine has been empty for over seven hundred years, so I vow you are more than safe. Besides, 'tis part of the code."

"The code?"

"Aye. The knight's code. Vows sworn to uphold. Protecting those weaker than one's self is among them."

"Oh." Andi stared out across the sea. "I remember you, you know." She looked up at him. "From before."

Tristan did not like how this was going at all. The way the girl looked at him—'twas almost too much for him to handle. He gruffly cleared his throat a time or two and looked away. "I gathered as much." Shifting only his eyes, he peered down at her.

Andi shook her head and continued to stare. "You're Dragonhawk."

A moment slipped by; then he answered. "Aye." More questions brewed in her eyes; he could see them. Some things, aye, she needed to know. But there were other things she did not. He hardened himself against her sweetness, her innocent inquisitiveness; steeled himself against
her.
Saints, but he could not afford to make a new friend. 'Twas just too painful. To gain another mortal friend meant heartache, and he most definitely did not need the like in his sorry state. What he needed was the bloody curse undone. But that was impossible.

"Do you remember me?"

He sighed and scrubbed his jaw with his hand. "Aye."

"I thought I had dreamed you up." She took another bold step forward, staring directly into his eyes.

"But you're just as I remember." She rose on tiptoes and peered closely at his face. "I somehow missed that scar—"

"God's bones, wench!" he bellowed loud and stepped back. She would be the ruin of him, no doubt.

"You came to Dreadmoor for a specific reason, and I vow 'twas not to inspect my visage thusly." He scowled as he leaned closer. "I suggest you perform your duties with haste, and if you feel you are not up to the task, I shall find another who is." He turned and began to fade. "Someone who remains out of my personal affairs." He strode from her, slowly disappearing with each step. "At least things can bloody return to normal around here." He faded completely.

Andi stared at the empty spot of ground.
Normal?
There was absolutely
nothing
normal about any of this. But he was right, of course—at least about her. She'd been hired to do a job and she would do it, no matter what strings were attached.

Even if those strings happened to be fastened to an arrogant but breathtaking ghostly knight whose legend still drifted off every pair of lips within four hundred miles.

She rubbed her arms as a sea wind tore over the cliff tops. She looked around at the castle and grounds, at the buildings still standing. The drawbridge was raised, as it would have been in medieval times, protecting those within the walls from any outside forces lurking that might be waiting for the right moment to attack and conquer. She felt protected here, and she had no logical reasons behind that feeling; she needed no protecting.

The moat, filled with water and lily pads, set a fairytale scene, along with a blooming English garden. The gray stone walls had withstood the harsh elements of nature, and for many centuries at that. The castle held a dreamlike aura—an impossible dream she had no desire to awaken from.

Dreadmoor's lord—tangible enough to talk to, look upon, feel at ease with, yet ... She sighed as her practical, inner self took over, slapping her back to reality.

Reality.
What a joke. Reality had long ago stepped out and deserted her, just like she'd been deserted as a child.

One thing was for real—the fact that Tristan wanted nothing to do with her. He wanted the use of her skills as a professional and nothing more. What did she expect?

With that dreary thought in mind, Andi turned and quit the bailey, seeking the safety of seclusion that had never let her down before. She'd complete her job and leave Dreadmoor and its lord.

Dreams of solving centuries-old mysteries and befriending centuries-old knights were just too far out of her reach.

Chapter Twelve

Andi jerked awake. She blinked, unsure of the noise that had roused her. Thunder? No, closer than thunder. She opened her eyes fully as the thought took hold. It sounded like a train running wild across a gravel-studded track. The crack of wood splintering caused her to jump, followed by a lot of male shouting. She leaped out of bed, tangling herself in the bed curtains in the process, and flew to the window. She stood, gripping the cool stone of the sill, and searched with her eyes.

Said eyes suddenly found said noise.

Andi felt her mouth slide open as she stood in complete and utter fascination, unable to believe her eyes. A curse, worthy of any bar of soap supplied by her aunt Mary, slipped from her lips.

She threw the window open and stared, awed at the sight.

It just couldn't be.

But it was.

Without another thought she ran from the chambers in her stocking feet, dressed in nothing but Tshirt and boxers, along the passageway, down the stone steps, and out into the great hall. She skidded past Jameson, who threw her a disapproving look, then headed out the door. Around the bailey she ran, dodging as many rocks as she could with her unprotected soles, until she came to a teetering, abrupt halt.

Her heart nearly seized.

At the far end of the bailey lay the lists, something she knew hadn't been there before. On each side of the field men stood in a line, dressed in chain mail, hose, swords by their sides. Squires ran here and there, seeing to their masters' needs.

Two knights faced one another, one in black at the far end of the lists, the other, on the opposite end, in yellow and red. The one in black was enormous, as was his destrier. The horse blew and snorted so loud Andi could almost feel it where she stood. She crept closer, unaware and uncaring as to her appearance. She knew she gaped but she didn't care.

The knights were about to joust!

Wait.
Knights?
Plural?

She slipped to a spot next to a huge and ferocious-looking man, who had to be all of seven feet tall.

He had a terrible scar to his cheek, and he scowled down at Andi as she approached. After a series of grunts and scowls, he inconspicuously moved over for her to see. Who were these guys? And where had they all come from?

A sharp cry broke her thoughts as a man called for the two knights to begin. Andi's eyes remained glued to the knight in black, now thundering toward her. The ground quaked under her feet from the force of the galloping horses. With lances pointed at one another, the knights charged, head-on. A deafening crash broke the air, followed by splintering wood as the two jousters came together. The one in yellow and red went flying off his steed's back from the impact of the hit, landing with a thud in the dirt.

A rowdy round of cheers went up all around her. She glanced at all the men gathered. There had to be at least fifty chain-mailed guys surrounding her, and as she looked over the crowd she got an eerie feeling, one she knew she'd had before. She leaned toward the giant man beside her. "Who's the one in black?"

Her eyes widened as said knight in black thundered toward her. She shrieked as he came to a halt in a cloud of dust. The dead silence alerted her instincts, and she glanced around at the crowd. They all stared directly at
her.
She looked up at the knight who sat on his horse, towering over her. He pushed up his face guard and glared. The look in those sapphire-blue eyes froze her to the spot.

"Lucifer's tail, woman!" Tristan jumped from his horse. "What in the bloody fires of hell are you doing out here?" He looked down at her and his eyes sparked a dangerous gleam. They traveled, starting at her feet, and raked slowly upward. "Garbed like that?"

The familiar feeling of blood pounding behind his eyes had Tristan fuming. Was she truly dressed in such little cloth? The wench wore a tunic that did not even cover her entire midriff, and nearly every inch of those long legs lay exposed for all to see, save for the bit of plaid covering her bottom. By the saints, her navel showed! Truth be told, 'twas a sight he was grateful to behold, but his men certainly didn't need to be privileged to it. He scowled at her for good measure.

The girl had the grace to look down at herself, then around at the men staring at her. She crossed her arms over her chest, mumbled something about not sleeping in a bra—whatever that was—and stuck out her chin.

"The noise woke me up and I just wanted to see what was going on." She peered at the men, who now stood all about her with their eyes bugged out. "Who are these guys, anyway?" She shifted where she stood and waited for an answer. "Where did they all come from?"

Tristan followed her gaze and he frowned at his men. "I vow if your bloody eyes do not find something else to light upon besides the lady's bared limbs," he bellowed over the lists, "you will not have use for them again." He cast a treacherous glance over the crowd, then turned said glance back to Andi.