Spirited Away (9 page)

"You're no good at lying, my lord. 'Tis dishonorable to break the code. You said so yourself."

Tristan glowered and drew within an inch of his man's nose. "Blast the bloody code. The code was written before women became so ... independent. After tonight, it will be up to you to keep her away from me." He drew up to his full height and cracked his neck—or at least conjured up the effect. 'Twas a habit he'd retained through the centuries that he couldn't seem to break. "Do not cross me on this, Jameson. I vow you'll regret it." With that, he vanished.

Jameson folded the dish towel he'd had in his hand and placed it neatly on the marbled counter. He heaved a great, weary sigh, one well deserved, to his notion.

"I shall do my best, my lord." He knew Tristan would hear him.

Poor young de Barre.

Against his ghostly will he'd become enamored by the charming young colonist. And in no less than a day's worth of time.

For a moment, Jameson allowed the past to surface, and memories of the day he'd seen his Margaret for the very first time flooded his thoughts. She'd been so lovely in her pale yellow frock and white skirt. His heart had been lost immediately the moment she'd smiled.

Jameson shook his head. Saints be with the young knight.

Chapter Six

Tristan stormed toward the battlements. "Jason!"

"Aye, sir?"

Turning, his young squire materialized at his side, struggling to keep pace. "Right. There you are. I want you to go to the village and await Jameson and Dr. Monroe. They'll be arriving within the hour."

With a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Jason jogged a few steps to match Tristan's long stride.

"Aye. And is there anything in particular you wish me to do once there, my lord?"

Tristan stopped at the battlements and turned to answer Jason. "Aye. Practice how not to call me lord. You know it annoys me fiercely."

Jason's mouth twitched with a smothered grin. "Aye. Beg pardon. Consider it done."

Tristan cleared his throat. "She's going there to nose around the villagers. Our infamous legend has her interest piqued and she is on a mission to inquire about it further. I only want to make sure she receives the correct lore. You know how some of those old birds cluck."

Jason grinned, then nodded. "Aye, I know it well. I shall return posthaste." He began to vanish.

"Jason!"

The young squire materialized. "Aye?"

Tristan narrowed his gaze. "Do not approach the lass. I know you lads have been talking about her.

There is no need to give her any cause to suspect what is here."

Jason shifted his weight and kicked at a rock. Ah, the little devil. He'd had something planned after all. Tristan could tell by the expression on his face. How well he knew his men.

Tristan leaned closer. "Am I heard clearly, boy?"

Jason nodded. "Aye. Ye are."

"Good." Tristan made for the pair of men at the far end of the battlements. "Find me as soon as you return."

Jameson pulled the Range Rover into the Safe Way and turned off the ignition. "Here we are, Dr.

Monroe. I trust you can find your way around with the map I provided. 'Tis a small village. You shouldn't have any trouble at all."

"Great. I appreciate it, Jameson." She pocketed the hand-drawn map and stepped out of the Rover.

Easy enough to remember, she thought. The town formed a small horseshoe, the bend hugging the sea path. Shading her eyes from the descending sun, she chose her direction. "I'll meet you back here, say, in an hour?"

Jameson closed his door and pressed the autolock. Pulling the bill of his soft hat down, he nodded once. "Very well, my lady. I shall be ready."

With a wave, she smiled at Dreadmoor's butler and headed up the concrete footpath. What a great little town, she thought. A bakery, a fishmonger, and oh, thank God—a chip shop. After popping in to see how late they stayed open, she continued on the path toward a small row of B&Bs. Bright red geraniums bloomed in window planters, each small yard boasting a typical English garden of mums, blooms of white and blue hydrangea, and a variety of tall, colorful foxglove. Pansies filled large hanging wire baskets.

Stopping at the last cottage, Andi noticed a small, faded, hand-painted sign flapping with each passing breeze, KATE'S B&B. VACANCY. Jameson knew the proprietor and had directed her there first. Pushing open the black iron gate, she walked to the front door and rapped with the knocker.

When no one answered, she rapped once more.

"I don't believe Miss Kate is home, my lady."

Andi turned to find a smiling young man standing on the footpath. Funny, she hadn't noticed him before. He must have walked up behind her.

Pushing her hair behind her ear, she gave him a smile. "I guess you're right. She's not answering my knock. I suppose I'll have to come back later."

Making her way out the gate, she closed it behind her. Eyeing the passerby, she nodded. "Thanks."

"Is there something I could help you with?"

Tall, lanky, and handsome, the auburn-haired youth wore a crisp white T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and worn-looking hiking boots. His hair was long yet neatly collected at the back of his neck. He looked no more than seventeen. The warm grin he gave her spread from one ear to the other. How could she refuse?

"Well, actually, yes, maybe you can. I'm doing research at the castle and was hoping to get a little input from the locals. Do you know the history?"

"Aye, lady. I do. I've a penchant for history meself. What do you wish to know?"

They continued around the horseshoe footpath, toward the shops and Safe Way. "The original Lord Dreadmoor, for starters. Dragonhawk. What do you know of him and his missing knights?"

He grinned. "Aye, the Dragonhawk. Passing fierce, that one. 'Tis said he was a massive brute—well over six feet. A mighty warrior, nigh unto unbeatable with the blade. The best jouster in all of England and Scotland." He glanced down and met her gaze. "He and his men were a secret order of knights, bound together by fealty to Dreadmoor. 'Tis said his men had such loyalty, they would follow him anywhere—even into death." He nodded. "A great lord, truth be told." He winked. "And from what I hear, his lads were a fair lot of warriors, as well."

Andi listened to the strange accent—much like Tristan's. English, yes, but mixed with something ...

older. How strange, she'd never heard it before coming to Dreadmoor.

They completed the horseshoe and rounded the footpath. When they reached the chip shop she stopped and faced him. Odd. He spoke as though he knew the first lord personally. "Do you know what happened to him?"

The young man's smile faded. "You mean the legend? Everyone knows a bit of it, I'd warrant. 'Tis a tale which has been told through the centuries, passed from sire to son. Lord Dreadmoor, his knight squire, whom I've heard was quite a fearsome lad, Dreadmoor's captain, and twelve men disappeared without a trace. It's rumored they were murdered, but no one knows how or why. Some fear witchery may have been involved." He glanced at the chip shop's open door. "If you're ordering, you may want to do so now. The chippy is about to close."

"Oh, right. Give me a minute." Andi stepped into the small shop and up to the counter. A tall, wiry balding man of about fifty gave her a grin. "Haddock and chips, miss?"

Andi nodded. "Two, please. And lots of vinegar and brown sauce on one." The other she'd gotten for Jameson.

The man nodded. "Right."

She turned toward the young man. Wow. She hadn't even gotten his name. "Would you like something?"

The Adam's apple at his throat bobbed and he licked his lips. "I thank ye, but nay."

"Excuse me, miss?"

Andi turned back to the chip shop owner. A puzzled look stretched across his sea-weathered features. He glanced over her shoulder, then back to her.

Andi smiled. "Oh, he doesn't want anything."

The chippy owner shook his head and stared. "Who?"

Andi turned and glanced out of the shop door. Her newfound friend had disappeared.

"Here you go, miss. That'll be six pounds, twenty pence."

Andi paid the man and accepted the steaming fish and chips, wrapped in thick, white wax paper.

"Thanks. By the way, do you happen to know the young man I was talking to? I didn't get his name."

The chippy owner shook his head. "Miss, there's been no one here but you."

"No." Andi smiled and jerked a thumb toward the door. "There was a young man waiting for me outside. Just a second ago."

The look on his face grew more puzzled, his brows drawing together in deep concentration. He scratched the crown of his head. "I'm sorry, miss. No one's passed my shop, save you, in over an hour."

A few minutes later, she stood at the Rover, awaiting Jameson. She'd briefly spoken to the fishmonger and the baker, and a cashier in Safe Way even had a moment to spare. She'd learned nothing more than what the mysterious young man had told her.

She watched Jameson cross the small parking lot pushing a loaded trolley of groceries from Safe Way. Stopping at the trunk, he gave a quick assessment, then raised one gray eyebrow.

"Is there something amiss, lady? Beg pardon, but you don't look well."

"No, I'm fine." She hated to lie, but worse, she hated to admit out loud what sounded ridiculous in her mind.

She'd just imagined an entire conversation with someone who didn't exist.

"I see you couldn't resist the chippy. Too much of that batter isn't good for you."

Forcing a smile, Andi helped Jameson unload the cart. "I know, but it smelled so good." She held out the waxed bundle. "I got you one, too."

His lip twitched. "Excellent. Thank you." Hefting a gallon of milk, he gave her a skeptical look. "I take it you didn't find the information you were seeking?"

She shook her head. "Miss Kate wasn't home. Maybe I'll try her later on in the week. I did talk to a few people, and they gave me a little bit of information."

He nodded and closed the trunk. "A fine idea, that. Any time you need to take the Rover in, you may do so." He glanced in the direction of the B&Bs. "I, er, could ring Miss Kate and perhaps invite her to tea? Then you could question her to your heart's content."

Andi studied Jameson. His face reddened, just a bit. Interesting. Maybe he was sweet on the B&B

owner.

She smiled. "Thanks, Jameson. That would be great."

Finished, they started back to Dreadmoor.

Come.

Andi jumped, her heart pounding. Was she going crazy? Glancing at her watch, she pushed the indigo button.
Seven.
Wasn't it too early for anyone to be about?

You're making excuses, Monroe. You know you're hearing a voice. Go on. Admit it. You're a nut.

"No." She stared at the laptop screen and at the week's worth of data she'd logged the night before, ignoring her annoying, inner voice. It was just the atmosphere of a dark, thirteenth-century castle making her imagination run away, just like it had all those years ago. Something about Dreadmoor did that to her, but she wouldn't give in to it this time. Pulling out her notebook, she began to log more of the dig.

Follow me.

A cool breeze, barely even there, brushed her cheek, feeling more like icy fingers grazing her skin.

Snapping her laptop closed, she jumped up. "Okay. Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?" A glance behind the curtain proved empty. Nothing under the bed. The shower stall was empty. Even the lamp was free of microphones or bugs of any kind.

This way.

An invisible breath of air lifted the pages of an open book resting on a phone table near the door to her chambers. When she didn't move, several more followed.

"This is crazy." Andi slipped on her sneakers and crossed the room. On tiptoes, she slipped out into the corridor.

As gently as she could, she pulled the door to her room closed. She felt foolish for sneaking around the castle at the crack of dawn. What if she ran into Jameson, or worse, Tristan? How would she explain herself?

As if urging her to follow, another crisp waft of chilled air swiped the back of her neck. Almost pushing her.

Moving down the passageway, Andi made her way to the steps and down to the great hall. Once there, she stopped, unsure where to go.

A wispy stream of mist rose and swirled before her, as though someone invisible had just puffed a lungful of cigarette smoke from their lips. It drifted across the great hall, then disappeared through the crack of a lone, narrow door.

A lump formed in her throat. It figured.

The dungeon.

What was she doing? To tell anyone of this would make her look like a big, fat idiot. It was bad enough she thought it herself. With a quick glance around the hall, she ran to the door leading down to the dungeon, pushed it open, and slipped inside.

The mist had disappeared. She wanted to disappear, too. With small movements, she crept down the steps. The room felt positively creepy, cool, and reeked of ... something. No wonder Heath and Mrs.

Dawson crossed themselves so much, although Andi often wondered if the boy did it just to pick on her. Quickly, she made the sign on her chest. What could it hurt?

The roughened walls boasted of stone and mortar, the floor hard-packed dirt. Damp and dark, the torches on the walls flickered the only available light. Actual torches, not lanterns. Were they kept lit all the time, or had someone just set them to flame?

She wiped her palms on her pj bottoms and slowly walked the room as her mind rambled. Why had she been led here? Men had probably died in this dank place. If she'd been superstitious, which she definitely was not, it would easily make her give way to a severe case of the shivers. Lucky for her, she had her wits about her. Sort of.

"Lady?" A small voice called from the top of the circular stone steps. "Are you down there?"

Andi jumped and stifled a scream. God, it was only Heath. She'd forgotten it was already Thursday, and later this afternoon she and Miss Kate were to have tea. With a final glance around, she made her way to the steps. "Yes, I'm here."