Under the Boardwalk: A Dazzling Collection of All New Summertime Love Stories (32 page)

This was dangerous business, this disturbing the dead, and Sydney was in the center of it. She sensed she was going to play an important part.

At the top of Holy Hill was the chambered burial cairn which, legend said, contained the remains of the lonely warlord. Because it was believed he'd been possessed by demons at the time of his death, he'd been denied a resting place in the churchyard.

He'd lived such a long time ago, and he'd slain giants to please the king, but his own people had buried him in this prehistoric place. No wonder he couldn't find peace.

No one had ever been able to stand for more than three seconds on the rocking stone that guarded his grave. Children and daring young people had tried over the centuries, only to be thrown off balance to the ground. It was as if a malevolent spirit resided within the lichen-covered granite. A few victims swore they'd felt a powerful hand push them away.

Yet when Sydney stepped upon it, the rocking stone remained still.

"Dear lady," the Reverend said in alarm. "Pray come down off that devilish contraption."

Sydney tossed back her hair. She didn't feel the least twinge of fear, but something compelled her toward the chambered burial cairn. She had to get inside. A power stronger than common sense called her.

"What are we going to do?" she shouted down to the others.

Rylan took out his pen and notebook, standing apart from the others in his black cape with the heavy dog at his side. He was the largest man in the group.

"Come down, Sydney," he said, frowning up at her. "You're going to fall."

The villagers crowded in a nervous circle around the hill, watching the sky for the first glimmer of dawn. A farmer's wife had brought a phial of water all the way from a holy well in Ireland. The church bell ringer had carried a large silver bell, presumably to ring at the ghost. An old man crossed himself. Rylan recorded every detail.

"Come down, Sydney," he said again, his frown deepening.

She shook her head. "I don't want them to hurt him."

"Don't be silly," he said. "He's a ghost. He can't be hurt. He's already dead."

She sighed. The wind stirred her hair into her face, and her skirts whipped around her ankles. A tingle of foreboding crept down her spine. The burial cairn beckoned her.

"I think someone should warn him," she said. "Poor ghost."

"For heaven's sake, Sydney." Rylan started to climb up after her, looking annoyed. "You've been reading too many of my novels."

"I wouldn't go any nearer that burial chamber," the young minister said in panic. "The creature might turn violent if you block his return to the grave. He might take it on himself to possess your body."

Rylan raised a brow at the thought of a warlord possessing Sydney's body. It would make her an interesting wife and bedmate.

He put away his pen and notebook. "Sydney, you're going to falL Come down this instant."

"I can't," she said. "He wants me."

"I want you, too," he said sternly, irritated by the distant look in her eye.

"Well, you can have me," she called down. "Later."

He started after her. Sydney threw him a grin and disappeared down into the tunnel that twisted into the underground cairn.

The stone rocked crazily when Rylan stepped on it, but he jumped down after Sydney, dropping into a dark vault that smelled of earth and mold. He didn't know what had gotten into her, but all of a sudden, he was frightened and—well, hell, he was jealous, although he didn't know why.

"Sydney?"

He followed her down into a hidden chamber. In the false twilight he saw her standing before a huge stone block that barred further exploration. The tomb of the warlord was believed to lie beyond this closed door. It had been sealed for centuries.

A series of loud thuds sounded behind him. Lewis and the Reverend had braved the rocking stone to join them. The two men landed only inches behind him in the musty crevice between the burrows. Sydney was standing a few feet in front of them, the strangest look on her face.

"This is as far as anyone has ever gone," Lewis said, out of breath and rising stiffly. "That block wouldn't budge for the Lord Himself."

"Move aside, Sydney," Rylan said, eyeing her warily as he approached the cairn. "You'll not want to get bumped when we break into the tomb. This is men's work."

He braced his shoulder on the sealed block and shoved with all his might. The two other men added their support. The block didn't give an inch, men or not.

"Well, that's it, then," the Reverend said, sounding relieved. "I'll sprinkle the holy water here and hold the ritual on the hill. 'Tis almost cockcrow. Hurry, my lord. If we fail, we must endure another year of the warlord's wrath."

"Come on, Sydney," Rylan said, reaching for her hand. "The so-called Hour of Demons is here."

"Demons," she said to herself. "He wasn't a demon at all."

The Reverend climbed back up the stony crevice and began reciting in Latin from the top of the hill. His voice sent a hollow echo through the cairn. Sydney was staring at the sealed block of stone.

"We're going to miss it," Rylan said, curious despite himself. "Let's climb out."

"I'll be right there," she said.

She wasn't though. The moment Rylan left, she touched the stone block that barred the way into the cairn. A jolt of electricity shot through her arm. The block swung open beneath her tingling fingers, and the stone suddenly heated to such a degree that she pulled her hand back in reaction. She stared in awe into the black musty tumulus.

"Rylan," she said in a low voice.

He looked back over his shoulder, halfway up the stones that led outside. The Reverend's voice boomed like a thunderbolt. The wind blew through the standing stones above like a warning. A strange tension vibrated in the air.

He saw her standing at the entrance to the tomb, and for an instant he felt the invisible power that pulled her inside. His fear returned in force. Something was taking her from him. The warlord, or whatever lived inside that grave.

"Sydney," he shouted. "Don't go in there."

The Reverend's voice rose into the wind. Daybreak loomed a breath away. Some of the villagers raised their clubs and pitchforks to protect themselves against the ghost who would be forced to return to his grave.

"Don't be silly," Sydney said. "I just want to look."

He jumped down to stop her, but he was too late. She had stepped into the shadowed chamber. Whatever waited for her in that darkness was claiming her, and Rylan couldn't reach her.

The Reverend's voice grew louder. "In the name of the Father and of the Son…"

The earth rumbled for endless seconds. The sky took on an unearthly burgundy-gold glow. The wind rose to a howl. Somewhere outside a woman fainted, and everyone was convinced that Good and Evil were battling for a soul, with the outcome undecided.

"Satan, be gone from this man and let his tormented spirit rest!" the Reverend said in a trembling voice.

"Lord be with us!" Lewis shouted in fright.

Rylan scrambled down the dirt and rocks and reached the stone block just as it swung shut on Sydney. He caught a breath of the air within, stale and redolent of decay. He saw her standing in the tumulus with a smile on her face before darkness claimed her. It was the smile of a woman who was asking for trouble.

"No," he shouted, throwing his whole weight into the block. "
No
."

Sydney was surprised at how bright it was inside the burial chamber. She'd heard the block swing shut behind her. Yet she wasn't frightened. Her heart was beating rapidly, though. She thought it was more from anticipation than fear.

She wasn't frightened even when the figure of the ancient knight materialized out of the brightness, outlined in blue radiance. She had known he was waiting for her, that he had saved her during the shipwreck. She'd wanted to thank him.

He was handsome, she thought. He reminded her of Rylan with his long black hair and powerful warrior's build. He wore a blue tunic that buckled at the shoulder with a scrolled brooch. Yet his smile was infinitely sad, full of centuries' worth of sadness.

"Are you the Blue Knight?" she asked.

He nodded slowly. "Aye, lady, that I am, to my eternal sorrow."

"They're trying to send you away," she whispered. "They mean well. They want to release your spirit."

He heaved a weary sigh. The light of his presence grew fainter, like a candle at its end. " 'Tis time. I am truly ready to find rest."

The stone block groaned open behind Sydney. Rylan burst into the chamber, looking from Sydney to the apparition in disbelief. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. He was excited and on edge, and somewhere deep inside he sensed that he never would have been allowed to witness this phenomenon if not for Sydney.

"Who—"

The Blue Knight held out a circlet of hammered gold to Sydney. " 'Tis for you, lady, blessed by the magician Merlin himself. Wear it as you wish. I have kept it hidden all these years for my bride."

Rylan moved protectively in front of Sydney and took the piece of jewelry from the ghost's gauntleted hand.

"Say 'thank you' to him," Sydney prompted him.

Rylan stared at the Celtic torque he held. "Thank you." He glanced up, suddenly feeling the creature's torment and wishing he didn't because he was never going to look at anything in the same way after this. "We meant you no harm."

"Nor did I mean harm," the Blue Knight said. "But I have caused trouble with my torment. Tis time to go."

He faded before their eyes until only a faint blue glow illuminated the cairn.

"Wait," Rylan said, seeing the chance of a lifetime disappear before his eyes. This was the kind of thing he wrote about, and now he realized he really didn't understand the supernatural at all. He'd only scratched the surface. "Wait. I want to know so many things about dying and the spirits—"

"I brought her to you, friend." The low melancholy voice sounded weak. "Cherish her. And you, lady," he said to Sydney, "pray for my soul."

Only Lewis and the young Reverend had been brave enough to remain on the hill while the earth shook and the sky took on an unholy hue. The others had scattered across the moor, not willing to come face to face with a genuine ghost. What had seemed exciting in theory was damned frightening in fact.

A peaceful light rose over the hill. The wind had died.

Rylan helped Sydney climb out of the cairn, his hand grasping hers so hard her fingers went numb.

"It is done," the Reverend said in an unsteady voice.

Lewis pulled out a flask of gin and offered it all around. Only Sydney accepted. " 'Twas the finest ghost-laying I've seen in all my days," he said with a pleased grin.

Rylan stood alone with Sydney on the hill for a few minutes after that. He examined the torque in the light.

"It has a Latin inscription," he said, rubbing his thumb across the tarnish.

Sydney peered over his shoulder. "
'Vivit post funera amor.'"

"Love lives beyond the grave." Rylan frowned. "I am jealous of a ghost," he said, "and grateful to him at the same time. If that shipwreck hadn't brought you to me, Sydney, I might as well have been buried in that cairn beside him."