“Evan must be mistaken. It couldn’t have hit you.”
She turned back toward him, her eyes already clearer, though she looked fatigued. “He must have.” She was not good at hiding her thoughts or feelings, and he saw that she did not believe the knight had been mistaken.
Though her eyes remained open and her gaze on him, he could tell by the heavy way she lay on the pillow that she was exhausted. He smoothed the backs of his fingers over her forehead and the tender curve of her cheek.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll see you later.” He started to ease off the bed.
She caught his hand, gripping it with surprising strength. “Don’t leave.”
He hesitated. “I’m filthy— I’ve been riding all night.”
Her grip loosened, and she slid her hand up his arm. “Then you must be tired. Lay with me.”
He started to protest again, but she gazed at him with such a winsome and hopeful expression that he couldn’t refuse her. He lay beside her and gathered her against his chest. She shuddered in his arms, then sighed deep and contentedly, her hands curled into his doublet.
There was an odd tightness in his throat, and he was having trouble swallowing, but soon her contentment transferred to him and he slept, despite the dirk hilt digging painfully into his side.
***
Elsewhere in the castle Bradana slept, warm beneath her thick wool blanket, her belly full of hearty stew and ale—all thanks to the new countess. The countess was good and kind and would save Bradana from the stake. She was certain of it. The jangle of keys woke her from her dreams of fire. She sat up on her narrow cot, peering into the darkness.
The door opened and there was light. A beautiful woman entered, bearing a candle and a cup. Golden hair gleamed in the candlelight. She wore it loose, like a maiden, flowing down her back. The woman was hardly a maiden, though. At least in her thirties, but still as breathtaking as an angel.
She smiled at Bradana. “Hello, my friend. I’ve been wanting to see you again.” The door shut behind her.
Bradana studied the woman closer but did not recognize her. “I don’t know you.”
The woman set the candle on the table beside Bradana’s cot. “We haven’t actually met, but a very good friend of mine has told me all about you.” The woman sat on the cot beside Bradana, still smiling. She had all of her teeth, and they were straight and white. “I brought you something.” The woman offered Bradana the cup.
She accepted the cup and sniffed the dark contents. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of the countess. She sent me to see to your comfort.”
Bradana smiled back, liking this woman. She was no servant. Her clothes were well made and of finematerials, her skin soft and smooth except for faint lines beside her eyes and mouth, well kept and unaccustomed to the harshness of nature. She must be a guest of the countess. Any friend of the countess was a friend of Bradana’s.
Bradana sipped the brew and was pleased to find it thick and rich, mulled spirits. She’d never been served such fine fare as she’d had during her brief imprisonment in Kincreag Castle. Except for being confined, she rather enjoyed it. And now she had a visitor.
They talked of Bradana. The woman wanted to know if she had children, and Bradana told her about her daughter and her two grandchildren. By the time Bradana finished the cup of spirits, she wasn’t feeling so well. There was a strange taste in her mouth, as if she’d been sucking on a penny, and she couldn’t seem to swallow.
The woman gently removed the cup from her fingers and set it aside. “You’d better lay down, my friend.”
Bradana did as she bid, her throat working to swallow the excessive amount of spit in her mouth. The woman pulled the blankets up over her and sat by her side, watching her.
“What’s wrong with me?” Bradana asked as pain streaked through her abdomen. She pulled her knees up to her belly, groaning. “What did you give me?”
“I had to. You saw me.”
Bradana shook her head, confused. “I dinna . . . understand you.” She gasped as her belly gripped. Something shredded her from the inside. “I’ve . . . never seen you . . . afore tonight.”
The woman sighed, a long, sensuous sound. She lifted the covers and slid beneath them next to Bradana. Bradana wanted to fight, to force this frightening woman out of her bed, but she was old and frail and in so much pain. Sweat soaked her thin shift. Her body shook.
The woman put her arms around Bradana, her embrace firm. She put her mouth near Bradana’s ear. “On the cliff. You saw me.”
Bradana did fight then. She was the ghost! It had been wearing a cloak before, the hood dark. Bradana had not seen its face, but it had come for her. She struggled, arms flailing, legs kicking, but the ghost subdued her quickly. Pain wrenched Bradana again, worse this time, bowing her back and sending tears of terror streaming down her face.
“No, no, no, no . . .,”Bradana chanted, writhing and shuddering.
The ghost cooed at her and dried her face. “It’ll be over soon. Fash not, you won’t die alone. I’ll stay with you and hold you until the end.” Its voice trembled with excitement, its body pressing closer.
