“A few weeks.” Her voice wavered.
“Then let me love you as long as I may.”
Eventually Nicholas did have to leave. After he was gone Gillian dressed slowly, her body still languorous from a day of lovemaking. She had never been so happy. It was a very good love philter Old Hazel had made for her.
Earie brought her dinner, and she ate alone in her chambers. The sun faded, and still Nicholas had not returned. Gillian wandered down to the great hall to find it milling with people again. Torches lined the wall, and ale had been brought out so the people waiting could refresh themselves.
Gillian hung back in the entryway, uncertain she wanted anyone to see her. She did not want to be announced again. She skirted unobtrusively along the wall until she could see the dais. Nicholas sat behind the table listening intently to a man in a filthy plaid who stood before him, wringing his hands. He was so handsome, sitting tall and straight, his dark brow creased with concentration. She smiled and sighed, content just to gaze upon him.
As if sensing the weight of her stare, Nicholas’s eyes moved to her. Though he didn’t smile, his gaze warmed.He held up a hand to the man talking, then gestured over his shoulder. Gillian noticed Sir Evan for the first time, standing behind Nicholas’s chair, arms crossed over his chest. The knight bent his head near, and Nicholas said something to him. Sir Evan’s gaze immediately went to Gillian, and he nodded.
Gillian panicked, sweat breaking out on her scalp as she waited for the herald to announce her. To her relief it never happened. Nicholas returned to his petitioner, and Sir Evan joined Gillian against the wall.
“You’ve eaten?” he asked.
“Aye,” Gillian said, tearing her eyes from her husband to acknowledge the knight.
“Good. My lord asked me to show you the gardens.”
He led her out of the hall through a north door. The cool, foggy night wrapped around her. She shivered and hugged her arms to her body. Torches on the castle walls were glowing orbs in the mist. They followed a cobblestone path a short distance to a wrought iron gate. Sir Evan pushed it open.
“They didn’t wait long to descend upon him,” Gillian observed, feeling slightly offended for her overworked husband. Though Sir Evan had held court the day after they’d arrived at Kincreag, he’d not done it since.
“Aye, they see him pass through the village and follow, like the piper with his rats.” He glanced back at her with the closest thing to a smile he’d ever given her, a slight curling of one corner of his hard mouth. “They much prefer for him to hear their grievances.”
Though the fog hung thick, the garden still charmedGillian. It was lovely, full of exotic flowers she’d never seen before. Sir Evan walked beside her, pointing out various species of flora and explaining where Nicholas had acquired it. The path ended with a barred wooden door.
“Where does this lead?”
“To the cliff path I told you about.”
She desperately wanted to know if Catriona’s spirit haunted the cliff, but she couldn’t risk collapsing on a cliff path. The consequences could be disastrous. Besides, Nicholas had forbid her from seeking out ghosts. She sighed and turned away from the door, wandering back up the path.
Sir Evan followed her. “I saw the ghost once.”
Gillian whirled around to face the knight. “What?”
He shrugged sheepishly and glanced around, as if to be certain they were alone. “It was probably nothing, just the fog playing tricks on my eyes. But the time was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those that see her only do so on foggy nights and always at the same time—the stroke of midnight. The witching hour. Though no one knows what time she fell, it’s believed that it must have been at midnight. Why else would she appear only then?”
It was so strange to be standing in the murky garden talking about ghosts with the stalwart knight. He seemed to agree, because he started walking again, a guiding hand at her elbow. “Foolishness and superstition, I’m sure. My lord would not like you going out there alone.”
“No, of course not.” But the idea had taken root. She knew where and when the late countess haunted the cliffs. The only thing left was how she would manage it without collapsing.
The gate creaked. Gillian peered into the fog. A second later, a massive gray streak launched itself at her. Gillian screamed and tried to duck away.
Broc bounced up and down, pawing at her skirts, licking and sniffing at her enthusiastically. Gillian laughed, trying to hold the dog back. Sir Evan came forward to help, but Broc growled at him, hair bristling on his nape.
Sir Evan backed away, hand on sword hilt.
Gillian frowned at Broc, rubbing his ears vigorously. “Bad dog! Sir Evan is our friend.”
Broc whined, tail between his legs.
Nicholas appeared out of the fog. He dismissed Sir Evan with a nod of his head, then stood over Gillian and Broc, watching the reunion with a faint smile.
