The three of them stood over the dollhouse, inspecting it carefully. Stephen propped his walking stick against the table and circled it, seating himself on the padded stool. He peered into the house thoughtfully. Rose exclaimed over the workmanship just as Gillian had the first time she’d seen it.
“I want one!” Rose said, making the portcullis riseand lower repeatedly. “I will make Jamie build me one for a wedding gift.”
Stephen put his hand over hers to stop her from raising it again, annoyed at the repetitive creaking. “Try something else now, eh?”
Rose cranked it a few more times, smirking defiantly at Stephen the whole while, but she finally tired of irritating him.
Stephen removed the blond doll from Gillian’s bed. “This is the one?” He studied the doll carefully, turning it in his fingers.
“Aye . . . it somehow finds its way back into the bed every time I take it out. Once it even disappeared from my pocket. Watch.” She took it from Stephen and set it on the table, then started to walk away. He remained on the stool, blue eyes fixed intently on the doll. Gillian came back and pulled on his arm. “No, you can’t watch it. Nothing will happen if you sit and look at it.”
He rose painfully from the stool. Gillian took his arm to help him, but he pulled irritably from her grasp. “I can walk without aid, Gilly . . . er . . . my lady.”
She raised her brows. “You don’t have to ‘my lady’ me, Stephen.”
He tugged an obsequious forelock in answer, and Gillian pushed at his shoulder.
Rose had wandered across the room to pluck at the lute’s strings. “This needs to be tuned.” She moved to the window and began tuning the instrument. Her long auburn braid nearly glowed in the sunlight spilling through the window, a myriad of dazzling colors glistening in the light—copper, gold, and amber.
Stephen gave Gillian a sidelong glance. “Can I look now?”
They returned to the dollhouse. Stephen was in front of her, so at his sudden stop Gillian bumped into him. He caught the edge of the house to steady himself, then sat heavily on the stool.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
Gillian peered into the house, knowing what she’d see. She took the doll out of the bed almost every day, and it always found its way back.
Stephen looked around the room warily. “Are you getting headaches?”
“A few, but no bad ones like at Lochlaire.”
“Maybe it’s possessed of a demon?” Stephen’s gaze was fixed on the doll, as if afraid to look away.
“Or maybe,” Rose said, joining them, “a ghost is moving it about.”
“Why would a ghost want to do that?” Gillian asked.
“I know not. Why don’t you ask it?”
Gillian frowned at her sister.
Rose smiled secretly, midnight blue eyes shining with excitement. “I think I found a way to break the curse.”
Gillian gasped. “Really? Let’s do it now. Stephen, you must watch for Nicholas.” When Rose raised an inquiring brow, she explained, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment, “He’s forbidden me from practicing witchcraft.”
Rose grinned. “You’re so obedient, Gilly.”
Gillian shrugged. Though she’d been quick to defy Nicholas’s edict, she did feel a pang of guilt. He’d forcedher to be secretive by being so overbearing. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d promised. In fact, she’d made a point not to promise, so she wasn’t technically breaking her word.
Rose set the lute aside. “I memorized the counter curse and brought everything we need.” She opened a small pouch that hung from her garter and removed a black candle. “Hold this.”
Gillian took the candle and held it in both hands. “Why is it black?” Upon closer inspection she saw that it wasn’t black at all but a deep, muddy red.
“Because it’s not just wax. I had to make it special for this spell. It should smell nice.”
Rose lit the wick with a candle from the candelabra, and after a moment a spicy scent filled the air.
Gillian nodded approvingly. “What’s in it?”
