“It’s true,” Rose said. “He claims a servant told him where you were.”
“Then that’s what happened.”
Isobel’s lips compressed with worry. “The servant doesn’t exist, Gilly.”
Gillian looked at her sisters in disbelief. “You think Nicholas pushed me?”
They said nothing, but their eyes said it all.
“That’s absurd!” Gillian laughed, then grimacedwhen pain stabbed her side and arm. “You’re both mad. He’s the one who found me! It was his idea to use Broc. He kept searching when everyone else had given me up for dead.” Indignant anger rose in her chest as she spoke. “So stop these accusations now. I won’t have you treating him like a murderer.”
Her sisters were stunned at her outburst. Rose averted her gaze but had that stubborn look about her. Gillian knew she’d not give up her suspicions so easily. Isobel stared down at her folded hands, abashed.
Gillian made herself sit up, clutching her arm to contain the pain. “You can discover the truth, Isobel. Touch his things. Go help him question the servants.” Isobel was a seer. When she touched objects, she often experienced visions about the owner.
Isobel licked her lips nervously. “I tried. I see nothing when I touch his things . . . some people are like that, they leave few impressions. And he refused to let me help with the interrogations.”
Gillian leaned back and let out a noisy breath. “Well, that doesn’t mean anything. He has forbidden me to use witchcraft.” When they said nothing to this, Gillian rushed on defensively, “He’s right, you know. People are dying for less than what we do. He’s only trying to protect all of us.”
They remained stubbornly silent.
Gillian’s shoulders sagged. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t think he can protect me from what wants me dead.” At her sisters’ alarmed expressions, she added, “It’s nothing flesh and blood. I think it’s the late countess.”
A tiny line appeared between Isobel’s pale brows. “Can a ghost do that?”
Gillian gestured to Tomas in the corner. “I don’t know how, but they can. Remember the doll? Something is moving it. And Tomas has protected me twice now.”
Isobel and Rose glanced at the corner uneasily. Rose leaned forward. “Is Tomas here now?”
“Who’s Tomas?” Isobel asked.
Gillian told them about meeting Tomas on the ledge.
“We must somehow exorcise Catriona’s ghost from Kincreag. Rose, you brought your spell books?”
“I brought a few. They might have something.” She frowned at Gillian. “Are you certain about this? Two of the attacks were done by flesh-and-blood men, not a ghost woman.”
Gillian’s mouth compressed. “I’ve thought of that, and I don’t have an answer yet. Maybe she’s aided by a malevolent male spirit.”
“Or maybe she can possess others,” Isobel suggested.
“Oh, that reminds me! Rose, go to my writing desk.” Gillian pointed with her bandaged hand. “Beneath the stone there is a piece of paper with strange writings on it. Do you recognize them?”
Rose returned to the bed, slanting blue eyes narrowed at the charred parchment. She shook her head slowly. “I’ve never seen this before. Very strange. This is what you wrote when you took the poppy juice?”
“Aye . . . though I don’t recall writing it at all. Something inhabited my body and forced me to write it.Tomas said it was a young lad. Probably the one who dropped the ballast on me. So aye, I suppose possession is possible.”
Her sisters’ expressions had gone from merely disturbed to frightened.
“What are we going to do?” Isobel asked, hands twisting in her lap. “How can we fight something we can’t even see?”
“Ican see them now,” Gillian reminded them, “and with no pain. With a little magic, I’m sure the three of us can discover the truth and set things right.”
Rose raised her auburn brows. “What about Kincreag? What if he finds out we’re practicing witchcraft?”
“Don’t worry about Nicholas. He need never know . . . and if he finds out . . .” Gillian’s mouth flattened, her heart weighted with regret. “Well, I’ll deal with that if it happens.”
It was night when Nicholas returned to her. She awakened to his low voice, sending Isobel away. Gillian watched him in the dying firelight, muttering darkly as he undressed. She admired the hard planes of his back, the way muscle molded over ribs and shoulders, sleek and honey-dark. He slid into bed beside her. She slept on her back, a pillow beneath her broken arm. Nicholas’s bare chest warmed the left side of her body. His hand slid over her stomach to hold her, and his head tilted on the pillow beside her, his mouth resting against her shoulder. He lay like that a long while, tension quivering from his body into hers.
