Gillian shook her head. “I don’t know. Uncle Roderick brought it back for me . . . but who knows who had it before him?”
“We may never know now. But whoever cursed it thought you might be a threat because of what you see. How were they to know that you saw nothing but Mother moving on to her reward?”
“The light,” Gillian murmured. “The boy that dropped the ballast, he came to me after his death, when I’d taken the theriac. He was looking at something just before he disappeared, just as Mother did. They both looked so . . . radiant when they looked at it. And the woman at the tree told me to go to the light.The light.Do you think it’s heaven?”
“It must be someplace important.”
“She said I had work to do.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Broc rustled around in the bushes, chasing after mice and snapping at dragonflies.
“Maybe,” Gillian said thoughtfully, “some ghosts don’t know about the light . . . and that’s why they’re still here?”
“Maybe so,” Isobel said. “Maybe that is your work.”
Later that day Gillian found Tomas in the west wing, sitting by the window in the solar. She’d seen him when she’d returned to the castle and had told him what had happened. It had upset him, and she’d not seen him since.
“You seem very unhappy, Tomas,” Gillian said, and he did. He was a mournful figure, wrapped in his plaid and gazing dolefully out the window. He’d been a handsome man. He’d died young, perhaps Gillian’s age. He had startling green eyes and soft auburn hair. And he’d been so kind to her. It saddened her that he was trapped here.
He shrugged. “I’m dead. I dinna think I’m supposed to be happy.”
“You said before that you don’t know how to move on to heaven, or if you’re meant to.”
Tomas nodded, looking back out the window morosely.
“Do you see a light?”
He looked at her sharply. “What about it?”
She leaned forward, a jolt of excitement surging through her. “Youdosee it!”
“Aye, but I dinna ken what it is . . . I did some verra bad things when I was alive . . . I . . . I’m afraid to go there.”
“You think it’s hell?”
He shrugged, then, after a moment, nodded.
“I don’t know what you did, Tomas, but I’ve seen other spirits pass on to the light, and they’re happy. I think it’s a good place. Their faces when they go are full of rapture.”
Tomas’s eyes filled with longing. He looked over his shoulder, at something Gillian couldn’t see. Then he turned back to her. “I dinna know . . . are ye sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure,” Gillian said softly. “My mother was a good woman who never did anyone harm. She went there.”
He looked so torn. She could see in his face that he wanted to believe her but was too afraid. “I dinna know,” he said again. He seemed less certain now.
“I think this must be your hell, Tomas. A shadow in your old life, one that no one can see or hear. And you’ve condemned yourself to it. Go on, it’s over now.”
He stood and gave her a hesitant nod. And then he was gone.
It was another week before Nicholas returned. When Gillian received word that he was sighted climbing the cliff road, she was beside herself with excitement. He seemed larger than she remembered, tall and leanly muscled. He wore black breeks and a dark leather doublet. A plaid mantle was thrown carelessly over his broad shoulders. He seemed a bit hesitant and shywhen he dismounted in the courtyard. Gillian ran to him, and he caught her up in his arms.
“I missed you,” he whispered into her hair. Then he stepped back. “Your arm is better?” He ran a gentle hand over it.
“It still hurts a bit, but I can use it. Rose showed me exercises that will strengthen it.”
“You do them, or I’ll tell her.”
Gillian grimaced at the thought of how her sister dealt with recalcitrant patients. Nicholas took her hand, gazing down at her warmly, and led her back into the castle. There was a strange bearded man traveling with him, dressed entirely in sober black. Gillian asked about him.
