The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,10

nodded. “I must warn you not to expect a repeat performance. That was the first time I have seen her.”

“I shall curb my expectations.” Thomas stood.

Pip fell into step beside him as they stepped out onto the terrace. “Something on your mind?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re not so forthcoming with strangers as a rule.” Pip’s gaze fell on Julian and an abstracted frown settled over his face. “When you talked about the balance between freedom and restraint, it sounded as though you had someone particular in mind.”

Thomas found his throat dry. Swallowing did not rid it of the sudden lump. He glanced at their companions.

Connaught gestured towards the forest surrounding Connaught Castle, evidently showing Julian where the banshee had made her appearance. Neither looked their way.

To hell with the risk. He brushed his fingers over Pip’s cheek. “I confess, I was thinking of someone in particular.”

Pip widened his eyes. “Thomas!” He looked towards the terrace, licking his lips. “You do not propose to restrain me, I hope?”

Thomas smiled, letting his fingers linger. Pip’s cheeks heated as he blushed. “Tempting as it is to keep you all to myself, I could not deny you any pleasure. I will not check your freedom, but I will do all in my power to protect you.”

“I could not ask for more.” Pip lowered his voice. “Will you not change rooms with Julian? I would like to continue this very interesting discussion of restraint and pleasure in more…private surroundings.”

Thomas squeezed Pip’s hand as they turned back to join the other two on the edge of the terrace. Pip had mistaken his meaning. Still… “I should not be opposed. But we must see what Julian thinks.” He motioned towards the night scene. “Show me where the banshee appeared.”

Pip led the way to the stone railing that bordered the terrace. “She made her appearance over the ridge, I believe.”

“Just where those trees are?” Thomas squinted. Very easy for a figure to appear and disappear out of those shadows. “And you saw her distinctly?”

Pip nodded. “She was a solid figure, much more than the ghost of Joseph Leighton was. Dressed in a white gown of a simple, old-fashioned make, her hair uncovered.”

Julian and O’Flaherty were near enough to join their conversation. “That is quite a distance. How were you able to see her? The moon?”

“Yes,” O’Flaherty said, looking out over the landscape with a faint frown. “At least it must have been the moon. She held no lamp or light of any kind, and yet she glowed.”

“It was a very definite sighting,” Pip said, turning towards Thomas. “The most—” He sucked in a breath, the excitement in his face replaced by shock.

Thomas turned. A woman stood on the wide lawn surrounding the castle, visible despite the cloudy night sky. Her hair and cloak streamed behind her, blown by a wind that did not reach the terrace. As they stared, she raised one hand, and, not taking her gaze off them, motioned them to her.

Thomas could not blink. Despite the great distance between them, he felt the pressure of her gaze as if she stared at him.

“Julian!” Pip started forward.

Thomas jerked his gaze off the banshee just in time to see Julian vault over the stone fence. He landed on the grass and took off towards the woman at a run.

“Come back here at once!” Pip swung himself over the balustrade. He took off after his son. “Julian!”

What was Pip doing? Had he forgotten the banshee’s curse laid on him? Thomas scrambled over the balustrade after him.

The drop was greater than he expected. Thomas ignored the protest from his knees and ran forward. His chest burned. Pip. He couldn’t see him, Pip and Julian both lost in the dark. He fixed his gaze on where he’d last seen them and pushed forward.

His heart pulsed in his chest, beat irregular. Thomas staggered to a halt, sinking onto one knee. A moment to catch his breath, that’s all…

He gulped in air, but his lungs didn’t fill.

“Lord Cross.” Connaught stood beside him. “Are you all right?”

Thomas waved him away. “Leighton. Help.” The gesture cost him his balance. He sank onto his knees, body braced against the earth as he struggled to breathe.

“Leighton!” Connaught bellowed. “Westaway! Lord Cross needs help!”

Thomas shut his eyes. Just what he didn’t want.

6

Dr McCarthy was a white-haired gentleman, more used to diagnosing hardy farming folk than dealing with gentry. He took Thomas’s pulse and listened to his chest. “You sound all right now. Still, for a brief burst of