The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,25

family.”

“George is only concerned that the land is profitable. The park will be no loss to him—and everything to Julian.” Thomas bit his lip. He tried to keep his opinion of Pip’s eldest nephew to himself.

Pip handed the will back, squeezing his hand. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. But why not consult me? I was not likely to oppose this plan.”

Thomas drew a deep breath. “In updating one’s will, one must confront one’s mortality. I am older than you, and we both know that of recent times, my health has not been all it should. I will not be with you forever.”

Pip’s eyes creased, a fond smile playing over his lips. “You will be with me many years yet.” He placed his hand on Thomas’s thigh. “We are neither of us young lads, but we are not in the grave yet—banshee or no banshee.”

This was harder than he’d ever thought possible. Thomas swallowed, felt it like a dagger in his throat. His chest was heavy, weighed down with dread. “Pip. I—”

The curtains flickered, as if disturbed by a wind.

Pip glanced towards the window, his mouth falling open. He flung up an arm, as if bracing to ward off a blow.

Thomas heaved himself forward to see.

Beyond the window glass, stars shone in the crisp night sky. Moonlight sharpened the edges of the trees and stables beyond, and giving illumination to the figure standing outside. Her beautiful face hollowed with neglect, and her eyes tinged with sadness, the banshee gazed back at them from the other side of the closed window.

13

Cross felt a rushing in his ears, as if a storm raged outside. He reached for the side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the figure beyond the glass. This wasn’t possible.

The banshee hung there, apparently suspended in mid-air. The curtains whirled, tossed by the same wind that battered her fair hair around her. Her mouth parted in a soundless cry, her eyes fixed on Cross.

Pip shook his head, seemingly recovering from the stupor of his first shock. “The banshee. Look—she beckons!”

She raised a hand imploringly, gesturing to the window. “Let me in,” she mouthed. Her other hand was pressed to her throat.

Pip stepped forward. Cross saw him reach for the window catch.

He could not explain the impulse that overtook him. Cross flung himself at Pip, bringing them both down in a tangle of limbs.

“Oof!” Pip struggled to pull himself up. “Thomas, careful! You might have hurt yourself.” He wriggled free, raising himself into a seated position. Looking up at the window, he cried out. “Too late! She’s gone.”

Cross shut his eyes. Relief battled with nausea—and shame. How could he have given way to such an impulsive action, knowing what he did about the banshee’s lack of reality? Julian was right—when Pip was concerned, he lost all sense of proportion.

Pip unlatched the window, leaning out of it. “No sign of her—phew! She left her calling card. No need to ask Julian to lend us his nose.”

A very distinctive smell wafted through the open window. Cross had smelled it before in cathedrals, mausoleums, and crypts. It was the decay peculiar to old death. “Shut the window,” he rasped.

Pip glanced at him. “What’s wrong?” He banged the window shut, dropping to his knees besides Cross. “You look dreadful.” He put a hand to Cross’s forehead. “Are you going to be sick?”

Cross winced. “I moved too fast. That’s all.” He took a deep breath and held out his hand.

Pip hauled him to his feet. He put an arm around Thomas, scanning his face. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I’m an old man. I have to remember that.” Cross shut his eyes. Sweat beaded across his forehead. He leaned heavily on Pip’s arm.

Pip helped him to the bed, his forehead compressed. “That’s twice now that a sighting of the banshee has had an unfortunate effect on your health. Look—you’re trembling.”

“Shock.” It was a relief to sink onto the bed.

“It was unexpected, wasn’t it? I’ve not seen her so close to the castle before.” Pip peered out the window again. “You saw her, didn’t you? Did she appear to stand mid-air to you too?”

“Yes.” Cross rubbed a hand across his stomach. “She did.” How had Miss O’Flaherty pulled this off? She must have an accomplice—there was no way she could raise and lower herself from the roof so quickly otherwise. But how had she managed the wind that had blown the curtains on the inside of the room?

“Fascinating,” Pip breathed. “A ghost could not have