A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,48
the sideboard and pushed open the doorway that was really no bigger than a cupboard. Even someone as petite as she had to duck to get inside.
John merely went through the wall.
He found himself watching her more than noting any of the treasures in the dusty old place. Pure, unadulterated awe slackened her jaw, parting her lips as she twirled in the center of the tiny antechamber as if trying to take in the entire glory of the Sistine Chapel.
She all but floated to the haphazard shelves and rickety cases lining the long chamber.
As one could never do in a museum, she reached out trembling, elegant fingers and tested the sharpness of a saber mounted on the wall or threaded them through the plume on a hat. It was as if she could see with her eyes, but never truly had a vision of anything until she’d experienced it through touch.
John found himself wanting to trade places with inanimate objects as she caressed them with the reverence of a lover. Buckles. Buttons. A rifle, a medal of valor, irons for captives, chains and whips and other implements of violence and war.
She didn’t belong in this place, this so-called Chamber of Sorrows. She was a creature of light and joy. One to whom melancholy and sorrow did not attach itself for long.
What must it be like to move in the world in such a way?
Vanessa Latimer had transfixed him like nothing or no one had done before.
Everything she did, every gesture she made was attractive to him. From the way she blinked the fans of her eyelashes, to the swift, almost sparrow-like movements of her graceful neck as she tried to look at everything all at once. The sway of her skirts soothed him, drew him toward her as she ventured deeper into the long chamber, which was actually more a corridor that ran the length of the inn.
She paused at a small table upon which letters and miniature portraits of women or children were stacked neatly. As if understanding they might disintegrate if she touched them, her hands hovered like butterfly wings above the loops of writing often stained with blood.
He’d known her for such a short time, and yet he understood that she burned to stop and read every word, absorbing it into her memory.
Eventually, she glanced back at him, her gaze brimming with so many things. “Have you read these?” she asked hopefully.
Once again, he hated to disappoint her. “This is maybe the third time anyone has ever brought a light in here when I was awake. I’ve rarely been able to truly examine these things, and when I could I was searching for something that might belong to me. For letters my brother, James, wrote me. I carried them with me everywhere, even into battle. They were a testament to his bravery and strength he never even knew he possessed.”
The sound she made conveyed both regret and admiration. “I wonder if they were sent home to him.”
“I hope so,” he sighed, not wanting to dwell on a hope he couldn’t verify.
“You need light to see?” The very idea seemed to surprise her.
He felt his features soften, the sadness melting into an endlessly amused half-smile. “I’m a ghost, not a vampire.”
She rolled her eyes at his teasing, swatting at him with no real heat. “How should I know the rules? I mean, you float above the floor and you can walk through walls.”
“Sadly, I cannot see in the dark.” Or through things. Like her clothing.
She made a noncommittal noise as she moved further along the chamber. Her ankle rolled beneath her skirts and she nearly lost her footing.
Reflexively, he reached for her, but she righted herself before he could do anything.
Clearing her embarrassment from her throat, she pointed beneath her and offered an abashed explanation. “The floor is uneven.”
He nodded his head, his heart too much in his throat to reply.
She returned to examining every single treasure. “Are you sure none of this is familiar? These sabers, a hat, perhaps? Even a button?” She sounded almost desperate now.
He shook his head. “No, none of these are mine. Though I recognize a few of them as belonging to compatriots.”
Ones he mourned for many years.
She ran her hands across a bayonet, testing its edge. “You said you sleep a great deal. Is that truly what it’s like to be…” She made an uncomfortable gesture at his general personage.