His will abandoned him as his gaze stole over her, taking in the shape of her long, lean legs encased in “blue jeans” that fell just above her ankles. The top half of her was clothed in a pink-colored wool sweater. He’d lived and haunted enough to learn the current terms for things that hadn’t existed when he was alive.
“What is it?” he asked, doing his best to sound commanding.
She tore her gaze from the box to him. “Why do you wear only one gauntlet? Where’s the other one?”
“What?” He dipped his gaze to his hands.
“Did you lose it?”
His gaze met hers again. “My wife tore it from my hand to escape me as I was falling to my death.”
She paled and for a moment, he thought she might faint. Instinct urged him forward to stop her from falling.
He hated himself for trying to catch her and looking like a foolish dolt when his arms went through the air. She watched his attempt and smiled. She smiled! Did she pity him, or did she mock him? He didn’t want her pity. It wouldn’t bring him back. Nothing would bring him back. If she mocked him, he’d rid the fortress of every last man. And why was he following her around like a man desperately reaching for something he could never have—and didn’t want? He chided himself for letting a woman affect him this way.
She broke eye contact with him and her color returned.
He gathered his wits. “Montgomery, what’s in the box?”
Without a word, she opened a door on the side of the box and showed him what he wanted to know. When he saw it impaled and displayed in yet another box made of glass, he felt ill. It was his gauntlet, and her possession of it could only mean one thing.
“Eleanor Montgomery was your blood relative. That’s why you possess what she took from me.”
“Lord Harwich,” she said in a gentler tone than what she’d used on him so far. “Montgomery women have been ostracized for centuries over her, though she was found innocent of being a murderer.”
He curled his lips to keep from clenching his jaw. His attempt failed. “There is nothing alleged about it. She drugged me, and then, with the promise of pleasure on her lips, she led me to the battlements. Like a blind fool I followed her. Reason slipped from my grasp and when she requested I wear my chainmail and gauntlets, I granted her what she wished. What she wished was for me to sink faster. She had what she wanted, a title through her marriage to me, and everything I had. I had given her everything—and then she pushed me over the side. I reached for her and caught her gown in my hand. She pulled the gauntlet from my fingers to be free of me.”
For a moment silence reigned between them. Then Miss Montgomery wiped her sleeve across her eyes. Were those tears glistening over her freckled cheeks?
“Did you ever consider that you’re remembering it all wrong because you were drunk and that you fell over the wall by accident? Maybe your wife grabbed hold of this gauntlet to save you.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His blood boiled and he vanished before he summoned all his strength to lift her up and fling her out of the nearest window.
Chapter Four
He was gone.Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to believe that Lady Eleanor had really murdered her husband. But, he seemed too convinced. It would make sense that he was so furious. For the first time in her adult life, Maggie doubted Lady Eleanor’s innocence. She felt terrible, like the worst traitor in history. Why did she believe some apparition? Why could she see him and feel his sorrow? She covered her head in her hands. Her therapist was never going to believe this. She could hardly believe it and it was happening to her! What was she supposed to do? Was it dangerous that her heart rate was so high since seeing him on the battlements? He was a ghost. She closed her eyes letting it sink in. Despite all the stories she’d read about the Ghost of Graven, she’d never seen or heard him for herself.
Everything had changed. He was real. She opened her eyes, almost hoping he was there. He wasn’t. She set her gaze on the gauntlet. It was his. Now she knew how he lost it. He’d been grasping at his wife’s skirts for help as he fell over the wall.
Tears still burned at the rims of her eyes. Memories of herself about to tumble over the wall flooded through her. Reaching for his help. Her hands going through him. It chilled her bones and made her shiver. Had he reached for his wife’s help and…? It was too horrible to imagine.
He couldn’t be a hologram because she felt him go through her. She felt his enraged presence almost overtake her, and she smelled what it left behind.
He was real, just no longer flesh and bone and blood.
She sank to the floor and sat before the encased gauntlet. She had no idea who’d gone through the trouble of proving her lineage. She hadn’t believed it at first. She wasn’t sure if being tied to Lady Eleanor Montgomery was a blessing or a curse. Eleanor Montgomery’s innocence was shrouded in controversy. But every time Maggie received another item, like a bowl, or a garden tool, a battle ax, or the warrior’s gauntlet, she felt the weight of responsibility grow heavier on her shoulders. Like the fortress, she cherished every treasure placed in her hands.
This gauntlet was an artifact. So what if it had been Lord Harwich’s glove? She couldn’t give it to him. It would fall through his fingers. Though she was nowhere in sight, Lady Eleanor haunted her. Had she tried to save her handsome, young husband? Or had she been the one to push him to his death?
The desire to touch the gauntlet overwhelmed her. Just one touch. She reached out and opened the glass. The longing to touch it grew stronger.
Reaching out, she gave in to her desire and ran her fingers over the glove.
Instantly, she was transported to another place…the battlements—like a dream when she really wasn’t dreaming. How did she just get here? She was in the library with the gauntlet…she touched it, and everything changed. She could hear the waves crashing into the rocks below. A salty sea breeze tickled her nostrils. This was real. She squinted into the misty moonlight and noticed a figure—a well-dressed woman—standing before a man. Moonlight glinted over his broad, chain-mailed shoulders. He was slumped over. Lord Harwich. Thepast! She’d gone into the past! Maggie hurried forward but she was too late. He began to fall. He reached for the woman there with him. Lady Eleanor she realized.
Maggie watched with a stilled heart as he reached for his wife and grabbed hold of her skirts. He must have woken up. They struggled.
“Help him! Save him!” Maggie screamed, rushing forward. But when she reached Lady Eleanor and tried to push her away, she realized that here—wherever this was—she was the apparition, made of mist. She could do nothing to help him.
