“Some of that, and a singular condition.” Hugh paused. “Get rid of the ghosts.”
Gavin gave a curt laugh. “But they lend such charm to the place.”
“The ones in the house are not much trouble. But that rascal in the old tower is the reason Braemore has not sold. Visitors to Scotland would love the romantic notion of a haunted castle. Buying that same property is another matter.”
“Shrieking spirits, stones thrown, people shoved down steps, and a tale of a prisoner dying in a pit dungeon is not romantic? Disappointing,” Gavin drawled.
“The spirits must go, or there is no sale.”
Gavin skimmed the request for improvements; nothing unexpected. The original thirteenth-century castle had been renovated and wings had been added two hundred years ago. Work was always needed. The last item was underlined.
Eliminate the ghaists and houlets.
“Not very likely.” He tossed the page to the desk. “I should open the place to tourists instead. The ghosts could bring in enough income to support repairs.”
“They might. But your father brought in a minister to bless the place years ago after your sister fell down the tower stairs and broke her leg. It did not seem to have an effect, from all accounts.”
“Father said Constance fell due to horseplay where children did not belong. But Mother was upset, so a minister came to do whatever they do in such cases. The trouble grew worse for a while. But you know that.”
“I saw the Gray Lady and the shadow figure myself once or twice. And you and I heard shrieks in the tower. We ran like the hounds of hell were after us.”
Gavin laughed. When they were young, he and the neighboring Camerons had relished looking for ghosts. He sighed, reminded once again of Elinor. She was much on his mind of late. But he had heard that she was engaged again, perhaps even married by now. Hugh did not offer much news about her and Gavin did not ask. He only hoped she was happy and had forgiven him some.
“While you were away last month, the interested purchaser looked at the place,” Hugh said. “Books were thrown, doors slammed. There was a howl in the tower. The ghosts werenot quiet. There will be no purchase unless it can be declared free of bogles and spirits. Perhaps you should summon another minister.”
“Or a priest to sprinkle holy water, burn incense, and order the wicked souls out? That tower is more trouble than the house. I should raze it,” Gavin muttered.
“A historian of your caliber could not harm a stone in that tower.”
“For the sake of its history, aye. My ancestors helped preserve Scotland’s freedom. But the tower is a precarious ruin.”
“Nonetheless, it must be declared free of hauntings. There might be ways to do that privately. We could consult my cousin.”
“Cousin?” Gavin asked sharply.
“Edgar Cameron.”
“Ah. I see. Recently I read a ghost story that he wrote forBlackwood’s.” Gavin cleared his throat. “His solution for the ghost was rather good, I thought. The idea did occur to me, I admit, that he might have some idea how to deal with the ghosts—and then you bring this news.” He tapped the purchaser’s list of requests.
“If you found his solution interesting, you could ask what he thinks of the situation here.”
“Though he is probably not fond of me after—well, it is in the past. His sister will be married by now, I expect.”
Hugh watched him steadily. “She ended the engagement two months ago.”
His hand on the page stilled. “I had not heard.”
She had not married. He drew a breath. Every day he thought about her, cared about her, though he had sent her away and she had accepted another’s suit. Now he imagined that delicate, delectable lass heartbroken, in need of an old friend, if the friend was fool enough to hope—
But Elinor was too spirited to be vulnerable, too positive in nature to be heartbroken for long. And if she needed a friend, she would not choose him.
“Braemore, listen.” Hugh brought him back. “Perhaps Edgar can help after all.”
Gavin looked up. “I was intrigued that spirits were banished in his story. He did his research. Perhaps his sister helped. She was always interested in folklore and such. But chants and charms may have no influence on the nicky-bens that supposedly haunt Braemore.”
“Surely you believe them to be real. Your housekeeper and staff will not even stay past dark. By the way, Mrs. Blair told me she hopes I can convince you to return to the city tonight, with Halloween approaching.”
“Days away.” Gavin waved a hand. “Mrs. Blair and the staff live down in the glen, not here. It is hard to keep staff, true. More than one has run away screaming.”
