“Centuries ago, most castles had dungeons. Some had pits too. A man might be left there for days to learn a lesson—or for weeks or months. Not years. No one would survive years in there. Starvation, thirst, madness would kill them soon enough.”
“Gracious,” she murmured.
“It was a different time. Though references to the pit in family records seem to indicate this one was rarely used, except in one instance.”
“Have you heard or seen anything in here, Gavin?” She looked at him then. His name on her lips was gentle. He missed that. “You and Hugh had a scare in here once.”
“We were exploring and heard a horrible wailing. We bolted shrieking out of here, all courage lost. We were ten,” he said. “Father said it was either an animal or just the wind shrieking through the cracks.”
“Or something else. The spirit of a man trapped here forever.”
“You do have an imagination, Miss Cameron.”
She stared down into the hole. “They call these oubliettes. Fromoublier—to forget. How horrible to be forgotten there.” She turned. “Shall we go to your rooms?”
“Why, Miss Cameron,” he murmured.
“Sirrah,” she warned, tilting her head. Following, he smiled.
Returning to the house through the garden, Elinor paused. “The rowan trees are so pretty in autumn, all golden leaves and red berries.”
“Mrs. Blair makes an excellent rowanberry jam. We had some at tea. I will ask her to give you some to take home.”
“Thank you. But I need some rowan branches. Could you cut some for tonight?”
“Is that part of your plan? I will have someone cut them for you.”
“You must cut them yourself, as the laird. Rowan helps protect a house from evil spirits, you see. We need juniper too. Also, someday we should plant lavender by the gates and entrances. It protects against strangers and dark influences, so they say.”
Someday—we? Hope washed through. “We could. What is that?” he asked, as a long scream echoed. Immediately he looked to the tower, but it came from the house.
“Come on.” He took her arm to run through the kitchen garden.
Chapter Five
“That sounds likeMrs. Blair,” Elinor said, as Gavin opened the kitchen door. By the time they reached the main hallway, the screams had stopped. Elinor hurried to keep up with Gavin’s long stride, sharing his clear concern.
“Good Lord, what happened?” he asked as they entered the library, where the housekeeper sat looking pale while Mary, the housemaid, patted her arm. “Are you ill, Mrs. Bee?”
“I saw her!” She gasped, hand to her chest. “The Gray Lady, just there.” She pointed toward the door leading into the study. “I was straightening in here and looked around, and there she was, staring at me.”
“What did she look like?” Elinor asked.
“Pale and silvery, with dark circles around her eyes. I felt such sadness—and cold, too, all at once. I screamed, and she disappeared. Oh, my!”
Elinor bent to take her hand. “All is well now, Mrs. Blair.” She had seen the Gray Lady more than once—a wisp of a figure, silver-gray, sad yet peaceful, not threatening.
“Aye, safe now, Mrs. Bee,” Gavin said. “Perhaps some whisky will help.”
“I will get it.” Elinor went into his study, remembering he kept a decanter there. Pouring an amber swirl into a small glass, she returned. “Do have some, Mrs. Blair. Highland ladies often take Scots whisky. There is no harm in it.”
Mrs. Blair took the glass in a trembling hand and sipped. Standing beside Gavin, Elinor glanced up at him, caught his glance. They both realized that the haunts were indeed becoming stronger. She only hoped her plan would help—setting out some protection, and then a direct effort to send the spirits away.
She had studied such things, written about them, but had never attempted such. She smiled, hesitant, hoping Gavin would not see her trepidation.
“Better, Mrs. Bee?” he asked then.
“I saw her! Sir Gavin, these ghosts must leave or I will!”
