Tap tap tap tap tap.
“She wants to tell us something,” she whispered. Frowning, Gavin nodded. The little light was gone, but the taps were audible, as if traveling inside the walls.Tap tap tap.
“Lady Matilda, are you the only spirit here at Braemore?” Gavin asked.
Tap tap.
“She means no,” Elinor explained. “My lady, is Erskine here, Archibald Erskine?”
Tap. Then, taptaptaptaptaptap.
“Is he a dangerous spirit?” Gavin asked.
Tap tap. Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.
“Does she mean ‘no’?” Gavin looked puzzled.
“Listen!” Hearing a soft, airy sound, Elinor lifted a hand. Gavin tilted his head.
Help him . . .
“Help! She wants our help with Erskine,” he said.
“Helphim,I heard. Could she want to help—”
Something moved nearby. Elinor whirled to see a turnip tip over, its still-burning candle dropping to the carpet. Quickly Gavin stamped out the flame.
“We should check the other candles.” He hurried into the corridor and she followed. Downstairs, they dashed through the rooms to find candles burning safely in carved lanterns.
“We need to go to the tower,” she said.
“Elinor, you cannot risk—”
“You promised to eliminate the haunts. And I promised to help.” She turned toward the kitchen corridor.
Chapter Nine
Fear shuddered throughher, sudden and cold. Elinor hesitated as Gavin opened the door to the tower and stepped back. “Are you sure?”
With a tentative nod, she stepped over the threshold into shadows—the night had descended much faster than she expected. Thankful that Gavin had grabbed a lantern from the kitchen, she was also glad when he stepped ahead of her to put out a hand, wary and protective.
“Seems quiet in here,” he said, lantern light cutting a pathway as they walked ahead cautiously. “Perhaps they are scared of rowanberries.”
Suppressing a nervous laugh, she moved beside him, then stopped by a pile of broken stones, once a stout wall, to set out the last of the carved turnips from the basket she carried. When Gavin lit the candles, they blew out immediately. Without a word, he turned to place rowan branches and two iron pokers near the entrance.
“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling a rush of love, knowing he doubted that folk remedies were of any use; yet he put them about as she wanted, just for her. He moved on, the lantern casting long bars of light and shadow on the stone floor and walls. He extended an arm.
“Careful. This place is hazardous. It ought to be rebuilt or just razed. Perhaps that would dispel the family curse.”
“The pit would still be here,” she said. “Besides, you love this old tower. We cannot let this angry spirit ruin so much for you. For us.”
“Aye, then. What do you suggest, lass?” In the play of lamplight, he glanced at her. “You wrote about witchy charms and candles in your story. Does any of that have an actual effect?”
“Rowan and red thread, ghosts flee in dread,” she murmured. “I have only read about such things in my studies. I have not tried them all yet, but I believe they work.”
He huffed. “Now she tells me. Well, your wee remedies did something in the house. We heard taps, there were lights.”
“The Gray Lady was there,” Elinor agreed.
