“Good girl.”
Harry leaned back. The rough cement wall pricked his back through his tailcoat. He closed his eyes. His stomach growled, making him think of his mother’s dinner. Lord knew what conclusion his parents had come to. Probably that he and Cecily eloped. That would set the cat among the pigeons, wouldn’t it? He almost laughed. Would his father be searching the streets for them? He hoped not. And he doubted anyone would think of looking for them here.
If only he could light a fire, it might attract someone. But he didn’t want to disturb Cecily, who seemed half asleep.
He kept his eyes peeled, watching the dark expanse of the courtyard. It made him feel better, but really, what could he do if some spirit accosted them? He could deal with a flesh and blood assailant with a few well-placed punches, but ghosts? He didn’t want to dwell on that.
Cecily’s velvet bonnet had fallen forward. He pushed it back, gazing down at her troubled brow and delicately featured face. She barely stirred. Whatever it took, he’d defend her to the death.
*
Cecily snuggled againstHarry’s coat. She didn’t want to open her eyes and reveal her panicked gaze to him. He already worried enough about her. His fresh cologne and clean male smell reassured her. She sighed; it really wasn’t so bad. Mother would be furious, but once she learned what had happened, then surely… Her eyes flew open at an unearthly sound.
Harry was on his feet. She jumped up and joined him at the door. She could see nothing in the darkness. “What was it?”
“I’m not sure.” Harry pushed Cecily gently behind him. “But it’s coming this way.”
She just had time to see a ghostly figure atop a skeletal steed ride across the courtyard. The horse’s eyes shone a fiery red. Her knees threatened to buckle.
Harry wordlessly snatched up his overcoat, grabbed her hand, and half dragged her from the room. “What was that?” she gasped out as they darted through the kitchen, the small servery, and into a passage.
“I’m not waiting to find out,” he said emphatically.
Bare rooms led into more barren, stone-walled rooms. Then a door lead outside to the east terrace. They crossed the stretch of grass as a blast of icy wind hit her full in the face, making her gasp.
“Those steps might lead to a way out!” Harry shouted.
They might once have. But now, halfway down, the stone steps had crumbled and fallen away, leaving a dangerous and insurmountable gap above the cliff.
Staring silently down, they had no words to express their bitter disappointment.
Cecily forced herself to keep searching. There seemed no access to St. Margaret’s Tower from this end. But perhaps the northeast tower? “Where to now?”
“We go up and wait for dawn,” Harry murmured grimly as they headed for the tower stairs.
Before they reached them, they came to a stumbling stop.
The ghost drifted in the air, ahead of them, blocking their way to the tower.
Harry and Cecily turned to retreat, but a throbbing voice halted their flight.
“Come.”
Cecily swiveled. She stared into the dark. The hovering specter was little more than a wisp of mist now. “Is that Lady Margaret?”
“Let’s hope so,” Harry said. “Better her than one of the others.”
“Come, there’s little time.”
Harry ventured forward. “Let’s see what she wants.”
The misty shape drifted ahead of them, back across the grassy terrace, and down some steps they’d missed. They followed, and, at the end, stairs led upward.
“Where is she taking us?”
Harry’s arm at her back hurried her along. “If it’s a dungeon, she can forget it.”
At the beginning of the east tower steps, the ghost beckoned.
