Page 57 of A Ghost of a Chance

Rafe’s expression became more serious and more earnest than ever. “I’m willing to perform the ceremony if you want me to. I realized that last year I may have frightened you with my vow not to be responsible for another person’s life. But after many months of soul-searching, I have come to an important decision: I refuse to allow fear to keep me from living and from loving and taking risks. If you don’t want to risk crossing over to whatever comes next, I will come for you every year—”

“Rafe.” She smiled. “I had already decided that at dawn I would walk into the column of light if it appears again, and come what may. I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain by performing the ceremony.”

He smiled with such affection that her new song played in her mind with all the fullness of a full orchestra. If she were mortal, she would have wept for joy.

“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been preparing for two months for this.” A quick flash of a smile. “The Ath-nuadhachadh must be performed at midnight.”

“So soon? I wish we had until dawn. I want as much time with you as possible, since this may very well be our last night.”

“It might be the beginning of many more.” He turned back to Peter, who watched what must have appeared to be a bizarre monologue. Smiling, he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Peter. You’ve been very helpful. Enjoy the ball. My parents are looking forward to seeing you and your lovely bride again.”

Peter nodded and glanced uneasily around. “Miss Osanne.” He bowed his head to excuse himself before he stood and went inside the vicarage.

Rafe took her hand. “My parents are hosting the masquerade again this year, and I’ve already made my excuses. I’m all yours this eve.”

“You are?” She seemed incapable of doing anything but uttering inane questions.

“We have something more important to do.”

The ceremony. She could do this. Whatever the outcome, they would both be free.

Hand in hand, with Rafe carrying the lantern, they went deep into the woods, through a glen, and up a hill to the ancient henge of stones. Rafe sat in the middle of the circle and settled his satchel next to him. She lowered herself beside him.

He touched her arm. “I missed you worse this year than ever before. The thought of not seeing you again was...unbearable.” He swallowed.

If she vanished, he would grieve deeply. Osanne whispered, “Oh, Rafe.”

“But if you move on, I will find a way to move on, too.” He kept a brave expression but a shadow touched his eyes.

He pulled her into his arms again and held her fiercely. Oh, how she loved this man! He deserved a living woman, and whether she, or someone else, Ossane would be happy for him.

Last night—last year—they had chosen fear over love. Now, they chose love, regardless of risk.

As the luminous moon sailed across the starry autumn sky, they talked, sang, danced, kissed, and dreamed of what might be.

Rafe checked his pocket watch. “It’s almost time. Are you certain this is what you want? It is not too late to change your mind.”

“Without question. No matter what befalls me, I will, at last, leave this haunted half-life.”

Either way, Rafe would no longer be tied down to a ghost. Her purpose gave her new confidence.

Rafe looked at her with his intense way of seeing her. “If it’s not possible for you to come back to life to be with me, I want you to know that I will always be grateful I met you. Thank you for helping me find myself.”

“I am the fortunate one. Since you first saw me, I have known greater joy than I ever dreamed.”

He held her. Surely Heaven could not be more beautiful than this. No turning back.

She stepped away and nodded. “I am ready.”

Tension rolled off his body in tangled currents as he opened his bag with shaking hands. He pushed out a long breath and removed a white plume, an incense ball, several candles, and a container of salt. After pouring the salt into a large circle within the henge, he lit the candles and incense, and arranged all the other items within the salt circle.

Osanne watched in fascination. “How do you know about this ceremony?”

“Madam Miska called forth the Angel of Death and I pled for your life. He told us what I must do.”

“You spoke to the Angel of Death?”

The candlelight illuminated his face, giving him a soft, almost angelic glow. “He wasn’t frightening at all. He was pure light.” A smile flitted across his face. “He told us of an ancient Celtic ceremony, the Ath-nuadhachadh, and I searched through old tomes and legends to discover the details.” He breathed out a sickly smile. “Apparently, I must be pure in heart to perform it. I spent the better part of the past two months trying to become so—involving several confessionals about past misdeeds and painfully honest but cleansing talks with Peter.”