Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(31)

Lucky Snowdrop.

They took the stairs together, proceeding slowly in the dark. One after the other. Sometimes Miss Pelham would speed up and turn the corner before Izzy, and her figure and candlelight would drift from view. Then Izzy would hasten to catch up, sure she could feel ghostly fingers on the back of her neck.

“Do you see anything that way?” Miss Pelham asked, once they emerged into the corridor.

Izzy held the candlestick high with her right hand and peeked through the fingers of her left. “No.”

“Nothing to this side, either.”

The noise came again.

“Not to worry, Miss Goodnight. Old buildings like these make all sorts of strange sounds. No doubt it’s just timbers settling, or a door creaking back and forth on rusted hinges.”

Both those explanations sounded reassuringly plausible.

They emerged into the courtyard, and were nearly across it when an immense figure emerged from the shadows, stopping them in their path.

“Duncan,” Izzy gasped, pressing a hand to her thumping heart. “You scared us.”

The valet held his lamp aloft, illuminating the stark lines of his face. “What are you ladies doing out of bed?”

Once again, a keening howl rose up into the night, lifting every hair on Izzy’s arms with it.

“That’s what we’re doing out of bed,” she said.

“What can it be?” Miss Pelham asked.

Duncan shook his head. “Likely cats wailing or foxes having a fight. Whatever it is, I’ll scare it off. You ladies should return to your chamber.”

“We’re coming with you,” Izzy said.

They’d ventured this far. She’d rather face whatever it was with Duncan present than make that walk back to their chamber alone.

“Really, Miss Goodnight. It’s not—”

Before he could finish his warnings, Miss Pelham shrieked and pointed. “A ghost!”

A white, filmy apparition came streaking out of the tower. It writhed and howled, twisting its way across the courtyard like a wraith.

It wasn’t a ghost.

It was Magnus.

Poor wolf-dog Magnus, caught in a Holland cloth they’d hung up with the washing. He was moving so swiftly, it took Izzy a few moments to discern the reason for his distress.

But she ought to have guessed at the cause.

Snowdrop.

The ermine had gone hunting, all right—hunting for big game.

She was attached to the end of Magnus’s tail, holding on by the strength of her vicious teeth. The dog caromed around the courtyard, whipping and howling in an effort to shake her off.

“Oh, the poor thing.” Laughing, Izzy set off in pursuit. “Duncan, can you catch him?”

It took some doing, but eventually they managed to corner the beasts. Duncan held the dog still while Izzy pried Snowdrop’s jaws from his tail.

“There. You little menace.”

Miss Pelham winced as she studied the bite wound on the dog’s tail. “I’ll see to bandaging the poor dear. It’s a deep wound. In my kit, there’s some salve that will help. It’s in the great hall. Duncan, we’ll need bandages.”

Duncan started off before she even finished. “Of course, Miss Pelham.”

Izzy cradled the ermine in her hands. “I’ll take Snowdrop back up to the turret and make sure she can’t escape, and then I’ll join you.”

The plan established, they parted and went their separate ways.

Izzy mounted the stairs, Snowdrop tucked securely in the pocket of her dressing gown. The ermine seemed to have tired from the chase, and she went to sleep at once.

“The duke will be most put out with you,” Izzy chided, locking the animal into her gilded ball. “And put out with me, no doubt.”

Where was Rothbury, anyhow? He couldn’t possibly have slept through all that howling. And even if he could, he ought have noticed that the commotion involved his own dog.

Despite her questions, Izzy’s steps were light and carefree as she made her way back down to the great hall. Now that their keening, wailing ghost had been unmasked and proved to be something so benign, she felt a new sense of bravery welling in her chest.

She truly could do this. She could make this place her home.

And then . . .

While breezing down the corridor, Izzy caught a glimpse of something in one of the vacant rooms.

A glimpse of something pale and writhing.

And moaning.

Her heart made an impulsive attempt to escape her body by way of her throat. But she didn’t run away. She inched closer, holding the candle tight.

Slowly, the ghostly apparition came into focus.

Izzy blinked. “Your Grace?”

Chapter Ten

Damn, damn, damn.

Ransom winced as her familiar voice sliced through his throbbing skull.

She would have to find him here, see him like this. Down on the ground, his knees cut out from under him. Crippled by searing pain.

Why had he ever agreed to a duel with swords? He should have insisted on pistols. He’d be dead now, of course. But in times like this, dying seemed preferable to one more minute of this burning, shooting pain.

“What is it?” she asked. “Are you unwell?”

She padded across the floor and crouched at his side.

“Go away. Leave me.” He rolled onto his side, curling his knees to his stomach and pressing his skull against the cool, smooth stone.