Chapter Five

"T hat sounds like Mrs. 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!"

"You often depart before dark and should do so today," he agreed.

"I mean I must leave your employ! My nerves cannot take such startles."

"My dear Mrs. Bee, you have been here since I was a lad. You will always have a place at Braemore."

"So will the ghosts unless something is done!"

He smiled. "You are drinking my cousin's finest faery whisky. It protects against all ills, so they say. You are safe."

"Huh." She downed the rest.

Elinor bent close. "Mrs. Blair, at Halloween, we sometimes sense strange things. You should rest before tonight's festivities in the glen—you mentioned when we were in the kitchen that your family is looking forward to them this evening."

"Aye, but Miss Elinor, I cannot leave a young lady alone here with a gentleman."

"Mr. MacDonald has gone to fetch my brother and will be here soon."

"And then you mean to do something about the spirits? I hope so!"

"Miss Cameron has a point," Gavin said. "Halloween is a busy night in the glen. You should rest."

"We will see some Halloween commotion," Mrs. Blair said. "Guisers in masks carrying torches and chanting to scare bad spirits, demanding treats and soul cakes. They sing that song we hear at Yuletide too. A soul cake, a soul cake ," she warbled.

Elinor smiled, wondering if the whisky was affecting her already.

"Cook has been baking all day," the woman continued. "I will give tarts and cakes to the guisers—in your name, sir, as the laird. The villagers will not come to Braemore at Halloween. Everyone knows about the haunts here."

"They do. Go home, Mrs. Blair, but leave some tarts for me. Else I may have to sing for soul cakes, and no one wants to hear that."

Elinor laughed with the others, glad to see Gavin's wry sense of humor returning. He seemed so serious. Something troubled him, just as it had when he had sent her away last year without explanation. She assumed it was his pride regarding his head injury, though parting was the last thing she had wanted.

"Do go, Mrs. Blair," he said. "The others should leave early as well. It is Halloween, after all. We expect Mr. Cameron, but no staff will be required this evening, although a cold supper would be appreciated."

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Have the groom drive everyone down the glen in the carriage and I will see you in the morning."

He glanced at Elinor, his hazel eyes holding a silent promise. If the servants left, they would be alone—but for the ghosts.

Later, waving as the stable groom drove the vehicle toward the road leading to the glen, Gavin turned to Elinor. "Now," he said, "I believe I have branches to cut."

She finally saw the crooked smile she remembered so well, had missed for too long. As he headed toward the corridor leading out the gardens, she followed.

"And juniper," she said, "if you would be so kind."

"Anything else? Berries? Roses, apples, heather sprigs?"

"There are apples and berries, pumpkins and more here—Mrs. Blair told me before she left. But do not bring heather into the house at Halloween! Heather brought into a house at Samhain means death."

"Ah. No heather then." He said it lightly, but a shadow crossed his face as he took a narrow handsaw from a barrel containing garden tools.

"While you are gone, I will tend to the turnips in the kitchen. We have much to do this evening."

"Turnips, apples, berries—sounds appealing. I am hungry already."

She laughed. "You must have forgotten that I am not a good cook."

"Miss Cameron, I have not forgotten anything about you."