Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

A lexandra hadn't bothered with restaurants since the funeral. But now, watching other diners through the front window of His Lairdship’s Hearth, she remembered what it was like to be hungry. The aroma of fresh-baked bread drifted out each time someone opened the heavy wooden door.

"I like the look of it," Spreag said, standing beside her on the cobblestones. "Reminds me of a public house in Firth, back in the eighteenth century."

"Did you eat there often?"

"Once. Got into a brawl over the last meat pie. Someone landed in the fire. Cannae recall which of us." His eyes crinkled. "Go on in, lass. Ye need a proper meal."

The hostess seated her at a corner table with a view of both the street and the stone fireplace. A red-cheeked server appeared with a menu and water.

"Just one today?" she asked with a sympathetic smile.

Alexandra glanced at Spreag, who'd positioned himself in the empty chair across from her. "Just me."

After the server left, she opened the menu. "I completely spaced how weird this would be. People are going to think I'm talking to myself."

"Then don't talk. I can read yer thoughts well enough."

She lowered the menu. "You can?"

"Nay." He grinned. "But wouldn't that be convenient?"

The server returned and Alex ordered without looking at the menu again. "I'll have a meat pie." It seemed fitting.

"Cottage or Shepherd's?"

"Cottage."

The woman nodded and took her menu away.

"So," she said quietly when they were alone. "About tonight's dinner..."

"I told ye, I won't be showing myself." Spreag leaned forward, his form wavering slightly in the sunlight streaming through the window. "And not just because explanations would be awkward."

"You mean you actually can't?"

He shook his head. The movement caused his edges to blur. "Takes most of my energy just appearing to you. More than I expected, truth be told. I must constantly will it, ye ken.”

His voice faded as a family walked past their table. When they'd gone, Alex whispered, "I’m grateful, my love, if you couldn’t tell.”

The server arrived with a steaming meat pie, golden brown and fragrant, with a side of pickled onions. Alexandra's stomach growled, surprising her. When was the last time she'd actually been hungry?

"Thank you," she managed, and the smiling waitress winked and turned away.

"Eat," Spreag commanded softly.

Alex broke through the crust with her fork, releasing more savory steam. "So you can't show yourself to anyone else?"

"Best not to try." He settled back in his chair, and for a moment looked so solid she could almost believe other diners could see him. Almost. "Even if I had the strength for it, can ye imagine how our friends would react?"

Alexandra paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. "They'd call a meeting."

"Wyndham would want to test my limits."

"Wickham's sisters would try to... I don't know. But I'm sure it would involve tea."

"Aye." His form flickered again. "This is just for us."

She took a bite and savored the rich gravy and tender meat. A burst of thyme reminded her of meals they'd shared back when he could actually eat, when he’d been a living, breathing, hungry man.

"Dinnae do it," he said quietly.

She looked up. "Don't do what?"

"Dinnae go down that path. I can see it in yer face when ye start to remember. Nary a negative thought today, which includes regrets."

She added another bit of pie to her fork. "Fine. Then explain more about how this works. Why can’t other people be haunted by the ones they love? Do you think it’s because you were a seer? Or because you were brought back to life once before?”

"How can I know when there is literally no one I can ask. We’ll must simply be grateful for whatever we’re granted." His expression softened. "And I am grateful, my own, if ye cannae tell.”

Alexandra's free hand went to Spreag's silver band she wore on a chain around her neck. It was too big to wear, but she couldn't stand to set it aside. With him near, however, holding onto it no longer seemed like life or death. Having the man she loved with her was a hundred times better than clinging to some artifact.

She set her fork aside to reach across the table to lay her hand on his, then caught herself. The movement knocked over her water glass.

"Sorry," she mumbled, then mopped up the water with her napkin.

His mouth turned down at the corners. "Forgive me, my love. I do want to reach out to ye, but each time I touch ye, it weakens me. Makes it harder to stay visible."

“And just now?"

"Nay, not that." He leaned forward. "It's the actual touching that drains me. Ye'll have noticed I've kept my distance."

"I thought you were just being careful not to upset me."

"There's that as well. But mostly, I'm conserving energy." He worried his lip with his teeth for a moment, likely holding something back. "Let's just say I'd rather use what strength I have to stay visible. To talk with ye."

The server appeared to check on her meal. Alexandra waited until the woman had replaced her water and was gone again. "So you're saying no ghost tricks? No moving objects or writing messages in the steam on mirrors?"

"Writing in steam?" He laughed. "Ye've been watching too many American films."

"Not since we were in the States." She smiled and took another bite. "And I don’t need messages on the mirror. I just need you. Visible or not, I just…need you.”

"Aye, well. I'd rather speak than scrawl messages."

“Will you have the energy to come to dinner?"

"Oh, I'll be there whether or not ye can see me. It takes no energy to haunt yer lovely arse." He winked, then dropped his smile. "Though ye might want to avoid looking my direction too often. Wouldnae want anyone thinking ye're tetched in the heed."

"Or seeing ghosts?"

"Especially that."

Spreag watched Alexandra take another bite of pie, treasuring how the light caught her ebony curls when movement near an arched doorway caught his attention. Another ghost--a woman in dated clothing—drifted in, her shoulder and puffed sleeve passing smoothly through the bricks. Nothing unusual about that. In his current form, he'd seen plenty of spirits going about their business as if still alive.

But this one headed straight for him. Manners brought him to his feet, and he offered the woman a slight bow.

"The lass can see ye," the spirit said, pointing a wobbly finger at Alexandra. "How is it possible?"

Before he could answer, Alexandra's eyes tracked to the woman's voice. "Spreag? Who said that?"

His chest tightened. It wasn't possible. But there was no denying it--Alexandra had heard the other ghost.

The woman gaped. "She can hear me too!” She lunged halfway across the table before resting her hands on the wood. “Please, I need her help. My grandson--"

"Not now." Spreag growled between his teeth while he studied his wife's face. He'd assumed his own force of will had allowed him to appear to her. But if she could sense other spirits, the power was hers...

“If she has the Sight, she could?—"

"I said not now. Leave us be." When the woman opened her mouth again, he cut her off. “Go!”

Alexandra hid her mouth with her hand. “But Spreag, she sounded like she needed help. Something about her grandson?—”

“Nay, lass. Any grandson of hers died hundreds of years ago. She’s out of her time and doesnae ken. Dinnae fash over it for a second, do ye understand?”

Alexandra sighed loudly, then nodded and went back to her meal. Once the old woman’s form passed back through the arch, he sat again and pondered what had just happened. And just as smoothly as a ghost passing through a brick wall, truths began sliding into place.

He couldn't have passed his Sight to his wife. That kind of gift came from bloodlines, from...

His gaze dropped to the table as if he could see through the wood to Alexandra's middle. And suddenly he knew. Images flashed through his mind--a child with his gifts, with his curse, who would be able to see the future coming.

Before his death, he’d prayed he could leave her with his child. But he never expected to be around long enough to know for certain.

"Spreag?" Alexandra's voice drew him back. "Is something wrong?"

He forced himself to smile, to keep his voice steady. "Nothing, love. Just...thinking about tonight's dinner."

His mind raced. He hadn’t expected to stay on for long. Being haunted by her husband couldn’t be healthy for her, so his intention was only to ease her through her mourning. But how could he leave now?