The Irish Lover (7 page)

“Is it dangerous?” Mary gasped, looking back at
the ghost.

“No.”

“Then why are we running?”

Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t really know
why they were running. It wasn’t that he thought the ghost would
hurt them. It was more that he didn’t want to come into contact
with a remnant of the castle’s past.

The doors wouldn’t budge, so Michael started
inching along the wall. “There has to be an emergency exit or
something.”

Mary was pressed against his side, body turned
so she could watch the ghost that was still moving towards
them.

“Come on.” Michael led her back toward her
room. As they dashed though the hallways Michael kept checking
behind them. When they reached the small foyer at the foot of the
east wing stairs, where the door to the pub was, they
stopped.

Michael looked at Mary. Her eyes were wide and
dark.

“I can’t believe we saw a ghost. A real
ghost!”

“Are you happy?” Michael asked
suspiciously.

“Not happy, but it’s pretty cool.”

Michael shook his head. “The people who died in
Glenncailty did not have happy lives.”

Even in the dim light he could see the flush to
her cheeks. “Of course. That was insensitive of me.”

Michael immediately felt like a jerk. “I didn’t
mean to make you—”

“Michael.” This time her whisper was thick with
fear. He turned. The ghost was in the glass hallway, less than ten
feet behind them.

No longer a wisp of smoke, the ghost was taking
shape. He could see the head and shoulders, the hint of arms and
legs. Without stopping to question his instinct Michael grabbed
Mary’s hand and pulled her under the stairs, where the faint green
glow of the emergency exit sign guided them out. Slamming the door
open Michael pulled her into the gardens at the rear of the castle.
Their breath steamed from their mouths as they stumbled through the
plants.

“Michael, what about the other people in the
hotel? Should we warn them about the ghost?”

“My phone, and my keys, are in your
room.”

“There must be someone around.”

Michael took a breath, hoping his heart would
stop beating so loudly. Then he’d be able to think. He smiled,
doing his best to hide his worry from Mary. They should be fine now
that they were outside, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the
ghost had been looking at Mary.

“Seamus—Seamus O’Muircheartaigh,” he said as
his breathing evened out. “My mother said he lives in the old
dowager house at the back of the gardens.”

“Who’s Seamus?”

“The master of the castle.”

Mary followed him as he picked his way through
the garden until they found one of the crushed stone paths. The
followed it until he caught a glimpse of rooftops on the other side
of the garden’s rear wall. “There it is.”

As they stepped off the path a growl stopped
them.

“What was that?” Mary’s words were nothing more
than a breath.

Michael pushed her behind him, scanning the
shadows for the source of the sound. Finally he saw it—a massive
wolfhound, its shoulder nearly as tall as Michael’s
waist.

“Is that a wolf?”

“No, it’s a wolfhound.” Michael tried to relax,
if only to calm Mary. “Seamus has wolfhounds, it’s a tradition with
the Lord of Glenncailty.”

“Is it…dangerous?”

Michael was about to say no when the hound came
out of the shadows into a patch of moonlight. The silver beast was
translucent, his paws leaving the grass unbent.

“That’s, that’s…” Mary stuttered.

At the rear of the main building was a terrace
with a set of double doors leading into the breakfast room. The
terrace was empty except for a few urns of flowers, but as Mary and
Michael stood there staring at the ghostly beast the doors
opened.

“Look, there’s someone coming out.” Mary
started forward, skirting the wolfhound, which had stopped under a
tree ten feet from them.

“Mary, wait.” Though the doors were open there
were no lights on in the room beyond. It didn’t feel
right.

The silvery figure appeared on the terrace. As
Michael watched the still-vague outline resolved into that of a
woman, appearing more solid as it left the building.

Mary gasped. “It’s a woman.”

“I’ve heard people talk about seeing a female
ghost.”

“Michael, I think I know her.”

Cold slid down Michael’s back. He grabbed
Mary’s shoulders, tried to turn her away from the ghost but she
shrugged out of his hold.

“I know her, Michael.”

“No, Mary. She’s a ghost, someone who died a
long time ago. You don’t know her.”

Mary took a few steps forward, as if she were
going to greet the ghost. Michael grabbed her around the waist.
“Mary, stop.”

She didn’t reply.

“Mary, I need you to stay with me.”

Iníon
.

The word floated on the breeze, faint yet
distinct.

Michael looked at the terrace to see that the
ghost had twisted to face them. He could see the woman’s features
now—nose, chin and eyes were distinct.

“I need to go up there.” Mary looked up, her
face silver in the moonlight. “I need to listen to her. She has to
tell me something.”

Michael smoothed Mary’s hair back from her
face. “Don’t listen to her, listen to me. Stay with me.”

Michael had never been more truly afraid than
he was in that moment. Whatever that thing was it had some kind of
hold on Mary.

“Mary my love, I need you to wake up.” Michael
cupped her face, stroking it with shaking fingers. Out of
desperation he kissed her. It was a move right out of a fairy tale,
but it seemed like a better option than slapping her.

To his unending shock, it worked.

“Michael, is this really the time or place for
a make-out session?”

She sounded more disgruntled than possessed.
Her voice had lost the strange intensity of a moment
ago.

“Mary?”

“Yes?”

“You’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I
be?”

“No idea. Oh wait, maybe it’s because you’re
chatting with a ghost.”

“I’m not talking to her, not really. I
just…know what she wants. We’re not in danger, Michael.”

He certainly didn’t believe that, but Mary
sounded absolutely sure of it. He wrapped his arms around her as
they watched the ghost.

Iníon
.

He heard it again, and though the ghost’s lips
didn’t move he knew she was the one who’d spoken. He looked down at
Mary and with a click understood why the ghost had followed
them.

“Who is she?” Mary laid her cheek on his chest
as she looked at the ghostly figure.

A cloud passed in front of the moon, dampening
what little light there was. In the darkness the woman seemed to
glow. She wore rags, and thick chains hung from manacles at her
wrists.

“The servant girl,” Michael answered. “There
were always stories about people who’d seen a woman wearing rags
and chains wandering the halls. Sometimes they see her with a
broom, as if she were still cleaning.”

“Can we help her?”

“I don’t know.”

They stood there, unsure what to do. Michael
felt better out here in the open than he had inside the castle, but
the figure was just standing there, as if she were waiting for
something. If she were waiting for Mary to come up there she’d be
waiting a long time. Though Mary said it wasn’t dangerous, Michael
didn’t want her any closer to the ghost than they were
now.

“Look!”

Mary pointed at the ghostly wolfhound. The
animal headed for the terrace. The woman’s head turned to watch it
come. As the wolf approached, the woman seemed to deteriorate, her
dress shredding, long black lines appearing on her arms and
face.

“What’s happening to her?” Mary asked in
horror.

“I don’t know, but I think those are cuts, or
scars.” Michael was born and raised in Glenncailty, and he knew
that the castle’s history was dark and tragic, but if that girl
really were a ghost of someone who had once lived here than it
seemed even the darkest tales only touched on the true horror of
this place’s past.

The dog glided up the steps to stand beside the
girl. She turned to look at them, and Michael instinctively pushed
Mary behind him. The ghost’s mouth opened, her eyes sinking into
her head. Michael had to fight the urge to run. What had been a
bedraggled woman was now a mangled horror. Her jaw moved and he
realized she was talking. He heard, though only faintly, snippets
of words, all spoken in Irish.

Before Michael could translate what she’d said
a second figure appeared from the gardens. As they watched it walk
towards the girl Michael got the strangest feeling that he was
watching a play—that the ghosts’ appearance had nothing to do with
him or Mary. They’d walked in on something that had happened long
before they were born and might continue long after they were
dead.

The second figure, a wavering outline without
the detail of the woman, mounted the steps to the terrace. It
stopped before the girl, who had returned to her previous state—no
more gaping wounds or eye-less sockets.

“He loves her.”

Michael looked to the side to where Mary was
peaking out from behind his back. “What?”

The figures embraced, for a moment becoming a
single silver mass, before they separated. The new ghost turned and
glided away, leaving the woman and the dog alone.

“He loves her, but he’s leaving her there, and
she’s hurting.” Mary’s words were laced with sadness.

The moon emerged from behind the cloud,
flooding the garden in pale light.

The ghosts were gone.

Mary looked up at Michael. She seemed as
stunned as he felt.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stroking her
hair.

“I am. I was scared for a moment, but more than
scared I’m sad for her, and for him.” Mary shivered.

“Let’s go inside.”

~~~~

Chapter Six

The door they’d exited had locked behind them,
but as they were circling the building looking for a way in the
first of the kitchen staff arrived. After hearing a few minutes of
their rambling story about ghosts he called the guest services
manager. Ten minutes later they were seated on a couch in the
formal front room with mugs of tea and the promise of
scones.

“Was that the man you told me
about?”

Michael looked at Mary, confused by her
question. “What man?”

“You told me that story when we saw the statue
in Cailtytown about the man who got rid of the first Lord of
Glenncailty. Maybe that was him. You said he had a dog kill the
lord when he was hurting a woman. There was a man, a woman and a
wolfhound. Maybe the woman the lord was hurting was the man’s wife,
or girlfriend.”

Michael stared at her in shock. He hadn’t seen
enough of the second ghost to identify it as a man, but Mary seemed
certain. Though he’d experienced the same thing she had, he hadn’t
really tried to understand what was happening. His main concern had
been keeping her safe.

“If that’s true than I’m sad for both of them,”
he said. “They can’t have had peaceful lives if they’re still here,
wandering the grounds of the castle.”

“It is sad, because he loved her. I know it
sounds crazy but I could tell that he loved her.”

“Ms. Callahan, I’m so sorry.” Sorcha bustled
in. Despite the fact that she’d probably been pulled out of bed she
was impeccably dressed in a suit with her nametag in place. “The
kitchen is bringing you some breakfast momentarily.”

Sorcha took a seat across from the couch where
they were. “Please, tell me what happened.”

Taking turns they explained what they saw.
Sorcha’s frown deepened as they spoke. “I’m so sorry. Ms. Callahan,
we’d be happy to help you move to a different hotel, and we will
refund your stay.”

Mary laced her fingers with Michael’s. “I don’t
want to go.”

“You don’t?”

“No, it was more sad than scary.”

The redhead looked skeptical for a moment,
before her face smoothed into a smile. “Well, we’d like to comp
your room last night, and this evening we’ll have staff at the
registration desk all night, if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Mary nodded.

Sorcha left to check on their food and bring
fresh tea. Michael pulled Mary against his side.

“Are you sure you’re okay in the hotel
tonight?”

“Yes, though it would be nice if I had someone
to keep me company.” She fluttered her lashes at him.

Michael laughed. “That I can do, pretty Mary.”
He kissed her, but pulled away quickly. “I think I know why we saw
the ghost.”