MacGowan's Ghost by Cindy Miles

Author:Cindy Miles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

Two nights later, again at one a.m., Gabe awoke. Each night interrupted by dreams. Awful dreams, ones Gabe would awaken from—think, rather, he’d awakened from—only to find the dreams weren’t over at all.

And each night, after finally wresting himself awake, he’d stay up, check on Jake, and go to his workshop.

First, he’d walk up the stairs and stand at Allie’s door. Christ, he wanted to go to her so badly, but he didna. He’d not told her about the dreams, about Jake being part of them, about how Kait had become more tangible. He wanted to fiercely, but hadna.

Kait’s spirit was tormenting him, and he was beginning to fear she would do something harmful to Jake. ’Twas the real reason he now considered following through with leaving Sealladh na Mara. What if Kait could hurt his son? His own tormenting he could handle. But menace toward Jake? Christ . . .

He faced Allie’s room now. And just like every other night, he simply stood there, in the dim light of Odin’s corridor. Staring.

He placed the flat of each hand on either side of the jamb and leaned his forehead against the cool oak and closed his eyes. He knew she’d be in there, sound asleep. He’d even tried several times to convince himself that, if he did venture into her room, he’d only do so to talk to her. She comforted him. Soothed him. Made him feel alive for the first time since . . . Christ, he couldna even remember.

But he knew himself much better than that.

Knew his own body even better.

And what Allie Morgan did to him.

Drawing in a long, deep breath, Gabe let it out slowly. He’d not had a drink in more than four years. Four bloody years. He’d not missed it. Not at all.

Yet kissing Allie Morgan, feeling her skin beneath his palms, her body pressed to his, made him more intoxicated than anything that came from a bottle. Her blunt honesty, her humor, and her genuine love and affection for mankind—dead and alive—moved him. She’d taken to his family. His neighbors.

Him.

He opened his eyes, pushed away from the door, and eased downstairs. No sooner had he chosen a block of marble and his tools, and situated himself on the work stool than a voice interrupted.

“Keeping late nights again, eh, lad?”

Gabe turned and nodded at Captain Catesby. “Aye, so it seems.” He inclined his head. “Conjure yourself up a stool and sit.”

Wordlessly, the captain did.

For several minutes, Gabe worked on his marble, neither he nor Catesby saying a word.

The ghost didna stay silent for long.

“How bad are the dreams, lad?”

Gabe continued his chiseling, blowing, chiseling. “Bad enough.” He glanced at his old friend. “Stop callin’ me lad, Justin. We’re the same age.”

Justin shrugged. “I was there when you were pissin’ your bairn cloths, boy. ’Tis a hard habit, watchin’ you grow up and then treatin’ you as my equal.” He grinned. “Lad.”

Gabe grinned. “I suppose.”

Justin leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The white cloth of his shirt ruffles slipped from the cuffs of his overcoat and hung down.

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