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leave on the spot.
He mentally manipulated the electrical currents to change the channels, flipping through them with a speed
that would have made a mortal dizzy. Damn, no American football. Not even any hockey. A bit of
savagery would have soothed him immensely, but it was obviously not to be so. With a deep sigh, he
flicked off the television and rose.
He made his way up the stairs and through the door to the battlements. In life, walking along the roof had
always soothed him. In death, things were not so different. Despite the obvious differences, of course. In
life, the sea breezes would have ruffled his hair, tugged at his cloak, slipped through the weave of his
garments to caress his skin. He would have smelled the tang of salt in the air and felt the chill of the night
wind. He would have tasted the wine from dinner on his tongue and savored the fullness in his belly. And
his body might have craved a different kind of pleasure, something that any number of his father's serving
wenches would have been happy to help him with. Aye, in life, this kind of evening could have finished
most pleasantly.
In death, there was nothing. No use of the senses his strong body had provided him with for over thirty
years; no sense of taste, of smell, of touch. Death was a void, an empty place, a cage that had tormented
him for seven centuries. Not even the full use of his mind and its strange powers made up for the simpler,
more prosaic blessings his body had once furnished.
Soon. Soon Genevieve would leave, the deed to the castle would be in his name and he would be free to
stop his interminable haunting and pass on to the other side, no longer bound by the chains of earth, no
longer bound by the curse Matilda had muttered over him as he lay dying in Seakirk's dungeon. The
castle would finally be his and he would leave it willingly. He was so very tired of living yet not living.
And he was weary of the bitterness. In life he had been a fairly agreeable sort, as agreeable as a warrior
could be while spending so many years killing others to save his own sweet neck. He'd never lacked
companionship at night when he wished for it; surely that said something about his character. A pity all
that charm and gallantry had disappeared with a single bolt from a crossbow.
God, how he despised Richard and Matilda! And of the pair, he loathed Matilda the more. The witch.
Scheming, conniving little harlot with her greedy outstretched hands. Kendrick swore harshly. Aye, it was
because of her that he had become so acrid in his ways. In life he never would have raised a hand against
a woman, nor used one ill. It made him slightly sick inside to think of the terror he had caused poor
Mistress Buchanan. What he had been reduced to!
He forced a frown to his face. He'd had no choice. It had been instantly obvious to him that she couldn't
be driven daft. She certainly possessed a constitution much stronger than any of her ancestors.
Frightening her had been his only recourse. Regrettable, but necessary.
Odd how he had never suffered such pangs of remorse with any other Buchanan.
He started to walk before that thought had any chance to bloom into further speculation. In a few hours,
she would be gone. He would have Worthington call Master McShane and have him bring up the proper
documents. Then Kendrick could lie down and sleep forever. The very thought brought tranquillity to his
heart. Oh, how very tired he was of haunting!
He walked until darkness began to yield the skies to the faint light of dawn. Suddenly he was overcome
by a feeling of weariness, not of the mind but of the body. But he didn't have a physical body; how in the
world could he be tired? The only time weariness ever tormented him was when he made the effort of
trying to move something from the physical world. Once he'd tried to use the telephone. Simply lifting the
receiver had taken him an hour, then he'd been in bed for a week trying to recover from the exertion. He
hadn't been desperate enough to try the like again.
Perhaps a small rest wasn't such a poor idea. Of course his bedchamber was forbidden him at the
moment, but there was that comfortable table downstairs in the wine cellar. Aye, that was the place for
him. It would also give him ample opportunity to see if Worthington was imbibing more of that Gascony
vintage than was good for him.
"Kendrick, merciful heavens, what are you doing?"
Kendrick was sure he'd only closed his eyes for a moment or two. He glared at his steward. "Trying to
rest, old man. A task in which, I might add, you are not aiding me in the slightest." He rubbed his
forehead in an unconscious gesture, then realized what he was doing. As if he could actually have a
headache! He scowled anyway, on principle. "What is all that bloody racket?"
"The Lady Genevieve found a buyer for the blue room, my lord. Said buyer is now departing with Lady
Agatha's collection."
Kendrick sat bolt upright. "She did what? She was to be gone by first light!"
Worthington brushed a bit of lint from his jacket. "I think she changed her mind, my dear boy."
Kendrick leaped to his feet. "Bloody hell, Worthington, why didn't you tell me?"
"I never cared for Lady Agatha's taste. An opinion you share, I believe."
"I wanted Genevieve out, damn it, and you knew it."
"Indeed," Worthington observed, unperturbed.
Kendrick shot his steward a displeased glare and stomped up the stairs, wishing he had a body, for he
would have made a fine, satisfying sound of irritation if he'd had feet to do it with. He stopped at the
entrance to the kitchen and watched his prey charming an old crusty couple whose blue blood was so
thick it made their skin match the horrendous blue furniture that was just disappearing out the front door.
"I'm so pleased the furniture is going to a good home," Genevieve gushed. "I did so want to find the right
buyer for it."
"Rest assured. Lady Seakirk, that we will take painstakingly good care of the items," the older woman
replied, her words dripping with self-importance. "Of course, we have only a few pieces of our own we
would consider parting with in trade, some of the lesser items, you understand."
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