Fair Maiden Read Online Free PDF Page B

poet?” she breathed, knowing
she should feel breathless.
    He laughed, turned and walked to the opposite wall, removed
a landscape and hooked the framed sketch of her onto the nail. Christian
paused, and after a small adjustment to the richly carved, wooden frame, he
returned to his seat opposite her.
    “It is your turn,” she said.
    He made his move and then swiftly confiscated another one of
her pieces, adding to his growing collection of wins. She knew her lips were
pulling into a pout as she played her next piece, and then as he played his, he
said, “Checkmate.”
    “Hmmm, either I was never very good at this, or I have
forgotten too much. But I know what that means.”
    “I would wager you were better before you—Forget I said
that.”
    “Before I died, when I could remember this game and who I
was?” she suggested, and then wondered if he could hear the returning sadness
in her voice just as she could.
    “I’m sorry, I’ve bungled it again. It seems I like the
flavor of leather in my mouth. Please—”
    “Nay, um…I think I will retire now. Thank you for the game
of chess.” She hoped he could not see the tears welling up in her eyes. She
rose swiftly and left through the ceiling.
    Before she could feel naught, but now she could feel
the vise grip of desperate disappointment seize her chest. She suddenly
remembered physical pain, and this was far worse. She was falling for Christian
and she’d only been in his presence for a scant amount of time. But she could
not have him or this life.
    Why am I still here? She drifted down to pretend she
was lying on her bed and wept.

Chapter 4
    Scary
     
    Where does she go when she retires? Christian
wondered, peering up at the plaster ceiling that she’d just vanished through.
    She had to be here somewhere…. And why do I keep hurting
her with my thoughtless comments? His gaze returned to the sketch. With
hands on the armrests of the wingback chair he shoved himself to his feet and
went to the drawing, removed it from the wall, and sank into the chair next to
the fire, his eyes locked on that pretty face.
    “She’s real.”
    “Who’s real, foolish boy?”
    “Jackson, hello. I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “It’s time for tea. I promise it’s better this time. And
Margaret made the most delightful apple pie. I put cheese on top and warmed it
up for you.”
    “Sounds perfect, Jackson, and whatever happened to that
infuriating proper address? Not that I protest, but—”
    “Slip of the tongue, my lord. It won’t happen again.”
    A loud guffaw burst from Christian at that. “Give me the
tea, you old fart.”
    Smirking like a youth, the old man set the tray on the table
next to Christian. “Now, Christian, are you going to answer my question? Who is
real?”
    “Her.” He motioned to the girl in the sketch.
    “Ah, is this young lady one you met in London?”
    “No. I met her here.”
    Jackson’s eyes became bug-like in size. “Not the lady you
were babbling on about at dinner after we’d returned.”
    “The very one.”
    “The apparition.”
    “And the loveliest one I’ve ever seen.”
    “Have you seen many deceased—?”
    “No,” Christian replied with a little bit of irritation
rising.
    “Then—”
    “She is the prettiest lady I have ever set eyes
upon.”
    “Hmm.” Jackson’s fingers surrounded his chin as he adopted a
thoughtful pose. “Well, judging from this drawing, she is that, but,
Christian…are you certain she wasn’t simply a figment of your imagination? It
was a long journey coming back—”
    “It’s not my imagination. I’ve seen her twice now, and each
time we’ve had a fine chat.” He pointed at the chess board. “We even played….”
A frown commandeered his mouth. “Oops, I should have let her win. A real
gentleman would have.” He called himself another name under his breath and then
changed the subject. “Do you not believe in ghosts?”
    “I suppose I do,” Jackson said slowly, still rubbing