The Return of Black Douglas Read Online Free PDF Page B

few feet away. There was something terribly exciting and horribly frightening about the swirling green mist, for in its center a solid shape had begun to take human form. If she’d had a lick of sense, she would have bolted. Paralyzed with awe, she murmured, “Oh, my God!”
    From out of the mist a baritone voice boomed like thunder, “Mistress, I am not God. Ye hae only yerself to blame for my being so hastily summoned forthwith.”
    Right before her eyes, a real, live former human being was assembling his ghostly self. It was one of the few times in her life that Isobella was completely speechless. She wanted to scream, but her vocal chords were frozen. Her feet felt like concrete blocks. She relaxed, completely mesmerized by the pleasing masculine face looking at her with an almost tender expression.
    She blinked, yet he was still there, a man well built, strong and slim, with black hair, a stern countenance, and eyes that were darkly, deeply, beautifully blue. But, it was his suit of armor that identified him. While her heart pounded fearfully, she whispered, “I know who you are.”
    His eyes twinkled merrily. “Do ye now?”
    “You are Sir James, the Black Douglas. You returned as a ghost in 1759, when Robert Douglas owned this castle.”
    His eyes shined brighter than before, “Ahhh, Meleri. Now, there was a lass!”
    “That’s what I’ve always been told. She was my many times great-grandmother.” Isobella saw the amused way he was looking at her. She felt like such a dolt. Like he didn’t know that.
    “I know you were Scotland’s bravest knight and greatest warrior. You fought beside Robert the Bruce, were feared by the English, were sung about in ballads… and I don’t have the faintest idea why you are standing here, or why I’m babbling like the village idiot when I should be fainting from fright.”
    “Ye do have a way o’ talking overmuch,” he said.
    “Yes, I know. Am I dreaming?”
    “’Tis no dream, but reality, lass.”
    Ye gods! I’m talking to the ghost of the Black Douglas. She felt as if a bolt of lightning had flashed through her skull. Her mouth was dry, and Elisabeth was squeezing her hand so tightly that Isobella was certain all her blood had given up trying to get through and rushed back to the sanctuary of her heart. Even her eyeballs ached. And her brain! It ached like someone had used it for first base.
    “You’re a real person, yet you’re a ghost.”
    His brows rose in question. “I am not always an invisible nonentity. Why do ye look so stunned? Ye did summon me forthwith, did ye not?”
    “Summon? Oh no, I would never. I don’t know how.”
    “Aye, lass, ye did, for it was ye who touched my ancient heart with the warmth of yer tears shed over my effigy at St. Bride’s. No one has ever done that, ye ken—not once in the eight hundred years since my puir boiled bones were placed there. ’Twas yer words that awakened me and summoned me forth.”
    “My words?” she said, sounding like a hoarse crow. “But I didn’t say anything.” Then suddenly, she remembered. I’m so sorry. “Oh, you mean you read my thoughts?”
    Were his eyes twinkling? “Aye, ghosting doth have its privileges, ye ken.”
    Isobella’s brows rose and she said, “What kind of privileges?”
    “Mayhap I will show ye.”
    She studied him with close scrutiny. “You didn’t happen to whip up a little surreptitious interlude for me last night, did you?”
    With eyes as full of mischief as a four-year-old, he asked, “What do ye think?”
    She gasped. Was her dream lover real? She was about to ask for a repeat performance, but Elisabeth was gouging her ribs. She turned toward Elisabeth and everything began to darken and spin, wobbling noisily with a great whirring sound. Isobella’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt as if the air was being sucked from her lungs. She heard a loud roaring—louder than a freight train flying by at great speed. She put her hands over her ears to