Free Taken by the Laird by Margo Maguire Page A

the fire, then turned to look up at the ceiling, hoping as well as dreading that the filmy apparition would reappear. She felt sure that spirits would communicate with one another, and…more than anything, Bree wished she could speak with Claire, just once more.
    It was a ridiculous notion, she knew, and certainly not a good reason to remain at Glenloch, not when her coat had dried and she could leave. She should leave. She should run as fast as her feet would carry her through the cold rain. She believed there was a larger town nottoo far south of Falkburn, a place where there would be an inn.
    Yet she was warm and secure at Glenloch, and she was not without wits. She could resist Laird Glenloch’s seductive ways until the weather cleared sufficiently for her to go.
    As she stood at the nursery window looking out on the low cliffs and the sea below her, she felt the warmth of the fire heating the room…and then something else. It had waited until Fiona had gone, and now Brianna felt it in the room. The ghost.
    Slowly Bree turned, and saw the shimmering figure hovering above the bed. This time, Brianna was able to make out the shape of its voluminous gown and a veil arrangement on its head. Brianna was no expert on bygone fashions, but the ghost looked altogether medieval. “Who are you?” she asked it.
    The ghost made no reply, but fluctuated, and seemed to float toward the open door.
    Brianna rubbed her eyes, then looked up again, half expecting the thing to have disappeared. But the figure seemed to turn and face her, beckoning as she’d done the night before. Again, Bree felt no fear, though a sense of urgency filled her.
    “Can you…Can you carry a message for me?” she asked in a hushed tone.
    The ghost gave no indication that it understood Bree’s request. “What is it?” Bree asked, disappointed. “Should I follow you?”
    An infusion of color changed the appearance of the phantom, and Brianna approached it, ignoring LairdGlenloch’s admonition not to follow it. “Is there something you wish to show me?”
    Perhaps if she went along with it, the thing would grant a request to communicate with Claire.
    The shimmering light lost its shape, turning into a vague amorphous glow that moved slowly down the length of the gallery. Brianna walked behind it, passing closed doors and ancient furniture. She hesitated at the staircase that was at the halfway point, and listened to the eerie quiet below, wondering if the servants had already completed their work and left the castle.
    The eerie glow of the ghost stopped at the far end of the gallery, near a set of thick oaken doors. It remained floating there, and Brianna watched it, bearing in mind Fiona’s words. If Glenloch’s specter made a practice of pulling people into some ethereal world that destroyed them, this might very well be the way it would do so.
    Brianna wavered for a moment, but then sensed the phantom’s urgency, along with some other emotion she could not identify. She took a deep breath and walked past the staircase, heading toward those large doors, but keeping a prudent distance from the ghost.
    The shimmering light dissipated, and Brianna tried the latch, but found it locked. “The way is blocked,” she said quietly.
    But the phantom seemed undeterred, reappearing again just outside the last room they’d passed. Its door was also closed, but the phantom somehow slipped inside.
    Brianna tried the door, and found it unlocked. Shepushed it open and stood under the lintel for a moment, then stepped inside.
    The room was in shadows, and cold, in spite of the lush furnishings within. The wide bed was covered in a thick, rich brocade of blue and yellow. The bed curtains had been pulled aside and tied with golden tassels, as though waiting for its usual occupant to return. This was clearly the room Fiona had indicated belonged to Laird Glenloch’s wife.
    Brianna felt like an intruder. She should turn around and leave, but her curiosity got the