Free Meet Me At the Castle by Denise A. Agnew

startling news, she made her way across the ballroom to the French doors and into the fresh air. Outside, cool air touched her face. A gentle fog drifted across the promenade below. She drank in deep breaths of air and attempted to steady the erratic pace of her heart.
    * * * *
    Elizabeth’s sorrow spiked Damian’s heart into fresh life, bringing his ghostly body into corporeal form once again.
    As the pain lashed and pounded him, he realized she had called his name. From wherever she was she had called him and needed him more than anything in the world.
    He groaned as his head throbbed. He clutched his fingers into fists as his body refused to materialize entirely. Fear twisted his gut.
    “I must find a way to go to her. Please, God, grant me this reprieve. She needs me. I will ask nothing ever again as long as I can go to her this last time and help her.”
    But there was no answer from the pure darkness around him, only the agony of knowing his beloved needed him, and he could not go to her.
    “Damn you!” he screamed to the inky heavens. “Please do not let my sweet Elizabeth leave me again. For this woman is all I need. All I will ever need.”
    Just when he thought there would be no answer, he heard the sound of laughter and voices. Instantly light appeared, dazzling his eyes and making him squint. All the sights and sounds of a ballroom assaulted his senses, leaping and loud and unruly. He had seconds to realize he wore the clothes of a nineteenth-century man and not his usual garb. The ballroom where he stood looked nothing like the stone of a far older castle.
    He stood before the doors leading out of the ballroom onto a balcony. Drawn to the opening, he saw his beloved Elizabeth. Her back was turned to him.
    * * * *
    A man’s deep voice came from nearby. “Miss Albright, I see you have taken the fresh air as well. Rather warm inside, isn’t it?”
    Lord Simmerton exited the ballroom, and she didn’t know whether to be glad for his presence or wish he would leave. “Miss Albright.” He frowned. “Are you all right?”
    She put a hand to her throat, her head feeling light, her body almost floating. “I’m not certain.”
    He came to her, his expression concerned. “What is wrong?”
    What could she say? She couldn’t tell him the truth.
    “She is waiting for me,” another male voice said nearby.
    Elizabeth couldn’t believe what she was hearing and then what she saw as a tall, familiar man stepped from the shadows. Damian.
    Suddenly her world turned ebony, and she fell into the gloom. Her faint didn’t last long, or at least she didn’t think it did.
    “Elizabeth. Elizabeth, wake up.”
    Someone called to Elizabeth in urgent tones. Hard, powerful arms held her tightly.
    “Sweet Elizabeth. Darling, please wake.”
    It could not be.
    But the scent of him and the feel of him were unmistakable. Damian?
    She pulled her eyes open with effort and saw she had fallen into Damian’s arms, and he held her aloft. He walked with her over to a bench and sat down with her, holding her in his lap.
    “Who are you?” Lord Simmerton asked as he walked up to them.
    Damian threw him an annoyed glance. “I am her betrothed, sir. I will take care of her from now on.”
    Simmerton’s eyes filled with disappointment and perhaps confusion. Ever the aristocrat, however, he straightened his shoulders and nodded. “But of course. I will leave you to your betrothed’s care, Miss Albright.”
    With a slight bow, Lord Simmerton returned to the ballroom.
    “Are you quite well, my darling?” The worried tone in Damian’s deep, masculine voice thrummed through her blood.
    She was at once terrified by the familiar timbre of his voice, at once thrilled to the bottom of her heart.
    Damian was attired like other men at the ball, in clothes befitting the day and age and the formality of the gathering. What set him apart was the thick queue at the back of his neck that pulled his black hair away from his stunning face. No