Free Come to Castlemoor by Jennifer Wilde Page A

temples.
    â€œI haven’t been very lucky with friends,” she said. “There was your brother—”
    â€œYou knew him?”
    â€œOh, yes! He came to Castlemoor once to talk with Edward. I listened to them, and when your brother noticed me, he asked me to join them. Edward didn’t like that much, but I sat on the sofa, and your brother talked to me and treated me like—like a person, not a child.”
    â€œDonald liked people,” I said. “He knew how to make them feel important.”
    â€œ I wasn’t important,” Nicola continued, “but he always had time for me. I used to slip out of the castle and visit him at the ruins. He told me all about the history of the rocks, and—and when I told him about my nightmares, he didn’t laugh.”
    â€œNightmares?”
    She seemed to stiffen, grow wary. “I—I imagine things. At night I hear noises, and once I saw—” She hesitated, her brow creased. “I saw a ghost—I thought I saw a ghost, all in white, slipping down the hall.” She looked up at me, studying my reaction. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she added quickly. “I don’t want you to think that! I—just imagine things sometimes. Dorothea says I read too many novels, and Burton is very stern and says I have to get hold of myself.” She paused, frowning. “I don’t tell them about my nightmares anymore.”
    â€œYou still have them?”
    â€œSometimes,” the girl said, bowing her head as though ashamed. “But I try not to.” She was uneasy, glancing around as though someone might be eavesdropping on us. “They’re so real ,” she whispered.
    She jumped off the rock and darted over to the oak tree. Both the dogs followed her. Nicola seemed to forget I was present. She snapped her fingers at the dogs. They leaped in the air about her. She clapped her hands at them, and they ran merrily. She laughed, a lovely, tinkling laugh like wind blowing through the crystal prisms of a Japanese wind chime. There was something desperate about this childish conduct, as though it were her defense against something darker, something that threatened her.
    She finally came to rest beside me, out of breath, her cheeks flushed a vivid pink. What a strange girl, I thought. She was like an instrument upon which emotions played—sadness, gaiety, affection, fear. One never knew which chord would be plucked next. She caught her breath and smiled and looked at me with lustrous black eyes that seemed to beg me to like her. I was strangely moved, and bewildered, too.
    â€œI—I don’t like to talk about sad things,” she said simply, “but I was desolate when they told me about your brother’s accident. It was just after they’d sent Jamie away, and I had no one. I stayed in my room alone and cried and cried.”
    â€œWho was Jamie?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. I didn’t want to discuss my brother’s death.
    â€œHe was a boy,” Nicola said. “He worked in the stables. He taught me to ride when I was a little girl, and when I grew up he—he would talk to me. The doctor said I needed lots of exercise, so Dorothea let me go out riding. Jamie would go with me, my escort. I loved those days. We’d ride over the moors and laugh, and it was like Castle-moor didn’t exist. He was my only friend at the castle.” Her eyes grew cloudy, and she seemed to be remembering something very lovely. “He was tall and strong, with blond hair like dark honey, and the kindest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Dorothea thought I was spending too much time with him—I’d slip out to the stables to talk to him. She didn’t like that. Burton sent him away.” She looked up at me, suddenly intense. “He’d worked at the castle for seven years, and they sent him away! Jamie hadn’t done anything. He was just a