Fair Maiden Read Free Page B

knew it wasn’t exactly
proper to introduce himself in such a casual way, but the last thing he needed
was someone else calling him my lord . “And your name?”
    Somehow, she actually paled at that seemingly simple
question. “I, well, I do not know it.”
    “You cannot remember?” This baffled him.
    The ghost shook her head.
    “And do you remember how—I mean, do you recall who—er—”
Christian wasn’t sure how to broach the touchy subject of her death. He halted
his questions and raked his fingers through his hair.
    “Do you mean to inquire about how I died?” she asked with a
tremor in her voice.
    “I suppose, but I didn’t wish to be unkind.”
    “I have been wondering the same thing myself.” That quiver
in her voice was also reflected in her bottom lip.
    “You mean to tell me that you don’t know your name, and you
don’t know how you…?”
    “Or where I am. I have never been to this castle before, at
least not that I recall.”
    “You’re in England, the northern part. And to me you sound
English. Your speech is not touched with any hint of an Irish or French lilt.”
    “Oh.” Her face screwed up with a cute frown as she appeared
to be considering that. “I-I wish I could remember more.”
    “What can you remember?”
    “I have ideas in my head about inconsequential things, like
clothing.”
    “How do you mean?”
    She turned away, as though embarrassed suddenly. “Well, I
did see your clothing in your wardrobe,” she muttered softly, chancing a glance
in his direction, “and it was unusual.” He perceived his smile encouraged her
to continue. “I have a vague memory of men wearing different styles.”
    “Such as?”
    “Well, men’s…um….”
    “Shirts?” he offered, because she was motioning to her
bodice.
    “Yes, shirts were laced. They were not held closed with a
row of little, round….” She frowned, apparently not able to find the word she
wanted.
    He dropped his chin to consider his shirt. “Oh, you mean
buttons?”
    “Is that what they’re called? I do not recollect that, yet I
think we had them. But it seems they were used more for embellishment than
function.”
    Around a smile, Christian asked, “What else is unfamiliar to
you?”
    She glanced toward his soup bowl. “Where is your trencher?”
    “My what?” His grin faltered.
    “Do you not keep your food in a trencher?”
    A trencher? That—those haven’t been used since.... In truth
he wasn’t exactly certain when that change had come about. Clearly this spirit
came from a time not his own. “We use dishes now and forks and spoons,” he
said, mentally trying to pinpoint her origin.
    “What of your dagger?” she asked, giving him another clue.
    “We use knives too, but we no longer eat with our fingers.”
    “Oh.” Her gaze shifted to the doors. “And why do you take
repast in this small chamber and not in the great hall? And where is your
garrison of knights?”
    “Times are much more peaceful, they’re not needed. And
dwellings are no longer built with a great hall.”
    “But this castle has one.”
    “It does, but only because it was constructed many years
ago.”
    She looked shocked, then shifted her green eyes to his
teacup. “Is that ale you’re drinking, or is it wine in that tiny cup?”
    “It’s tea.” Things had changed considerably since…. Of
course people still drank ale and wine, but from her words, he suspected she
was from a time quite far back in English past. Then he considered her dress,
which appeared medieval to him. It was almost eighteen seventy currently. “It
sounds like you’re from the late thirteen hundreds or perhaps the early
fourteen hundreds. It’s nearly five hundred years later.”
    She gasped, and her big green eyes got even bigger. “I have
not been—I suppose I was sleeping.”
    “I’ve never heard of anything like this before. Generally, I
think, well, I’m not an expert on the preternatural, but I thought ghosts only
lingered if they’d