Page 36 of Boats, Moats, & Root Beer Floats

Al shifted a few pieces of glass into a small pile for me and moved away after her, leaving me alone in a pile of shattered hope and heartbreak.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LINDY

“He’s an asshole,” I told Al.

The ghost had long since stopped rattling frames while I ranted about the man who broke both our hearts inside the space of a week.

“He’s not reliable, completely unbearable and not any of the things he was supposed to be.” I picked up a wine glass and hurled it at the fire.

The wine glass halted midair, though the red wine kept traveling and splattered against the opposite wall. Red drops dripped down the stonework in long streaks I knew would stain.

Like I wouldn’t be able to erase the memory of Covin from my heart.

Then the implications hit me through my alcohol induced heartbreak haze.

“You’re still here.” I let out a sob and waved toward where I assumed Al hovered about in my bedroom. “I thought I might have scared you off.”

The wine glass landed gently on the small table beside the fire. It turned in circles a few times then stopped. Then the edge of my blanket lifted in a silent question.

I nodded tiredly. “Why not? It’s not like I’ve got anyone else to cuddle tonight. At least we can be sad together.”

Holding up the middle of my blanket I was surprised when a cool, but solid presence pressed to my back.

“I thought he might be different, somehow. Someone I could trust.Wecould trust.” How wrong I’d been a second time. Why not make it a third? “You don’t deserve to be someone’s science experiment.”

Al moved against my back, and I sensed his agreement in that motion after a moment’s hesitation.

Huffing a laugh as the tears flowed, I nestled into the ghost’s embrace and cried myself to sleep.

Maybe tomorrow would be different. But I didn’t think so.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

COVIN

I sat in the ghost’s room surrounded by heartache I created for myself and wished I could speak with her, but Lindy banished me from her side. Quite literally. When I tried the wing door, she had locked the damn thing. Barricaded it, for all I knew. The facade meant little; I could walk out the back door to milk the damn cow which I did each day, and I crept about to shower when she wasn’t around, and used the kitchen as needed.

But otherwise I kept to my side of the door, and for the most part, when he wasn’t with her, Al kept me company.

I wasn’t sure why, exactly, seeing as I was the one who called the odd squad on his behalf, but he stayed around the room while I stared at his portrait until my eyes grew heavy that first day.

When I woke, a leather bound journal sat beside where I’d fallen asleep, covered by a thin rug that barely kept the cold at bay in this uninhabited section of the castle.

Without Lindy’s warmth the cold eked into my bones but the journal gave me a purpose. Al managed to snatch me a few small snacks from my tower, though I knew he couldn’t carry heavy things far. Which begged the question where the journalhad been stowed, though I hadn’t searched this part of the castle much at all.

“I arrived with the intent of researching a different man who resided here post WWII. Perhaps you would remember him. Archibald Lincoln Drysdale. He…wasn’t family. A foster child. But he did stay here for a period of time. He had a bad war. Intelligence. Discovered a few secrets that weren't part of his mission and had to live with them. Didn’t, in the end.” I sucked in a breath. “He’s buried back home. Unhallowed ground. I never met him, but…” I glanced up at Al’s portrait, my hand resting lightly on the cover of his journal. “I wondered if perhaps you and he shared a fate.”

The journal nudged beneath my hand.

I nodded, taking the hint, and opened the cover.

The first few pages were covered with the regular life of a noble’s first born son from Al’s era. The social pressures, the expectations. The excesses. And then came what I expected. The boredom. Theennui.

And the affair that ruined him.

I fell in love with a squire’s son.

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