Page 56 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
The servant shrugged. “Some came,” he admitted. “But the master told them that he had never seen the people they were searching for. He told them to go away.”
“And no one ever questioned him?”
“Nay, m’lord.”
It was a shocking awareness. “So he continued tae kill, did he?” Jamison asked, shaking his head in genuine amazement. “He was never caught so he continued tae do it. How long has this been going on?”
The servant averted his gaze. “Years, m’lord. I cannot tell ye how many, but it has been many years.”
It was an astounding story. Jamison was starting to put the pieces of it together but it was still quite upsetting to him and quite baffling. He coughed in the midst of his ponderings, a chesty sound, but he realized he wasn’t feeling as poorly as he had been earlier. It would seem the wine and sleep, short as it had been, had done him a little bit of good. But he had awoken into a madhouse and was still trying to get his bearings. As he coughed and hacked, the old servant spoke softly.
“I would say that the dead have finally been dealt justice, m’lord,” he said. “Ye have avenged them this night.”
Jamison looked at him in surprise. “I was simply defending myself and my wife,” he said. “I awoke tae a man standing over me with a dagger in his hand. There was nothing else I could do but respond in kind.”
Havilland didn’t look at it that way. She was more inclined to agree with the servant. “That is true, sweetheart, but don’t you see?” she said. “The servant is correct; you have avenged the deaths of so many. For Lenore and her lover, you have dispensed justice. Mayhap… mayhap we were meant to come here and do this, Jamison. So many souls crying out for justice and you, my strong knight, heard their cries whether or not you realized it.”
Jamison looked at his wife, seeing the light of admiration in her eyes. Havilland had accused her sister of being a dreamer but the truth was that Havilland was a bit of a dreamer, too. She was also quite spiritual and philosophical, reading omens and seeing truths in situations where none really existed.
At least, Jamison thought so. But her free-thinking nature was part of her charm and he loved that about her. He didn’t believe he was an avenger of the dead; he’d simply been defending himself. But Havilland saw it much differently. He gently pinched her chin.
“Believe that if ye like,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “For meself, I only acted in defense. I heard yer scream and saw the flash of the blade. I reacted as my instincts bade. I could not let ye fall victim to harm.”
Havilland smiled at him, all of the joy and love she felt for the man fairly bursting within her heart. She reached out, caressing his cheek and, realizing he didn’t feel so feverish, lay a hand on his forehead, too.
“Your fever seems to be gone,” she said, relief and astonishment in her voice. “How do you feel?”
He nodded. “Better,” he said. He wriggled his dark-red eyebrows ironically. “Thank God that I am. As sick as I have been, I’m not even sure yer scream, as loud as it was, could have awoken me. This situation could have been much, much different.”
The servant cleared his throat softly. “The master always has me drug the wine of his… guests,” he said quietly, ashamed of his admission. “About a year ago, a man stopped to rest for the night and the master strangled him while he slept. When we opened the man’s bags, he had medicaments, including a poppy powder that we have used to put travelers to sleep. The master told me to use the last of the powder on the both of ye this night but I dinna. Icouldna. M’lady, I have medicaments from the bag, including the white willow ye asked for. The master would not let me give it to ye, but now… well, now he canna stop me.”
He trailed off, looking at the body on the ground, an expression on his face suggesting that he was just coming to realize the implications of the situation. The man who had terrorized him for years was dead.Reallydead. He couldn’t even remember how long he had lived in fear, being starved and beaten, losing an eye to a madman, but it began to occur to him that the terror, the fear, was over.
The evil was gone.
“Thank you for not putting the poppy in our cups,” Havilland said sincerely, noting that the little man was trembling. He suddenly seemed quite weak and vulnerable. “Your name is Pallas, is it not? I have not even had the chance to thank you for what you have done for us, Pallas. You have saved our lives and we will be forever grateful to you.”
Pallas, still trembling, looked up from the body his master. “As I said, I couldna let him do such terrible things, not again,” he muttered. “I will find the medicament bag and bring it to ye. Mayhap there is something ye can use for yer husband’s illness.”
Jamison watched the old man shuffle away. “Pallas,” he said. “My wife has spoken the truth; we are deeply grateful for what ye have done for us. Surely there is nothing keeping ye here now that yer master is gone. When we leave, ye are welcome tae go with us.”
Havilland nodded her head eagerly. “Aye,” she said. “You cannot possibly wish to stay in this terrible place with its terrible memories. The castle is collapsing around you; this is no place to live.”
Pallas hadn’t considered leaving Whitecliff. In truth, it had never occurred to him, not ever. He had no one to go to and no place to go. Thiswashis home and had been for years. But the lady was correct; it was collapsing, a horrible place that wasn’t fit for a man to live in. Still, this was the only home he knew. He was an old man and change was difficult. He shrugged weakly.
“Yer offer is kind, m’lord,” he said, “but this is me home. I have nowhere else to go. I will remain here and tend the souls of the dead. Mayhap they… they need a guardian. I couldna protect them in life… mayhap it is my duty to see to them in death.”
“Bury them?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Havilland looked at her husband, silently imploring him to convince the old servant to attend them, but Jamison wasn’t entirely sure what more to say. “Mayhap ye should go tae the nearest town and ask the priests tae help ye bury them,” he said. “It ’tis a big job for one man.”
Pallas nodded. “I know, m’lord,” he said, somewhat contritely. “I tried to bury the first few men that the master killed, but he beat me when he discovered what I’d done. So I stopped trying. That was some time ago but now that the master is… I suppose I shall make the trip to Cullen and seek the priests and no one can stop me.”
“But what abouthim?” Havilland asked, pointing to the body at her feet. “What do we do with him? He has done such hateful things, Jamison. He does not deserve to be buried with those he killed.”
Jamison sighed heavily, looking to the man who had done such damage. He could still hardly believe he’d almost fallen victim to the man. There was anger in that near miss as well as a palpable sense of relief. God had surely been watching over them that night. Bending over, he reached down and grabbed the host by the wrists.
