back soon. If I’m not, come find me.”
Guy lifted a tallow torch and held the cobwebbed rushes to the fire. Raising the smoky light high, he headed for the narrow spiral stairway at the end of the room. “This way, Mistress Corbuc.”
He kept his back to Sybilla and paused at the foot of the stairs. Looking up, he gripped the staircase railing with his cold-stiffened hand. At the top of the landing was the private apartment once occupied by his good-hearted sister, her doting, aged husband, and a cantankerous one-eared kitten. The thought of their laughter, the warmth and light that once graced the darkened room made his head hurt.
A shadowy form, ephemeral, feminine and sad, suddenly floated across the landing and disappeared through the door that led into the chambers.
Sweat trickled down the back of Guy’s neck. God in heaven, Roselynn’s ghost is here—just like Dunback said.
Guy swore an oath beneath his breath. He should leave this place. No need to confront the past. He’d no fear of Roselynn’s ghost, but he’d no need to invite the memories back. He glanced over his shoulder. Mistress Corbuc was still there, waiting. If she’d seen Roselynn’s specter, she said naught of it.
Guy put one foot on the first step. Then he halted.
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