The night of the festival was clear, and colder than Martin was used to.
He paced in the library as he waited for Maggie, stopping in front of the roaring fire more than once to warm his hands. They had decided to change and get ready at her house, closing the shop early.
A throat cleared behind him; he turned—and halted at first sight of Maggie.
She stood in the doorway, wearing an off the shoulder green velvet dress, her wild hair tamed into a coronet braid. It took all of his control not to take her in his arms and kiss her.
“Martin—you look incredible.”
He brushed the lapel of his tuxedo. “Something I had hanging in the back of my closet.”
It has been tailor made for him when he received his position at Oxford, as a gift from his father. It was also one of the only items he had of his former life.
“Your closet has impeccable taste.”
He laughed, and let go of the last of his nerves. “Come here.” She moved forward and took his outstretched hand, a charming blush coloring her cheeks when he bent over her hand and kissed it. “Where did you find this gorgeous dress?”
“London, on one of my buying trips. It was impulsive, and far too expensive. I never thought I’d find an occasion to wear it.” She smiled, and his heart skipped. “Thank you for giving me an occasion.”
“My pleasure.”
He made certain that Maggie was bundled in her warmest coat; as much as he wanted to admire her in the emerald green velvet dress she wore, he wanted her to greet tomorrow without a nasty cold.
Martin had hired a car to take them up to the castle, instead of climbing the hill, or the endless staircase. Tonight was special, and he wanted to start it off that way.
Maggie covered her mouth when she saw the sleek black car pull up in front of her house.
“Oh, Martin. You didn’t need to—”
“Yes, I did.” He kissed the top of her head, then led her to the back door. The driver had already opened it, and tipped his hat to Maggie. “Thank you, Ashton.”
“Ashton?” Her eyes widened when she recognized him. “What are you doing here?”
“The Professor helped me secure a position at the car service, over in Portsmouth. We do make exceptions, and travel out of the area, when the client is nobility.” He saluted Martin. “Your secret is safe with me, sir. But thank you for pulling out the noble card to help me.”
“My pleasure.” And it was. Ashton had been a revelation in the last few days, taking over at the shop when Geoffrey phoned Martin in a panic, needing paperwork done to keep the funding for the dig from being pulled. “You’re certain you will have enough time to get ready for the performance?”
“Absolutely, Professor.” He grinned, and gave Martin a deep bow.
“Martin will do. Why don’t you assist Maggie into the back seat?”
Ashton held out his hand, and Maggie smiled at him, looking absolutely radiant. Martin fingered the small, carved rosewood box in the pocket of his trousers. He would find the right moment, and propose to her.
Nerves had him swallowing; he hoped he wouldn’t break out into a sweat before he managed to get the question out. Marriage had never been part of his plan, but meeting Maggie had changed that, almost from the off.
He realized that Ashton was waiting for him, the door open to the cold. Woolgathering and worrying would not help him.
“Sorry about the wait, Ashton.”
“Something on your mind, Professor?”
Martin didn’t bother correcting him again. “Thinking about the evening. We can head straight up to the castle.”
Ashton smiled and saluted him. “Right away.”
Martin climbed in and settled next to Maggie. “All right, love?”
“Perfect.” She kissed his cheek, color flushing her cheeks. Heaven help him, but he loved her. “Thank you, Martin. For all of this. It’s already a magical evening.”
He hoped the magic would extend to the end of the evening, as well.
***
The play turned out to be better than Maggie anticipated.
It had some rough spots, especially with the Ghost of Christmas Past, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Ashton, on the other hand, was a delight as the Ghost of Christmas Present. Overall, Maggie thoroughly enjoyed her first Holmestead Christmas festival.
She stood after the lights came up, and turned to find Martin still sitting, staring at the deserted stage.
“Martin?”
He jerked at her voice, and smiled at her. “Sorry, Maggie. I was—”
“Woolgathering?”
This time his smile was genuine. “Guilty.” He stood and offered his arm “Shall we walk the grounds?”
She took his arm. “I’d love to.”
Martin led her outside, to the courtyard of the centuries’ old keep, where the play had been performed. The stone walls, and the echo of the actors’ voices had added another layer to the atmospheric play.
Maggie loved the castle, and the extensive grounds. Every century since the keep had been built, in the 13th century, had left its mark. For the festival, the buildings had been lined with bright white lights, or lit with red and green floodlights. The trees created shadows on the sweeps of lawn, and the sloping hills, creating a magical, mysterious surrounding.
“How did you like the play?”
Martin turned his head, flashing lights from the tower next to them dancing off the lenses of his glasses. “It was interesting. The poor man playing the Ghost of Christmas Past looked lost.”
“I thought so, too. More like preoccupied, when I took a closer look.”
“You would take a closer look, Maggie Mulgrew.” He brushed a curl off her cheek. “I love your generous spirit.” He started walking faster, and Maggie tightened her grip on his arm, afraid she would lose her balance in her new heels. She almost did trip when he stopped without warning. “This is a good place,” he muttered, and pulled her toward a light-wrapped hedge.
It stood at the edge of one of the sloping stretches of lawn and trees; she had always loved the landscaping of the castle grounds. The lawns made it feel spacious, even with all the buildings that made up the complex.
“Martin—can you slow down a little?”
“Sorry.” He did, turning to her. “I am sorry.”
“Are you okay?” He looked so nervous, his gaze scanning their surroundings, his hand damp.
“Yes. Of course.” He gave her a faint smile, and she saw the sweat sliding down the side of his face. “Are you doing well? Not too cold?”
“I’m fine. Tell me what’s wrong, Martin.”
He let out a sigh, and led her toward the hedge. “There is nothing wrong. I am simply—Maggie, I wanted to—” He grabbed for her free hand, and knocked the program she held to the ground. “I am sorry—so clumsy.”
“No worries.” She leaned down to grab the glossy festival program, and froze when she saw a hand sticking out from under the hedge. “Martin.” She knew her voice sounded strangled.
Martin crouched next to her, and reached out to press his fingers to the exposed wrist. “Cold,” he whispered. “No pulse.”
He didn’t ask her to stay this time; he obviously knew better. Together, they stood, and leaned over the hedge.
Maggie recognized the costume right away, and covered her mouth with one hand when she saw something protruding from the victim’s back. “Oh, no.”
“Stay put.” He climbed over the waist high hedge, and checked the man’s neck for a pulse. “Call Ian. I know he planned to be here, for possible crowd control.”
Maggie nodded, and fumbled in her coat pocket for her phone. She shook out her hand before she tapped in Ian’s mobile number, and stared at the sprawled figure while she waited for him to answer.
Someone had killed the Ghost of Christmas Past. With a holly branch.