Chapter 3

“Ghosts,” Feiyan breathed. Her pale face lit up. She set her ale cup on the floor, where she sat cross-legged in a surcoat of soft gray.

Jenefer, perched on one of the oak chests, choked on a piece of oatcake. “What?”

This morn, the three cousins had assembled in a storage room beneath Rivenloch’s great hall to break their fast. It was the infamous spot where Jenefer’s mother had once taken her father hostage, the perfect place to plot in secrecy.

Hallie stopped pacing the small chamber and turned. Her skirts, which were the same woad blue color as her eyes, swirled around her.

“Ghosts,” she echoed, taking a thoughtful bite of cheese and nodding. “Maybe.”

“Wait,” Jenefer said. “Ghosts? What ghosts?”

Feiyan gave her a sly smile. “The ghosts that haunt Creagor.”

Hallie grinned, clapping the crumbs from her hands.

Jenefer scowled in disgust. “Don’t tell me you two believe in ghosts.”

“We don’t…” Feiyan began.

“But Highlanders are a superstitious lot,” Hallie said, her eyes twinkling like ice crystals.

“Aye,” Feiyan said, hopping to her feet. “And once the Highlander learns that Creagor is haunted…”

“He’ll hie himself back to the Highlands,” Hallie finished.

Jenefer rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t wish to darken your sunny skies, but that’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard. How will you make him believe Creagor is haunted?” She shook her head and took a swig of ale.

“’Twill be haunted,” Feiyan said, grinning.

“By us,” Hallie said.

Jenefer almost spewed her ale. “Us?” she squeaked.

“Aye,” Hallie replied, motioning Jenefer off the oak chest.

Jenefer gathered her five remaining oatcakes and half-finished ale and slid down from her perch. This she had to see.

Hallie threw open the lid of the chest and began pawing through the contents. “What does a ghost look like?” She flung rags of clothing, scraps of leather, and bits of fabric here and there.

“How should I know?” Jenefer smirked, taking another bite of oatcake. “Only fools believe in ghosts.”

Feiyan winked. “Fools and Highlanders.”

“What about these?” Hallie asked, showing them a couple of torn plaids of mud-colored wool.

“Nay,” Feiyan said. “Those aren’t otherworldly at all. We’d look like beggars.”

Hallie tossed the plaids aside and continued rummaging.

Jenefer sighed and bit off another morsel of oatcake. This was pointless. The whole plan seemed far too complex. When it came to battle, she preferred direct confrontation. A face-to-face challenge. Hand-to-hand combat. A straightforward attack. And a clear victory.

Even if they were capable of pulling off some sort of deception to make the Highlander believe that Creagor was haunted, they were never going to find a garment in that chest that looked like it belonged to a ghost.

“Maybe?” Hallie asked, pulling out a huge threadbare cloak of black velvet. “If we tear it into three pieces?”

Feiyan twisted her lips in indecision. “I fear ’twill be invisible. We’ll do the haunting at night, aye? Black garb will only vanish into the shadows.”

Feiyan should know. As a lass, her mother Miriel had worn black clothing to steal invisibly through the woods.

Hallie nodded and cast the cloak atop a growing pile of rejected garments.

“This is a waste of time,” Jenefer said. “Unless you have angel’s wings tucked away in that chest—”

“This?” Hallie asked, holding up a length of wispy white cloth.

“That?” Feiyan cocked her head. “’Tis a veil, aye? Won’t we be mistaken for nuns?”

Hallie wrinkled her nose and lowered the cloth. “You’re right. It does look like a nun’s veil.”

But suddenly Jenefer saw something entirely different. She gulped down the oatcake and snatched the veil from Hallie. She draped it over the shoulder of her nut-brown surcoat, then twirled. The silky fabric caressed her in sheer, wraithlike folds.

“I can make this work,” she decided with a wry smile. “And I promise you I won’t look at all like a nun.”