Chapter Six
Ellis followed the sound of Theodosia’s voice, ethereal in the mist leading to the moors. Each time he believed he was close, she was not there.
He’d been startled awake before dawn by Theodosia calling out to him from outside the room he’d secured for them last eve. He followed her down the corridor, the stairs, and then out the door to the moonlit street.
He called out to her, but she continued on as if she hadn’t heard him.
The mist grew thicker with each step closer he got to the moors.
Theodosia was no longer in sight, she’d disappeared into the swirling fog. He surged forward. He had to get to her. She shouldn’t be out here alone. It wasn’t safe.
He arrived at the edge of the moors. Ahead, a ghostly figure of a headless driver blocked his path, his black cloak billowing wildly in the wind.
Ellis rubbed at his eyes. He couldn’t possibly be seeing what he thought he was.
Opening his eyes, the figure was still there.
A shiver ran down his spine. Was he looking at the ghost of Lover’s Crossing? Nay, he couldn’t be. That was just a legend. Was it not?
The figure lifted his arm and pointed a long, bony finger in Ellis’s direction then turned and walked further into the moors.
Ellis followed, pulled by an unknown force as flashes of the past slammed into him. He had been on the moors before, with this same figure. Swords glinted in the moonlight. Ellis heard the clang of metal as they fought a ferocious battle.
The memories weren’t his, but he felt as if they were. He could feel the force of the blow he’d blocked with his shoulder. The movement jarring him back, making him stumble.
Then he was on the ground, the rocks digging into the skin of his knees through his breeches.
The bitter taste of betrayal filled him. For what, he didn’t ken.
Footsteps sounded and the driver was back, this time, he was no longer headless. If Ellis didn’t ken any better, he would think the man staring at him was a Gordon. The similarities in their looks were uncanny. Same color of hair, same jaw. Same eyes.
Just then, the man lifted his hands, arced down his sword, and as if in a dream, Ellis watched his own beheading.
He jerked, instinctively bringing his hands up to his head. Still on his shoulders. He was still alive. Another vivid dream? Flashback? What the hell was happening?
The figure appeared in front of him again.
Ellis couldn’t dismiss the resemblance to the Gordon lineage. What were the chances?
“Are ye a Gordon?” Ellis asked breathlessly. “What business do ye have with me?”
“Our blood runs the same,” the driver said cryptically. “You are repeating mistakes of the past.”
Ellis scoffed. “I ken naught of which ye speak.”
The phantom’s eyes flashed fire.
Ellis stumbled back, nearly falling. “What are ye?”
“You have been here before. Long ago. Your choice cost you your life. Do not make the same mistake.”
Confusion clouded Ellis’s mind as he tried to decipher what the phantom driver meant. He searched his memories for what he kenned of the legend. Theodosia had mentioned something she had found in her family history. What was it?
“I give you a choice. Leave Theodosia or die like afore.”
Still confused, and trying to understand what was happening, he kenned one thing was certain. He had lost Theodosia once, he vowed he would not again. Not when they had just found their way back to each other.
“Make your choice!” the voice boomed.
Ellis jumped but stood strong. He shook his head, refusing to do what the phantom asked. “If death is the cost, then make it so. I will no’ leave Theodosia again.”
The phantom raised his blade and brought it down, slashing at Ellis.
He turned, trying to escape the blow, but he felt the sting of steel slice his arm.
He startled awake, his breaths coming in gasps. He looked around. He was in his tent. His arm burned. He looked at it and saw the deep wound oozing blood.
“Shite!” He cursed as he grabbed a tunic and tore strips from it, then tied them around his arm, tightening the knots with his teeth, to staunch the bleeding.
Theodosia!
She was still at the inn. He rushed outside and glanced over the moors. All was quiet. There was no phantom headless driver watching him. The legend said that the ghost couldn’t leave the moors.
Ellis shook his head, trying to clear it.
He was going mad. That was the only explanation.
Before yesterday, he had never believed the legend was more than a story.
But, but what he had just experienced was definitely real.
It had tried to kill him. It tried to force him into making a choice.
But it hadn’t taken his head. The ghost had slashed his arm, but he kept his head.
Was it because he said he wouldn’t leave her?
He turned toward the road and broke into a run, racing back toward the inn as questions spun in his head. He had to get to Theodosia. He needed to make sure she was safe, and most importantly, warn her afore All Hallows Eve arrived.
If the phantom could get to him, Ellis had no doubt he could get to Theodosia as well.