"Oh!" Cordelia clapped a hand over her mouth. "He forced her, then?"
"Nay, for the chase had become too much a matter of pride for him. Yet he scrupled not to bring her wine mingled with a potent drug. She was wary, though, and knew the potion by its odor; she refused to drink—nor would she quaff too deeply of brandy wine, though he did ply her with it."
"A worthy lady," Gregory breathed, bright-eyed, "and a prudent one. Could the Count not see she was proof against his wiles?"
"Belike he did, for he lost patience, accused her of witchcraft, tried and sentenced her—and did attempt to have his rape of her be part of that sentence."
"Would he not even then give over?" Cordelia said with some heat.
"He did," Magnus answered. "Not by any notion of chivalry, no, but by the clamoring of one and all, clergy and laity, who cried that he would have intercourse with the devil. When he discerned that they might topple him from his seat, he did give over, and had to be content with her burning at the stake."
"Thus died a brave and valiant wench," Geoffrey murmured.
"Aye, and one whose life brought her only sorrow." Tears glittered in Cordelia's eyes.
"What of the lord?" Gregory breathed.
"The Count lived out his life as ever he had lived, in cruelty and depravity—yet was he more willing to resort to rape."
"And what of the lad?" Geoffrey demanded. "The bold, audacious brother? Sought he no revenge?"
"Aye, when he had come to manhood, and had claimed his right to knighthood. Then did he stride into Foxcourt's Great Hall and challenge the Count before all his company—with a score of King's knights at his back."
"There was no help for it, then." Geoffrey grinned. "The Count must needs have fought him."
"He did, yet with treachery and deviousness, as ever. He coated his blade with poison and did manage to nick Sir Julius, just as he was on the verge of slaying the lord."
"Ah, poor knight! What a base, depraved Count was this!"
"He was indeed." Magnus's voice finally hardened. "Yet he died in his bed, of no worse enemy than jaundice and gout—and he died without issue—or legitimate heirs, at the least."
"His line died with him, then," Gregory breathed,
"Even so. Oh, there was a cadet branch of the house…"
"Still is," Rod murmured.
"…Yet they had too much sense to want the castle. Therefore hath it languished here, untenanted and grim, whilst centuries have rolled—and the Count's shade hath ceaselessly pursued the Lady Sola, whose ghost, ever lamenting the deaths of her mother, father, and brother, still haunts these halls, seeking some way to atone."
"Yet she hath no need!" Cordelia insisted. "There was no fault in her!"
But, "Hush," Gwen said, and reached out to take hold of Magnus's wrist, lifting his hand from the wall. The young man froze; then, slowly, his eyes came into focus again. He blinked, turning to look at Gwen. "Mother?"
"Aye," Gwen said softly. " 'Tis past, my son—hundreds of years past. Thou art with us again, as thou ever wast, with thy father, and myself, and thy sibs."
Magnus turned to his brothers and sister, blinking.
Cordelia whirled toward her mother. "There is no rightness in it, Mama! There is no justice!"
"The world is not always fair, my daughter," Gwen answered, her face grim, "and Heaven's judgement comes not till we are dead."
"Yet what justice hath Heaven given here, that the lass's ghost abides in torment, while the lord's is gone!"
"Gone where?" Geoffrey said, with a curl of the lip.
"Good point," Rod responded. "And for the damsel Sola—well, I can certainly understand why she lingers here, weighed down by false guilt for the lives of her whole family."
Cordelia turned, eyes wide. "Dost mean that, to free her, we have but to tell her 'twas the Count's guilt, and not hers?"
"No, we have to convince her of it—and with a good person, that can be very hard indeed."
Gwen eyed him narrowly. "Thou hast summat in mind, mine husband."
"Only a little demonstration," Rod said easily.
Chapter 12
They slept for the remainder of the day. As the sun was setting, they were rising for a quick breakfast of porridge and water.
"Are we to fight spectres with naught but oatmeal?" Geoffrey demanded.
" 'Twill stay with thee, and give thee endurance," Gwen assured him. She glanced at Magnus, then looked again. "Didst thou not sleep soundly?"
"Aye, yet with many dreams. This Hall was the Count's prime place, Mama. 'Twas not the setting for his most shameful acts, yet 'twas filled with an abundance of petty cruelties and large humiliations."
"Thou hast awakened angry."
Magnus nodded. "I cannot wait to brace him!"
"Good," Rod said. "Good."
When darkness held the castle, and the only light came from the fireplace and a single sconce nearby, Magnus turned and strode to the dais where the count had sat, presiding over debauchery, two hundred years before.
The great chair stood there still. Magnus laid his hands upon it and called, "Rafael Fer de Lance, Count Foxcourt! Come forth to judgement!"
The evil laugh began once again, distant, but swelling closer, till it rang and echoed all about them—and Foxcourt was there, fully formed, even with faint colors glowing, so strong was his spirit. He was in his prime, his early thirties, his frame still muscular, his harsh features darkly handsome—but filled with sixty years of knowledge of human perversity, and delight in cruelty.
"Judgement?" he sneered. "And who will judge me, stripling? Thou?"
"That shall I! Yet I confess to wonder, that thou hast not yet been called before the greatest Judge of All!"
"I have been too much addicted to the pleasures of this life—most especially the delight of witnessing the suffering that I've caused." The ghost advanced on Magnus, slapping his palm with his riding whip. "I find the joys of cruelty too great, to wish to depart upon my final journey; though I'd have no choice, were there not foolish mortals like thyself, whose curiosity gives me an anchor with which to hold to this, the scene of all my pleasures."
Magnus stood firm, almost seeming to radiate a glow of his own. "Thou hast come to thy last journey here. Yet an I weaken, I have stronger spirits than mine, or thine, to draw on." He gestured toward his family. "Behold!"
An eldritch light shone about the Gallowglasses. Gregory started, but the others held firm.
The Count's laugh rang through the room. "What have we here? Two babes? And, ah! Two beauties!" He came down from the dais, advancing on Gwen and Cordelia. "One young, one in the fullness of her bloom—yet both fresh female souls!"
"Aye," Magnus said, from behind him. " 'Tis meat and drink to thee, to despoil the innocent, is it not?"
"Thou speakest well." He lifted his hand as he came closer to the women.
"Hold, foul worm!" Rod stepped in front of his wife and daughter, rage seething just beneath the surface of his face.
The count paused. "What have we here? A peasant, come to face a lord? Begone, foolish knave!" And he reached through Rod to caress Cordelia's chin.
Rod erupted into flame. White-hot flares licked out from him, searing the night, crisping the flesh on the spectre's form till spectral bones showed through. The Count's ghost screamed, whirling away, arms coming up to shield his face. Then Magnus's eyes narrowed, and the fabric of the spirit tore, and tore again, parting and parting like mist in a wind, as his shrieks rang through the hall, until his substance was shredded. Finally, Rod's flames withdrew, and darkness returned.
Out of the silence, Magnus asked, amazed, "Is that all? Is there no more to do than this?"