Maggie Shayne: Weddings from Hell

"Some say," Rose put in, "that the woman was also Miranda's dear friend, though we've never heard her name."

Esmeralda nodded slowly. "When her rage was sated, Miranda went to the tower room, bolted herself inside. The noise had roused the servants, but no one could get to her. Inside the room she penned a letter to her descendants, a curse really, for though few knew of it then, many of the MacLellan women were powerful witches. Miranda was, it is said, the most powerful of any of them. She wrote the curse in her journal, her diary, and then she calmly set the pen aside, performed some secret spell that involved, they say, the killing of a dove and the removal of its heart, and when it was done, she threw herself from the tower window to her death on the rocks below."

Kira's throat was tight, her skin, chilled, as she whispered, "What did she write?"

"Read it for yourself." Esmeralda pulled a small, leatherbound book from one of her robe's deep pockets, and handed it to Kira in the bed.

A ribbon marked the passage in question, and Kira opened the book skimming the parts Esmeralda had already related, and beginning on the facing page.

"I would have far preferred he had simply murdered me in my sleep, that I might have died believing in his love. For the pain of his betrayal is a fate far worse than death could ever be. And in the end, he has killed me just the same. For surely my life ended when my eyes beheld the man I adore in the arms of another. And so I leave a gift to my daughters, and to their daughters, and to theirs, and on to every MacLellan woman born to my line. And that gift is this. When you wed, if the man betrays you the way mine betrayed me, you will never learn of it. For I curse him in this manner. I curse him to bring about your death by his own hand, for it will be an act of mercy if you die never knowing the truth. And it will be his punishment to live with his deed for the rest of his days. So mote it be, now and forever more."

Kira blinked and looked up at her aunts. "So anytime a MacLellan woman's husband cheats on her, he ends up killing her before she ever learns of it? That's the curse?"

The three woman nodded sadly.

"It's ridiculous! It's ludicrous!"

"Is it, Kira? Do you not recall how your own dear mother met her end?"

She did. All too well. "It was an accident."

"It often is. It was with your grandmother, as well."

She was almost afraid to ask, but she forced herself. "How…how did it happen?"

"Your grandfather was bedding one of the local girls," Esmeralda said, her face a grimace.

"You know that's not what she meant," Emma said softly. She patted Kira's hand where it rested upon the bedcovers. "He took Grandmother sailing. The boat capsized in calm waters and she drowned."

Kira lowered her eyes. Something about Emma's hand on her own brought a tightness to her throat. Memories of her mother's lilting voice and ready smile came rushing back to her. "Did he know about the curse?"

"Aye, but like you, he didn't believe in it. Until it claimed her, at least."

"And what became of him?"

Emma sighed deeply. "He went mad. He's been in an asylum ever since. Doesn't even know his own name, most days."

"The curse is real, Kira. It's the very reason none of us have allowed ourselves to fall in love, to take a husband. To do so is only to invite the curse to take us as well."

"Only if he cheated, though," Kira said quickly. "What if he didn't? What if you could find a man who loved you, one who would be true to you?"

"How could you ever know?" Rose asked softly. "It would be a terrible risk, Kira."

"Love is always a risk. God, wouldn't it be better to take that risk than to live your life alone? Wouldn't it be better to know love once, and die young than to live to be a hundred and never know it at all?"

"No." Esmeralda said it firmly. Emma and Rose, though, seemed wistful for a moment. "Most certainly not. Why do you think the ghosts of our ancestors haunt these walls?"

"I don't know. Did Miranda die here? Is this castle where it all began?" she asked.

"No," Esmeralda said. "They were staying in the cottage, near the shore, at the time."

"Well then why do you think they haunt this castle?" Kira asked.

"To warn us. To make sure we don't forget," Esmeralda said with a firm nod.

It rang false to Kira. Weren't spirits supposed to move on into some Eden-like paradise after death? Weren't ghosts generally believed to be trapped souls, unable to move on due to some sort of unfinished business? She wasn't sure the women of the MacLellan clan would choose to remain in this drafty castle of their own volition. She wasn't even certain they could .

But at least she had the answers she sought. She sighed, and lay back on the pillows. "How can I get them to let me sleep?" she asked. "How do you?"

"You get used to their visits. If you ignore them, they stop bothering after a bit," Rose told her.

"I'll try."

"You should. You have a big day tomorrow."

She smiled at Aunt Rose at the reminder of her plans with Ian.

"Nothing is to happen between you and Ian, lass," Esmeralda said. "We don't need another MacLellan woman dying at her husband's hand, and while Ian is a good man, he's also a Stewart. It would be courtin' disaster. And he doesn't deserve the stain of your blood on his hands."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Aunt Esmeralda. It's one day touring the countryside. I'm not going to fall in love and marry the man." And yet just saying the words made her feel inwardly giddy. Thank God she could spend the day with him tomorrow, and get a break from all this superstition and paranoia.

"See to it you don't."

The women rose, and left the room, Esmeralda flicking off the light and closing the door on her way out.

Kira lay still for a long moment, before she noticed the wisp of luminous mist glowing from a far corner of the room. She sat up in the bed. "Miranda?" she asked. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

There was no sound. No movement, other than the gentle swaying and swirling of the mist.

"You've been trying to tell them, haven't you? But you've given up. Is it because they got the message, or because they just won't listen?"

Again, no words. No movement.

"I think they're wrong," Kira said. "I really think they're wrong. And if there's a way to set your spirits free, and I can find it, I'll do it."

Promise.

Frowning, Kira strained her ears and her mind. Had she just heard the word promise, or had it all been in her imagination?

She thinned her lips. "Yes," she said softly. "I promise."

And just like that, the mist vanished. Gone as if it had never been there. And it had been so thin, so insubstantial, that she might never have truly seen it at all.

But she was pretty sure she had.

Ian arrived, and made his way into the sunny breakfast room, where Kira sat in a window seat, sipping tea.

She glanced up as he came in and couldn't help the instant smile that spread across her face. "Good morning, Ian," she said, rising to her feet.

"Morning, lass." He clutched her shoulders, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. It was polite and impersonal, that peck. But the gentle squeeze of his hands on her shoulders suggested something just a little more intimate. Something private, just between them.

As he straightened, he frowned, and sniffed. "Mint?" he asked, nodding at her teacup.

She nodded.

"Rose only brews the mint when someone's queasy. Are you ill, Kira?"

"Queasy is a good word for it. I couldn't eat breakfast."

He tipped his head to one side, a sudden worry clouding his face. "Why are you queasy then? Nerves or jet lag, or have you come down with something more serious?"