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P R O L O G U E

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

-Shakespeare, Hamlet

Olivia and Allistair Montgomery were dead.

For three hundred years to be exact.

But if one watches, one may see the ghosts of Duntrune mount the steps of the house and let themselves in. Allistair will fill a long, clay pipe at a Delft bowl in the hall and sit down before a blackened grate, stretching his long legs to an imaginary blaze. Olivia will curl up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as she recites sonnets she knows by heart.

At other times, watchers have seen them pass the windows of the big room on the second floor, moving in the stately measure of a court dance, the sound of Olivia's sweet laughter echoing down the myriad hallways.

Others claimed to have seen the figures of Allistair and Olivia sitting at a long table which was softly but distinctly lighted, as if by unseen candles. It appeared as if they were dispensing hospitality to Charles II himself at a table gleaming with crystal and silverplate.

But the table was empty and thickly covered with dust.

All who are familiar with the name Montgomery know the tale of the doomed lovers whose carriage plunged off the craggy cliffs of Duntrune on a summer night long ago.

The cause of their deaths was still a mystery.

C H A P T E R O N E

"O, how full of briers is this working-day world!"

Sydney Montgomery heaved a world weary sigh as she mounted the last step of the long stairway and entered the peaceful quietude of the east wing. It was down these halls that she came whenever she felt the need to get away from it all.

Ever since her mother's death a year earlier, things had gotten steadily worse in her home. She'd had to take over the aspects of running Duntrune, and with a castle of its proportions, it wasn't exactly an easy task. There was the directing of the servants, which sometimes was easier said than done. Chaos could arise at any given moment - and that was just in dealing with the head housekeeper, the head gardener, and the head chef. God forbid anyone should cross over into anyone else's territory! All hell could break loose - and it did at least twice a week.

Then there was the planning of three meals a day, which in itself could be harrowing. There were days when she thought she would prefer not to eat than to deal with all the fuss. And the worse thing was, she was only planning a meal for three people, not the royal entourage. But her father needed a strict diet, while her sister, Taylor, was just out-and-out picky. If the pheasant was not cooked just so, the chef might find it flying at his head. Her sister was well-known for her fits of pique - among other things that Sydney tried not to dwell on if at all possible. But she couldn't help recalling the continued complaints by the gardener that Lady Taylor kept trampling the flower beds that ran along the front walkway. She would trot her horse right over them instead of going around. He would replace the flowers but then she'd just go and do it again. Sydney didn't doubt for a moment that that was indeed the case. Of course, she had tried to calmly discuss this behavior with her sister, but as usual, Taylor ignored her and continued to do exactly as she pleased.

As if all this wasn't enough, it had become necessary to get more involved in her father's business. It wasn't as if she didn't like it, but it left little time to pursue anything else. Her poor mare, Belle, was growing fat from sitting in her paddock, chewing hay and the sweet treats she knew the stable boy was giving her. But someone had to handle the situation. And that someone was her. When her mother passed away, part of her father did as well. For months afterwards, he had shown little interest in his work - not returning correspondence or seeing any of his business partners. He let the household accounts slide, bills were piling up with no one bothering to pay them. Even the servant's wages were getting ignored. Life as she knew it was spiraling further and further into a wasteland that there might not be any way to pull out of if something was not done in short order. So she had taken charge, juggling her day between running the house and running the business. She signed everything in her father's name, and on those occasions when she could not, she would use her own name - which everyone mistook as a man's name anyway. She didn't feel the need to elucidate to anyone that she was a female. It was easier to let them believe they were dealing with another man.

There were times when she hated the charade, hated the way she had to hide behind the guise of being a man because a woman wouldn't be considered smart enough to do what they believed to be a man's job. And there were plenty of men that held the opinion that women were best seen and not heard, like children. It fairly sent her temper skyrocketing. Nonetheless, for the sake of her father, she had, and would, remain closemouthed. And regardless of some of the downsides of a woman playing a man in a world irritatingly run by men, she still enjoyed every moment she spent working - more so than running the house. And oddly enough, the more time that went by and she had gotten to really learn the business of trade, she had decided that she hadn't wanted to relinquish doing it when her father had been well enough to take back his duties. It became as natural as breathing to go down to her father's office first thing in the morning and work many hours with him. In fact, it had even built a stronger bond between them. Still, there were times when she felt her father favored Taylor over her. Taylor was like the ray of sunshine in his day. His face lit up when he saw her. Taylor also had the good fortune of looking like their mother. She was petite and lovely with soft blond hair cascading over her shoulders and fern green eyes. Taylor had always been treated like the girl in the family, dressed in sweet outfits with ribbons in her hair. She, on the other hand, was treated like the boy she was supposed to have been.

"Oh there you are, miss," Sydney heard a voice say from behind her, startling her since she had been so lost in thought.

Turning around, she saw the slightly plump figure of Mary Alice, one of the maids, who was looking pale and obviously uncomfortable. The girl's hands were clenched tightly in front of her. She darted anxious looks to the left and right apparently looking for someone, or something. Sydney hid a smile. She didn't want to make light of the girl's distress. Without a doubt, anyone who didn't know their resident ghosts and had been treated to a dose of Allistair would likely be jumpy, as well. He was one ghost who could be the very devil in disguise.

She gave the young maid a kind, and hopefully, reassuring smile. "Yes, Mary Alice, what is it?"

"It's your father, miss. He wants you to come to his office at once."

Sydney was immediately concerned. "Is he all right? Has something happened?"

Mary Alice shook her head. "No, miss. A visitor has arrived is all."

Sydney was visibly relieved. She had taken to watching her father very closely since her mother died. He had been despondent for such a long time that she found herself constantly nervous about his well-being. As much as he tried to reassure her that he was fine, she still maintained her vigilance. "

His lordship said it was important, miss," Mary Alice meekly prompted as the silence lengthened. "Well then, I better not keep him waiting," Sydney returned heading towards the staircase. Lord James Stratford eyed Duntrune castle. God, it looked positively medieval, he thought with a slight grimace as his coach rolled to a stop at the front door. It was an obvious throw back to a bygone era, and if it belonged to him the first thing he'd do was level it.

Dusk was falling and the rosy glow of the setting sun did nothing to enliven the mood of the monstrous place. The castle cast a long, black shadow on the ground and the turrets created a design that made it look almost like claws reaching out. James doubted the place would have a much more inviting presence in the daylight.

He went to open the coach door, but it was swung wide before he'd even grasped the handle. And it was not his driver, Harry, who stood on the other side, but a skeleton in footman's clothing. The gaunt, balding man looked as if he were from the land of the living dead. He was pale as a ghost and his head bobbed nonstop, appearing as if was in continual agreement with whatever was being said. Now James was positive he was in another world. He actually found himself wondering if he wanted to get out of the coach. Perhaps he should have sent a representative to meet with Montgomery instead. He didn't have a representative, but had he known he'd be taking a trip into the seventh circle of Hell, he certainly would have hired one.

His eyes searched out Harry. Where was the blasted man? How long did it take to jump off the box? Then Harry appeared next to the skeleton man and put down the steps for him to get out. James glared at him for good measure. Harry just gave him his usual blank look. "

Come with me, sir," the walking cadaver drawled, the words coming out as quickly as molasses on a cold day.

The deep, gravelly voice set James back a bit. The man looked as if he hadn't the lung power for such a timbre. Although the eerie quality of it was perfectly suited for the equally eerie surroundings.

But other things were gnawing at his insides and his irritation had grown as the miles passed. It hadn't helped his mood that he hit his head at least ten times on the roof of his coach while traversing down the rut infested road which lead to Duntrune. One would think that a man as wealthy as Sebastian Montgomery would do something to improve the road; it was a bloody mess.

But the road had been minor in comparison to what really irked him, and that was the fact that this business with Montgomery could really have been handled from the comfort of his home in London, where, he hastened to remind himself, he'd still be enjoying the pleasures to be found in the arms of his mistress. But the missive he'd received from the earl, had requested, no, demanded, that he come in person.

"Sir?" James heard the footman prompt, reminding him that he was sitting there like an idiot.

Reluctantly, he got out of the coach and followed the footman into the castle. Needless to say, he was surprised, and vastly relieved, to find the interior brightly lit and rather warm. What a bloody difference from the exterior.

But the surprises hadn't ended it seemed, as a man with a hump on his back came shuffling towards him.

"Come with me," the man directed and shuffled away, obviously expecting to be followed without question.

James contemplated making a quick getaway. It wasn't too late. Or so he thought. He glanced back at the door only to find it creaking shut. He caught Harry's eye then and the look on his driver's face told him that they were thinking parallel thoughts.

Realizing he was trapped, he followed the humpbacked man, who apparently passed as the butler, as he moved sluggishly along the corridor. He stopped at a massive door. It looked as if it weighed a ton.

"His lordship is in here," the butler announced as he opened the door.

"Well, I'll be damned," James muttered as the door swung open as if it were as light as a feather. He'd expected that he and the humpbacked butler would have to apply their shoulders to it if they wanted to gain admittance into Sebastian Montgomery's sanctuary.

He proceeded the butler into the room, not knowing what to expect. His eyes didn't know where to go first. It was a huge room and its contents could only be described as a rather odd, or eccentric, meshing of styles - odder still that it all seemed to go together. Even the fresco on the vaulted ceiling had a certain appeal.

What the hell was it?

He had no time to ponder his question as a cacophony of sound began somewhere in the upper recesses of the house. The noise was piercing and indiscernible. The shrill tone hit a nerve about mid ear and sent a shooting pain down the left side of his body. But the worst thing was - whatever it was - it was heading straight towards them.

James barely had time to step out of the way as three tiny rodents went shooting past his feet. They were small and extremely furry and made a hell of a lot of noise. His eyes followed them as they darted around the side of a massive desk set back by the wall. It was then he noticed the portly, white-haired gentleman behind it. He could only assume this was the man who'd summoned him.

Lord Sebastian Montgomery.

"All right, pups. I love you, too," the man said, patting each furry head. "Now shoo, will you? I have business to attend to." He glanced up at his guest, giving James a quick, uncomfortable smile as the dogs continued to yap at him for attention. "Henry!" he bellowed.

The humpbacked man shuffled in. He didn't ask what the master of the house wanted. Instead he came up to the desk, and said, "Come puppies."

No enticement. No sing-song voice. Just come puppies. And James was double damned if said puppies didn't do just that. One by one they trotted faithfully behind the man, tails waving proudly like little flags, dark-eyes glossy and huge in their small, fox-like faces.

Lord Montgomery cleared his throat. "So sorry, my lord. They are my daughter's dogs, and as we get so few visitors they feel compelled to make a grand entrance at all costs. But I must admit to being quite taken by the wee rats - although for the sake of manliness I do grouch and cuss. But glory be to God, they have a bark that will curl the hairs on your chest. Still, Kingston, Marisol, and Norwood are good little chaps - or rather two chaps and a dame," he amended, clearly amused with himself. Then, with a great deal of effort, he pushed his considerable bulk away from his desk and stood up. "Thank you for coming so quickly, my lord."

"Your missive said it was urgent," James replied, not one to bother with a lot of preamble.

Montgomery nodded. "I believe that it is." Then he gestured to the couch. "Please make yourself comfortable."

James took a seat on the burgundy leather couch while his host went to sit across from him in a matching wing chair. He eyed Montgomery as he shifted first left and then right trying to make himself comfortable.

The man was not at all as he'd pictured him. He'd expected someone who was taller, more impressive. Here was a man who was an icon among sailing men. Montgomery was a name that carried weight and was trusted. But the man who sat before him appeared somewhat befuddled and more like a someone's grandfather than a shipping magnet.

James waited patiently, but finally he prompted, "So how can I be of assistance, my lord?"

Instead of answering the question, Lord Montgomery said, "I lost my darling wife, Eloise, more than a year ago. Did you know that?"

James shook his head. "No sir, I didn't."

"Ah, she was a wonderful woman, so full of life, so warm and witty. She was my soulmate." And then, "Do you believe in destiny, my lord?"

James shook his head in confusion. Was this what Montgomery had summoned him for? To discuss whether he believed in destiny or not?

"I have never thought much about it," he replied.

"Alas, many people don't," Lord Montgomery murmured in a somber voice. Then he picked up the pipe which laid on the table next to him. "It has been a difficult road, my lord. I am thankful everyday for my children. They have helped me through this ordeal - especially Sydney."

James searched his memory. Where had he heard that name before?

Then he remembered. He hadn't heard it, he'd seen the name written on some of the correspondence he received from Duntrune. The letters had been detailed accounts of business investments and suggestion for improvements. Sydney Montgomery had sound judgement and a keen mind. Sydney, he'd assumed, was Montgomery's son. But a strange, little midget he'd met along the way to Duntrune had disabused him of that notion.

He scowled as he recalled that meeting. He felt the coach slow and heard the muffled voice of his driver telling him that he was stopping for directions.

He was thankful for the respite; his limbs were jellied from being tossed around so much. He got out of the coach and stared at the meager-looking inn with a jaundiced eye. Some people might have called it quaint. But for him, the whole place gave him a feeling of unreality. Perhaps he was just too jaded and no longer knew what life was like outside his part of the world.

"Ye are goin' tae Duntrune, are ye?"

Startled, James swung around.

"Down here," the voice said.

James looked down to find a man barely higher than his waist standing there.

"Were you talking to me?"

"Well now, seein' as how we're the only two out here, I imagine ye are correct," the midget returned with a cocky half-grin. "I couldna help but overhear yer man askin' for direction tae Duntrune."

James cocked an eyebrow. "And may I ask who you are?"

The midget drew the cap off his head. "Beggin' yer pardon, sir. My name is Riley. . .Riley Winters."

"Well, Mr. Winters, you are correct. We are heading to Duntrune."

"An interesting place," Winters murmured, his tone clearly implying there was more to be said.

"And you know this first hand?" James asked, his tone skeptical. Although he'd never met Sebastian Montgomery, somehow he doubted that he was the type to consort with the clownish man who now stood in front of him.
"Aye, I know the Montgomerys," Winters replied. "Wonderful family, they are. And that Sydney, she's a real corker.

" She? James fairly choked. The person who'd sent him letters regarding the business, addressing the issues with an intelligence and uncanny perceptiveness that was extremely impressive. . .was a girl?

"Sydney is a girl?" he asked out loud, trying to sound neutral.

"Aye," Winters answered, amusement in his voice. "But I wouldna call her a girl. She's a woman full-grown."

A woman full grown, James silently repeated. With a name like Sydney? What the hell were her parent's thinking? But the worse thing was, if Mr. Winters was telling him the truth, then he'd have to put an end to that association. He wasn't working with any woman. They were good for one thing. And that didn't require thinking.

"May I offer ye a piece of advice?" the small man then inquired.

James folded his arms over his massive chest. "Advice?"

"Of sorts," Winters replied with a shrug.

"And what might that be, Mr. Winters?"

"Call me Riley," the little man insisted.

James raised a single eyebrow. "What advice might that be, Riley?"

A glint sparkled in the midget's eye as he returned in a hushed voice, "Beware of things that go bump in the night."

"What?!" James exclaimed incredulously.

Momentarily distracted as his driver called to him, he looked up to see Harry ambling his considerable bulk towards him.

"I have the directions, my lord," Harry said as he stepped up next to his employer. "We just keep going straight down this road for another two kilometers and I've been assured that we cannot miss the place."

James absently nodded his head and then looked back down to where Mr. Winters stood, but the spot was now empty. The man was gone. Vanished. He turned in a full circle but there was nothing to be seen besides the encroaching darkness. He turned to Harry, who was looking oddly at him. "Did you see where the man I was talking to went?"

Harry was perplexed. "The man you were talking to, my lord? I didn't see any man."

James narrowed his blue eyes. "What do you mean you didn't see any man? He was standing right here in front of me. Granted, he was a midget, but it wasn't as if he was invisible."

Harry's expression conveyed his confusion. "I swear to you that I didn't see anyone. You were standing right here by yourself."

James shook his head. "What the blazes is going on?" he muttered angrily, taking one last sweeping glance around before stalking to his coach. "Let's get this blasted ride over with. I feel a headache coming on."

And that had been the beginning of the oddities and what was turning into a rather bizarre trip. He focused his eyes on the cause of the insanity.

"Sydney doesn't like me to smoke," Lord Montgomery told his guest.

"What?" James had no idea what they were talking about.

"My pipe. I see you staring at it. I guess you're wondering why I am sucking on it when it isn't even lit."

That had been the furthest thought from James's mind, but it was either agree or tell his host he hadn't heard a word he'd said. "It did cross my mind," he lied.

Montgomery leaned forward and said in a hushed voice, "Sydney is always after me to stop smoking. She says it's bad for my health. The girl can be fiercely tenacious when she sets her mind on something." He heaved a heartfelt sigh and sat back. "So I'm left with having to pretend." Sydney. There was that name again. James had heard it more times today than he'd heard his own. Well, since Montgomery had brought her up, he thought he would erase some of the mystery surrounding this glorious paragon of virtue. "I must confess to thinking Sydney was your son."

Montgomery nodded his head. "That has been known to happen. People just assume they are dealing with a man. The way Sydney conducts herself coupled with her excellent business sense has never given anyone cause to ask questions. At times I think she knows the business better than I do," he proudly confessed. "It's said that at least one Montgomery offspring has sea water running in their veins - and without a doubt that is my Sydney." James couldn't believe Montgomery didn't care that his daughter was masquerading as a man. And what could this business woman possibly look like? One glance at her father and he had his answer.

"So even though Sydney is not a man," Montgomery continued, "she is just as capable as one." He looked towards the doorway.

"Ah, here she is now."

"F o r A l l T i m e"

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