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“No!” Thistle’s whisper sounded loud in the quiet grove just behind the elm. She gripped Morcom’s arm. “There goes that wretched bird again! It means to interrupt them again! I have to stop it!”

Morcom frowned. Stop the bird? Or stop the kiss? But Thistle popped out—and then reappeared right in the path of the chough where it arrowed in on the couple. The bird drew up, startled, but only long enough to circle around her.

Thistle recovered, reached out and grabbed a handful of tail feathers.

The beleaguered chough squawked. It was angry now, but she raised a finger and pointed it at the bird. It cried out, and retreated, but only long enough to circle around and head back.

Thistle gave chase. Morcom looked back at the human couple. They were inches away from accomplishing that kiss.

No. The man should kiss Thistle. It was what she wished, was it not? Just look at how she’d emerged from her long melancholy—now when at last the human had returned. She was animated again. Talking. And fixed on the man. If she wanted him, she should have him.

Morcom would do what was needed to make her happy.

Butwhatto do? He cast his awareness across the area where the pair sat. Ah. There. In the crevices of the wall. Closing his eyes, he concentrated.

* * *

Locryn’s heart soared. At last. The long wait had been worth it, in the end. He bent his head—

“Ow!” Gwyn’s head jerked back.

He stiffened, scanning the sky around them, but there was no sign of the chough.

“Oh! Ouch!” Her head jerked again, and stayed back, leaving her chin thrust toward the sky. “Something grabbed me!”

He stood and stepped around her. A few locks of her sun-filled hair had tumbled down her back. He looked closer. Had they been pulled down? She had several long, creeping vines of ground ivy tangled in there.

“What is this?” He grabbed up the vines, being careful not to pull her hair, and ripped them away.

Even as he watched, another inched from a crevice in the rock, attached itself to her skirts, and started to climb.

With an angry curse, he pulled her away from the hedge wall. “Enough!” he shouted. Turning, he pulled her close and craned his neck, searching in every direction. “That is the outside of enough!”

“What is it?” she asked. But she didn’t move from his embrace.

“I don’t know what crimes I committed against you, but whatever they were—I have paid long enough! I will stand for no more of this interference!”

Gwyn frowned up at him. “Whom are you speaking to?”

He groaned and set her away. “You’ll think me mad!”

She stared around. “No, I rather think I’ll believe you.”

“Iscarcely believe me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do live in a haunted castle.”

He blinked down at her. Could he tell her?

Heaving a sigh, she stepped back and shook her head. “Locryn, my sister Rose has been entertaining a wedding guest. He wears a ring that he claims will banish or destroy ghosts. She believes him.”

She gestured back toward the main section of the gardens. “That boy you met in the rose garden? Most likely it was Paul Hambly.”

He frowned. “The old earl’s son? But he died . . .”

“Yes. He did. But his spirit lingers and Tamsyn has become quite friendly with him. She even credits him with helping her to reunite with Gryff.”

Anger surged. “Why should the spirits help Gryff, then, but hinder me?”