Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(77)
Author: Kristen Ashley

She felt a shiver of apprehension as she stood there, not only because Colin wasn’t speaking a word as she looked around but also because she felt something familiar about this place. Almost like she’d been there before and not when she had her blazing tirade weeks previously.

She noted somewhere in the back of her mind it was now raining, the water streaming down the glass of the windows, the sky dark and threatening.

She did a slow pirouette, mainly because she couldn’t help herself.

“Colin,” she breathed, “it’s love–”

She didn’t finish.

And she didn’t finish because she saw Royce.

In a portrait, hanging on the wall in the Great Hall at Lacybourne.

She took two steps toward it, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Royce,” she whispered as she gazed in shock at the portrait.

She vaguely heard Colin ask, “What did you say?” in a tone that was far more Colin than Royce.

But she wasn’t listening.

It was Royce, stunningly handsome even though he looked fierce, even angry. He was standing in front of a shining black horse with a wild mane, a horse Sibyl knew very well because she’d ridden on his back. She felt her heart squeeze in a mixture of horror and delight.

“My goddess,” she stared, “My goddess, Colin, it’s…” but she stopped again because as she was about to turn to Colin, her eyes fell on the other portrait, the one beside Royce’s.

She gasped and took two steps back.

It was then that thunder rumbled and, seconds later, lightning split the sky.

“Sibyl,” Colin was saying but she interrupted him and took another step away from what she saw.

“That’s…” she raised her arm and pointed a trembling finger at the portrait. A picture that showed exactly what Sibyl saw in her mirror every morning, except with dark hair. It even had Mallory and Bran in it. “That’s me!” she cried and swung confused eyes to Colin who, she saw, was watching her closely. “Why do you have a portrait of me in your house? How? Why?”

“Do you know Royce Morgan?” Colin asked and she heard a thread of accusation in his tone.

“Why do you have a painting of me in your house?” she returned, her voice rising with hysteria. Then she processed what he said, her stomach clenched and she breathed, “Royce Morgan?”

“Yes.” He glanced swiftly at the portraits and then back to Sibyl. “Royce Morgan and his wife, Beatrice, born Beatrice Godwin.”

She felt as if she’d been struck, all her breath went out of her in a whoosh.

Beatrice Godwin.

She stumbled back another step, throwing her arm out for something to steady her and catching one of the ancient chairs around the ancient dining room table that was known to her because she had sat there and eaten a meal.

A meal that happened in her dreams which took place in ancient times when the table was new.

“Beatrice Godwin?” When Sibyl spoke her voice was loud and it was shrill.

Sibyl felt rather than saw someone come into the room but she didn’t turn to see who it was.

“Beatrice and Royce Morgan,” Colin explained tersely. “He was the owner of Lacybourne and they were married for a few hours. On their way home to Lacybourne after their wedding, they were murdered.”

“Oh my goddess. Oh my goddess,” Sibyl was blathering, her hand clutched the chair like a lifeline. “Oh my goddess! He… he looks like you! And… and, she… she looks like… me!” Sibyl shouted her last.

It was then Sibyl remembered her father talking about the lovers who never got the chance to live at Lacybourne because they’d been killed. She hadn’t listened to much of what he said but she remembered the story was famous, a tragic, romantic tale of true love lost.

What had her father said?

“Oh my goddess,” she whispered.

They’d had their throats slit. Just like in her dream.

Without thinking, hysteria filling her, she turned to run, to escape, to get far away from Lacybourne and Royce and Beatrice, Colin and her dreams and what this meant to her.

She’d asked Royce, when he was Colin, who Beatrice was and he’d said it then.

She’s you.

She’d manage to run two steps when she was grabbed at the waist by Colin. He swung her effortlessly around to face him.

“Do you know Royce Morgan?” Colin asked, hanging on to his temper, but, she could tell distractedly, just barely. He was staring at her with narrowed, angry eyes.

“Colin, don’t!” Mrs. Byrne cried from somewhere in the room.

“Of course I do! I see him every night in my dreams,” Sibyl yelled in his face, struggling against his arm. “Every night. But they aren’t dreams, they… they’re memories!” she cried frantically. “I’m Beatrice in my dreams.”

It was then, Sibyl felt her face pale.

Oh dear goddess, she might even be Beatrice in reality.

Royce had said, You called me Colin when you were her. I thought she was attempting to vex me.

“Oh my goddess. Oh my goddess.” Sibyl was back to chanting.

“Sibyl, calm down,” Colin commanded and her eyes flew to his. They were no longer irate, they were concerned. His hands were no longer grasping her bitingly but had gentled.

That’s when she became irate.

“Calm down? Calm down? Are you mad? You have a portrait of a dead medieval woman in your house. A woman who had her throat slit. A woman that looks exactly like me, I even think she is me in a way and…”

She stopped and her body went utterly still.

He had a portrait in his house that looked like her. A portrait that likely had hung there for hundreds of years.

She stared at him and then her eyes cut to Mrs. Byrne.

Lightning split the sky.

Mrs. Byrne had been working at Lacybourne for years.

Her eyes cut back to Colin.

“You knew!” she cried and heard others entering the room but she couldn’t think about anything else because thoughts, memories, visions, snippets of dreams, her first meeting with Mrs. Byrne (who was very keen to have Sibyl come to the house), her first meeting with Colin and his maniacal behaviour all came crashing into her brain and she understood, she finally understood. “You knew I looked like her and you knew you looked like him.” Her eyes went back to Mrs. Byrne. “You both knew and you never said a word.”

“Dear –” Mrs. Byrne began placatingly.

Sibyl cut her off. “You knew! I even told you about my dreams and you knew!” Sibyl shouted at Marian. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?” Her head swung back to Colin who was close, very close, holding her against the warmth of his body and staring at her, a muscle working in his jaw but this time, not with anger. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”