The tour began promptly at eleven on the terrace. Only two couples had opted to take the walking tour around the estate. Since one of the couples were from the UK, the guide was kind enough to conduct this tour in English.

The buildings directly behind the chateaux had originally been built as a stable and carriage house, as she' d thought. They strolled past empty stalls while he expounded on the fine horses the Count du Beauchamp had reputedly owned. The estate carriage, to her surprise, not only remained, but had been carefully restored to its original glory. Like the chateaux, it was not only a work of art, but appeared to be surprisingly comfortable, as well.

Not far from the stables and carriage house were other buildings. One was a winery---apparently the estate had once produced its own brand of wine-and next to that was an ice house. Built similarly to the old ice house she'd seen on an old American plantation she'd visited-or maybe, she amended mentally, it had been the other way around-it was little more than a pit dug deeply into the earth. In the winter, ice was cut from the nearest lake and stored away layer by layer with straw packed between each to act as insulation. The straw and the earth and the building above it preserved the ice through the warm months.

It was easy to see, just from the way the guide talked at length about it, that this was a rare facility in France and Samantha decided she might have mistaken the matter when she'd a.s.sumed the American ingenuity was actually an adaptation from European craftsmanship.

They spent a few minutes examined the smoke house and storage buildings and then made their way toward the family cemetery she'd visited the day before. Once there, the guide gave them a list of those of any interest buried in the family plot and then moved around to what Samantha had a.s.sumed was the rear of the mausoleum. It was, in point of fact, the front. On either side of the door a list of the earlier Counts and Countessa's of Beauchamp had been carved.

"What about the one that haunts the chateaux?" the English woman asked.

"Ah," the guide exclaimed, smiling as he held one finger in the air and then pointed to an inscription above the door. "The Countessa, his last wife, had an inscription carved above the door here in his memory."

Samantha felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She scarcely listened as he translated the inscription for them.

"He's buried ...ah ... entombed here?" she asked faintly.

"But non! His body was never recovered. According to legend, he simply disappeared and was never seen or heard from again. It is for this reason, we believe, that the legends arose that he had been cursed, or bested, by his rival and banished from this world."

"Wait a minute," Samantha said when he turned away and motioned for them to follow him. "Are you saying there's more than one story about how he disappeared?" she asked, falling into step beside the guide.

"Oui, there are several. The only fact that we know with any certainty is that there is no record of his death, only his disappearance. There is also some doc.u.mentation to indicate that he dabbled in the black arts. He was accused of it in any case, and since his disappearance coincided with a recorded event of a gathering of witches, the disappearance is a.s.sumed to have the connection with the event. It is possible he took part in a black ma.s.s and was sacrificed, and his body hidden. This is one explanation that is also believed by many. Some also believed that he simply left his wife for another woman and never returned, but not many have placed credence in this. It seems unlikely he would have abandoned all that he owned."

"To say nothing of his wife and child," Samantha added dryly.

He shrugged.

Samantha walked in thoughtful silence for a while. "So n.o.body really knows whether or not he was cursed?"

The guide smiled thinly. "The Countessa de Moyer wrote of him in her memoirs. This is where the story of the black magic originates. She claimed that the gathering was called to determine whom would be the grand witch and that she defeated the Count du Beauchamp, her nearest rival. She had written long pa.s.sages professing her love for him, however. Alas, he wed another and her love for him became hatred. This is where the other story originated, as well. Some argued that, rather than having defeated him with her black magic, she had him killed."

He wrinkled his brow as if struggling to remember. "I can not recall exactly what it was that she had written, but the gist of it was that his heart and soul had long since gone to the grave and that he should be deprived forever of the warmth of life that he had chosen to close himself off from."

"Sounds something like 'a woman scorned' to me," the English man commented.

His wife frowned at him disapprovingly.

Samantha felt a coldness wash over her as she recalled what she'd shouted at Gerard the night before. Had it been purely coincidence that the words had popped into her mind? Perhaps even a natural inclination to say such a thing, given the circ.u.mstances? Or was there some truth to what Gerard had accused? That she was reincarnated, not of Juliette, but the Countessa who'd cursed him?

"She cursed him to live forever, but be forever denied the warmth of life," she murmured.

The guide glanced sharply at him. "But oui, madam! I believe that is it."

"She gave him no hope of escaping the fate she cursed him with?"

The guide shrugged. "It is only legend, madam-stories made up to fool the credulous." He seemed to dismiss it, but after a few moments, he frowned again. "He had spurned the love offered to him. One must suppose he was not capable of loving another and it was that which condemned him to begin with."

Samantha found she really had no interest in the remainder of the tour. She was tempted to return to the chateaux when they'd finished exploring the estate, but the thought of running in to Gerard was enough to spur her to continue with the tour of the village. It was several miles away and they returned to the chateaux where a tour bus awaited them.

Gerard was standing on the terrace, near the door where she'd b.u.mped into him that first day. Looking away quickly, she followed the others as they climbed into the bus and resolutely studied the carriage house as the bus pulled away.

The little town was quaint in an old world way, too far off the beaten path, and too poor to have changed a great deal with time. A couple of buildings still stood that bore the scars of wars that had ravaged the countryside. When they'd finished the tour, they stayed to dine at a local outdoor cafe.

The tour guide was kind enough to share a table with her since she was alone.

"You have seen the ghost, madam?"

Samantha smiled faintly at the understatement. "Would you think I was a crazy American if I said yes?"

He shrugged. "I, myself, have never seen him, but there are many who say that they have. And, I must admit, strange things have happened at the chateaux that I find difficult to explain."

"Like the incident the other day during the tour of the chateaux?"

He nodded. "And others."

Samantha considered whether or not to pursue the subject and finally shrugged mentally. What difference did it make what they might think of her? She was leaving anyway. "He was angry ... partly with me, I think. But also because he feels the guests are intruders in his home."

The man's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "In a very real sense, I suppose we are intruders in his home, butunder the circ.u.mstances .... Why do you suppose that he is angry with you?"Samantha smiled wryly. In for a penny, in for a pound. "He believes I am the reincarnation of Juliette."

The man's busy brows rose almost to his hairline. "And you, madam? What do you believe?"

Samantha was almost relieved when the waiter interrupted them at that moment to deliver their food. She discovered that she was wrong, however, in thinking his question merely idle curiosity.

"Do you believe you are his Juliette?""Before I came here, I didn't believe in reincarnation at all. I'm still not sure that I do."He nodded. "It is like faith. One feels it in one's heart ... or not.""I suppose," Samantha said a little doubtfully. She sighed. "I think that if I believed I was reincarnated, I'd be more likely to believe it was the Countessa de Moyer."

The man studied her for a long moment. "The Countessa believed that she was Juliette. The Count du Beaumont did not believe her. He was infuriated that she would claim such a thing. In his mind, it was a desecration of his beloved Juliette, I think. A great hatred arose between them, according to the countessa's memoirs."

Chapter Six.

The concierge was at the desk when Samantha returned. Samantha stared at him for several moments, torn, but she knew her decision, however, emotional, was still a sound one. She needed to go.

Dragging in a deep breath, as if she were about to dive into a pool of cold water, Samantha marched across the foyer and stopped before the desk. "Something's come up. I'll be leaving tomorrow," she said before she could change her mind.

His brows rose. "There is a problem with the hotel, madam?"

Samantha shook her head. "I've enjoyed my stay. It's just ... I have to get back now."

"But ... you are paid for two more days."

And obviously, he was reluctant to refund the difference. Samantha resisted the urge to grind her teeth and forced a thin smile. "And since I reserved the room and I'm sure you won't be able to rent it out, I don't expect to get a refund, but I do have to go."

She turned then and headed for the stairs. Gerard was propped against the post and she hesitated mid-step, then continued as if she hadn't seen him, pa.s.sing him and climbing the stairs. Her heart was pounding unpleasantly, but she did her best to ignore that, as well.

He was standing by the window in her room when she opened the door and she stopped abruptly on the threshold. She'd hoped she wouldn't see him again. She'd hoped she would be able to simply leave without another confrontation between them.

Entering the room, she closed the door and moved to her suitcase. She'd been walking most of the day and felt the need to freshen up. Moving to her suitcase, she dropped the parcel she was carrying. She'd purchased a few small souvenirs while she was strolling about town. She had no idea why. It wasn't likely that she would ever forget her trip to Europe, but she supposed it was force of habit. She'd always had the habit of buying something where ever she went to commemorate her trip.

"You are going?"

"Yes. It's time I went back." She didn't look at him. Instead, she riffled through her suitcase in search of a change of clothing. It was too early in the evening to dress for bed.

Time hung on her hands. She wasn't certain what to do with herself until it was time for bed, but she supposed she might explore the chateaux a bit and then sit in the great room and entertain herself by watching the other guests.

"This was not your plan."

Samantha's lips tightened. "The thing about a vacation is that one really doesn't make hard and fast plans. I came to relax and enjoy myself." She sighed. "And to come to terms with the loss of my mother. Coming here was something she desperately wanted. I suppose I had it in my mind that I was doing it for her, that, maybe somehow, she'd know and .... I realize now that it was just one of those crazy, completely irrational things grieving people do to appease the spirits that haunt them."

She looked up at him. "The harsh truth is death is the end of all we know. Whether there's an afterlife, or reincarnation, doesn't really matter to the living. You've lost them. You can't get them back and you have to learn to live with it."

His face hardened. "Stay."

Samantha studied him a long moment, trying to sort the chaotic emotions that swept through her. She swallowed with an effort against the knot that formed in her throat. "I wouldn't if I could. You're dead.

The living belong with the living. Why do you linger here? Go to your beloved Juliette."

Something flickered in his eyes and then his face twisted. "I stay because I have no choice. I can not reach the world I was banished from, but I am not a ghost, not a spirit. I am living flesh. I can not go the way of those released from their flesh."

Samantha stared at him, almost wishing it was true, but she knew better. "You died, Gerard, long ago. You just don't realize it. It's your belief that you're still alive that ties you here. The Countessa de Moyer killed you."

Rage suffused his features. "What do you know of the Countessa?"

"Very little," Samantha admitted. "Only what the tour guide told me that he recalled from her memoirs.

But it was enough to give me some idea of what must have happened."

He stunned her. One moment, he was standing near the window, the next he was directly in front of her, gripping her forearms tightly. "You know nothing," he ground out. "She practiced the black arts."

Samantha stared at him blankly. "Didn't you?"

"I did NOT! I practiced wiccen, the white arts. There is a vast difference between the two, mon cher.

She had chosen me as her consort. I declined." He released her abruptly and paced the room.

"She summoned Juliette's spirit. Twisted it to her purpose and used her against me."

Samantha turned it over it her mind, but it was useless. She simply couldn't not grasp it. "I don't understand. How did she use Juliette against you? What did she do?"

He rubbed a hand over his face. "If I knew how, I could've broken the spell."

"Then it's just as possible that she slew you, or had you slain, and you simply didn't understand or realize it, isn't it? That is what traps a spirit in a place, the emotion that tied them there remains and they can't move on."

"If she had killed me, I would feel nothing now," he ground out. "You are the key, cher. I felt it the moment I saw you. If you leave, you condemn me to this half-life forever."

Anger surged through her. "You accused me of coming here to torment you further. Why would you trust me now?"

He stared at her a long moment. "I ... need you."

Samantha shook her head, as much to shake the lure of those words as to deny them. "I can't help you. I don't know how. I couldn't stay even if I wanted to-and-I don't want to." She turned abruptly and went into the bathroom to take a shower. More than half expecting him to follow her, she was vastly relieved when he didn't. He was gone when she returned to the room.

Exploring the chateaux had little appeal. Restlessness consumed her, however, and after a little thought, she decided she might as well prepare for departure. She would leave as soon as she woke in the morning. After selecting a change of clothes for traveling, she repacked all of her suitcases except for her overnight bag, hefted one and started downstairs with it. The bellhop, Antoine, met her halfway down the stairs and offered to help, but she declined. She needed something to do or she would've decided to take her bags to the car the night before her departure. When she'd tossed it into the car, she went back up to the room and grabbed the other large suitcase and carried that down, as well. After locking the rental car, she strolled around the grounds for a little while, wondering if she'd be able to change her departure date on her plane reservation, or if she'd be forced to stay until the end of the week as she'd originally planned.

What, she wondered, would she do if they wouldn't change it?

Deciding she'd face that hurtle when, and if, she came to it, she went back inside. She didn't want to chance running into Gerard again, but she couldn't very well pace the grounds until bedtime. In any case, there was no way to stop him if he was determined to confront her again unless she wanted to sleep in the car, beyond his reach. And she had no intention of sleeping in the car.

She wandered aimlessly through the public areas of the chateaux for a while and finally climbed the stairs once more. It was still earlier than she liked to go to bed, but if she could sleep-and she felt emotionally and physically weary by now-then she would wake early, as well, the sooner to be off.

She paused when she reached the upper landing, however, glancing toward the portrait of Gerard down the corridor. Finally, unable to resist, she moved toward it. Oddly enough, now that she'd come to know him, it seemed to her the portrait had more life than she'd noticed before, more energy, more personality. A faint smile played about his lips and she wondered why she hadn't noticed that before. Antoine had said that the portrait had been painted shortly before his disappearance and she couldn't help but wonder what he'd been smiling about. What thoughts had gone through his mind to produce just that expression?

It almost seemed to beckon her and, without quite realizing it, she moved closer. Lifting one hand, she touched the painting curiously.

It felt warm, as if ....

The hand she touched turned, clasping hers. Startled, she glanced up at the face, but it was no longer flat and one dimensional. The smile on his face was grim, purposeful. His hand tightened on hers and tugged.

Samantha gasped, felt herself falling forward and threw out her free hand to catch herself. She touched nothing but air.

Her cheek collided with something hard and solid-not the wall or portrait, but living flesh. She struggled for balance and looked up in stunned surprise.

"I can not allow you to leave, mon cher."

Samantha gaped at him. "You can't stop me!"

He shook his head slightly. "But I have, cher. If you will not free me, then you will join me."