Disclaimer: As ever.

Thanks for the reviews. Sorry this has been so long coming. Real life has been rather intrusive lately!

………………………

CHAPTER FOUR

Nigel's legs felt like jelly as he fumbled his way from the dark chamber of his nightmare. He hurried unsteadily through the Great Hall – daring not look around him for gloating apparitions or flying weaponry - and tumbled down the spiral staircase. It was only when he hit the corridor that led back to the newer part of the castle that his wits and strength began to return to him: whether he was a ghost or a madman, a murderer or a harmless wraith, who was that bearded thug to tell him that Sydney didn't love him? Still, his doubts were putting a vicious resistance against his valiant attempts at rehabilitation… could Morholt be right?

Nigel was lost in his tumultuous thoughts, and still maintaining a rapid pace, as he blindly rounded the corner into the bedroom corridor, smacking straight into somebody making their way in the opposite direction…

'Aaaargh!' Nigel yelped and bounced back against the wall, knocking askew a fading tapestry portraying several fleeing deer.

'Jesus Christ, Podge! Why don't you look where you're going - I could have spilt some of my Glemorangie sixteen-year-old single malt!'

Preston was extremely relieved to see his double shot of the expensive Scotch whisky, which sparkled enticingly golden at the bottom of a crystal cut glass, had survived the impact with the loss of only a single slop. He was less impressed, however, when Nigel launched himself away from the tapestry with great determination, snatched the drink from his brother and downed its contents in one.

'Nigel!' spluttered Preston. 'I hope you're going to pay for that! It cost over $10 on my room bill, and I needed it to soothe the pain in my poor old back. That ruddy woman's luggage went on forever - I never even saw her, just the bloody suitcases. Thank God we got in before this rain started…' He paused and, as the wind whined loudly through the cracks in the ancient stone around them, he finally lifted his gaze from his whisky glass to his brother. 'Heavens, Nigel! You look terrible - what happened to you?'

Preston registered that Nigel, now flopped exhaustedly back against the tapestry again, was a deathly shade of white. One hand clutched the whisky glass so hard it looked like it was about to crack between his fingers; the other lolled limply at his side. His usually soft, hazel eyes were wide, staring and harrowed.

A genuine concern vied with Preston's annoyance over the whisky. 'What happened? Did that Frenchman attack you?'

Nigel took a deep breath, feeling the fortifying effects of the spirit flowing warmly through his arteries. 'No… it wasn't him. I'll be fine in a minute.'

Preston frowned and pried the glass from Nigel's fingers, concerned he would be charged for a breakage. 'Are you quite sure it wasn't him? Sydney says Francois just robbed poor Karen - surely there aren't any other criminal elements floating about? Indeed, I've no idea why Sydney just doesn't call the police. She really must have a soft spot for that foreign chap!'

'Sydney doesn't love him!' Nigel straightened suddenly, his pale cheeks flushing scarlet and his fists clenching his sides.

Preston took a step back, fearing he was about to be clobbered. 'I never said she did!' he protested. 'But she's obviously still got some feelings for him, or she wouldn't be taking matters into her own hands like this.'

Nigel's glower deepened. 'You know Sydney well enough to know she likes to sort things out herself…and she will sort things out, everything!'

'All right, all right! I'm sure she will - when she's stopped trying on all those dresses.'

'Trying on dresses? What do you mean?'

'Well she's hardly passed this way lately, has she?' scoffed Preston, summoning up a superior snigger. 'That's what I'm doing down here. Trying to make sure that rogue doesn't escape!'

'Rubbish,' bit back Nigel. 'I know you! You were off to see if there's anything up for grabs here… anything that might look good on your resumé when you take it back to the British Museum!'

'That isn't true!' bristled Preston.

'Yet it is! You've never been the sort to selflessly go about stopping criminals - especially with an expensive glass of whisky in your hand!'

Preston puffed indignantly as thunder assaulted their ears. 'Well you're wrong. And seeing as I no longer have an expensive glass of whisky my hand, there's now nothing to slow me down. If you'll excuse me!'

Preston stomped off up of the corridor, wondering quite where he was going. He had, of course, been keen to find out what Sydney and Nigel were after, but his explorations in that direction had been rather tentative. In truth, the last thing he'd wanted was to run into that awful Frenchman again. All he'd really been doing, when Nigel interrupted him, was admiring the tapestries as he enjoyed his reviving tipple and tried to shut out the unsettling storm. Now he had to go on some stupid, and possibly risky, exploring trip, in a part of the castle where the roof would no-doubt leak - it was all Nigel's fault!

Nigel, on the other hand, started equally confidently in the opposite direction. If Preston wanted to waltz into the old castle alone, that was his lookout. He positively hoped that Preston would be scared witless by that horrible ghost. All he wanted right now was to find Sydney and, regardless of the situation with Francois, dresses and rings, tell her about his ordeal and put all his doubts to rest… not that he had doubts. Did he?

…………………………………

'Syd… I really don't like this…'

'Neither do I, Claudia. But everything will be just fine! I just need to get this window open…nnnng!'

The three women had retreated to the cavernous, drafty bathroom, blocked the door with a chair - just in case - and were now collectively straining to get the window frame open. Even Claudia had placed her perfectly manicured purple nails in jeopardy and was joining in the effort.

The rain and wind lashed against the portal. It was as if the elements themselves were conspiring to keep it closed tight, and the three women trapped in their haunted apartment.

'Aaaargh!' Sydney gave a last, effortful thrust then flung herself backwards, aggravated as her trials came to nothing. Even worse, uninvited recollections of amorous trysts with her former lovers continue to make her weak at the knees. 'It's no good. This is useless…'

'We've got to keep trying,' entreated Karen, concerned by Sydney's uncharacteristic negativity.

Sydney shook her head, rubbing her forehead as she tried to focus. 'Someone… or something has sealed this window. Force is getting us nowhere. We've got to think of another way out.'

'We could shout for help?' suggested Claudia. 'Maybe Nigel will hear us?'

'Above this storm?' questioned Karen. 'Nigel's going to have to have razor sharp hearing…uh, Syd? What is it?'

Sydney was gazing vacantly at the two blondes, engulfed in a torrent of disturbing emotions. 'Nigel..?' she said slowly, as if trying to recollect who he was.

'Yuh…Nigel? The guy you're marrying?' Karen articulated slowly as if she was talking to a child; she was now really worried.

'Syd,' begged Claudia. 'Are you okay? We're stuck in a haunted castle - we need you to be okay.'

With a momentous effort, Sydney pushed the images every other man she'd ever romanced from her mind, and tried to concentrate on the one man she'd ever really loved. 'Nigel,' she murmured. 'Nigel…' She could barely remember his face - all she could see was a cute, dark-haired guy, dressed in a smart dinner suit, tuxedo and cravat. His arm was wrapped around the wasp-like waist of a blonde in a slinky scarlet gown, as they waltzed across a candle-lit ballroom. It was Claudia - Nigel was dancing with Claudia! No - Nigel was kissing Claudia, and they seemed just perfect together! After a passionate embrace, he pulled away and pecked Claudia affectionately on the tip of the nose, making her giggle endearingly.

Jealously surged in the pit of Sydney's stomach, but a voice in her head sucked her will to fight: 'He's not for you. You need Alan, Grey, guys that can show you a really good time - not wine and dine you like a prep-school boy with a debutant blonde. Claudia would make Nigel happy…'

Then the vision vanished. Sydney gawped blankly at her friends.

'It's the ghost, isn't it?' whispered Claudia, so scared that tears pricked in her eyes. 'That horrid freak was in my head too… he made me question you, made me doubt. Don't listen to him, Sydney. Nigel is the only one for you…'

'What if he's right,' mused Sydney dreamily. 'I thought I loved Grey once, and Alan…even François. And he's here… François came for me…'

'No way!' Claudia little fist snatched at Sydney's sleeve and yanked her around to face her with an unexpected strength. 'You listen to me Syd! You love Nigel – you love him and he loves you in the way I've always wanted to love someone – it's the real thing! You've got to fight whatever lowlife who is making you think otherwise.' Recognition and anger flashed in Sydney's glazed eyes. 'Nigel…remember?'

'Come on, Syd,' pleaded Karen. 'There must be so much about Nigel that puts all the other guys in the shade. He's sure the best kisser, I've ever know…'

'Yeah, Nigel's great,' chipped in Claudia. 'Think of the way he always opens doors and stuff – yeah, I know its old fashioned, but it is kinda nice…'

'And think how cute he gets when he's embarrassed – the way he blushes, and touches his forehead…and kind of smiles,' added Karen, noting as the edges of Sydney's lips began to soften into a warm smile. 'I've gotta admit, I used to wind him up just to see him do that…I, err, still do'

'I used to find the way he, uh, purses his lips when he's really thinking hard kind of sexy…' confessed Claudia. 'It almost made me want to go for intellectual types…'

'And he has really nice hair!' added Karen. 'And he's usually very, uh, clean…just like the kind of guy you'd like to wake up next to in the morning…that's gotta be good, Syd, huh? Waking up next to Nigel?'

Sydney exploded into a giggle. 'Let's just say its one of life's pleasures, girls! You might not think it of our modest little Englishman, but let's just say he doesn't wear as much under the covers as he used to…'

'Woh!' grinned Karen, 'we need to have a serious chat about that sometime – you gotta share! But, most of all, he's Nigel, right? Kind, chivalrous, oh-so-intelligent…'

'Hey, he's not all sweetness and light,' butted in Claudia. 'He could be totally grumpy with me – especially in the mornings…'

'Yeah,' laughed Syd. 'He sure as heck can be cantankerous…but its all part of the man I love.' She raised her fingers to her temples again, as if to check the invasion was over, then smiled at the others. 'Phew. I think that's passed. She exhaled deeply and then pulled both of her companions into a hug.

'You guys are the best friends ever. We'll get through this, and we'll have a great day tomorrow. I promise. Nothing will ever become between me and my friends - oh, and my future husband!'

'Not even François?' Claudia gave a little hiccup and threw her finger to her lips. 'Oh, God, Syd! That wasn't me…it was him – the evil guy. He was in my head again! Please, get him out…'

The wind moaned again, and rattled the windowpane, a timely reminder of their ongoing predicament. At that moment, there was a tap at the bathroom door.

'Christ!' breathed Karen, as the three of them huddled together. 'How can there be anyone there?' she hissed. 'Apart from…'

Sydney gently brushed off her two friends and yanked the towel rail of the wall. 'I don't know,' she replied gravely. 'But if he thinks he's coming anywhere near us, he's got another thing coming. He can mess with my mind, and he can fight me if he likes, but nobody messes with the heart of tomorrow's bride!'

Her fingers tightened on her weapon as the door creaked slightly, but didn't open.

'If you're too cowardly to come in here and face three women, I'm coming out to get you!' yelled Sydney

The reply was eerily calm - and female. 'There's no need for that, great huntress. He's gone… for now.'

Sydney, still holding her weapon, kicked away the chair beneath the handle and pulled the door open.

'Brangain!'

There, indeed, stood the odd-looking old woman. As her gaze fell on Sydney and her two terrified friends, she did not flinch; her thin mouth was set in an inscrutable line, as if she'd been watching them all along.

'Yes, it is I,' she said calmly. 'I've realised that finding this relic is going to be more troublesome than I first believed.'

'No kidding?' Sydney flung down her weapon with an indiscernible groan. 'Karen, Claudia… meet the woman who might just have started all this trouble: Brangain, our, err, tour guide.'

Karen smiled and nodded coldly, although Claudia smiled sweetly. Sydney turned back to the elderly lady. 'You've got a heck of a lot of explaining to do…' She glanced across the empty bedroom and narrowed her eyes. 'Like, uh, how did you open that door. It was jammed shut.'

'It was wide open,' replied the old woman matter-of-factly.

Sydney raised her eyebrows sardonically. She wanted answers, and she wanted them soon. She was just about to start her interrogation, however, when Claudia, who had been transfixed by this scandalously unfashionable individual, bounced out from behind her.

'Why do I get a feeling that you can read tea-leaves?' asked the petite blonde.

'Tea?' asked Brangain, ever-so-slightly fazed. 'What is this? Tea?'

'Not a tea lady?' shrugged Claudia. 'Oh… but you do tell fortunes, right?' She moved closer to the woman, her boldness fuelled by an instinctual belief. 'You do, don't you? Please tell me who my destiny is… I have to know.'

Brangain almost smiled: she said nothing, but the words rang loud and clear in Claudia's mind. 'Later, my child. I will do all I can for you, I promise. Just be patient… '

……………………

'Stupid, arrogant, supercilious, patronising git!' grumbled Nigel, as he hurried up the corridor. 'Heaven knows what women seen in you… but then heaven knows what Sydney sees in me…'

'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegh!'

Nigel's renewed wrangling with his insecurities was abruptly interrupted by a high-pitched, blasting scream from behind him.

It certainly wasn't Preston. It sounded like…Claudia!

The noise hadn't ceased to resound around the building as Nigel sprinted back up the corridor. Preston was hovering at the entrance to the spiral staircase, fear and confusion mingling on his countenance.

'Which direction did the scream come from?' demanded Nigel. 'Up or down?'

'Down,' stammered Preston. 'Down…without a doubt. That poor girl… we must help her!'

'Then what are you waiting for?' yelled Nigel, with an urgent sarcasm. Preston was completely blocking his way, dithering interminably.

'I don't know… that voice! I've never heard it before, but it…'

'… it sounded like Claudia.' Unable to bear the thought of his friend in distress a second longer, Nigel pushed past his brother and dashed down the staircase to the undercroft. He pulled out his torch as he hit complete blackness, and held it up at his shoulder: 'Claudia? Was that you?'

An enormous crash of thunder shook the ancient tower to its very foundations, drowning out any reply or whimper.

As the mountainous sound faded away, Nigel fought against the iron grip of his own stultifying fear. 'It's okay,' he called above the dying rumbles; his voice sounded small. 'It's Nigel!' Still no reply came.

He gasped silently as he sensed a presence at his shoulder.

'Where's the girl?'

Nigel shuddered with relief: the breath on the back of his neck was warm. The whisper was Preston's.

'There's nobody here,' murmured Nigel. 'You heard wrong. The scream must have come from up the staircase. Unless...'

The rays of the torch, with which Nigel had been probing the shadowy corners, juttered onto the floor itself, revealing the trapdoor, lying open just as he in Sydney had left it.

'We'd better look down there.'

Preston gulped. 'Nobody would be in there… surely, that 's the…the…'

'Dungeon,' completed Nigel gravely, too unsettled to snap at his brother for his cowardice. 'And I'm not leaving until I know that Claudia isn't down there. Are you coming then?'

Not waiting for an answer, Nigel began easing gingerly towards the opening, with small tiptoeing steps, until he was standing on the edge of the precipice. Swallowing hard, he made a silent plea that no ginger-bearded face would leer up at him from the darkness, and peeped in.

Once again, nobody was there. There was nothing but the cruel, lifeless shackles, still hanging limply from the walls.

Despite everything, Nigel felt greatly fortified when he sensed Preston's heavy panting at his ear again. 'We'd better go…' he began. Then his world turned askew.

A flash of white lightening – or a sensation resembling one - momentarily lit the windowless undercroft. Preston emitted a curiously high-pitched shriek and grabbed his brother, seizing both his arms as if he was the last rock of refuge for a drowning man. Nigel, already somewhat unsteady, was quite unable to brace himself against the momentum of his brother's weight.

For a terrible moment, they teetered unsteadily above the gloomy depths of the dungeon. Then, as Nigel yelled - 'Preston - you fool!' - they both tumbled in.

They hit the ground with a loud, crunching squidge. The trapdoor above them slammed shut, reverberating like thunder to the preceding lightening flash.

'Oooof! Aaaargh! Bloody hell!'

Nigel found himself lying flat on his back in the damp - but thankfully relatively soft - mud floor, the shockwaves of the impact still jarring through his body. His brother had landed in a crumpled heap, fortunately not entirely on top of him, although he had not relinquished his vice like grip on Nigel sleeves. Pointy bits of Preston - elbows, knees and God-knows-what-else - seem to be jabbing in all over him.

'Ow! Oh, bloody hell! Preston - get off me you lump! Ow!'

Preston didn't answer; Nigel groaned. The shock of the impact subsiding, he was starting to feel rather numb, yet he knew it would be only a matter of time before he ached all over. He mused resignedly that it was now certain he would not even be able to move on his wedding day, let alone 'perform'!

'Preston… I know you're conscious, because you're still holding onto me! I don't know what possessed you to lose your balance like that but please move - your elbow is in my stomach and it is making breathing increasingly difficult.'

Preston shifted slightly, letting go of Nigel's far sleeve, but keeping his grip on the near one. 'Who… who was that?'

'Who was what? It was a lightening strike, wasn't it?'

'Lightening couldn't get in here!' wailed Preston. 'There was a man… didn't you see? He swung an axe at you and I had to pull you out of the way… I tried to stop you falling but, of course, you pulled us both in…'

'Any fool could see that you pulled us in!' seethed Nigel. 'But…but… this face. What did it look like?'

'Horrible! He had green flashing eyes and a ginger beard… surely you saw him? Really, Nigel… ' Preston's voice fell to a hush, as a terrible realisation hit him. 'He might still be up there!'

Nigel contemplated quietly. He was sort of relieved that Preston had seen Morholt - it confirmed he wasn't going mad! However, more depressingly, it confirmed that the evil Prince of Ireland was really here…

Trying not to dwell on this, or the matter that the daemon could be lurking in the darkness, Nigel pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached for the torch that had rolled off across the floor, thankfully still lit. Swerving it up to the ceiling, he confirmed that the trapdoor was firmly shut.

He sighed tiredly. 'Somehow we have to try and get that open, and I know it's a sticky one… what is it?'

At the light washed over Preston's face, Nigel observed, almost impassively, that his brother was shaking like a leaf. The elder Bailey lifted a trembling finger and pointed behind his brother.

'Something… something moved. There in the darkness….'

Nigel turned slowly, with dread, trying to suppress horrific visions of what he was going to see. There in the gloom, lying inanimate, but all but glowing with imminent, pent-up energy, was Morholt's axe.

'Oh, God…' breathed Nigel. 'We're going to die!'

………………………….

Claudia and Karen perched uneasily on the edge of the large, white-porcelain bath as Brangain began her tail.

'The builders bought much more than bricks and mortar from Ireland in the 1920s, much more than hidden relics. They brought spirits - spirits that had haunted this castle from the laying of its foundations in the sixth century…'

'That much I've guessed,' said Sydney dryly. 'Could one of these be Morholt, tyrannical Prince of Ireland, by any chance?'

Brangain nodded grimly.

'You sure are good, Syd,' muttered Karen admiringly.

'Only one, furious purpose has given his spirit the strength to stay here, and resist the fate that awaits him in the underworld,' continued Brangain. 'Hatred'!

'Hatred?' echoed Claudia timidly, her lip curling with tremulous disgust.

'Yes! Hatred! Hatred for Tristan for loving his niece, Iseult. Hatred for Iseult for loving him back, and for not taking his revenge and killing Tristan while he lay injured in her care. He set into motion the events in their life that would drive them apart…he planted the golden hair.'

'Of course,' tagged Sydney. 'King Mark of Cornwall sought to marry the woman from whose head was shed a beautiful strand of golden hair, which had come into his possession. Tristan promised to find and bring her to him, but was injured in a battle with a dragon during the quest and nursed back to health by Iseult. Then he realised the golden hair belonged to her – the woman he'd grown to love! He could not break his promise, so the marriage to King Mark went ahead…'

'But, although the promise was kept, it was a false marriage!' Brangain's grey eyes shimmered like a silver sea. 'I can promise you that. But there was so much more treachery to come …'

'Okay,' said Sydney, starting to pace impatiently. 'I already know you want me to find the relic to prove they really loved each other, rather than being enchanted – on top of finding my own, stolen wedding bands! It might help, though, if you could tell me what it is I'm after!'

Brangain's countenance was set as impassionate as ever. 'Find my relic, and you will have no need to recover your loss. I must say no more. I have sworn.'

'I think I'm starting to get the picture,' said Sydney contemplatively. 'If I'm guessing right, what you're pointing us to would be quite a find. But do you think revealing the relic would stop Morholt scaring the bejesus out of my guests and trying to drive Nigel and I apart?'

'I would have thought it might just piss him off more,' observed Karen.

Brangain smiled sadly. 'His hatred has grown to consume his spirit so entirely that it's become a detestation of all lovers. Yours is not the first wedding to be held here… but I hope it will be one of the few that reaches the stage of the ceremony, and the first to be consummated!'

'What?!' interjected Karen. 'They didn't say that in the brochure when I booked this place! No wonder they usually just do conferences…'

Brangain barely heard, so caught up was she in her tale.

'He has become a sprite of pure hatred! Until recently his power was slight – he just hid in the painting, scared the bridesmaids and poisoned the minds of the bride and groom. But he sensed your power - your ability to reveal the truth of Tristan and Iseult's love, and he has summoned up an unworldly strength!'

'Like a poltergeist?' chirruped Claudia.

'Once again, I'm not sure of your word, my child. But if you mean an evil spirit of seismic power, yes!''

'Yuck!' winced Claudia.

'Great,' muttered Sydney. 'Lucky us.'

'If you wish to be married tomorrow, you must vanquish him forever - before he vanquishes you! Either that, or go and never return. You must marry your young man somewhere else – although I cannot promise he will not hunt you down.'

Sydney sighed as she shared a long, knowing look with Karen. They both knew how difficult it had been to get all of Sydney's globetrotting friends in one place at one time. It would be absolutely impossible to do it again for years, if ever.

It was Claudia, however, who answered. 'No way!' she snapped. 'I look great in those bridesmaids dresses – all seven of them – and nothing is going to stop me putting them on tomorrow. Nobody is going to drive us away and stop Sydney and Nigel getting married! Not even that ugly goon in the painting!'

'Yeah,' echoed Karen, just as forcefully.

'Decision made, then,' affirmed Sydney. 'So, err, first things first… how do we kill the undead, evil Prince?'

Brangain shook her head tiredly. 'I wish I knew. Finding the relic would weaken him greatly, but may not destroy him. My guess is that, like water on a flame, pure hatred can be quenched only by its opposite - pure love!'

'We've got to kill him with love?' Karen voiced Sydney's incredulity.

'Yes! The power of a love he couldn't tear apart – like Tristan and Iseult's…;

'And Sydney and Nigel's!' added Claudia conclusively. 'Nothing can tear them apart!'

'You tell 'em, Claudia,' grinned Karen.

Sydney glowed warm inside, suddenly empowered. Claudia may appear to be an airhead, but she had hidden depths – and her faith in her friends was truly touching. And the blonde was right – nothing would tear her and Nigel apart.

'Okay then,' started Syd. 'First we still need to find Nigel. Have you any idea where he is?'

Brangain raised her hands, her eyelids drooping carefully, as if her mind was working very hard indeed. Then her eyes snapped open.

'He's in the old part of the castle,' she cried. 'You must go quickly… he could be in danger!'

This was more than enough information for Sydney. She was already halfway out of the door, and charging down the corridor. Karen tore off, close behind her, leaving Claudia standing in the door with a bathroom, frozen by the fear of passing again beneath you awful portrait of Morholt.

'Don't be scared, child,' whispered Brangain. 'He won't hurt you now, I won't let him.'

Claudia smiled nervously, as she remembered the voice in her head earlier, then forced out the question she'd been dying to ask: 'Please, I need to know my fate. Will it be him, waiting for me there, in that dark place.' The last words rolled lasciviously off her tongue.

Brangain nodded, her expression still blank but her eyes smiling. 'Your love will be there waiting for you. He's come far across the ocean to be with you, and is the only one who can bring your happiness, your destiny…'

'Will he be tall, dark and handsome?' pleaded Claudia, scrunching her nose excitedly. 'And rich!'

Brangain finally smiled. 'It almost time to find out, my child!'

Claudia shimmered with joy. 'Thank you! Thank you so much… I'd better go now!'

She dashed through the bedroom, not turning to look at the portrait. As she entered the corridor, however, she paused to look back at the old lady. 'You know, you could take years off your complexion with a good moisturiser! I can recommend the perfect product.'

Brangain's smile finally tumbled into a laugh. 'I think it's too late for me, my scéimhiúil!'

Claudia, ignoring the baffling term of endearment, raised her hands contrarily. 'It's never too late to start a good skincare routine. We've got to talk. Later!'

She turned on her high heels, and started off down the corridor. As she did, she heard Braingain call after her: 'Claudia - tell, Sydney! Nigel is in the dungeon…'

Claudia stopped dead for a moment. 'Nigel? In the dungeon… in the dark place…my dark place, my destiny? It's just not possible…?'

Too confused to respond, she hurried off after her friends.

……………………..

Thanks for reading. More to come – soon this time, I promise, but please, PLEASE review.