ydney was surprised at how bright it was inside the burial chamber. She'd heard the block swing shut behind her. Yet she wasn't frightened. Her heart was beating rapidly, though. She thought it was more from anticipation than fear.

She wasn't frightened even when the figure of the ancient knight materialized out of the brightness, outlined in blue radiance. She had known he was waiting for her, that he had saved her during the shipwreck. She'd wanted to thank him.

He was handsome, she thought. He reminded her of Rylan with his long black hair and powerful warrior's build. He wore a blue tunic that buckled at the shoulder with a scrolled brooch. Yet his smile was infinitely sad, full of centuries' worth of sadness.

"Are you the Blue Knight?" she asked.

He nodded slowly. "Aye, lady, that I am, to my eternal sorrow."

"They're trying to send you away," she whispered. "They mean well. They want to release your spirit."

He heaved a weary sigh. The light of his presence grew fainter, like a candle at its end. " 'Tis time. I am truly ready to find rest."

The stone block groaned open behind Sydney. Rylan burst into the chamber, looking from Sydney to the apparition in disbelief. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. He was excited and on edge, and somewhere deep inside he sensed that he never would have been allowed to witness this phenomenon if not for Sydney.

"Who—"

The Blue Knight held out a circlet of hammered gold to Sydney. " 'Tis for you, lady, blessed by the magician Merlin himself. Wear it as you wish. I have kept it hidden all these years for my bride."

Rylan moved protectively in front of Sydney and took the piece of jewelry from the ghost's gauntleted hand.

"Say 'thank you' to him," Sydney prompted him.

Rylan stared at the Celtic torque he held. "Thank you." He glanced up, suddenly feeling the creature's torment and wishing he didn't because he was never going to look at anything in the same way after this. "We meant you no harm."

"Nor did I mean harm," the Blue Knight said. "But I have caused trouble with my torment. Tis time to go."

He faded before their eyes until only a faint blue glow illuminated the cairn.

"Wait," Rylan said, seeing the chance of a lifetime disappear before his eyes. This was the kind of thing he wrote about, and now he realized he really didn't understand the supernatural at all. He'd only scratched the surface. "Wait. I want to know so many things about dying and the spirits—"

"I brought her to you, friend." The low melancholy voice sounded weak. "Cherish her. And you, lady," he said to Sydney, "pray for my soul."

Only Lewis and the young Reverend had been brave enough to remain on the hill while the earth shook and the sky took on an unholy hue. The others had scattered across the moor, not willing to come face to face with a genuine ghost. What had seemed exciting in theory was damned frightening in fact.

A peaceful light rose over the hill. The wind had died.

Rylan helped Sydney climb out of the cairn, his hand grasping hers so hard her fingers went numb.

"It is done," the Reverend said in an unsteady voice.

Lewis pulled out a flask of gin and offered it all around. Only Sydney accepted. " 'Twas the finest ghost-laying I've seen in all my days," he said with a pleased grin.

Rylan stood alone with Sydney on the hill for a few minutes after that. He examined the torque in the light.

"It has a Latin inscription," he said, rubbing his thumb across the tarnish.

Sydney peered over his shoulder. "'Vivit post funera amor.'"

"Love lives beyond the grave." Rylan frowned. "I am jealous of a ghost," he said, "and grateful to him at the same time. If that shipwreck hadn't brought you to me, Sydney, I might as well have been buried in that cairn beside him."

Tears stung Sydney's eyes. She knelt, burying her face in Frankenstein's neck. She wasn't the weepy sort at all, but she felt a deep sense of relief and renewed faith.

Rylan knelt beside her and touched her cheek. "Can I take you home now?"

Rylan and Sydney were married three weeks later in the tiny chapel of St. Kilmerryn by the sea.

Church bells rangout across the misty cove, but not in warning this time. They pealed in celebration.

The villagers watched the newlywed couple in awe. By now word of the ghost-laying on the moor had reached as far as Penzance. If Rylan had stirred up a little gossip in the sleepy parish before, he was a full-fledged scandal now.

So was Sydney. The difference between her and her husband, though, was that everybody liked her. They respected Rylan—he had friends—but most people tended to keep a polite distance from the big man with his devil dog.

Sydney had a surprise for her husband on their wedding night. She wore the Celtic torque around her throat, and nothing else. Rylan nearly fell out of bed when she appeared before him. He had never seen such an enticing sight in his life. His dark gaze examined her with a thoroughness that made her turn pink. From her sweet face to the tips of her toes, he studied her in possessive appreciation.

He unfolded his big frame to close the window on the foggy November night. He kept one eye on his wife the whole time. Her long hair tumbled over her full breasts and back. She looked like a pagan Venus, washed up from the sea for his pleasure alone.

"Don't close the window all the way," Sydney said. "I like to hear the waves when I fall asleep."

Rylan grinned, pulling off his shirt. "Who said anything about sleeping?"

Sydney sighed in anticipation as his strong arms locked around her. She couldn't wait to make love with him again. She was really trying to control herself. Perhaps it was the torque she wore. It must be giving her pagan urgings. She had the most powerful desire to explore Rylan's body. A mischievous smile lit her face.

"That smile is going to get you into trouble, Lady DeWilde," Rylan said. "It's too alluring by half."

He pulled her into bed beside him. They cuddled for a few minutes. Then Rylan kissed her, and once that happened, Sydney no longer had any control of the situation.

She was his.

And he was hers.

Her fragrance was the strongest aphrodisiac Rylan had ever known. It drugged his senses. He ran his hands over her body, unable to believe she belonged to him. But she did. Her soft breasts overflowed his palms. The gold circlet at her throat made her look pagan and ripe with sexual power.

He couldn't wait to get her pregnant. A hot rush of blood surged through him at the thought of her slender belly swelling with his child.

"How sweet you are, Sydney." He nuzzled her shoulder. He slipped his fingers between her legs, probing gently. "How wet and warm in there. I want to be inside you."

Sydney closed her eyes, trying not to gasp. The sensations he aroused made her shudder. She twined her arms around his neck and bit his shoulder. The torque was making her wild. She bit him again.

"God," he said, laughing. "That hurt." He played with her in utter enjoyment, groaning as her excitement grew. He teased her until he was shaking as badly as Sydney. His jaw clenched, he straddled her and thrust inside, sheathing himself in the depths of her body.

Sydney's heart pounded in her chest. She grabbed his shoulders and held on for dear life, lifting herself to meet his erotic thrusts. He braced his hands under her hips as if he couldn't get deep enough inside her. She groaned in satisfaction as he penetrated her to the hilt, driving inside her until neither of them could repeat their own names if asked to do so.

He taught her so much that night. He taught her that love between a man and a woman was a more precious intimacy than she'd ever imagined possible. He was both tender and demanding in bed. She was so glad he'd ruined her.

"Rylan, hold still," she whispered, scooting back against the pillow later that night. "There's something in your hair."

"Lord," he said. "A bug. I'll bet I caught it from Peter."

"No. Not a bug. Snakes don't have bugs, do they? It's a silver hair."

"No wonder." He grunted. "I aged ten years when you vanished into that tomb. Why did you do that to me?"

"I had fun," Sydney said, yanking the shining hair out by the roots.

"Ouch." He sat up, rubbing his head.

"It was rather cruel of you to make Peter walk all the way across the moor to the next village, Rylan," she said, glancing at the window.

He grunted again. "It was kind of me not to kill him."

"I'm sending another letter off in the morning to my parents," she said thoughtfully.

"Do you think they'll like me?" he asked.

"I don't know." She paused. "I have to admit that Papa thinks the books you write are devoid of literary merit. I believe he said you were morally reprehensible."

Rylan scowled at that.

"But Mama thinks you're brilliant, and so do Aunt Agatha and her six children. Did I mention that I want to invite them all to come for Christmas? My grandparents will probably come, too." She ran her fingers through his hair. "No more strands of silver."

Rylan sighed. "Look again after I meet your father."

Sydney knew then why she'd fallen in love with Rylan. It didn't have as much to do with his sinful beauty (although that didn't hurt) or his fame as it did with the kind of man he was.

He was the kind of man who cared about her so much he'd grow a gray hair over worrying if her father would hate him. He was the kind of man who'd rescue and ruin her in the same night.

Dangerous and dependable. She couldn't ask for more.

Over the years, their romance became a legend. Mrs. Chynoweth never tired of retelling their tale, even when she reached her retirement, and she would sit at the coal fire with his lordship's children and the family's dogs, descended from Frankenstein. The four little DeWildes loved hearing about their beginnings, about how Mama had been shipwrecked, not once but twice, and how Papa had rescued her.

"Such a story could only have come true in Cornwall," Mrs. Chynoweth would always conclude, sitting back in her chair. " Tis the land of King Arthur and all manner of mystical things, and there's nowhere like it in the entire world."

Rylan never wrote about his strange experience with Sydney in the warlord's burial chamber. It was too personal to share with anyone else. As time passed, all he could remember of the Blue Knight was his advice.

"Cherish her."

Which Rylan did, with all his being, and the family of three sons and a daughter she gave him. He loved them more every day, and his life was full of simple pleasures and the usual little struggles.

They never saw the ghost again, although Sydney and her children remembered him every night in their prayers. There was never another shipwreck on St. Kilmerryn's shores, not even during the worst storms. Sailors marveled at how they were guided around the rocks to safety as if by an unseen hand. An aura of peace and protection encircled the brooding house on the cliffs.

The same people who once whispered that the cove was haunted now smiled and said it was enchanted.

Jillian Hunter