by L. L. Muir
“The lads ran inside. I arrived and searched the garden for them, fought with the soldiers who taunted me with lies of the lads’ whereabouts. Finally, Duncan called to me from an upstairs window. By then, the house was in flames.”
I covered my ears, but the shrieks I heard werenae earthly sounds. They rose from somewhere deep inside me, memories of men who were only moments away from departing this world. And I couldnae close them out.
A hand gripped my shoulder, firm but gentle, and warmth of the human kind built beneath his palm. “Breathe,” Alasdair murmured, gently moving my hands from my ears. I inhaled, filling my lungs with crisp night air as the ghostly noises faded. After a moment, Alasdair stood and stepped away.
He hunched his shoulders and stared at the night sky. Rising, I crossed on shaky legs to stand behind him as cold tears slid down my face. Placing my cheek against his shoulder, I hugged him tight, and the hollowness inside faded as we shared our grief.
“’Tis why I cannae wash away my past,” he sighed. “I wasnae strong enough to save both lads. Duncan ran to me and I carried him outside, leaving him in another’s care. I never found yer brother, Sorcha.” He ground the heels of his palms against both sides of his head as though to drive the memory out. “I searched and called, but I never saw him again. I still search for him. But I can never find him.”
My heart splintered to pieces inside my chest. I couldnae speak, couldnae see for the tears blinding me.
Alasdair took my hand and pulled me against his chest, propping his chin on the top of my head. We stood there for long moments, arms about each other. Seeking a solace that seemed terribly far away. Finally, he released me.
“And ’tis why, dear Sorcha, I cannae help ye save yer English lad.”
CHAPTER NINE
His hand slid down my arm, lingering for an instant on my fingers before breaking contact.
“It doesnae have to be like this, Alasdair,” I cried. “The English—”
He hushed me with a finger to my lips. “I cannae erase my past. And I cannae tell ye how much it pains me to know I failed ye.”
And with those words, he vanished.
I wandered the empty hallways, a sense of loss and uncertainty settling over me beyond anything I’d experienced before. I had hopefully coaxed a reluctant lad into a reconciliation with his parents, but it dinnae seem the focus of my heroic deed. I wasnae certain what I’d expected, but there was no sense of grand accomplishment—albeit reconciliation being no small matter.
There was something more. I knew it. Was there a guest I’d neglected? Should I have paid more attention to Alex’s parents? Should I follow Alex and make certain he did as I asked?
Resting my palms on the railing, I stared into the night. Like colored mists, night lights sparkled in the sky, slanting to the earth from above. Stories of the lights from my childhood lightened my mood and I smiled.
Were they really spirits engaged in battle as my brothers had told me? Red was the color of war and bloodshed. I eyed the sky warily. Blue, green and yellow danced a languorous path across the night, but nary a hint of red appeared. Ma had whispered the lights were the dancing spirits of children who died during childbirth. Mayhap they were the lights of any children who died young. Mayhap wee Calum looked down on me from Heaven and sent the lights as a comfort or a guide.
I flexed my fingers then closed my fist, missing the contact of Alasdair’s hand in mine. So much despair in his soul, yet he made me feel whole—confident—alive. My mind told me to find Alex, be certain he was getting the help he needed from his parents. But my heart bade me search for Alasdair.
And yet—my heroic deed was for the living, aye? I couldnae change the past for Alasdair, but I could possibly point young Alex toward a better future. My fists tightened as I struggled with my decision, my fingernails digging into my palms.
I liked the English little better than Alasdair did, though the war hadnae been English against Scot, and ’twas even said Prince Charlie scarcely had a true yen for the Scottish throne. It had been the English crown he’d set his eye on, hoping for both. There had been Scots and Englishmen on both sides of the moor—as well as Irish and French soldiers—and I couldnae say whose bullet ended my life that day.
My hatred fell on The Butcher and his ilk, and my frustrated ire rested squarely on the prince’s dandified shoulders. Beyond that, things werenae so clear to me. But I hadnae witnessed the violence perpetuated on the people of Raasay those months after Culloden. If spoken and written accounts of the events cause me such pain, how much worse for Alasdair who lived—and died—with it all?
The dancing lights faded from view in the sky. Even if my wee brother Calum’s spirit looked down on me, he’d shed no light on how I was to proceed. I felt lost and insignificant. And my time here would soon be up.
I breathed one last lungful of the briny sea air and trudged back inside the house.
*
Silence echoed in the empty hallways. Voices drifted from the bar. I peered inside as I passed the open door. The number of patrons at the middle table had grown, their actions jovial, no doubt fueled by the liquid spirits once in the numerous bottles littering the table tops.
One braw man good-naturedly shoved the shoulder of the smaller man next to him.
“The lass,” he announced to the room in general, “asked wee Jamie here if he wanted to play a-round. And do ye know what this amadan said?”
A few ribald comments bounced back and forth as the larger man shook his head mournfully. “Nae,” he replied. “Wee Jamie looked at her big blue eyes and other, er, points of interest, and said, ‘I dinnae know there was a golf course near here!’”
Laughter boomed and the poor man at the butt of the joke reddened and took a large gulp of his drink.
Men.
I hurried down the hall, leaving the drunken loons behind. I wished for a way to discover which room Alex and his parents were in, but I hadnae seen a ledger in the lobby, and the how of a computer wasnae a skill I’d learned in the past two hundred and seventy years. I’d seen them in use at the Culloden Visitors’ Centre, but neglected to ask for instruction.
Voices murmured through the closed doors, but not distinct enough to put a face to the sound. A man’s dark form strolled toward me, but it wasnae until he passed a sconced light that I recognized Alex’s da. He halted two rooms from me and the door snatched open as he put a hand to the latch. I caught a glimpse of Alex’s ma before his da stepped past her into the room.
“Did you find him?” she asked, her voice tight and worried. James murmured a short word as he pulled the door closed.
“No.”
I scurried to the doorway, intent on stepping ghost-like through the closed portal as Alasdair and I had earlier. And crashed into the solid wood.
“Shite!” I swore, only partly under my breath. Cupping my nose in my palm as tears pooled in my eyes, I waited for the sting to go away.
“There’s something ye should know about the rooms.”
I spun about, catching sight of Alasdair leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Even through blurred vision, his broad shoulders and lean waist made my heart flutter. “What are ye doing here?” I asked, a wee bit disgruntled still with him for leaving me alone earlier.
His face took on a faraway expression. “I was looking …” His voice trailed off and he gave himself a shake. “Ye cannae enter if the room’s tenant is inside,” he continued in a firmer voice.
I blinked. “What?”
He shrugged. “’Twasnae always so. When I first began haunting, I was free to come and go as I please. But when the new house was built a few years ago, that changed. ’Tis as if the newness doesnae accept the auld ways.”
I ignored the gloominess of his explanation. “How do I get in?”
“Ye must wait.”
I stomped my foot, frustration shooting through my body. “I wanted to speak to Alex. And from what I just heard, he is missing.” Flinging myself
back against the wall, I slid down until I plopped to the floor, my mind working furiously. If his parents dinnae know where he was, eavesdropping on their conversation would likely give me scant clues to his whereabouts.
“I only have a day left,” I muttered irritably, wishing I knew just what it was I was supposed to do to win my boon.
“Only a day?” Alasdair asked, an anxious tone to his voice.
I swallowed past a sudden lump in my throat. “I told ye I dinnae want the haunting of Raasay House. I have a day, mayhap less now, to do a heroic deed, and be gone forever.” I lifted my gaze to his, wondering at the misty quality of his face. I blinked and the view cleared. “Hours have already passed.”
Alasdair dropped his gaze. “I dinnae want ye to leave.” He cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “’Tis lonely here and the novelty of haunting the place wore off a couple hundred years ago.”
“Do ye need a dog, then?” I asked, a bit of a sharp edge to my voice, but I dinnae want to hear he was lonely. I wanted him to want me, not just a bit of company. Though it dinnae matter beyond tomorrow, my heart was still young, and I’d no chance for romance beyond the dream of glory on the prince’s behalf. Something in Alasdair’s presence, his teasing quality blended with a gentle protectiveness, and the way his eyes mesmerized me made me wish for a different outcome to Soni’s intrigues.
To his credit, a hint of red stained the ghostly pallor of his cheeks, and he met my gaze squarely. “Nae. I have developed a fondness for ye. Mayhap more. Ye have a kind heart and a way of taking yer own initiative that I like. I dinnae know what I missed until ye arrived.”
“’Tis why ye stuck yer sword in my gullet, then?” I laughed, pleased to find my attraction to him returned.
“’Twas before I knew ye!” he protested.
I thought to point out he’d likely wish to do it again were we able to remain together for long, as I was more opinionated than he was aware.
Alasdair opened his mouth, but I shushed him with a raised finger. A voice, testy and loud enough to penetrate the closed door to my right, filtered through.
“I am quite sure spotty wifi is acceptable to you. However, I must have access to some sort of internet—now!”
The Englishman’s voice slid through the walls with only a slightly muffled quality. Alasdair leaned closer, his ear to the panel. There was a momentary pause.
“I will be down immediately, and I will expect to have this remedied.”
There was a scrape as of a chair sliding across the floor, and footsteps marched briskly across the room. Instinctively, I pulled my feet out of the way as the door was wrenched open and the Englishman charged through, yanking on his vest in a decidedly agitated attempt to make himself presentable. He slammed the door closed and jerked once on the handle. Satisfied with the latch, he shoved his wee speaking box into his pants’ pocket and strode past the two of us without pause.
I stared at his retreating back as he stormed down the hall, pitying whomever would be on the receiving end of his displeasure. Alasdair tugged hard on my hand and I jerked my gaze to his.
“He’s left his coat in the room—and whatever is in that wee notebook of his,” Alasdair mentioned. “I dinnae know what is in it, but it may give ye answers.”
Needing no further urging, I faded with ghostly ease through the closed portal, Alasdair following soundlessly a step behind.
A lamp glowed brightly in one corner of the room, next to a small desk. My heart raced as I spied the jacket draped over the back of the wooden ladder-back chair beside the table. I sank onto the soft cushion tied to the woven seat, scarcely noticing as Alasdair pulled the chair out for me. I thanked him with a brief nod, my attention focused on finding the book that could hold the key to young Alex’s future.
I patted the jacket, encountering a stiff object beneath the folds. Reaching inside the front lapels, I removed the small leather-bound book the man had written in earlier. I grinned. “This is it!”
“Open it,” Alasdair urged. Laying it on the table, I opened the front cover, running my finger down the lines of the page, looking for a mention of young Alex or his parents.
“What does it say?” he demanded. I gave him a cross look over my shoulder at the interruption. He shrugged. “I dinnae read so well.”
“Well, I’ve honed my skills in the past couple of centuries,” I told him. “Give me a minute to find something of interest.” I flipped to the next page, struggling to decipher the thin, spidery writing. Three pages in, I tapped the book with my forefinger.
“This isnae notes for a divorce. At least I dinnae think so. ’Tis the directions to move Mr. and Mrs. James Donovan and their son, Alex, to a place called Sea Manor.”
“Sea Manor is a fair-sized house up the coast just a bit, overlooking the bay. But how does this help?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not sure. But at least Alex willnae have to worry about his parents separating.” I glanced at the window, an echo of my reflection staring back at me from the dark pane.
“Do ye think he’d leave the house this late at night?” I asked.
A frown creased Alasdair’s face. “One Englishman less is no concern of mine,” he proclaimed, his gaze sliding uneasily from mine.
“Ye cannae mean that,” I said. “A life is a life.”
“Not on Raasay. Not after what they did.” His jaw clenched stubbornly and he squared his shoulders against my protests.
“He is a child!” I flung at him as I scrambled to my feet.
“So was yer brother,” Alasdair replied softly as he turned away.
I stared after him, conflicting emotions roiling inside me. How could the man be so kind and helpful to me and so absolutely, stubbornly opposed to anything he considered English? Could he not simply see past the label, beyond the horrors of the past?
“He left through the side door in the direction of the beach,” he tossed over his shoulder as he rounded the corner and vanished from sight.
CHAPTER TEN
Bitter, stinging wind tore past me, whipping the short ends of my hair about my cheeks as I stepped through the closed door of Raasay House and peered into the inky night. What had been a pleasant, if chilly, evening, was now the leading edge of a winter storm. Men who’d warmed themselves with the whisky and cheer of the house’s bar and fireplace, slipped past me into the darkness, bundled against the hint of sleet.
I wrapped my arms about myself, noticing the cold, but not truly discomfited about it. ’Twas more of a sympathetic gesture for the poor souls out in this disagreeable weather. And now ’twas more important than ever I find young Alex and coax him back to the house. Even bundled up, he wouldnae last long without shelter and a fire.
But which way had he gone? Alasdair had said the lad headed toward the beach. I snorted. As Raasay is an island, beach accounts for a good portion of the terrain. Setting my back to the wind, and with no more decision than that, I headed along the coast in a southeasterly direction. If it hadnae been filled in the past years, a small cave wasnae too far away. ’Twas called Uamh nan ramh, the oar cave, and many a boatman—and pirate—had hidden the oars to his wee boat in this makeshift space formed centuries ago by covering the space between two rocks so that it blended into the surrounding landscape.
As I trudged up the coastline, I considered other places Alex could have gone. Had he arrived with a desire to explore the island, there were any number of fascinating sites I remembered from my childhod. Dun Caan, our tallest peak. Dun Borodale, a broch built centuries before I was born, its exact use likely a mystery still. The spring on the east side of the island that shoots out from a tall rock on a high ledge and whose waters leave behind a solidified white substance—lime, I think they call it. Brochel Castle where the MacLeods ruled until 1621—when the MacLeod built Kilmaluag Castle, moving his home to the southern part of the island—which had been largely a den of pirates. Admittedly, that would fascinate most lads, but the going was over mar
ked and unmarked tracks—not to mention a hike of several hours—and not something to undertake at night or in such weather. Upon reflection, the oar cave seemed the likely place.
A blast of cold air cut through my dress, reminding me my kirtle dinnae protect me as well as my trousers and coat, and if I’d not been a ghost, things wouldnae be going well for me at this point. I put the wintry wind from my mind as I slipped on an ice-glazed stone. I needed to find Alex—soon.
The wind whipped past, bringing the smell of snow and pine. I shook my hair out of my face and peered at the landscape before me. A slice of darkness, blacker than night, caught my eye. Something flashed like the wink of a star. Small, quickly gone. But stars dinnae glimmer on the stones on this night. I crept closer.
Behind me, clouds raced across the moon, giving light almost as quickly as ’twas taken away. The opening to the cave shone momentarily in the moonlight—and the light flashed again.
“Alex?” I called, frowning as the wind whipped my words away.
This time the light burst against the night and stayed. I hurried forward, hands before me to warn of anything in my path. I barked my shins against a large rock, but it only caused a moment’s hesitation.
Reaching the cave, I found Alex perched on top, one leg dangling outside, the other in the recesses of the rocks. In his hand he held the black box I’d seen him playing with earlier, this time the entire screen a white glow.
“Ye will die of exposure out here, Alex,” I scolded. “Come with me at once.” I held my hand out imperiously, half-angry with the risk he’d put himself in, half-relieved to find the lad in no worse condition.
“I can’t,” he said, a grimace on his face. He angled the light screen at the roof of the cave, showing where his leg disappeared into the depths. “I’m stuck.”
Skirts whipping around my legs, I circled to the rear of the cave and peered over Alex’s shoulder. The roof had given way, and one of the slabs of rock pinned him tight.
“Is yer leg injured?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It hurts, but I can’t feel it much anymore.”