Ghosts of Culloden Moor 21 - MacLeod (Cathy MacRae)

by L. L. Muir

  I put my hands to the boulder’s edges and tugged. The only thing that moved was a bit of hide from my fingertips—or would have had I not been a ghost. For all my ghostly form, I definitely felt the sting of scraped skin. I propped my hands on my hips and peered thoughtfully at the cave.

  The light in Alex’s hand wavered. He was shaking with cold, unable to keep his hand steady.

  “I’m sorry I dinnae have a jacket to lend ye,” I said.

  “I don’t think I could wear your clothes—you being a ghost, you know,” he said with a brave attempt at humor. His face glowed eerily in the soft glow of his thin black box and I shuddered.

  I pulled at the rock again.

  “It must be nice,” Alex commented, his voice scarcely above a sigh. I jerked to attention.

  “What?” I asked, eying him narrowly.

  His hesitation and drooping eyelids alarmed me.

  “Perk up, lad!” I said crisply. “I dinnae have time to waste whilst ye make idle chit chat. What must be nice?”

  He gave himself a small shake. “To be a ghost, I guess. And the cold not bother you.”

  I was satisfied with his answer, but not the way he spoke it. Glancing about, I spied the dark length of a fallen limb. Grasping it with both hands, I hefted it, approving the sturdiness and girth of the branch. Stepping back to the cave, I wedged one end of the branch against the fallen stone slab, near Alex’s leg.

  “When I tell ye, pull yer leg out,” I told him. He gave a slow nod.

  Bracing one foot ahead of the other, I tested the limb’s mettle. It had a bit of give to it, but dinnae seem in danger of snapping in twain. I gripped the sturdy branch with both hands.

  “Ready?”

  Alex nodded. “Yeah.”

  I took a deep breath and pulled down on the limb, putting my weight against it to add force. But I was a ghost and though I managed to make the rock budge, my weight was of no consequence.

  “Ow! Stop!” Alex howled, grabbing at his leg.

  I immediately stopped. “What happened?”

  “It’s my leg. I don’t know if the rock is pressing on it more now or what—but it hurts!”

  He’d set his slim black box on the ground next to him, and its upward beam highlighted the worry on his face, the sheen of tears in his eyes. Another blast of cold air scattered my hair and turned his skin an ashen hue.

  “I must get help,” I told him.

  His eyes rounded with anxiety. “Don’t leave me!”

  “I dinnae like it, but I cannae do this on my own.”

  “What will I do while you’re gone?” he asked.

  “Och, ye willnae be going anywhere, will ye?” I set the branch aside and stepped to the lad. “’Tis too cold for ye to worry about things visiting ye whilst I’m gone. We haven’t anything wilder than rabbits here these days and they’re not daft enough to be out in this weather.”

  He managed a half-grin. “Or kelpies, either?” His voice squeaked.

  “If ye’d worried about that earlier, we wouldn’t be here, aye?” I reminded him in a brisk sisterly voice. He laughed. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d changed his humor, but I had no way to change his exposure to the weather.

  “Sit tight and dinnae wander off. I’ll be back before ye can figure out what a tattyboggle is.”

  Alex perked up. “What’s a tattyboggle?”

  “I expect ye to have it figured out by the time I return.”

  “You’re planning on being gone a really long time, aren’t you?” he asked mournfully.

  This time I laughed and ruffled his hair. “Nae. I’ll nip back to the house and be back in no time. I am a ghost, ye know.”

  He nodded, relief washing across his face.

  “And, Alex?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I read the papers the English solicitor has. They arenae divorce papers. Yer ma and da are purchasing a house here—in Scotland.”

  “What?” His voice sounded stronger, hope clinging to that single word.

  “I dinnae know for certain, but I’d think yer ma has been unhappy about the move and yer da has been busy trying to get his business to run itself whilst he was here. ’Tis true the move is troublesome between them, but all the more reason for ye to listen and understand. Will ye do that for me when ye return to Raasay House?”

  Alex was silent for a few minutes. “Yeah—do you think my friend Tony was wrong?” His excitement grew. “I know ma had some sort of great-great uncle die a few weeks ago and it made her really sad. Maybe she inherited the house or something.”

  “Aye. And though a bit of a change from yer home in the states, it wouldnae be so bad to live here, would it?”

  “Can I still have you and Alasdair for friends?”

  “Och, I doubt that. I was only sent here to help. I dinnae believe I shall be here much longer.”

  His expression clouded, but the news his parents werenae divorcing had given him encouragement. I gestured to his black case.

  “Now. Turn off that box of yers and save the battery.” I’d seen that happen to many people at the Culloden Visitors’ Center. Usually accompanied by muttered words I shouldnae repeat as they scrambled for fresh batteries or a place to plug in whatever piece of modern technology they’d forgotten to charge.

  Alex obliged and we were plunged into darkness. “Yer eyes will adjust, dinnae fash. I’ll give a shout when I’m near.”

  “Hurry, will you?” he whined, the cold overriding his earlier excitement.

  “I’m off!” With a backward glance to fix him in my mind, I set off as quick as I could. Not as fast as I’d led young Alex to believe, for I’d no mystical powers, but as brisk as my two feet could carry me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Though I couldnae say I made the trip back to the house in record time, the glow of lighted rooms appeared quicker than I’d hoped. My feet skidded over the frosted ground and the mist thickened as the air grew colder. The skirt of my dress clung damply to my legs, its hem stiffening with rime.

  I slipped effortlessly through Raasay House’s closed door into blessed warmth and skimmed through the halls in search of Alasdair. I popped in and out of the common rooms, but dinnae see him. I called to him, loudly, uncaring if this time someone was bothered by the noise—hoping someone could hear me.

  A shadow moved where there shouldnae be a shadow, over the threshold and fading down the stair.

  “Alasdair—wait!” I scrambled after the ghost as he floated through a window and into the yard. He drifted faster, caught on the edge of the storm, and vanished behind a heavy door. I followed and found myself in a cellar. Items stacked neatly on shelves and pushed into slots along the wall held little interest for me as I scanned the room for Alasdair.

  “Alasdair!” I pivoted on my heel, searching. At last his ghostly presence solidified into the young man I knew. He lifted his head, sorrowful gaze meeting mine.

  “I cannae find him,” Alasdair mourned.

  “I did. He’s at uamh nan ramh, his leg pinned between two rocks. We must get there quickly, Alasdair!”

  “Nae. ’Tis not my fate. He cannae be found. Ye are mistaken.”

  “Not Calum, ye amadan,” I replied, stomping my foot. “Young Alex.”

  Alasdair shook his head slowly back and forth, his gaze pinned somewhere behind me, seeing something that had disappeared long ago. “I saw them. Duncan and Calum. I rescued my lad, but I cannae find wee Calum. I’ve searched all the rooms, and the house burns about me.”

  My heart plummeted. I’d seen it before at Culloden among the ghosts, even myself, though only a handful of times in the past almost three hundred years. Something—a sound, an odor, a thought—would transport us back to the moments just before our death, as if living it over and over would somehow change the outcome. Mayhap if I’d run faster and not hesitated. Mayhap if Alasdair had taken a different path through the house on his search for my wee brother.

  None of that mattered now. ’Twas in the past and naught co
uld change what had been. Alex was of importance now, and I couldnae save him without Alasdair’s help.

  I approached him carefully, knowing he dinnae see me as he had an hour earlier. “Alasdair, ye are a braw man. But the lad ye seek isnae here.” I caught my breath. “He died long ago.” Tears blurred my vision as something inside me broke loose and the rage and despair fell away. I knew my family had been driven from Raasay—except for wee Calum who had died before his fourth birthday at the hands of cruel, vengeful men. ’Twas not the fate I’d wished for my family, but ’twas the truth, and Alasdair had died trying to save my wee brother. He was the embodiment of honor and caring, and it broke my heart to see him so lost.

  “’Twas yer fate to die that day, but ’tis not for ye to relive the event time and again.” I stretched my hand toward him. “Come with me, Alasdair. Help me save Alex and redeem yer life.”

  He blinked, a bit of sanity returning, clearing his gaze. “The lad is English and I swore my vengeance nearly three centuries ago. His fate willnae change mine.”

  I bit my lip in frustration. I briefly considered returning to the house for paper and pen to write a note explaining where Alex was, leaving it for his parents to find. But I couldnae abandon Alasdair to his deep despair. Somehow, his fate was tied to Alex’s.

  “Then follow me and simply stand beside me. I am so much stronger when ye are with me.”

  To my surprise, he nodded slowly and took my hand in his. We left the cellar and stepped into the brunt of a gale.

  “’Tis blowing a hoolie!” Alasdair grunted, tipping his head into the wind. We retraced our steps from the cellar back to the house, the brief respite from the cold rather welcome as we wound through the corridors and out the front of the house again.

  “Wait!” I darted back inside and snatched up a wool blanket that had been draped over the back of a chair in the front hall. I bundled it as small as I could to protect it from the weather and tucked it close against me.

  Alasdair knew the area as well as I, and we mustered our way through the stinging sleet and spitters—tiny drops of rain-driven snow that threatened the lad’s life. I called for Alex, but the words ripped from my mouth, landing somewhere behind my shoulder amidst a snarl of wind and groaning trees. We managed several more steps, then I called again.

  “Alex!”

  A light winked faint ahead. I tugged Alasdair’s hand. “Come!”

  He followed me a pace behind, releasing my hand as I surged forward. Moments later I reached Alex, a brave smile on his face as his teeth chattered with the cold. I draped the wool blanket over his head and around his shoulders, blocking the wind from his small body.

  “Tha …that’s better,” he stuttered. “And you b …brought Su …superman with you.”

  I glanced over my shoulder where Alasdair stood, hands deep in his pockets—not to keep them warm, but, from the uneasy look in his eyes, to maintain his distance.

  “I will need ye to help me ease the rock from young Alex’s leg,” I said.

  Conflict raged across his face. He’d witnessed the deaths of innocents at the hands of men sent here by two brutal English soldiers, and to help the son of an Englishman was currently beyond his ability. ’Twas no wonder he haunted the house, no wonder he had no peace. His honor and compassion was for the wee lad he had been unable to save nearly three hundred years ago, and until he forgave himself, naught else mattered.

  I patted Alex’s head. “Give me a moment with yon lad, and we’ll get you right out of this mess. Dinnae fash.”

  “Dinnae fash,” he repeated, his tongue slurring the words. “You’ve said it before. What does it mean?”

  “It means dinnae worry yerself,” I said. “Ye’ll be in a warm bath in no time.”

  He gave a sleepy nod, his eyelids drifting closed. I wanted to shake him, shout at him to stay awake. But I needed a few moments’ peace whilst I spoke with Alasdair, and I left Alex alone.

  Meeting Alasdair’s gaze directly, I begged him silently to stay with me, not fade away into that dream-like state where it was June, 1746 and smoke filled his lungs and despair shredded his heart.

  “Alasdair, I need yer help, aye?”

  His hair whipped about in the skirl and shadows swept across the planes of his face, giving him the look of a hardened warrior. Hardened and outraged.

  “They burned our houses, raped the women, slaughtered our cattle and left us to die,” he chanted in a low voice that rose and fell on the wind. “Ye ask me to help them?”

  “I am asking ye to help a wee lad who is trapped,” I said, trying to sound calm.

  “Who is English!” he spat.

  “Alasdair, I know how hard ye tried—” I began, but he interrupted me.

  “I failed, Sorcha. Ye dinnae know how bad it is at times. I swore to yer wee brother that I would exact revenge wherever I found it.”

  “Ye swore dark things to a bairn who was light and laughter—and a wee bit of mischief. He wouldnae hold ye to yer words uttered in despair.”

  Alasdair began to pace, his hands flinching with each step. “How alone and frightened he had to have been, Sorcha. I would give my life a hundred times to save him just once.”

  I stepped to his side, laying my palm to his arm to halt him. “I know, Alasdair. And Calum cannae blame ye. When will ye stop blaming yerself?”

  His eyes shone bright in the scattered moonlight. “’Tis my fate to be lost forever because I failed.”

  Gripping his arms tight, I gave him a light shake. “No, Alasdair. ’Tis not that ye failed. ’Tis that ye tried.”

  He stilled and his body relaxed beneath my hands. He raised desolate eyes to mine. “How do I let go, Sorcha?”

  “I will help ye if ye promise to help me. We both lost everything and we both have reason to hate. But my heart lightens a wee bit with the chance to help someone else.”

  “Ye are a wise woman, Sorcha MacLeod,” he said, the corners of his lips catching the barest hint of a smile as the firm quality of his voice returned. I beamed at him, thrilled to have the Alasdair I had so recently grown to know back with me.

  “Let us help yer wee Englishman,” he said, pointing to Alex who slumped against a small tree.

  “He’s only half English,” I replied as I darted to Alex’s side.

  Alex cracked an eyelid. “I knew you’d find him,” he said, mustering a grin. “And a tattyboggle is what we call a scarecrow in the United States.”

  I fisted my hands on my hips and gave him a narrow look. Bundling him in the bit of wool must have done him a world of good, for his teeth no longer chattered and he appeared almost cheerful. “And how did ye come by that knowledge, lad? Ye are too clever by half.”

  “She told me,” Alex stated, his gaze darting to one side.

  I gasped at the faint green glow silhouetting a tree to Alex’s right.

  The light intensified and Soni stepped forward. “He is a braw lad and none the worse for his jaunt into the night. Though he needs a bit of warm broth inside him and mayhap a stool to prop his leg upon.”

  “Who are ye?” Alasdair challenged, placing himself between Soni and me.

  “Dinnae fash, Alasdair,” I murmured, reeling from the emotions flooding me at Soni’s unexpected appearance. “I know her.”

  “She tells me that a lot,” Alex noted as he shifted his blanket about him. “She must know people who do a lot of worrying. But Soncerae helped me while you and Sorcha had a talk. She got my leg unstuck quick as anything.” He canted his head at the wee witch. “Though she doesn’t look very strong.”

  “Och, looks can be deceiving,” I frowned. “Is my time up, then?” I glanced at Alex, sitting on top of the damaged cave as if he’d not a care in the world, his leg no longer trapped between the rocks. “Did I earn my boon or not?”

  She gave Alex an assessing look. “I believe young Alex will be fine. But he is not the one I sent ye to help.”

  My stomach lurched. I had been right! There was another I should have hel
ped. But I couldnae have left Alex to his fate in the cold, dark night. What did I do wrong?

  “Who?” I asked, racking my mind for signs I had missed.

  “There was another soul here as tormented as ye by the past. I had hoped to save ye both an eternity of self-doubt and torment.” She smiled happily. “Alasdair MacLeod willnae experience any more of the nightmares that have plagued him for the last two hundred years or more. Yer kindness overlooked the possibility of abandoning Alex to his fate simply because of his English heritage, and prompted Alasdair to follow ye on a path to forgiveness.”

  She spread her arms wide, her cape billowing about her like great dark wings. “Well done, lass. I dinnae doubt ye for a moment.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “What are ye talking about, ye wee witch?” Alasdair demanded, his chin thrust forward belligerently. “We dinnae need the likes of ye around here.”

  I inhaled on a gasp. To my surprise, Soni dinnae take offense, but rather laughed at him.

  “No, ye dinnae need me. I know ye could have helped Sorcha free young Alex’s leg, but once ye made the decision to put aside yer need for revenge and see your anger for what it really was—your inability to forgive yerself for not saving wee Calum—I saw no reason to let Alex linger whilst ye set about his rescue.”

  “He was in no danger?” Alasdair growled.

  Soni shrugged. “Of course he was. I cannae step in and change someone’s fate. I’d run myself absolutely ragged if I had that kind of power. Ye must all make decisions for yerself. Though once the deed ’twas as good as done … .”

  “My time is up, then?” I asked again. The cave wasnae so far from the house. Alex dinnae need my help getting back, and I guessed Alasdair could walk with him. But I dinnae wish to leave Alasdair—not just yet.

  Alasdair flinched as he turned a despairing look my way. “Ye must leave?”

  “’Twas the bargain, dearling. Much as I’d like, I cannae stay.” I scrunched one side of my face in a ghastly attempt at a smile. “Raasay House doesnae need two ghosts,” I reminded him.