Ghosts of Culloden Moor 27 - Finlay

by L. L. Muir

  To all Robertson seers,

  Let it be known to ye and yers, to be passed to yer posterity, that visions and forecasts, no matter how clearly seen and no matter how surely felt, can be altered. In February, 1746, I was given of God a vision of the massacre at the Battle of Culloden Moor. I also foresaw my own death and that of my granddaughters at the hands of the Hanoverians wherein we were locked inside our home and that home burned to the ground. Since I believed all my visions to be God’s pronouncement, I believed our fates were sealed.

  It is my belief that Finlay Robertson, also of Woodshiel (and my grandson) was given of God a vision on the self same night. Although I feel strongly that our visions were the same, he claimed that he foresaw a great Jacobean victory at Culloden, and that he would return home triumphant.

  Fearing for my own fate, I begged him to remain behind when the rest of our menfolk left to join the ranks of George Murray’s regiment. Alas, Finlay would have none of it, and departed with the others. The battle was lost, as ye are all aware, and Finlay perished. However, my fate and that of my granddaughters was changed because of him, and this is the lesson ye must pass along to all the gifted and cursed sons and daughters of the Robertson family.

  Because Finlay dared challenge the visions he had seen, we were emboldened to do the same instead of resigning ourselves to what we believed was our destiny. We yet live. Though our beloved home was razed to the ground, we had removed ourselves from Woodshiel well before the government forces arrived to do their worst.

  So take heart, trust God with your soul, hold your life in your own hands.

  Alive in God’s good Grace,

  Guiness Robertson of Woodshiel

  It had been so long since he’d spoken his grandmother’s name, even in his head it sounded magical to him, as if the name itself was imbued with her power.

  She and his sisters had lived! He could hardly take it in. They’d lived!

  After fighting them back all afternoon, the tears in his eyes could be restrained no longer and they rained down upon his cheeks. The heavens were moved as well and added a splash or two of cold drops to the warm and salty ones.

  Angel tipped her head back and tried to catch some on her tongue, laughing at the storm clouds that had gathered to cool their fire. “Because of you, Finlay. Isn’t that wonderful? They survived because you thought you could beat it. You might have given up fighting Fate after Culloden, but once upon a time, you had faith. Maybe you weren’t able to save yourself, or win the war, but you saved your family.”

  “It seems so, Angel. I can hardly conceive of it, lass. But it is my grandmother’s hand herein. And it is a great gift for a living, breathing man to ken his death was not in vain.”

  He was filled with such happiness, he could not contain it, and Angel laughed along with him until some on-looker would think them mad to see them. He only hoped Soni—

  Soni!

  He quickly lifted the lass off his lap and set her on her feet, then stepped away so he could bellow to the heavens and not harm Angel’s ears. “Soncerae! Hear me! Soncerae Muir!” Please, God, bring her back!

  For the next five minutes, he paced back and forth before the fire pit, refusing to give up hope that Soni would answer his call. He had no ken how to call her on a telephone, and by the time he found his way back to Scotland without currency, passport, or identification of any kind, it might well be too late.

  “Please, God.”

  “Weel, ye must have done something to please God.” Soni grinned at him from across the fire as if she’d never gone away the first time. Her smile fell away when she saw his face, and she turned to Angel. “What has happened?”

  A fretful Angel shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t dare ask.”

  Fin closed his eyes and thanked God for answering his prayer. “I ken why I was sent here, Soncerae.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, aye? Ye were desperate to share it with me, were ye?”

  He nodded. “Aye. I was. Because it concerns ye.”

  “Go on with ye now.”

  “Hear me out, lass. And promise ye’ll stay until I’ve said my piece.”

  Soni nodded. “I so swear.”

  He moved until he stood between the lasses and took their hands in his, then looked back and forth between them as he spoke. “I assumed I was to teach Angel the futility of fighting Fate, that perhaps it would help her deal with losing her restaurant. But, as it turned out, it was I who was meant to learn from her, that taking our destiny in our own hands is not a futile act after all. The future can be changed, Soncerae. Nothing is set in stone.”

  He turned his shoulders to face her full on, to gaze into the depths of her eyes and ensure she heard him clearly, and understood what she heard.

  “Soncerae Muir, I have been granted a peek at yer future. I have seen what is expected to happen once The 79 have found peace. As I’ve said before, I ken the bargain ye have made.”

  Soni stared back, her warm brown eyes were as still as a black pond with no breeze to stir it. Whatever her thoughts, she would not share them. This was the secret she would protect until the end.

  “Do ye not see? Did ye not read the letter from my gran? Ye must fight for yerself. Dare to imagine ye can have what ye most desire. Dare to believe ye can change yer destiny!”

  She smiled sweetly and lifted her free hand to caress his cheek. “Ye’re a lovely man, Fin Robertson. And I promise not to give up hope, aye?”

  But he could see she didn’t mean it, and it crushed his heart to hear her lie to him. He took his own advice, however, and refused to give up.

  “Soncerae Muir, put that lying tongue back into yer mouth and never let it out again unless ye’re willing to swear—to vow—that ye will go back to yer uncle and tell him what I’ve said this night. I charge him with finding a solution to yer problem. I charge ye to keep yer eyes and heart open to the possibility, aye? And dinnae lose heart until ye find yer remedy. Will ye make the vow?”

  Her nostrils flared as she sucked in a deep breath, held it for a three count, then let it out in a great woosh. Then she spat on her hand and held it up to him. He gladly did the same and they shook on it.

  “I vow it,” she said.

  He gave her a sharp nod. “And a good thing, that. Or else…”

  “Or else?”

  “Or else I will bring my future wife to Scotland, wait for ye on the moor, and let her kick yer arse.” He waggled his brows. “We’ve already established she can take ye, aye?”

  Soni rose up on her toes and pulled his head closer to place a kiss on his cheek. “If there is nothing more, I must away, and quickly.”

  “Ye’ve something pressing to attend to?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “Nay, Fin. But I believe ye’d like some privacy. After all, ye did just call her yer future wife. I only hope yer prediction was not premature. Remember, ye’ve just proven that yer visions will nay always come to pass.” She gave his hand a squeeze, then stepped aside. “By the way, I can see why a man like ye could wish to keep the lass close, aye?”

  “Oh?” He realized his slip and grimaced, but before he dared face Angel, he wanted to hear Soni’s opinion of her. “And why is it I wish to keep her close?”

  “Because she smells of bacon…” And with that, she was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Angel casually moved a chair closer to the fire and sat down. On the inside, she was shaking.

  She’d been playing along, buying the ghost story, accepting the absolutely impossible idea that Finlay was a guy from the 18th century that had spent over two-hundred years haunting a battlefield, accepting that Soni was a witch who had brought him back to life and had agreed to let him stay alive. It wasn’t easy, but she’d accepted it.

  But it still freaked her out when Soni disappeared into thin air.

  And once Angel was sitting, and breathing, and accepting all over again, her heart jumped with a little jolt of electricity at the idea of marrying
the ancient, dead, bulletproof, now-mortal-again Scotsman standing before her.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, great. What did I say out loud this time?”

  “Dead.”

  She sucked on her teeth for a second. “My bad.”

  “Angel, I am not dead.”

  “I know.”

  He twisted his mouth sideways. “No. Ye dinnae. So, I shall have to prove it.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, and his mouth dropped open for a three count before he clapped it shut again.

  She tucked her hands beneath her knees. “Not so fast.”

  He clasped his hands together at his back and waited. If she rejected him, he could hardly fault her for it. Discovering you’d been kissing a dead man had to be difficult for any lass, no matter how brave she might be in normal situations.

  “Fin?”

  “Aye?”

  “You were thinking out loud.”

  “Was I now? What did I say?”

  “Kissing.”

  He brightened instantly, especially since Angel smiled when she’d said it. “Guilty as charged.”

  “You want to explain this future wife joke to me?”

  He reached for her hand again, but she shook her head, so he simply tucked a hand beneath her knees and lifted her, sat in her chair, and pulled her onto his lap. “It was no joke, lass. I assure ye.”

  “Don’t tell me. You’ve had another vision.”

  He shook his head. “Nay, lass. This is a simple case of me knowing what I want and taking my destiny into my own hands, for I will have my heart’s desire.” He lifted her hand and rubbed his lips over the back of it, as if it were a fragile and fuzzy kitten. “That is, if my heart’s desire will have me.”

  “I hardly know you,” she whispered, then bit down on her bottom lip.

  He lowered his voice too, loathe to frighten the intimate moment away. “True. But ye already love me. Did ye think I’d forgotten?”

  “And you hardly know me.”

  “True. But I promise to be patient when ye think aloud. I vow to protect ye from all snakes—without suffering a bite to my person.”

  She made a face, obviously unimpressed by his attempt at romance.

  “And Angel?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I will happily wash yer dishes all the days of our lives.”

  She pulled his head closer, and just as their lips were about to touch, she whispered, “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  EPILOGUE

  Six weeks later…

  “Hurry, wife! The telly folks are waitin’!”

  Angel took a deep breath and checked herself in the mirror one last time. The charming angel necklace Fin had given her that morning hung a little too far to the left. Now a little too far to the right. And when she had it as centered as she could, she whispered, for luck—

  “Coming, Mott.”

  Her strikingly handsome husband waited at the bottom of the steps. He was all decked out in his loud red kilt and sleeveless shirt again. He claimed it was best for advertising, since there would be cameras, but he used any excuse to put it on. Jeans were something he just couldn’t get used to—yet. As soon as it started to snow, she was sure he’d appreciate having his legs covered.

  Fin gave her a quick kiss and together they stepped out of the garage and into the morning sunshine. It was the first of October, so the cool night air took longer to dissipate, but if she got too cold, Fin was always happy to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

  They hurried down the path and around the front of the restaurant to the platform that was set up in the parking lot. She faltered when she saw the size of the crowd that had come out for the big celebration. She had no idea there was that much elbow room in her little corner of Pine Creek Canyon. But thankfully, most of the revelers had come up in busses, both from Idaho Falls and from Jackson. And just in case things got crazy, Mike and the other deputies were controlling traffic to make sure no one did anything stupid—like run out in front of a truck.

  The governor showed up just after Angel and her bonnie Highlander took their places on the riser. He gave a quick little speech that reminded everyone that it was a voting year, then gave high praise to the Simplot Brothers for expanding the parking area and making Haggard’s accessible to the hungry masses.

  Finally, finally, he stepped aside to allow Angel the microphone. Though she’d thought about it for days, she hadn’t managed to get anything written down on paper, so she just shot from the hip.

  “Looking out at this huge crowd, I have to say I am surprised to find so many familiar faces. I had no idea we had this many customers.”

  She paused while they applauded. She figured they were so enthusiastic because they were hoping the cameras would pan past them. After all, it wasn’t often the national news covered something in their neck of the woods.

  “I want to thank you guys, and everyone who has ever come through Haggard, for keeping Old Mott’s dream alive all these years, even after he was gone. It means a lot to me that so many of you have showed up today to honor his memory. On behalf of us both, I thank you.”

  There was a little bit of applause again, but not everyone was pleased with what she’d said for some reason. They started shouting, but it was impossible to hear what they were saying. She turned to Fin, but he only shrugged, as confused as she was, then he stepped up next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

  Mike pushed his way to the front, then jumped up onto the riser and took the mic. “I think there has been a big misunderstanding,” he said, and the crowd hushed. “Little Mott is under the impression we’ve come here today because of her father.” He turned so he faced both her and the mob. “I think I speak on behalf of everyone here when I say…we’ve come to honor you, sweetheart. We’ve come to honor you.”

  The applause was deafening and she forced herself to wave to everyone instead of burying her wet face against Fin’s chest, like she wanted to. When the governor offered her one handle of the giant pair of scissors, the crowd quieted. After posing for a few pictures, she and the grinning politician turned and performed the most awkward ribbon-cutting ceremony in history. When the flimsy scissors failed to do any damage to the plastic yellow ribbon, Fin muttered something Scottish and unintelligible, stepped around her, and rent the plastic in half with his hands.

  And the crowd went wild.

  In light of their reaction—and to ensure the great kilt wasn’t worn in vain—she seized the opportunity and the microphone and made an announcement. “Starting next week, High Tea will be served in the afternoons, Monday through Thursday, from 2 to 4 p.m.…by waiters in kilts.”

  It would soon prove to be their busiest time of day.

  THE END

  About the Author

  L.L. Muir lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and rocking sleepy children.

  A disturbing number of bananas were consumed while writing FINLAY.

  If you like Lesli’s books, be a sport and leave a review on the book’s Amazon page. You can reach her personally through her website— www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.

  Thank you for playing!