Walking Through Fire

by C. J. Bahr

  “Oh, good one. Ask him where it’s hidden!” Beth exclaimed.

  “I think if Simon knew where the gold was, he wouldn’t need to haunt the manor.”

  “You’re probably right. Oh,” Beth exclaimed. “I’ve got another good one. Did you kill your father?”

  “No! It was the MacKenzie bastard.” Simon froze when he realized he had spoken out loud, but when the lasses didn’t react he relaxed. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if the truth of his da’s murder came out. Simon had nothing to hide. Maybe, his protest had recorded. He smiled. Wouldn’t that disturb the young modern MacKenzie.

  “Can you do something for us? Knock, touch one of us,” Laurel requested. “Maybe turn on this flashlight? See, there’s a button. If you push it once, it turns on.” She pressed the circle and the torch came on. “Press it again and it turns off.” The torch turned off. “I’ll put it here on the table.”

  Simon walked over and stared down at the torch. He wondered if he’d be able to turn it on without manifesting. Well, he had some extra energy from the batteries he drained downstairs. He reached out and the torch turned on.

  Beth yelped and Laurel jumped.

  “Oh my God! The light turned itself on! Can you believe it?” Beth exclaimed.

  “If that was you, Simon,” Laurel asked. “Can you turn it off?”

  The torch went dark and Simon grinned when both lasses applauded.

  “Do it again!” Beth requested.

  He turned the torch back on.

  “Oh, this is awesome. Call the boys, they have to get up here.”

  Laurel picked up the walkie-talkie. “Steve, Doug? Come in. We’re getting some cool activity up here.”

  “This is Doug,” the voice came over the speaker. “We’re on our way up.”

  Within minutes, Steve and Doug walked into the room and sat down with the women. Simon backed away and settled into a dark murky corner to watch.

  “Do you see that flashlight?” Beth pointed. “It turned on, then off, then back on again...by request!”

  “Really?” Doug motioned to Steve. “Check the digital camera and make sure it’s still recording. It’s pointing right at it. If we caught this on video, it’d be grand.”

  Steve got up to check. “We’re golden. Go ahead and ask the entity to turn it off.”

  “Simon,” Beth said. “Can you please turn off the light, again?”

  The group waited with baited breath, but Simon wasn’t about to turn the torch off. They could all pass out with lack of air for all he cared. He was done. He hoped they’d leave and torment the real ghosts of Cleitmuir.

  The hunters stayed for another hour, spending time in the bedroom and bathroom, trying to coax him into more circus tricks. Of course they couldn’t, even when they were standing right next to him. The overhead lights were back on and the equipment was put away. They’d be leaving, finally.

  “That was fun, guys. Wasn’t it Lori?” Beth asked.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Laurel seemed distracted to Simon, something that was proven when she barely acknowledged her friend and the hunters leaving the room.

  “Let me show you to your rooms,” Beth gestured for Doug and Steve to follow her.

  “Great. We’ll get some sleep and then start reviewing the evidence later in the morning. ’Night, Laurel,” Doug called out as he left.

  Laurel gave them a brief smile, but she was already turning away before the door was even closed. He watched as she walked to the window seat and gazed into the stormy night. She shivered, then sat, tucking her legs underneath her and picked up a pillow, which she hugged to her chest.

  Simon drifted closer, pulled by her.

  “You’re really here, aren’t you?” her voice was barely a whisper, almost as if she was talking to herself, but he felt the words knife through him. It was centuries since anyone had acknowledged him. Treated him as an individual, a man, and not some phantom. It was laced through her voice. An understanding.

  “Let me help you.”

  A simple statement, one he should have ignored.

  Simon manifested.

  “You canna, lass. It’s my burden to bear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Laurel blinked. Was this really happening? It was hard to deny when he stood directly in front of her. A ghost had just materialized. One moment no one there, then, a slight opaque mist quickly transforming into a man shape silhouette. A silhouette that turned solid right before her eyes.

  Her mind raced as her brain tried to process what her eyes studied. He was the mysterious rescuer from the plateau and then the handsome ballroom dancer. It could be no one else. The man was etched into her brain. A throwback from the age of Heroes, he was tall, easily six-four, built strong with broad shoulders and muscular legs, just as she remembered him from her past encounters. Striking. His deep black hair hung in waves just past his shoulders and matched the slashing dark brows and long eyelashes that would be the envy of any woman. The palest gray eyes staring back at her caused a shiver to race up her spine. The man exuded power and virility long since lost to his twenty-first century counterparts.

  Yet this folklore hero looked modern standing there, barefoot in faded jeans slung low on his hips and a tight, plain black T-shirt that clung and showed to great effect a chiseled upper body.

  She swallowed and forced herself to close her eyes from the vision before her. Was she just tired and imagining things? Clutching the pillow tighter to her stomach, she inhaled once deeply then slowly exhaled. She could handle this. After all, she’d asked for it.

  Her eyes opened and found him still looming large a few feet away, seemingly as mesmerized by her as she was by him. She cleared her throat.

  “Captain Simon MacKay or,” Laurel asked, “Robert Cole?”

  “Both.” He admitted, his voice deep with a hint of roughness that showed through the single word. It wasn’t until he spoke again that the warm Highland brogue rolled out. “I suppose an introduction is called for. Captain Simon Robert Cole MacKay, fourth and final Earl of Cleitmuir,” he finished with a mocking, courtly bow.

  Laurel dropped the pillow and stood. She wasn’t sure what to do or say next. She was talking to a ghost. Never in her dreams… Too many emotions collided inside her, excitement, fear, curiosity, and most of all wonder. She had always believed in ghosts, but deep down never thought she’d see one, let alone interact with one. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t like this was the actual first time she had met him. She’d danced a waltz with him. He even saved her from falling to her death. She realized then that she liked him, even his argumentative arrogant side. Maybe more than liked him as she remembered her racy dreams from last night.

  “You...” She took a couple of steps closing the distance between them, but stopped at arms length. “How...” She looked up at him and took another deep breath. “Hi.”

  This earned her a smile, erasing the grim lines that etched his face since his manifestation. She reached her hand into the empty space before them and was startled when goosebumps rose up along with the small hairs on her arm. The air was cold. Almost frigid, a good twenty degrees colder than where she stood.

  “A cold spot!” Curiosity took hold and she walked a circle around Simon with her hand stretched out. The cold surrounded him in a two-foot circumference. As if reading her mind, he answered her unspoken question.

  “Coldness…it happens when I first appear or disappear. Your ghost hunters were right. It takes energy. The temperature will even out with time.”

  She stepped closer. Simon was right. It wasn’t nearly as cold as before. In fact, she could almost feel heat radiating off of him now.

  “Is it intentional? The surrounding energy drain?” That was her question? She could kick herself. She had a ghost in front of her and she was babbling about science? Laurel guessed she really was a true geek unless it was just the researcher in her, coming to her rescue. Since her brain must have shut down in all the magical wonder that had suddenly appe
ared. Or maybe a defense to hide the true feelings she’d grown to have for him. She felt like an awkward schoolgirl.

  “Aye, well no, at first, but now, at times I can direct the energy consciously.”

  She smiled. “Like draining camera batteries?”

  Simon smiled back.

  “You were here the entire time? Why didn’t you make yourself known?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. “It’s better if people think I’m only a legend.”

  “Then why...Why are you here?”

  Simon hesitated, not responding. His handsome face marred by a frown. She could feel his frustration and sadness.

  He shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

  She’d try a different tack. “Why did you choose to appear to me?” Laurel waited for his answer, cautiously hopeful. Maybe her attraction was mutual? Can things like this happen so quickly? Stop it. He probably just needed her help and nothing more.

  “I really don’t know.” His voice was low, a whisper that disappeared as he looked away.

  Compassion rose inside her. No matter how fierce and strong this man may appear, he was breaking inside and was reaching out, whether he knew it or not. Help it was. Without thought, she closed the distance between them, stopping when their bodies were close to touching. She took his broad hand in hers. He was warm to her touch, but then she easily remembered his embrace as they had waltzed.

  “I do. I know why you’re here,” her voice answered, soft and low, not wanting to startle him. A tone one used to calm a frightened animal. “It’s been over two hundred years. I think you need someone to talk to. I’ll listen.”

  He studied her, then reached up with his free hand and lightly stroked her cheek. Something filled his eyes at this gesture, but she couldn’t identify the source.

  “Aye, perhaps I do.”

  Laurel smiled gently then took a step back. Holding his hand she guided him to the window seat, where they sat side by side. She released his hand and pushed the throw pillow out of the way. She studied him as he stared out into the night. She was reassured when she caught his refection on the glass. Not a vampire at least, just a ghost.

  Dear God, she was comforting a ghost! Staring at him, she silently wished he was real, a man she might get to know, spend time with, maybe even grow old with. She couldn’t get over how attracted she was to Simon, how drawn and connected she felt to him. If only he would feel the same about her. But who was she kidding. He was a ghost. She waited him out, comfortable in the silence which gave her the opportunity to study him. High cheekbones, square jaw, a crooked nose, obviously broken more than once to achieve the lumps that interrupted the long profile.

  “I’m cursed.” He spoke so quietly she almost missed his words. She waited longer, but he didn’t continue.

  “It’s the gold, isn’t it?”

  That got an electric reaction. He turned to face her, eyes flashing silver in anger, lips pursed to a thin line.

  “Bloody hell! No! It’s not the gold!” He tried to leap to his feet, but she stopped him with a hand on his thigh. He froze. His thigh muscle clenched and released as he stared down at her hand.

  Again, with a calm voice she asked, “Then what is it about?”

  He exhaled, removed her hand from his thigh, and leaned against the cold glass panes at his back. “I dinnae know where to start.” His voice laced with emotion, caused his accent to thicken, making him hard to understand.

  “Excluding the obvious cliché, how about your death? It’s probably why you’re still here.”

  This earned her a snort. “You have no idea.”

  Again he pushed his hair off his face. An unconscious gesture, for nervousness or frustration, Laurel wondered.

  “I was murdered,” he pierced her with his gaze. “By Alastair MacKenzie, the oh-so great-whatever relative to your oh-so charming boyfriend, Alexander MacKenzie.”

  Laurel felt her jaw drop and quickly closed her mouth. “You can’t possibly blame Alex for your death. He wasn’t even alive then! Is that why you’re still here? To take revenge on,” she affected a Scottish accent, “Clan MacKenzie?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “No!” He looked away and closed his eyes, leaning back against the window once more. “It’s complicated.”

  “Then tell me!” Frustrated, she felt like smacking the close-mouthed apparition next to her. Why did they always end up arguing? She was yelling at a ghost! Pursing her lips, she admonished herself to stay calm. Getting into a raging argument with him wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Please tell me. I’d like to understand.”

  Simon opened his eyes and stared blankly into the room. “With my da’s death, an...item shoulda passed into my protection. I was murdered before…” he trailed off. Before she could ask he raised his hand to stall her. “It wasn’t the gold.” He sighed.

  “My da and I weren’t close. Mostly my fault. This...legacy was handed down from father to son, until me. The MacKay had been waiting for me to,” he ran a hand through his hair, again. “It doesn’t matter. He was killed and I left France to come home. That’s when the notes started.”

  “Notes?”

  “Aye. Threatening. Telling me to hand over the treasure, or else.” Simon smiled slightly at the modern cliché. “Well, ‘or else’ happened.”

  “So you haven’t passed on because of this lost item? You’ve been searching for two hundred years?” Laurel asked.

  “Aye. Given only one month, then back to the cave.” His voice dropped with the last, becoming hoarse.

  “What?”

  “I come back for a bit over a month, the length of the Primrose Festival, every year since I was killed. At first I had no idea what or why, but I’m dead, not stupid. I figured it out.”

  “Only a month? Why?”

  “God’s will? Fate? The Devil? Does it really matter?” Simon’s disgust was apparent. “This is the last time. I won’t...I canna go to the cave again and die.” His voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Simon,” she placed her hand on his thigh once more, needing to comfort him, needing to touch him, after hearing the agony in his voice.

  Slowly he regained his composure, but he kept his eyes closed. With his voice soft, his accent thick, he told her. “I was going to Sinclair House, ’twas the first day of the festival. When I entered the stable to get my horse, someone struck me from behind.” He took a deep breath. “When I awoke, I found my hands bound behind my back to a mooring ring anchored in solid rock. Though it was pitch black, I had other senses than my eyes. I felt the biting cold and could smell the sea. They had trapped me in a cave.”

  He opened his eyes. “The tide was coming in.”

  “Simon...” Tears burned her eyes.

  “People say drowning is peaceful. It isn’t.” He swallowed roughly. “`Tis agony as you try not to breathe, but against your will, you do. Water pours in, burning, stinging. Your muscles clench then convulse. There’s nothing but pain, until,” he trailed off, his breath came fast as if he couldn’t get enough air.

  Laurel pressed her hand hard against his leg, trying to anchor him, to draw him out of reliving his death. He closed his eyes again.

  “At the end of the time I’m allowed, the festival’s duration, the month,” his muscles beneath her hand tightened. “I find myself back in the cave...to die...again...and again every year.”

  Laurel gasped and felt a tear run down her face. For two hundred years? With little thought, she knelt and turned on the window seat. She embraced him, slipping her hands underneath his arms to wrap around his back, hugging him and buried her face into his neck.

  “Oh, Simon. I’m sorry.”

  “I canna...I can’t.”

  Laurel felt him bow his head, and his arms came around her. She held him as tightly as she could when she felt the tremors shaking his body. The torment he had suffered. How had he not gone insane? Whoever was responsible, be it God, the devil, or Simon’s own g
uilt, the cruelty had to end. He needed peace. He needed to pass on.

  She eased a hand from behind Simon, placed it under his chin, and tilted his head up so he was forced to face her. His cheeks were dry, but his eyes held the pain of centuries.

  “Please, Simon. Let me help you.” Silence greeted her. She knew Scots were stubborn, but this bordered on absurd. He needed help. “You showed yourself to me. Not once, but three times. You say you don’t know why, so let me tell you. You’re reaching out. You need help. Let me do this for you.” She willed him to see beyond his pain and frustration. “Trust me, Simon.”

  His grip loosened and his arms dropped away. Once again he raised a hand and stroked her face.

  “So long,” his voice was gravel and the pieces sliced into her heart. “Alone. Forgotten. Reviled.”

  His hand slid behind her ear, then down, caressing her neck before spearing into her hair and clasping the back of her head. He pulled her close. His mouth closed over hers, at first gentle, then needy, demanding.

  She answered and opened for him. His tongue plunged inside her waiting mouth. Warm, wet, with powerful strokes. He moaned and her breath became short.

  He consumed her. He kissed her like a drowning man.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Laurel was lost, trapped in the depth of Simon’s need. Swept away, all thoughts fled, only sensation remained. His hand buried deep in her hair, held her tight. His other hand smoothed past her shoulder, stroked down her side to settle on her hip. He tugged and answering his unspoken request, she slid a leg across his lap to straddle him. The moment she settled, his broad hand moved to cup her from behind and push her close against him.

  Simon was hard and thick through his jeans, adding a pleasant pressure to already sensitive parts. She heard herself moan, and her hips twitched. Both of his hands tightened, then he suddenly stood. She wrapped her legs around him as he started to walk, never breaking the kiss. She couldn’t think, until his strong arms released her and she fell.