Walking Through Fire

by C. J. Bahr

  ****

  Laurel took a step back as Alex closed the gull-winged door of the sleek-shaped Mercedes. She hadn’t realized cars still had doors like a DeLorean. Instead of the Flux-Capacitor kicking in, it was the throaty growl of the AMG’s engine. With a smile and wave, Alex shifted into gear and drove away. She wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him leave. She was so confused.

  First there had been Derek. A relationship of three years, where she had felt herself in love, but found it one-sided, her judgment sorely lacking, making her distrust her instincts.

  Then, Beth had introduced her to Alex. She was excited a man so handsome and successful would be interested in her again. She had doubted at first, thinking back to Derek and her severe misjudgment, but Alex, aside from looks, had acted completely different than Derek. Alex thought her intelligent, cared about her opinions, and treated her as if she were equal and yet special. It was night and day from her last relationship. She should be on cloud nine, but then there were moments she questioned herself again. Alex hadn’t responded to her “no” during their kiss or again when she didn’t want to go out on the dance floor. There were reasonable excuses for both instances, but her gut still roiled at the thought of a man who didn’t respect the word “no”.

  Then there was Simon MacKay. A tormented ghost, over two hundred years old, who was irritating, over-bearing, yet had an inner strength and honor that kept him sane through the centuries. Handsome in a different way than Alex, more rugged, a warrior of the past, he drew her to him. It was hard to believe how the attraction had grown in such a short amount of time. It wouldn’t take much more before she’d be in love. But what good would that do her when he was dead? There would be no marriage or children in a relationship with a ghost.

  With a heavy sigh, she dropped her arms to her side and started walking, careless in her direction. The bright blue Scottish sky and the northern chilled wind, didn’t even register more than a passing consideration. Lost in thought, she didn’t know what to believe anymore. The trust in her instinct whittled to nothing.

  How had this happened? Logic was her God. She could puzzle through anything given enough time. She always found the answer, but now, she just felt adrift. Laurel should be ecstatic that two handsome men were interested in her. Her gut told her she would pick Simon over Alex, but he was a ghost. Was Simon’s hatred and warnings about Alex just a long held clan grudge? Or was Alex, an actual living, breathing man, exactly who he appeared to be? A successful, self-made individual who was attracted to her.

  Who should she believe? Alex, the modern day treasure hunter or Simon, the out-of-time soldier? Who was telling the truth? Both would set her against the other, well if Alex knew of him.

  She continued to wander as her thoughts meandered. Last night with Simon had been incredible. It was hard to believe it had happened. She wasn’t one to have adventures. Boring and mundane, was her life. It was why, she admitted to herself, she had stuck with Derek all those years. He had been safe, a known quantity. Yet, she had ignored the voice in the back of her mind telling her something was wrong. Three years and no proposal? In hindsight, she wasn’t particularly surprised to find out Derek had been cheating on her, just more shocked seeing it with her own eyes. What did that say about her?

  Laurel found herself at the stable and entered. Gale poked her gray head out and nickered at her approach.

  “Sorry, love. I don’t have a treat, but how about some attention,” she said as she reached out her hand and stroked the mare’s soft nose. “Too bad you can’t talk, I desperately need some advice. I’d talk with Beth, but would she believe me about Simon? I begin to doubt it myself.”

  Had she actually encountered a ghost? Not just once, but three times? And last night… Was that even her? She barely kissed on the first date, let alone allowed a man, a stranger, be that intimate with her. Laurel couldn’t explain her actions.

  Except, there had been this connection. She felt she knew Simon, understood him. No explanation really, just a little voice telling her she was safe with him. It had felt like meeting another piece of herself. A missing piece she hadn’t realized was gone.

  “What am I going to do, Gale?” She sighed and gave the mare a final pat before she left the barn. She stared at Cleitmuir Manor and the distant cloud-draped mountains behind it. She wanted to believe Simon, wanted to trust him. Was Alex really dangerous? It was so hard to believe. Were the doubts Laurel felt about Alex, planted by Simon, or was her subconscious trying to tell her something? How could she trust herself? She needed answers. She wanted to talk to Simon, but had no way of contacting the recalcitrant ghost, damn him. She had a few words for him after the way he had just disappeared last night and, of course, questions, hundreds of thousands of questions.

  Well, there were other options while she waited for Casper the friendly ghost to show himself. She wasn’t helpless or stupid. She just needed more information—proof would be preferable. Answers were her specialty. As with the historical treasures she was trusted to authenticate, she’d treat both Alex and Simon the same. Laurel would prove what was real and what was not.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The door opened with a long ominous creak, causing Beth to giggle while she stuffed the key ring into her battered jeans’ pocket. “That was completely appropriate for an entrance leading into a creepy attic,” she gasped out between chuckles. “Maybe we should have had our ghost hunters stake out up here.”

  “More like Molly Maids, or should I say MacMaids,” Laurel countered as she followed Beth into the thickly layered dust-filled room. The attic ran the length of the house. The room was easily tall enough to stand upright, the broad support beams lost in the vaulted ceiling. Small octagonal windows with chunky period lead glass were evenly spaced to allow some natural light to leak through. Though the room was big, there was little space because the area was crammed with objects—furniture, boxes, and an odd assortment of junk. No laid out pathways, just a haphazard piling of things lending the attic a tunnel-like maze. Truly a treasure hunter’s paradise. “How long since you’ve been up here?”

  “Ah, never?” Beth pulled the lamp chain hanging from the wall light. As the bare bulb flickered on, a cloud of dust descended, sending her into a coughing fit. “I had no idea there was even a ‘here’ here until you brought it up to Grant this afternoon. And, I had no idea it would be quite so dusty.”

  “Creature of habit…dust happens. I really appreciate you letting me poke around,” Laurel apologized.

  “Oh, what’s a little dirt between friends,” Beth answered. “Besides, I haven’t spent as much time with you as I’d like. I thought it would be fun for you to visit during the festival, but now I’m realizing it’s just in the way. Stupid planning committees.” She walked over to her and gave her a dusty hug. “It feels like I’ve barely seen you since you arrived.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve made plenty of time for me,” she hugged Beth in return.

  “Hmmmf. We’ll agree to disagree. So, what are we looking for?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “A woman without a plan. I just hope we find something super valuable up here. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Maybe I’ll be able to go on one of those how-much-is-my-junk-worth shows.”

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Beth. But then again, this is an old house, you never know what you might find,” she reassured her friend. “Just start digging around. If you find anything interesting, shout out.”

  “Will do. How fun, our own treasure hunt, on the heels of our own ghost hunt. I can’t wait for their report. Maybe I should stop feeding them? They seem more interested in Cleitmuir’s offerings than their analyzing.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait. The video of the flashlight will be amazing.”

  “I need to light a fire under their asses,” Beth joked before she knocked into a box and sent another dust cloud flying. After a severe case of coughing she continued, “I just wish our treasure hunt
was in a slightly cleaner environment, perhaps with champagne and a massage? I don’t know how Alex does this for a living.” Beth grinned before randomly picking a pathway and disappearing behind a large walnut wardrobe.

  Laurel brushed the loose strands of hair off her face then strode past a column of stacked boxes, noting the lighter coating of dust and modern cardboard, she easily dismissed them as too new. She needed something old, like a steamer trunk or an old-fashioned writing table. She wanted diaries or letters, preferably a signpost that read, “this is the man you should trust.”

  She sighed as she wove through the maze. Why couldn’t anything be easy?

  They searched for well over an hour. Though it was dirty and a somewhat drudge worthy task, they had fun. Beth started reminiscing about high school and the stupid embarrassing situations they’d gotten themselves into. She had always managed to get Laurel into trouble, harmless, but awkward trouble. During their afternoon attic search, she came to realize just how much Beth meant to her, and Laurel promised herself she wouldn’t let so much time pass between visits. Beth was family, the sister she never had.

  “I still can’t believe I fell for that.”

  She heard Beth’s laugh across the attic. “Oh, you were sooo easy! I know you wouldn’t have spoken to Keith on your own, no matter how much you were crushing on him. There was no reason you couldn’t just speak to him.”

  “Easy for you to say, oh Miss Cute, Bubbly and Petite.”

  “Pah. Keith was perfect for you. So it was easy to figure out when he was going to be alone in the library and send you to him.”

  “Yeah, but you lied to me when you said he wanted help on his history paper and was too chicken to ask me.”

  “A technicality. It worked out in the end after all, didn’t it?” Beth asked.

  “Oh sure, only after I realized he had no idea what I was talking about,” she pushed her bangs off her face. “I was so embarrassed and felt like an idiot.”

  “But it did get you two talking,” Beth responded. “And a date, not long after.”

  “I still don’t know how you can get me in all these embarrassing situations, yet I’m never angry with you. I’m surprised our friendship has lasted as long as it has.”

  “It’s a special talent—Oh! Found something,” Beth cried out. “Get over here.”

  Laurel zigzagged through the maze and reached Beth’s side. Bingo. It was an old desk covered in such a thick layer of dirt you couldn’t tell the original color of wood. Beth held up a yellowing piece of paper.

  “It’s from Sinclair House. Apparently someone from Cleitmuir, but I can’t make out the signature, bought the desk.” Beth handed the receipt over.

  Laurel couldn’t read the name either and placed the paper aside when she saw Beth struggling to open the single desk drawer.

  “Damn it. It’s stuck.” Beth slapped her hand against the stubborn wood.

  “Here, let me help, we’ll pull together.”

  They both tugged on the tarnished brass handle, but all they achieved was the desk sliding toward them.

  “Right. We need more leverage,” Laurel stated, then promptly sat down on the floor and braced a foot high on the desk and wedged her other foot at its base. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

  They both pulled in sync.

  With a large crack, the drawer suddenly yanked out, causing Beth to dance backwards to catch her balance and if Laurel hadn’t already been sitting, she probably would have landed on her ass.

  “Well, that was dramatic,” Beth exclaimed. “There better be something good in there.”

  She offered her hand to Laurel and helped her to her feet. They both looked into the offending drawer sticking out of the desk and saw nothing.

  “Gosh, that’s disappointing,” Beth pointed out.

  “Hang on, the drawer was stuck on something or it would have pulled entirely free,” Laurel replied. She jiggled the drawer, trying to slide it out of its track and remove it from the desk. “Hmm, still not coming out.” She squatted down and peered into the drawer.

  “See anything?” Beth asked.

  “I think,” she reached a hand inside until her whole arm disappeared up to her shoulder, “there’s something wedged in the back.” She contorted herself sideways to try and lengthen her reach. “Got it!”

  She stood and pulled out a square cloth placket tied with a faded blue silk ribbon. She placed it carefully on the desktop.

  “Wonder what it is?” Beth asked.

  “Don’t know, but let’s see.”

  Laurel untied the bow and gently unfolded the cloth. “Perfect! It’s exactly what I was hoping to find. They look like letters.”

  Carefully she unfolded the top vellum in the stack, as Beth peered around her side. Neatly spaced cursive handwriting was revealed, easily readable.

  My Dearest, Fiona, Laurel silently read the first line with growing excitement until Beth interrupted.

  “Damn,” she cursed causing Laurel to focus on her friend instead of the tantalizing treasure.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll just barely have time to shower before making another stupid meeting.”

  “It’s okay, we made a great find. Well, you did.” Laurel refolded the letter and cloth, securing it with the old ribbon, and then scooped up the placket. “It’s probably the best we’ll find so far, but if you don’t mind, I’d love to keep searching just in case.”

  “Please, be my guest. Though why you want to hang any longer in this dusty, nasty attic is beyond me.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I don’t know when we’ll have time to search up here again and I’d hate to miss something.”

  “Suit yourself, but I’ll only be gone a couple of hours. Don’t make me drag your skanky self out of this attic.”

  “I promise I won’t be much longer. I even guarantee I will shower and have read these letters before you get back. Maybe I’ll have some interesting stuff to tell you.”

  “Well, I’m sure it’ll be more interesting than my meeting will be,” with a sigh, Beth patted some dirt off her jeans, gave Laurel a quick hug, and headed for the attic entrance.

  Laurel watched Beth leave while lost in thought. What would the letters contain? Who was Fiona? Was there something else hidden away in the attic just waiting to be found? There was still too much unknown and she didn’t know whom to trust.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Freshly showered and dressed, Laurel entered the common room of Cleitmuir. Glancing around, she saw there were only a few guests in the room—no doubt the majority were enjoying the bright Scottish afternoon. Happily, she found a couch to herself and curled up in a corner with plump pillows cushioning her body. The only thing that would have made it perfect was a cup of tea. Maybe later, she thought, as her curiosity of the letters could wait no longer.

  She slipped the faded ribbon from the placket and unfolded the linen cloth. Opening the first letter, she let her mind focus as she began to read.

  My Dearest Fiona,

  It saddens me to read the dreadful news you have written. My deepest condolences to the MacKays. You are well aware of my feelings of the former Earl of Cleitmuir, but my admiration of him changed, at least slightly, on the day he let you go with honor. Having the MacKay declared formally deceased after his disappearance ten months ago, leaves the family with reputations intact.

  However, Simon MacKay, I truly believe, isn’t dead. Finding no future in his betrothal to you, he shirked his duty, abandoned his family, and most likely took their fortune as well, though Cora MacKay would never admit it. I am not singular in this dark belief. The timing of his disappearance with the announcement of the broken engagement was too coincidental. He was ever a selfish man. A tiger never changes his stripes.

  I know the truth is hard for you to read and I am truly sorry if this saddens you, but you are a strong woman of good character, whom I love dearly. MacKay was never worthy of you. I have hastened to end my busi
ness in Edinburgh and will attend to your side in this time of grief. Look for me by the end of the week. I only wish I could grow wings and fly to your side sooner. You are always in my thoughts. Until we meet again…

  Your Loving Husband,

  Alastair

  Written on this Fifth Day of May in the Year of Our Lord, Eighteen Hundred Ten

  Jackpot! Laurel’s pulse raced. So the rumor of Simon’s greed had started immediately with his death. And he had been engaged! She wondered who Alastair was. Obviously the winner of fair Fiona’s hand no doubt, but who was he? Perhaps the answer lay within the stack of letters. She carefully refolded the vellum and put it aside. Picking the next off the top of the stack, she eagerly wondered what it would contain.

  My Dearest Fiona,

  In joyful words I write what I am unable to speak. You have made me the happiest of men. On the morrow, we will be made one, man and wife joined in the eyes of our Lord. I have long awaited this day. That one so beautiful and fair could see any worth in me, has struck me as if Zeus himself had fired his lighting bolt and scored a direct hit. I will forever be your servant in this life and in the next for your gracious acceptance. You do me great honor.

  Fear not, leaving your family and Clan Sinclair. Though I am a mere humble man, know you join into a great Clan of enduring history. The MacKenzie’s will greet you with open arms, though I am loath to share you. You will forever be protected and provided for and I shall worship at your feet.

  Thank you from the depths of my soul for choosing me, you will never regret a single day of our blissful joining.

  Your Faithful Servant,

  Alastair

  Written on this Seventeenth Day of September in the Year Of Our Lord, Eighteen Hundred Nine.