Ghosts of Culloden Moor 15 - Gerard

by L. L. Muir

  If ever there was a public house called the Auld Nordic Hall, this had to be it. Though Nordic Hull would have been more appropriate.

  A small sign swung from a yard arm. Nordic was all he needed to see before opening the large wood door and stepping inside.

  After the bright sunshine, his eyes had trouble adjusting to the dim interior. The two women he’d come to meet were seated to his left at the nearest table, though all he could see of them were their matching hair, piled high on their heads, and their matching blue pantsuits that looked more at home in the previous century.

  He gave them a nod but dared not move until he could see his footing.

  The long hall was divided in halves. The right half began with a long shiny bar that ran a good twenty feet in a straight line. At the far end of the bar was a wide window high in the wall with hints of a kitchen beyond. The left side was filled with booths along the wall and a full row of tables staggered throughout the space between the booths and the bar. In the rear, beyond the booths, and opposite the kitchen, was an empty space meant for dancing and a small riser in the corner for a musician or two.

  A tray of dishes exploded in the shadows beyond, though he couldn’t see more than fifteen feet in front of him. He reminded himself of the current year and resisted the urge to reach for a weapon that was no longer at his side anyway. The danger became apparent, however, when the forms of the three men from the lorry finally came into focus. There was a fourth figure behind the bar itself, but it was a woman. Her hair was full and curled. And from a light overhead, the color caught at his heart.

  Copper-red.

  It was her face, though, that dealt him a final blow—the memory he’d groped for, just beyond his reach, stared back at him!

  He groped for it again. That image. That face. Those eyes… He willed himself forward, and quickly, afraid they would be lost to him before he committed them better to his memory. But his legs heard nothing and his knees fell hard against the wood planks beneath him.

  “Assa?” he said, begging the image to stay. “Assa?”

  She took a step toward him, bless her, but an arm came around her and held her back. “Careful,” the young man said. “There’s broken glass.” But his attention was not on the floor.

  The woman gave Gerard a long look, then she bent and he lost sight of her. The sounds of clattering dishes told Gerard she hadn’t disappeared.

  He sucked a few deep breaths of air into his lungs and found he could control his body again. He put one foot beneath him and the big blond fellow moved closer with one hand held up.

  “I think it’s safer for us all if ye stay on yer knees, aye? Harder to show us yer arse from down there.”

  Another man pushed his way around the first. “Weel, if it isn’t the hussy who likes to lift her skirts for everyone in town…”

  Gerard grinned at that—not because the man was particularly funny, but because he knew an invitation to a fight when he heard one. It didn’t matter the century, these blokes were aching for a head-busting. And since the woman of Gerard’s dreams was otherwise occupied for the moment, he was happy to oblige. By the time the lass returned to her feet, he was sure he could knock his three grinning friends off theirs.

  He plucked a brolly from the stand behind him, caught the second man across the jaw, then stood and put his other foot beneath him. Just in time, he adjusted his weight so he could lean far back and avoid the blond’s first swing. So much momentum did the hammy fist have behind it, Gerard had time to swing the brolly again, knocking the other man’s fist into the face of the third man who had yet to insult him, but seemed eager to fight just the same.

  While the blond tried to recover, Gerard used the pointy end of the brolly to nudge him backward, off balance, and onto his arse without breaking so much as a chair in the place.

  It was then he heard the lass screaming.

  “Stop it! Stop it! Leave them alone!” She bounded around the corner of the bar and came to stand between himself and the blond. “Get. Out.”

  One of the twins stood up and laid a hand on the lass’ arm. “But dear. This is the young man we were hoping—”

  “Get. Out,” she repeated, and the woman backed away, though everyone knew she was talking to Gerard.

  The blond chuckled. “Ye’ve messed in yer own nest, yer lairdship.”

  Gerard began backing for the door. “How’s that?”

  “Our Assa abhors violence.”

  He stopped, dropped the brolly back in the stand, and held up his hands in surrender. “May I say something?”

  “Out!” She widened her eyes a bit to show she was serious.

  He lowered his chin in defeat and turned to go. But he could feel her behind him—could almost hear her thoughts screaming at him, begging him to stay. So he spun on his heel and faced her with his back to the door.

  “I don’t know how you got here, lass, but—”

  “Go!”

  “Will it make any difference if I’ve—”

  “Not another word—”

  “…been madly in love with ye for centuries?”

  Still babying his jaw, the second man came forward. Gerard shook his upraised hands to remind him he had already surrendered, but he kept coming anyway. He finally left his jaw alone, plucked up the umbrella, and used the handle to push Gerard’s chest hard, opening the door in the doing and removing him from the pub in the same motion.

  He allowed Gerard to step away without touching him. “If there is anything our cousin hates more than violence, it’s a liar. So ye’ll have no luck here, mate. And if ye upset her with anymore of yer silliness, ye’ll find yerself in a nice deep grave in a certain Hazel orchard.”

  ~

  Assa felt like a fool for coming apart like she had. The little skirmish was the first bit of violence she had witnessed since she’d been home from the hospital, and though she’d explained to the boys how she hated them fighting, she hadn’t remembered just how much she hated it until she saw the Highlander strike Hughie. The memory of it still had her stomach turning.

  Her over-protective brother jostled her into Ian’s lorry and ordered the cousins to take her home. She wasn’t about to argue. Her head was spinning and competing against her stomach for her attention, and all she could think to do was to get home and force herself to sleep for a while. A wee lie-in was needed to quiet everything down. At the moment, she felt like someone was screaming in her head.

  She glanced up when they drove around the corner and the mystery man in a kilt was still standing near the pub’s front door. He turned his head and made eye contact as if he had sensed her inside the truck.

  Was he a demon come to take her soul? She shuddered even though the cab of the truck was hot from the sun.

  “Don’t worry,” Jamie said with a wink. “We’ll keep ye safe from hiedbangers like him. We’re not going anywhere.”

  She smiled and nodded, admitting she was grateful for that protection. But if the mysterious man was crazy…she worried she might be as well.

  Ian switched on the radio and a slow song calmed her nerves a little. She tried to think of where she’d heard it before and an image popped in her head of a young girl sitting on a stone bench at Culloden Moor, just outside the ancient cottage that still stood on the place. In the girl’s hand was a pink iPod attached to equally pink earphones. That was the first time Assa had heard the tune. She remembered it plainly. But in the picture, so clear in her head, Assa couldn’t remember where she’d been standing. And if the girl were wearing earphones, how had Assa heard the song?

  Must have had the volume up high, she reckoned. But she suddenly didn’t feel like listening to the rest of the song and changed the station.

  Jamie frowned at her. “That was weird though, wasn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “How that bloke knew yer name.”

  “Jamie!” Ian gave him a dark look, then turned his attention back to the road.

  Jamie shrugged. �
��Well, it’s not like he could have been telling the truth. I mean he couldn’t have known her centuries ago, aye?”

  Ian closed his eyes briefly as if praying for patience, but said nothing.

  Assa nudged him with her shoulder. “Dinna fash. I was thinking the same thing myself.” But she wouldn’t share with the two worriers what was really bothering her—that she was pretty sure she knew the man’s name too—the man who had walked straight out of her dreams.

  Ross.

  Deep in her bones, she was certain the man’s name would be Ross.

  But how could she know it? Had she summoned him? Had her subconscious pulled him from her dreams, created him out of thin air, and delivered him to her?

  If so, it made the idea of going home to have a lie-in all the more interesting…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gerard stood outside the strange building and hoped he hadn’t disappointed Soncerae. It was a certainty he’d disappointed Assa. And his disappointment in himself came from upsetting her so terribly, she hadn’t wanted to hear him out. If only he’d known of her aversion to violence, he could have weathered any number of insults from her cousins.

  If he’d only known…

  He thought of the Assa he once knew, and a clear memory returned of the first time he’d laid eyes upon her. She’d been facing down a trio of villains, inviting them to shoot her. No aversion to violence then. And though she’d used no violence to try to keep him captive in that bedchamber at Dunvegan House, she’d certainly threatened it.

  It was strange, the memories that hurried to the surface just from the sight of her! Moments that had slipped beyond his reach were suddenly playing out as if they’d happened days ago! And with them came the emotions.

  He had to speak with her! But how could he get close enough without rousing the four bulldogs that guarded her? And even if he got past them, how could he earn her trust?

  Surely, if he could trigger her memory like she had triggered his, she would remember how they’d felt about each other at the end. And hopefully, for the little time he had left on the earth, they could make a few happy memories to add to the sadder ones.

  Dear, sweet Soni must have delved deep into his heart to realize what he’d truly desired, for he never would have dared hope to see his Assa again. Had she also found a way to make Nessa Kennedy such a gift?

  He felt like a pure louse for thinking of another woman only moments after Assa had left his sight. But his thoughts caught on Nessa Kennedy again like a sweater on a nail. Two more opposite women there could never be, and yet Kennedy also held a piece of his heart. How could she not? Even from a distance, three centuries was a long time to spend near a lass and not become devoted in some way.

  The common man would never understand. But then again, the common man knew nothing of ghostly matters.

  The door opened behind him and the two sisters stepped outside. Neither of them appeared to be too ruffled by the earlier confrontation. They stood to either side of him and said nothing, waiting for him to speak first.

  “My apologies—”

  “Nonsense,” said the sister on his left. “We should apologize to you, for inviting you here.”

  “I take it Assa is the neighbor ye spoke of?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s a lovely girl—”

  “We had no idea you’d met before, of course.” The sister on the right offered him an innocent smile.

  He nodded, then shook his head. “That is a bald lie.”

  She bit her lip, but denied nothing. The one on his left gaped like a fish for a moment, then shrugged and gave up. “Please, don’t tell Soncerae.”

  That surprised him. “Ye ken Soncerae?”

  The left one nodded. “Our niece.”

  “Do ye ken who I…”

  Both sisters nodded. “She’s spread herself so thin, you see. We must step in and help all we can.”

  “Then ye’re Muirs.” He nodded. “Every time I see a pair of twins who look much alike, I worry…”

  The sisters chuckled. “So do we,” they said in unison.

  He offered each of them an elbow. “Where to now?”

  One nodded. “We’ll take you home and make a better plan.”

  Her sister hesitated. “We don’t know much, mind you. Only that we were to put the pair of you together. We half-expected fireworks, but of course, they weren’t the right kind of fireworks.”

  “My fault, entirely,” he assured her. “I’ll get it right the next time.”

  She grimaced. “If there is a next time.”

  He laughed and set them moving on the pavement. “Dinna fret, ladies. When there are Muir witches about, miracles can happen.”

  He flat out ignored the worried looks the sisters exchanged when they thought he wasn’t looking. Muirs or not, he would find a way to see Assa again. And it would have to be soon, for he didn’t have much time. If the lass truly was a neighbor to the Muirs, at least following the women home would get him closer to Assa, physically, than he was at the moment.

  His conscience worried at him as they made their way to the small red car the sisters claimed as their own. But he was determined not to give that conscience much attention until after his mortal time ended.

  What good can you be to the lass now, it hissed, when ye’ll be gone so soon?

  Is it so wrong to want a day or two of happiness? he argued.

  Maybe, his conscience rejoined. It very well may be.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Assa put the kettle on and paced the kitchen while she waited. A cup of tea would be just the ticket for settling her thoughts and stilling her shaking hands. There was no use trying to rest otherwise. If she was honest with herself, however, she would have to admit she was a coward, afraid to lie down and close her eyes.

  She was afraid she might see the Highlander again as soon as she nodded off.

  And worse—she was just as afraid she wouldn’t!

  The door opened and Jamie stomped in with an armful of wood. “Rain’s a’coming.”

  He filled the wood box at the far end of the kitchen, the room that now occupied the whole of the original cottage. It was there Assa felt the most at home for some reason. And in spite of the large addition at the back of the house, built in the 1800’s, she had the feeling she would rest much better at night if she simply climbed up into the loft above the stove and curled up beneath the baskets and drying herbs hanging from the rafters.

  “I thought ye wanted a lie-down,” Jamie said, pausing at the door. Though it was the equivalent of asking her how she was feeling, she refrained from biting his head off. He’d seen how upset she’d been about the fight at the pub. It was natural for him to worry.

  However, she was determined not to tell the boys she’d been more upset over the stranger’s sudden appearance than over the violence itself.

  “I’ll just have a cuppa first,” she said. “Dinna fash.”

  Jamie nodded and left. There were still a few good hours of work to do in the orchard. And they’d already agreed to treat her to Chinese food that evening so she wouldn’t need to cook.

  Soon enough, the kettle whistled, the tea ritual calmed her as much as the tea itself, and she stretched out on the old couch under the window. She rolled forward and something hard and painful bit into her hip, and she jumped back to her feet. Deep in the pocket of her denims she found a smooth, nearly transparent white rock.

  Something familiar!

  She reached out to place the rock on the mantel while she slept, but she couldn’t seem to let it go. Her lucky rock. Always with her. Always. Oh, it might not have prevented the accident that landed her in a coma, but who was to say it hadn’t helped to bring her out of it?

  She switched it to the pocket on the other side and stretched out again. A few deep breaths did the rest, and she felt herself drifting off to Never-Never Land.

  “Come to me now, Mr. Ross,” she murmured. “I dare ye.”

  ~

  Gerard walked in a circle w
ith his arms outstretched, surveying first the endless landscape of yellow fields, then the two women standing at the door of their wee ancient cottage that might crumble into a pile of dust at any moment.

  “Ye lied to me, the pair of ye!”

  Lorraine, the slightly taller sister only because of an extra poufy bit of hair, laughed at him. Her sister took the accusation more to heart.

  “We did not lie to you, Mr. Ross. We are neighbors with Assa and the boys. We simply never mentioned how much space there was between us, that’s all.”

  Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Get down off your high horse and come in, laddie. We’ll draw you a map.”

  After one look at the map that included two glens and half a dozen path changes, he roared to his feet. “I’ll waste all the time left to me with getting lost! And I certainly won’t attempt to drive yon wee beastie ye call an auto.”

  “Fine, then,” said Loretta, and pushed the map into his hands in any case. “Take the horse. Out back.”

  There certainly hadn’t been a horse anywhere near the pile of rocks as they’d meandered along the hillside to reach it. But just then, a muffled whinny came from just beyond the window, and the sisters exchanged smug smiles.

  “A horse indeed,” he grunted, then tucked the map under one arm and ducked back out the only entrance. Around the back way, not only was there a fine chestnut steed, but a small paddock Gerard hadn’t noticed either.

  “For emergencies,” Loretta called from the window. “Like this.”

  In a small shed against the teetering stone house, he found the saddle and tack he needed. After waving off an offer of supper—if the women had food in the house, he’d be jiggered—he asked for a general direction and turned the horse to the west. And just in case he was chased away again by the boys, and needed to return for some reason, he slowed his mount and turned back, to get his bearings.

  The paddock was gone again. The wee house remained little better than a pile of rocks. The red car was still visible above the yellow flowers, but the paddock had disappeared.