She dressed in the pants Malcolm had gifted her — they fit incredibly well and were very comfortable on horseback. She also donned the riding cloak he’d given her, pleased by the way it fell and swished around her shoulders… and kept her warm in the increasingly chilly air. It would come in handy when winter came, that was for certain. Interesting, that she was already thinking in terms of a long stay here… she only hoped there would also be an opportunity for him to see her in the long green dress he’d brought for her as well. It was exquisite, and it fit her like a glove, wrapping perfectly around all her curves. She’d been delighted when she tried it on — but it wasn’t as though she could simply turn up for dinner in such an exquisite piece. No, she’d have to wait for a feast or a festival or something. And for the time being, it looked like all feasts and festivals were off until such time as these raids could be stopped. So she’d better get to work, she thought with a grin. The quicker she could stop the raids, the quicker she could wear her gorgeous new dress… and see just what Malcolm thought of how she wore his gift.
There he was, waiting for her in the entrance hall, wearing his cloak too — ready to ride. She glanced sideways at the dining hall, her mind on a bowl of porridge, but he shook his head, frowning a little regretfully.
“No time, I’m afraid. I’ve brought some oat cakes for the road, but we’d best get going early so we can be sure we’re back before nightfall.”
Nancy sighed… but if she was honest, she was pleased enough to be in Malcolm’s company for the day that she didn’t even mind missing out on her usual morning porridge. This is getting serious, she thought with some amusement. It wasn’t just any guy that would get her to choose his company over food. She’d been aware for a while that she was slowly but surely falling for him, but this really brought everything into perspective.
He handed her an oat cake as they headed out into the cold courtyard, heading for the stables. The chestnut mare was already tacked up and waiting for her — she grinned her thanks to the groom, who gave her a quiet little nod.
“You’ve made a friend there,” Malcolm pointed out offhandedly as he tacked up his own black gelding.
“Are you jealous?” Nancy teased him.
“Might be,” was all he’d say, smiling faintly to himself as he tightened the girth. Then he swung aboard his horse before she could pursue that line of enquiry.
She took one more bite of her oat cake, then handed the rest of it to the chestnut mare, who whuffled happily at her palm as she crunched up the remainder of the snack. Then she swung aboard the mare and they set off, the pleasant sound of the horses’ hooves on the stones of the courtyard the only sound in the cool morning air. Looking up at the gate as the men opened it for them, she spotted Brendan standing guard. He still looked tired, but he looked a world less miserable than the half-dead man she’d spoken to before. He grinned down at her, waving as she and Malcolm headed across the land bridge and turned down the coast toward the village.
They rode past Maggie’s house, smoke emerging from the chimney — a tell-tale pair of boots on the porch revealed that Kaitlyn must have been back for her lessons. Nancy grinned to herself, thinking of the bright, boisterous girl learning about herbs and witchcraft. She wondered idly if old Maggie had ever been accused of witchcraft by the villagers. She seemed to have a generally popular reputation among them, from what Nancy had found out from talking to them — did they suspect her of witchcraft, or were her helpful herbs and healing poultices too useful to risk driving her away? The hypocrisy of people would never fail to surprise, it seemed.
It felt strange, to keep riding past the turnoff that led to the village. Nancy’s horse tried to turn down the road out of habit, and she almost let her before her own memory kicked in and she tugged at the reins. The horse made a sound of surprise but obediently turned and continued down the road, heading for a bend in the trees. Malcolm glanced sideways at her, grinning.
“This is further than you’ve ever been, isn’t it? Away from the castle, I mean.”
“It is,” she admitted, smiling. “I’m excited to see what’s down here. Dragons, I bet.”
“Oh, don’t talk about dragons.”
“Are there dragons?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, Malcolm, tell me there are dragons. I’ve loved dragons my whole life! Have dragons ever come through the burgh? Are dragons faeries?”
He was laughing, urging his horse along — the black gelding, too, was a little surprised by the unfamiliar path they were taking. “Not that I’ve ever met, no. But maybe you should hang around longer,” he added, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Just in case there are dragons.”
“Alright. But that’s the only reason I’ll stay,” she said teasingly. “Nothing to do with the people I’ve met, or the good company I’ve found…”
“Oh, of course,” he said solemnly, though she could see a merry smile dancing in his eyes.
That was her favorite of his expressions, she decided with a private little grin — the faux-serious expression he’d put on when he was trying to hide a laugh or a smile. There was something so deeply charming about it that she almost didn’t know where to look.
The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the little turn-off that led down to the shack that Harold lived in. It was incredibly isolated — no sign of anyone else’s houses anywhere near, and the path wove and wound through the trees as they headed down it. Soon, the trees dropped away, and she realized they were close to the edge of the Loch — this part, though, was covered in rocks, huge ones that could be walked onto. This must be where the men fish, she thought, staring out at the edge of the rocks. Good vantage point — from so high up, it must be easy to make out where schools of fish were swimming.
But they weren’t here to fish — though she knew how, having been taught by her father as a young girl. Her mother had always encouraged her to throw the fish back once she caught them. They were here to search for Harold. And sure enough, the little old shack that stood by the edge of the trees didn’t seem to have anyone inside — nobody in a fit state to answer the door, at any rate. Malcolm stood knocking on the door for a while, a frown on his face — then he glanced back at her, warning her to stand back. She did, not sure what he was going to do — then he stood on one leg and delivered a powerful kick to the door with the other. Sure enough, it flew open, whatever locking mechanism that had held it shut failing in the force of Malcolm’s blow.
It was a tiny little house — not much bigger than a single room with a bed and something that passed for a kitchen in it. And it was definitely empty. Nancy poked her nose in as Malcolm looked around the little space, frowning.
“Table’s still set for breakfast,” Malcolm pointed out, nodding to where a bowl that had clearly had oats in it still stood. “He went out for the day and didn’t come back that evening. We should check the rocks, then the path through the woods toward the village… he might have taken his catch up to sell.”
So they did, walking carefully down onto the rocks, making sure not to slip between them. It was a beautiful view from the edge — the dark, cold waters of the Loch spread out below them, shining in the weak autumn sunlight. But there was no sign of a fisherman, alive or dead, and Nancy frowned to herself, looking down at the water.
“Could he have fallen in?”
Malcolm shook his head. “Not a fisherman so experienced. And besides, his friend said he’s already searched down there, where the bodies tend to wash up of people who fall over the edge of the rocks. No trace.”
“Hmm,” Nancy said, turning back away from the edge. It was starting to make her dizzy, and she had no interest in winding up ‘where the bodies tended to wash up’. How did the fishermen know that, exactly? Sometimes she forgot how dark these times were that she’d found herself living in.
They retraced their steps back up to the shack, where the horses were tethered, happily nibbling on the grass that grew in the shadow of the trees of the forest. Malcolm looked at her, then scan
ned the treeline. “He’d probably have used the path we rode down on if he was on foot… we should follow back up, keep an eye out for any signs of … anything.”
So they walked, retracing their steps up the path. Nancy kept her eyes fixed on the forest floor, scanning for anything unusual. There was something about the process that was making her skin crawl — she couldn’t help but feel like they were being watched, like there were eyes, glinting in the gloom of the forest, just waiting to catch them unawares. Small sounds made her jump, and Malcolm put a steadying hand on her elbow, his eyes kind.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said gently. “If you’re scared, or —”
“I’m not scared,” she snapped. “Just — something about this forest is making me feel creepy. It’s like we’re being watched or something.”
Malcolm scanned the trees, his eyes gleaming in the low light. “Trust your instincts,” he told her in a low voice. “Especially when it comes to the Fae. That prickle on your neck might be nothing, but it also might be your body’s ancient warning system telling you there’s something out there.”
She shivered. She’d have much preferred a platitude or a ‘don’t worry about it’, not a confirmation that her hunch may well be correct. But Malcolm was armed, a sword at his belt, and she had her little iron ingot in her pocket. That made her feel better. They continued along the path, both keeping careful watch. She was just beginning to worry a little about having left the horses alone for so long when Malcolm made a soft sound of dismay in his throat, and suddenly plunged off the road, walking straight into the midst of the forest.
“Malcolm? What’s wrong?”
“Here,” he said tautly, dropping to his knees in the underbrush. Nancy followed with some difficulty, pushing branches and bushes out of her way with her legs and arms as she went. Now that she looked at it, she could see what he had seen — a patch of color that didn’t belong in the forest. A patch that looked suspiciously like the clothing that the fishermen at the meeting had been wearing.
Just a jacket — lying mournfully empty on the forest floor. Still — what was it doing all the way out here? Malcolm was furiously scanning the ground, looking around, his jaw tight and his body alive with nervous energy. She followed his gaze — and they both saw it at the same time. Her heart dropped into her stomach and he swore softly beside her.
There — not far away from the jacket — lay a little pile of bones.
Chapter 36
“They can’t be,” she whispered, feeling sick to her stomach.
But Malcolm was already gone, striding through the forest toward the bones. She couldn’t help it — she was looking at them, trying to identify them, using her own understanding of her own skeleton to help. There was a long bone — maybe a leg bone, a femur or tibia? There, a thinner bone, more slender, perhaps from an arm… and there were a pile of shorter, curved bones that looked like ribs. All of them piled up. All of them completely clean of flesh.
“But — he’s only been missing for a few days,” Nancy whispered, coming up behind Malcolm, who was sitting in the dirt beside the bones with a look of disgust and regret on his face.
“Aye,” he said grimly. “But there are things other than rot that can take the flesh off a man’s bones. Look closely.”
“I don’t really want to,” she whispered. But she leaned in, looking more closely at the bones that were before her. There were strange little patterns on the surface — for all the world like tiny little teeth marks. Sharp teeth, too — not the blunt teeth of an herbivore. These bones had been gnawed by ….
“Rats?”
“No,” Malcolm said grimly. “I’ve seen bones like these before. Back then, it was the work of a Redcap.”
“What’s a Redcap?”
“Cannibalistic faeries. Unseelie,” he added, though he didn’t have to — somehow, Nancy wasn’t convinced that a Seelie Fae would indulge in cannibalism. “Redcaps lure travelers to their death. They wait on deserted roads like these ones and murder passersby.”
“Why are they called that?” she asked, fascinated — and horrified. She almost didn’t want the answer when he gave it.
“They dip their caps in the blood of their victims,” Malcolm said grimly. He was angry — she could see it now, anger inflating his chest, making his jaw tight, making his eyes blaze with repressed energy. “Truly awful creatures. I wish I’d been here. Why didn’t we think to reach out to the isolated people sooner?”
“We couldn’t have done anything,” Nancy said, looking down at the bones. “They were hiding in the woods out here —”
“They?”
“Well, there have to be more than one, right? If they’re conducting raids…”
“Of course,” he said, waving a hand. “Sorry. I’m just — I thought I’d seen the last of these creatures,” he said tightly, gritting his teeth. They’re a menace. Honestly, there’s nothing worse that comes out of that burgh. Goblins. It’s blasted goblins.”
He rose to his feet in one abrupt motion, looking angrily around the forest as though more goblins would appear for him to fight. Nancy followed him, feeling a little overwhelmed. Goblins… the creatures from storybooks and fantasy novels? They were real? Well, she supposed she’d once thought the Loch Ness Monster was a fantasy, too. Not that she’d ever really believed the creature wasn’t alive and well…
“I have to get word to Donal,” Malcolm was saying, pacing back and forth near the bones. “Tell him that it’s goblins again, that we’ll have to get ready for —”
“First, I think Harold deserves a burial, don’t you?” Nancy interrupted, trying to still his clearly racing mind.
He looked up at her, confused — then some of the chaos raging in his eyes seemed to settle. He looked down at the pile of bones and nodded.
They spent half an hour or so, digging a depression in the soil. They briefly talked about the idea of burying him at sea — well, in the Loch, at least — but there was no way to make sure that the bones wouldn’t simply wash up on the shore again. And besides, they were within earshot of the Loch here. The man would be able to hear its waters, if his spirit chose to remain with his bones, that was.
When the grave was deep enough that wild animals wouldn’t dig the bones up, Malcolm gathered them carefully and lay them reverently in the soil. They sat for a moment, unsure of what to say, until Malcolm spoke, surprising her with the soft, reverent tone of his voice.
“Harold, I didn’t know you. But I’m sorry about what happened to you. You likely died alone, and afraid, and in pain. But I promise you that I will find these creatures, and I will put them to the sword — and you’ll rest easy.” Then he murmured something in what must have been Gaelic.
It was beautiful — Nancy didn’t ask what it had meant, not wanting to interrupt the moment. Working together, they buried the bones — but not before Nancy had grabbed the man’s jacket and laid it carefully over the top of them. It seemed like the right thing to do. When they’d finished, they put a pile of stones over the place where the man lay — a simple grave, but it had a quiet beauty, Nancy thought.
By the time they’d finished, it was mid-afternoon. They’d missed lunch, but Nancy didn’t miss it — she didn’t feel like eating at all, not with what they’d discovered. But she was itching to learn more about Redcaps, and goblins generally, from the scholars, so when Malcolm suggested they go back to the castle, she nodded. They headed back to where the horses were tethered, still nibbling happily on the grass, and quickly climbed aboard.
“What do we do now?” she asked quietly as they rode. The mood was somber, but Malcolm still managed to give her a tired smile.
“We keep doing what we’re doing. We fight these creatures with everything we’ve got, Nancy. You still with me?”
“I am,” she confirmed, eyes blazing. “I promise.”
“Then we’ve got a fighting chance.” He smiled.
“Tell me about goblins. Are there just Redcaps, or are there ot
her kinds? How do I recognize them, if I run into them?”
“Nasty little creatures,” Malcolm said after a pause, his brow furrowed.
She could tell his mind was still far away — fixed on Harold, no doubt. He was the kind of man who’d blame himself for a tragedy like that, Nancy knew that about him by now… he was probably working through events in his head, thinking about all the things he could have done differently that might have saved Harold’s life. She couldn’t help but do the same, so she sympathized. Maybe if they’d caught the thefts earlier? Maybe if they’d figured out that it was goblins and not rats that first day, if they’d gotten the blacksmith onto making protective iron a day or so earlier, it might have been that Harold would have had an iron bar in his house?
But no, she thought with a sigh. That wouldn’t have helped. Because regardless of whether or not his house was safe, the creatures had waited for him on the road. They’d dragged him off the path into the wood. The walls of his shack could have been made of pure iron, and they’d have done no good.
She remembered Maggie’s warning — don’t travel at night. Had that been the problem? Had Harold been walking back home after dark, maybe celebrating a successful sale of his wares, his day’s catch? Would owning a horse have saved him, allowed him to ride fast enough to get away from the creatures? Nancy shivered, reaching down to stroke her horse’s neck. It was too easy to take things for granted in this life. She was grateful she and Malcolm had ridden out here today and not walked.
“Malcolm?” she pressed gently, realizing she’d been waiting for him to speak for a rather long time.
He seemed to shake himself awake, the rhythm of the horse’s movement clearly having lulled him into a trance. “Sorry. Goblins. Yes. Goblins are… it’s hard to give a description. There are as many tribes as you can imagine, and they all differ quite sharply. Then the individuals within each tribe differ again, much like humans. So it’s hard to give a specific description… but you know them when you see them.” He glowered at the road ahead, clearly lost in thought about what he was going to do the next time he saw one. But talking helped, at times like these, and Nancy prompted him to continue.
Stranded By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance-Highlander Forever Book 2 Page 22