Haunted Warrior

by Allie Mackay

  Chase women often had unusual gifts, inherited from a distant ancestor none of them could now trace. They used their talents for the greater good whenever possible. At times, things didn’t work out as they should, despite their best intentions.

  And sometimes, they simply made mistakes.

  Graeme wasn’t bleeding, after all. Nor was there any blood on her. She frowned, her pulse starting to quicken again. Had she imagined everything?

  Was this a new trick? One she hadn’t yet encountered?

  She took a few steps away from Graeme, ran a hand through her hair. “I saw the rock hit you. It struck you on the head, knocking you down just before it crashed into the water.” She spoke in a rush. “There was a gash on your forehead—­” Her voice faltered, chills sweeping her. “It was bad, so much blood on your face, all over the stones—­” She broke off again, went back to him. “Now there’s nothing. I don’t understand….”

  “It happened fast.” He took her hands, gripping tight, rubbing her wrists with his thumbs. “And there is something, I vow.” He shook back his hair, revealing a bluish mark on his temple, a slight swelling. “The rock clipped me, true enough. But it’s only a graze. Ne’er you worry. I was stunned, no more. The breath knocked out of me, that’s all.”

  “But…” Kendra frowned, her gaze going to where he’d lain so still.

  There wasn’t a drop of red on the stones.

  “I was sure you were going to die.” She couldn’t wrap her mind around what she’d just seen—­or hadn’t. And the alternative to questioning him was grabbing his face and kissing him like a wild woman. She was that relieved.

  “You can see I’m not dead.” He released her hands, the truth of the words undeniable. “MacGraths cannae be killed so easily, sweet. It would take more than an errant rock to have done with me.” He took her by the shoulders, looking down at her in a way that made her want to slide her arms around his back and just cling to him.

  She was sure she’d seen blood. She knew she hadn’t felt a pulse. Yet he had no reason to lie to her. Did he have the wind knocked out of him, and she’d overreacted? She’d certainly been worried enough to see things her mind expected.

  Shock did that to people.

  Still…

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” She resisted the urge to lean her head against his chest and check the strength of his heartbeat.

  She did narrow her eyes, studying him carefully. “I’ve never seen anyone recover so swiftly.” She reached to smooth back his hair, her fingers grazing lightly over his bruised temple. “If you had been seriously hurt”—­she lowered her hand, still frowning—­“medics could never have reached us in time. I shudder to think—­”

  “You needn’t.” He touched his fingers to her lips. “All is well, as you see,” he assured, one corner of his mouth lifting in the tiniest smile. “Scots have a high tolerance of pain. That’s been so for centuries and it is no less true today.”

  Kendra wasn’t so sure. But she couldn’t argue his point. He had leapt to his feet, looking no worse for wear. A few eye blinks and a dusting of his jeans, and he’d been good as new, as if nothing had happened.

  So she summoned a smile, sure she’d overreacted.

  “Does that happen often here?” It was the only thing she could think to say. “Big rocks flying off the cliffs, just like that?”

  “Nae, it doesn’t.” He glanced up at the bluff’s edge, then back at her. His expression darkened, his tone changing. “Not like that, anyway.”

  Kendra’s gut clenched. “You don’t think someone pushed the rock, do you?”

  “I do, aye.” He spoke bluntly. “That’s another reason I’m so glad you’re okay.” He slid his fingers into her hair, gliding them through the strands. “I’m going to climb up there and have a look around. And I think you should come with me. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  Kendra swallowed. “I don’t know….” Her legs still felt like jelly and her heart hadn’t stopped racing. “I’m usually a good climber. And I’m not afraid of heights. Any other time, I’d love—­”

  “You cannae stay here on your own.” He looked to where Bart stared back at them from the bottom of the broken arch. The bull seal was quiet now, his dark, liquid eyes fixed right on them. “There are steps cut into the cliff. They’re ancient and a bit narrow and slippery, but I’ll not let you fall. I promise.”

  “Well…” Kendra bit her lip. She understood his need to get up there. Half of her burned to see the ruins, but the other half worried about what they’d find once they reached the cliff top.

  Obviously, whatever trickster in her family’s past was responsible for the Chase legacy’s occasional gaffes had pulled a big one today.

  The death glaze hadn’t been a harbinger of doom.

  There were other reasons for good air to go bad, turning green-­black as the atmosphere about the bluff and in the cove had done.

  Terrible things such as the otherworldly unmentionables her youngest sister, Melanie, refused to name or describe whenever someone pressed her about what she stumbled on each time she discovered a portal.

  Kendra glanced at the water, Melanie’s face rising in her mind. Melanie was still at college and—­so far—­more horrified than grateful for the gift she’d inherited as part of the Chase legacy. Unlike Kendra and their middle sister, Carolyn, who was clairaudient, Melanie’s talents were broader and far more interesting because she possessed a penchant for happening on portals.

  If an entry to centuries past was anywhere around her, Melanie would stumble into it, each time terrified she wouldn’t find her way out again. Sometimes such portals opened into places other than the innocent past. When that happened, Melanie was given glimpses of dark, mysterious worlds she never spoke of to anyone, except to say she hoped the creatures she saw there never followed her back into the real world, as much as any of the Chase sisters could consider their day-­to-­day surroundings ordinary.

  So much more existed, after all.

  Most people just didn’t know what lurked beneath the surface, or around corners they couldn’t see. Kendra and her sisters—­and one or two aunts and distant cousins—­were very much aware.

  Lesser entities weren’t a fable.

  If something like that had caused the weird greenish-­black haze she’d seen and if that something still lurked on the bluff, skulking about the tumbled walls of Castle Grath…

  Kendra wrapped her arms around herself, not wanting to follow such a thought.

  Graeme had no idea.

  He couldn’t guess what he might be running into up there.

  And he had it all wrong. If that was the way of it, she wasn’t the one needing protection. Her shields were still up and humming. It was Graeme who shouldn’t go climbing up a cliff stair on his own and then haplessly striding into something horrible.

  She couldn’t let him face such danger alone.

  She started to say so, worded tactfully, of course, when a motion to her right startled her. Wary, she glanced toward the water’s edge.

  A whirl of bluish mist spun there, the outline of a huge, burly man at the vortex’s center letting her know that, Ordo, her third spirit guide, was about to pay her a call.

  And as so often, the once-­famed Viking trader had chosen a bad time to appear. Having enjoyed life as a wildly popular man, Ordo still believed no visit was inopportune. Gregarious and bold, he was of a mind that he’d be greeted gladly wherever and whenever he chose to go.

  Kendra frowned, shot a glance at Graeme, who didn’t seem aware of Ordo’s arrival.

  At the water’s edge, the whirling mist cleared and the big Viking stepped from his vortex, his mail and Viking war ax shining like the sun. His smile was just as bright, and his blue eyes twinkled. “You needn’t fear scaling the cliff, girl.” He threw a look at the half arch, the worn steps cut into the rock there. “I’ll be behind you every step,” he vowed, his chest swelling on the words.

  A promise she heard in
her mind, clear as if his booming voice was as real as Graeme’s or her own.

  “I’ve followed worse tracks than that in my day, mind.” His bearded chin jutted, pride rippling the air around him. “You can trust me to see you safely to the top.”

  I know. Kendra let out a sigh, aware Ordo would hear the silent words it carried. He clearly thought she was afraid to climb the bluff. Or, as she knew him, he simply wanted an opportunity to feel needed.

  Ordo enjoyed playing hero.

  It would crimp his ego to know she wasn’t worried about the climb. How could she be, with Graeme guiding her every step of the way? She trusted him implicitly.

  But Ordo was a born gallant. He’d worn the role well in his earth life and had trouble shaking it off now. And she didn’t have the heart to let him guess that, quite often, his help wasn’t needed.

  It was appreciated.

  So she inclined her head infinitesimally, sending him her heartfelt thanks.

  She knew better than to ask him about the green-­black haze and its possible origins. Ordo wouldn’t have seen it, choosing to spend his spirit-­guiding afterlife in the same positive mind-­set as he’d lived with his earthly days.

  Negativity didn’t exist for the Viking.

  And Kendra loved him for it, his bluster and good heart often bringing much-­needed levity into her work and her private life.

  You’re a fine man, Ordo. She smiled when he nodded acknowledgment of the praise.

  “Just let him think it’s him helping you.” He flicked a glance at Graeme. “A man likes to feel needed,” he boomed, stepping back into his vortex.

  And then he was gone, though Kendra knew he’d keep his word and follow her up the cliff stair. An act of gallantry that meant she now had to climb the bluff whether she wished to or not. Refusing Ordo’s well-­meant assistance would only line the spirit guide’s brow with furrows. She much preferred his smiles. She loved Graeme’s, too.

  He was giving her one now, a soft smile that turned her into mush. “You’re not afraid to climb the steps with me, are you?” He leaned in, dropped a light kiss on her brow. “I’d ne’er suggest you go with me if there was any danger of you falling.”

  “I’m not worried.” She wasn’t. “I know you won’t let me slip.”

  At the crumbling arch, Bart barked and flapped one flipper against his weedy rock, apparently agreeing. His friends and cousins, once again crowding the crescent-­shaped strand, joined in.

  Graeme ignored them all, his gaze steady on hers. “I’ve ne’er taken anyone up there.” He took her face in his hands, something in his tone making her heart thump hard against her chest. “I wouldn’t ask you if I weren’t sure you’re safer with me.”

  “I know.” She did.

  But she also felt a stab of frustration. His last words weren’t what she’d expected him to say. She’d thought he’d tell her that every other woman he’d ever known hadn’t meant enough to him to merit a visit to Grath. That only she had earned that honor.

  When he’d caught her face, looking down at her so earnestly, she’d thought he was about to kiss her. Not a quick, barely there peck on her brow like he’d just given her, but long, deep kisses. The kind that would’ve erased the shock they’d just been through—­such things were known to bring people closer, after all.

  Not so with Graeme, sadly.

  He’d shown her again that she was just a tourist to him.

  Someone he’d taken under his wing and felt obliged to look after, thanks to circumstance.

  Too bad she felt differently.

  She wasn’t a tourist in need.

  She was head over heels in love.

  Chapter 14

  “You think Ramsay’s up there, don’t you?” Kendra watched Graeme’s jaw tighten on the suggestion, seeing at once that she’d guessed right.

  It was also apparent that he hadn’t the foggiest about how her heart still raced from their encounter with the flying rock. His swift recovery had been startling. Ordo’s appearance hadn’t helped to settle her nerves. And now she was further flustered because she’d mistakenly thought Graeme had wanted to kiss her. While his mere proximity was enough to make her forget just about anything else, he appeared much better at keeping his focus.

  Where that focus centered was obvious.

  “I think he was there, aye. Ramsay or one of his goons.” He spoke at last, not denying her suspicions. “No one else would do such a thing. I promise you that rock didn’t sail on its own. Ramsay’s wanted me gone for a long time. He saw his chance today and took it.

  “He’ll be gone now, running like a rat jumping a sinking ship. But he was at the ruin, I’m sure.” His tone was terse. “Likely with his usual pack of fools and lackeys.”

  Kendra lifted a brow. “And if they’re still around?”

  “Then they’ll regret they didn’t leave when they had the chance.” His hand went to the dagger at his hip—­a Scottish dirk that now looked more wicked than earlier.

  She’d asked him why he’d worn it and believed him when he’d said he always carried a knife when on the boat, not knowing if one would be needed.

  Now she suspected his reasons went deeper.

  She swallowed, pushed her hair back off her face. “You wouldn’t use that on Ramsay, would you?”

  “The blade’s for cutting tangled lines and whatnot.” He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “If I wanted to harm Ramsay, my fists will serve well enough.”

  Kendra wasn’t sure she believed him.

  She did cast another glance at the cliff. The steps winding up from the broken arch looked more treacherous than ever. One falsely placed foot or a wrong handgrip and they’d plummet onto the rocks.

  Ordo might make the climb right behind her, but if she slipped and caused them to fall, they’d plunge right through him. Ordo might have a big heart, but he wasn’t very substantial.

  She knew Graeme would protect her. But she worried her feet might have a mind of their own.

  Turning back to him, she drew a breath.

  “Are you really up to the climb?” She still didn’t like the idea, even knowing how sure-­footed he was. “You did take a nasty bash. That path is steep, the steps old and slippery.” She lifted a hand, lightly touching the bump at his temple. “Maybe we should just leave? Go back to Pennard and—­”

  “Everything around here is old, slippery”—­he nudged a bit of seaweed—­“or crumbling. Long may it be so. I’ll not allow Ramsay, Scotland’s Past, or anyone to destroy what makes this coast unique.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed with Ramsay.” Kendra couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.

  “I am.” He didn’t blink. “I can’t think of the bastard without catching the reek of sulfur or tasting cold, rancid ash at the back of my throat. I still bear the scars from when he tried to bring Grath into his clutches. Now with Pennard and after this today,”—­he tossed back his hair, his gaze not leaving hers—­“he’ll be the wounded one.”

  Kendra shot a quick glance to the dirk at his hip. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “I said my fists would serve.”

  Kendra frowned. “Violence never helped any—­”

  “A few inches, and that rock would’ve hit you.” Graeme’s voice hardened, his glance flashing to the cliff top. “I can’t ignore such a threat. Whoe’er was responsible went too far. A few benches and a compressor in the water is one thing. Hurtling rocks at innocent tourists is something else entirely and needs addressing.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “For the same reasons most scoundrels do things: money, greed, and power.” He made the words sound dirty, distaste all over him. “Ramsay’s behind the trouble in the village and he’s playing it both ways. He’s hoping the locals will take a fright and sell their houses cheap, to him, of course. If that fails and they sell out to Scotland’s Past, he’s betting on the historians growing tired of all the
upset and making a deal with him. He’d drive a shrewd bargain, aiming to get the whole village for nothing.”

  “He didn’t get Lora Finney’s cottage.” Kendra seized the chance to help the unhappy spirit. “I noticed the house is under renovation and asked Iain about it. He said Scotland’s Past bought it from the Finney estate.”

  Graeme’s face darkened. “They snapped it up from Lora’s ex-­husband’s sister in Inverness. She didn’t want it because the place is said to be haunted. Scotland’s Past outbid Ramsay’s offer. He was livid.”

  “Maybe he’d be even angrier if something really special was done with the house?” Kendra gave him a quick smile, feeling bold. She ignored his comment about the cottage having a ghost. “It’s said the best revenge is success. Iain told me Lora Finney loved books and had quite a collection. I also heard she often won scone-­baking competitions. Perhaps”—­she glance at the seals, then back to Graeme—­“her house could be turned into a lending library for Pennard’s locals. I can picture a cozy place, full of bookshelves, driftwood, and watercolors of the sea. A few corner tables where people could enjoy tea and scones.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” The glimmer of a smile flickered in Graeme’s eyes. “Lora would’ve loved that,” he said, but then the warmth faded from his face. “It’s just a shame Scotland’s Past plans to keep the cottage gutted, using it for storage only.”

  “Maybe someone can change their mind?” Kendra meant to try.

  Graeme snorted. “If so, it’ll only be Ramsay coming up with a scheme to get his hands on the house. I’m sure he’s behind the cottage’s ‘haunting.’ It wouldn’t surprise me if he cooks up even more mischief there, even something that would injure a workman.”

  Kendra drew a long breath, considering. “All that to search unhindered for your family’s Shadow Wand?”

  “Mainly, though he’d no doubt also try to parcel off the village online in one-­foot-­square lots to unsuspecting Scotland lovers, as he’d once hoped to do with Grath.” Graeme sounded sure of it. “That bastard is all about whatever lines his pockets and fuels his power.”