by L. L. Muir
CHAPTER 3
“Why are ye here?” she finally asked, still nestled against me. “Is the war over so soon? I hadnae heard.”
“Nae. The war isnae over. There is still a battle to be fought.” Only one, and it wouldnae end well.
She lifted her head from my shoulder and peered at me. “Are ye on leave?”
There was no way to tell her the truth of how I knew the danger of the unmended hole in the barn, or how I came to be here, so I shrugged. “I’ve been needing to fix that hole in the barn, ye know. Now seemed like a good time.”
She tapped my shoulder playfully. “Ye dinnae fix the barn in the year we were married. And now ye think to stop an entire war to board it up?”
I shifted her in my lap, aware of the difference in her, now heavy with child. Her wee weight had never affected me before, but this was the solidity of the bairn she nurtured beneath her heart. And I loved every bit of it. Guilt flashed through me to see her so happy, knowing I would soon be gone forever, but I would cherish this day and give her and the bairn a chance at life with no regrets.
“War or no, I will take care of my Mairi,” I told her.
“I am so glad to see ye, Adam,” Mairi murmured, her head tucked beneath my chin. “I am so proud of the man ye are, so honorable and willing to do yer part for Scotland. But it hasnae been easy wondering about ye, selfishly wishing ye werenae one of those who’d answered Glenbucket’s call.”
To be honest, I’d had little choice. Old John Gordon had ridden into Strathbogie, pressing every available man to his regiment. At the Culloden Visitors’ Centre, centuries later, I’d learned he and Lords Lovat and Lochiel, and the MacDonnell chieftains along with a few others, had escaped the carnage at Culloden and gathered at the head of Loch Arkaig, hoping to re-launch the ’45. But the Scots army never rallied, and John Gordon died in Boulogne, France, five years later. Few of the soldiers in Glenbucket’s Regiment died that day at Culloden, but I had been one of the unlucky ones.
Mairi and I held each other close as the glow from the fire dwindled and a chill crept into the house. I nibbled her ear and she giggled, providing all the warmth I needed to ignore the waning block of peat. We murmured words of endearment to each other, reminding me poignantly of the night before I left with Glenbucket’s Regiment. That hadnae turned out so well, but tomorrow I would make amends.
With a brief kiss to the top of my nose, Mairi finally slid to her feet. “Ye must be hungry. I’ve never known ye not to be, and ye are looking a bit gaunt, Mr. Gordon.”
One hand braced on her lower back, she crossed the room to our small larder.
I reached for her in protest. “Mairi, I am fine. Really, I am. Dinnae fash about me.” Indeed, I’d not eaten a bite in nearly 300 years, but why bring that up? My job was to keep her safe, not alarm her. Perhaps it was best she think me on leave from my unit, allow her to believe—at least for now—I was really coming home one day. But how to convince my wife I dinnae need to be fed?
“There’s bannocks in this tin, and a bit of dried mutton,” she said as she rummaged through the shelves. “And William drew water for me just this evening.”
My brother’s lad, William, was old enough to do small chores for her, but she’d clearly not thought to hand the lad hammer and nails and repair the barn. And to be fair, I hadnae considered it, either.
Mairi ignored my protest and bustled about the room as well as she could, presenting me a small platter of food alongside a mug of cold water. I used to drink ale, but Mairi dinnae have a taste for it in the past few months of her pregnancy, and apparently dinnae keep it around on the off chance I’d show up on her doorstep. But it dinnae matter now.
I stared at the platter, considering the food before me. If I ate it, would it go down? How real was I? If Pol’s greeting was anything to judge by, I was fairly solid. But I dinnae want to risk alarming my poor wife over a small a thing such as swallowing food. She yawned. I jumped at the distraction.
“Mo chridhe, go get some rest. I can only stay a day to set things to right. The sun will be up soon and I must get busy. I’ll be fine here with Pol.”
Her face paled. “Only a day?” she whispered, clearly saddened.
I rose to my feet and hugged her as she swayed, disappointment and exhaustion etched on her pretty face. “Mayhap two,” I allowed, trying to remember Soni’s words. “But I cannae be sure. Ye look tired, Mairi, a ghràidh. Please go to bed.”
“Will ye not come with me?” she asked with a wheedling tilt of her head. “I want to lay my head on yer shoulder, listen to yer heart beat.”
I stiffened. I hadnae had a heartbeat in a verra long time. But tonight I could feel it sending blood pounding through my veins. Veins that had once bled dry from a mortar shell after it severed a vital artery.
“Let me see to this food and I will be there,” I promised.
She smiled contentedly as I led her to our bed in the only other room in the house and tucked her in. The hand-woven wool blankets she’d brought to our home when we wed were soft with years of use and I pulled three atop her to keep her warm. I kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my sweet Mairi.”
“I will wait up for ye,” she said. But I knew she wouldn’t. Already her eyelids were heavy and she stifled another yawn. I patted her shoulder and tiptoed from the room, coming to an abrupt halt when I saw Soni seated at the table, her black robe pooled around her.
CHAPTER 4
I glanced at Pol who lay curled at the door, unconcerned about the stranger in our midst. Soni followed my gaze.
“Dinnae worry. She willnae notice me.” She looked past me into the darkened bedroom. “Nor will yer wife, should she wake.”
I did not understand, but accepted this along with everything else that had happened to me in the past couple of hours or so. I pulled out the other chair and sat. Soni pointed to the platter.
“Ye may as well feed it to the dog. No aspersions on yer wife’s cooking, mind, but ye are a ghost and cannae eat as the rest of us.”
I sent her a startled look and she laughed softly. “I got ye here, as ye wished. The rest is details which I cannae control.”
With a sorrowful glance at the bannocks—Mairi was a wonderful cook—I dismissed them from my mind.
Soni looked about her. “`Tis a lovely cottage. And yer wife is quite beautiful. When are ye going to tell her ye are a ghost?”
I stared at her then leaned back in my chair, resting my hands on my breeches, feeling defeated. “I cannae.”
“How will ye get everything done tomorrow if ye dinnae tell her?”
“What do ye mean?” I asked.
Soni held up a hand, ticking her points off on her fingers as she spoke. “She will want to fix ye a hearty breakfast, then send word to yer brother’s family, then invite them to sup with ye. Mayhap even make a ceilidh of it.” Her eyebrows rose. “Ye dinnae want that to happen.”
The thought of all those people around me left a hard knot in my stomach. On the one hand, I wanted this day alone with my wife, and it was sorrowful enough to leave her again, knowing I’d never return.
On the other hand, I shuddered to think of all I knew from the Visitor’s Centre at Culloden about the aftermath of the war. How could I face my family and not plead with them to travel to America immediately, flee the terrible atrocities of the Butcher’s reprisals against so many innocents?
I did not know how the people here fared, for the Gordon clan was torn in its loyalties. The third Duke of Gordon sided with the English, but his brother, Lord Lewis Gordon, had raised two battalions and fought on the Jacobite side at Culloden. It would be well-known many men in Strathbogie served the Jacobite cause. How many could I save? Who would listen? Such a task was enormous, and not the one Soni had sent me to accomplish.
I thought of my wife. “She is a staunch Catholic.”
A faint grin lighted Soni’s eyes. “Then she should believe in spirits.”
I frowned at her. “Dinnae take this lightly.
I could shock her deeply. And she doesnae need that. Ye saw how far she is with child. I came to prevent the bairn from coming early, not frighten her into labor.”
“Adam. Ye must think of a way to tell her. Otherwise, she will not understand why ye dinnae want friends and family—or her fantastic cooking.” She cocked her head. “Ye dinnae want her to think poorly of ye.”
“Does this happen to all ghosts?” I asked petulantly. “Not being able to eat, I mean.”
A green aura surrounded her and her figure began to fade. “No, Adam. It doesnae.”
I was alone at the table. I stared at the platter full of my wife’s good cooking. “Do ye want a bite, Pol?”
The dog scrambled to her feet and daintily took the bannock I offered her. She carried it back to her rug at the door and laid it between her forefeet. Unused to largess directly from the table, she nosed it about, biting it gingerly then dropping it back to the floor.
“Dinnae waste it,” I scolded. Then, remembering the nearly empty pantry, I carefully replaced the rest of the food. By the time I looked back at Pol, her bannock was gone.
CHAPTER 5
I woke to the smell of breakfast cooking. Damn! I’d meant to be up before Mairi, bring her breakfast in bed and claim I’d eaten earlier. But I’d not had such a contented sleep since my ‘awakening’ years ago. It was refreshing, if unlooked for. Much better than sporadic bouts of ‘rest’ on the moor with the lingering odors of battle clogging my nose. I’d fallen not long before the Government Dragoons facing us had given up exchanging fire across a stretch of ponds and moor, and someone had laid me gently aside. Many nights I’d stared at the stars through ghostly eyes, dreaming, wondering, longing.
Imagining I would lay awake all night with Mairi in my arms, I’d gone to bed willingly after Soni left, but it hadnae taken long for my eyes to close as peacefulness invaded my very being.
And now she was wasting perfectly good food on her ghost of a husband. Much as I hated it, Soni was right. We needed to have a talk. I would soon be gone, and with my death, there would be no money forthcoming to restock the larder. I imagined Mairi tending the garden with a newborn straining her energy, and realized I needed to stop her efforts of depleting the larder on my behalf. I quickly rose and pulled on my breeches, tucking my shirt-tail in as I hurried into the other room.
Morning light glinted off the lingering snow outside and flashed with clear winter brilliance through our one paned window. Mairi greeted me so brightly I could swear the sun shone from her face. She glowed with happiness, and I ached to think what it would be like to remain with her and never let her lose that beautiful smile. My love for her resonated as a deep ache inside, an ache that stretched across the centuries, one I would never willingly release.
But first things, first. I crossed the room and captured her in a fierce hug. She squealed with delight and twisted in my arms until she could put hers around my waist. It was odd to feel her swollen belly between us. Something thumped against my abdomen and I jumped. Mairi laughed. She grabbed my hand and held it to her belly.
Wonderment bloomed through me. I’d felt the bairn move before, but this was so much more! Do it again, I urged, and the bairn gave another solid kick.
“I believe he is wanting out,” I preened, proud to think I had a part in the bairn’s making, pushing aside the reality that I’d never see him. But Mairi would. That had to be enough.
“Or she,” Mairi corrected airily. We’d had this discussion before.
I hugged her again. “Lad or lass, it doesnae matter to me.” I choked back a lump in my throat. “I just want ye both safe.”
“Ye have mentioned it often enough, `twill likely be a lad,” Mairi joked.
“Ye cannae make it so just by saying it,” I protested. But I was wrong. I had wanted to return to help Mairi. I had said it, demanded it, fashed over it again and again—for the past 270 years to be exact. And it had finally happened. I was here, and I was about to change Mairi and the bairn’s destiny.
Mairi waved her spoon at me. “Go let Pol in from her run. Breakfast is almost ready.”
I had a moment to gather my thoughts. Touching Mairi’s belly, feeling the bairn move inside, was as close as I would ever get to holding my child, and it had to be enough to know he—or she—was alive and kicking. I must get busy in order to keep him that way.
I opened the door and the crisp morning air touched my face, raising goosebumps along my skin. Sunshine glinted off the slowly melting snow, decorating the faceted surface with tiny rainbows of color. Black shadows still hid beneath the trees, but they were fading, giving up their space to the new day. I dinnae know if I’d ever felt more alive. Every smell exploded in the back of my nose, creating a new taste on my tongue. Every sight formed a memory I would never forget—or would I?
“Pol!” I shouted. Her furry black and white form dashed across the glen and darted past me into the house. She skidded to a halt at Mairi’s feet.
Mairi turned, a plate of fresh bannocks in her hands, and spied the dog’s eager stare. “Get by, dog. Ye know ye dinnae get food from my platters.”
I sent Pol an apologetic look and she responded with one of expectancy. ‘Later’ I mouthed at her. She placed a paw over one eye and looked away.
Mairi added the plate of bannocks to the table. “Och, Adam, I am so glad ye are here. Wee William will be here later this morning and I can send word back with him.” Mairi filled the platter before me, plump oatcakes nestled beside a few rounds of bacon from the pig I’d killed months earlier. “Here ye go, mo chridhe. Ye dinnae look as though the army knows how to feed its soldiers.”
Placing a kiss on my ear as I reluctantly sat, she bustled about the room, one hand absently stroking her big belly.
Wait—send word with William about what?
“Mairi, What are ye about? What is this about William, and why do ye not sit with me?”
“Och, I had a bite earlier. `Tis difficult to eat much at a time, the bairn takes up that much room.” She waved airily and averted her gaze, a sure sign she dinnae want to continue the conversation, and shuffled into the bedroom. I wondered how much ‘a bite’ was, fairly certain it wasnae enough to feed her and the bairn. She needed the food on my platter much more than I did.
“Mairi, come eat this right now,” I said, making my voice as stern as possible as guilt poured over me at the short rations she lived on at the verra end of winter.
“I will eat a bit more later,” she assured me from the other room as she plumped the bed pillows with a resounding thump. “I will have William tell his ma ye are home. Even if `tis only for a day or so, they will be glad to see ye.” She appeared in the doorway, hands busily folding a blanket. “Do ye know if Allen is home on leave as well?”
I startled at the mention of my brother, instantly transported back to the day of battle. A stray shard of an exploding mortar nicked an artery in my neck, ending my life quickly, and I never saw my brother, a veteran in Lord Lewis Gordon’s regiment, again. I had no idea what had become of him—his regiment was on the opposite end of the battlefield from Glenbucket’s—but I knew he wasnae one of the 79, nor was he currently home ‘on leave’.
“Nae, Mairi. I dinnae think Allen is home. And I dinnae wish to invite the family here. I must be away by nightfall and I dinnae wish to share my time with ye.”
I had no idea if I would be granted extra time or not, but I felt safer telling Mairi `twas just the one day.
“Only the day?” she repeated, a catch in her voice. I saw her stricken face, though I’d warned her the night before. My heart broke to remember I would never see her again after this day, but saving her life—and that of the bairn—would be the balm I would carry to whatever awaited me beyond this day. She would receive word of my death soon enough and I wanted to spend this time with her basking in the warmth of her smile.
I crossed the room and caught her chin in my palm. “Dinnae fash, Mairi. Just think of all the chores I can do for ye that ye hav
enae gotten to these past weeks. I am sure ye have a long list for me.”
She brushed my hand away, a frown on her face, and I knew she dinnae like my teasing this time.
“Had I known ye were coming, I could have prepared a list for ye,” she replied archly. “As it is, Pol and I have been getting by.”
“Dinnae be angry with me,” I begged. “This is our last day together—” Damn! I dinnae mean to say that, and Mairi pounced on it hard.
CHAPTER 6
“What do ye mean, our last day?” Her voice shot upward, face pale.
“I shouldnae have said that.” I let out a frustrated sigh. `Tis difficult being a ghost around people who can see ye. No one paid any attention to us at the Visitor’s Centre, though we followed them around often enough. I’d said pretty much whatever I wanted for far too long, and if ever there was a time to watch what I said, this was it. And I had just failed.
“But ye did,” she replied, eyes wide. “What do ye know, Adam Gordon? What are ye not telling me?”
I tried to calm her down, but nothing worked. Tears flowed down her face and she stomped her foot. I gave her a stern look. “Please have a care for the bairn, Mairi. Getting upset like this isnae good for either of ye.”
“What have ye done, Adam?” she demanded, anger lighting the delicate green of her eyes. Behind me, Pol whined. I gave in with a sigh.
Taking Mairi’s hand, I led her across the room, pulling a chair out for her from the table. She acquiesced, but the glint of stubbornness remained. Pol hid beneath the table with a faint growl and a furtive look at me.
“Mairi, I am not here on leave from the army.”
She stormed to her feet. “Ye arenae a deserter, Adam Gordon! `Tis not in ye! I tell ye, Pol and I will be fine.” She pointed firmly to the door. “Hightail yerself back right this instant. They willnae have missed ye yet.”