Sins of the Heart

by Hoss, Sarah

  A couple of times she found herself jogging to get to the other side where the tent sat. Susan jogged to keep up.

  With the tent in sight, Abigail turned and pointed. Both jogged again, partly in anticipation and partly because the flea market was closing.

  “Excuse me.” Abigail peered around for the owners.

  The woman walked through the curtain from the back, smiled and nodded, then put a hand up telling her to wait. She disappeared then returned with the gentleman following her.

  “Aye, I see ye made it.” He glanced between her and Susan. “This must be your assistant.”

  “Yes, her name is Susan,” she said as she placed a hand on her shoulder.

  He tipped his head in her direction, and Susan repeated the gesture.

  “Ye’ll be wanting the shield then. Wait just a moment, lass, and I’ll fetch it for ye.”

  She had Susan get the money out and passed the bills to the lady as she waited. When he brought the shield over, she took the treasure from him and admired it again as the lady brought her a receipt.

  “I appreciate you holding this for me.”

  “Tis our pleasure. I do hope ye will enjoy the shield and take care of our family heirloom.”

  “Oh, yes, I promise.”

  They said their goodbyes, then she and Susan headed back toward their cars, treasure in hand.

  Graham and Christina watched the two women walk away. As soon as they were a good distance away, he turned around, facing John and Malcolm, who were at the back of the tent.

  “It’s done.”

  Malcolm raised his head in acknowledgement as he furrowed his brows in thought. “The two of you did well.” He patted Graham on the shoulder.

  “John, go and follow the ladies. See where they end up.”

  “I have a business card with an address on it.” Christina took a few steps toward him and handed the card over.

  “Very good.”

  “Do you still want me to follow?”

  “Aye, I want to know what they drive, where they live, and where this store is.”

  John left on his mission, and Malcolm turned to Graham.

  “And so it begins."

  Chapter 3

  Grant MacFie strode purposely through the castle hallway, stopping to adjust a wall hanging. Taking the stairs two at a time, he turned the corner too sharply and ran into the maid. His hands snaked out to grasp her around the waist before she fell backward. Her arms, laden with clean towels and wash clothes, flew into the air. All the towels fell to the floor as her hands flew to her mouth to stifle her scream.

  “Flora, my apologies.” Grant placed his hands on her shoulders and peered into her eyes. “Are you all right, lass?”

  Placing a hand on her heart, she nodded. “Aye Sir. Only, you gave this old woman’s heart quite the scare.”

  Laughing, he patted her arm. “Well, I am sorry.”

  “Think nothing of it, Mr. MacFie.” Both squatted down to gather the pile of laundry on the floor.

  As the maid turned to leave, Grant stopped her. “Flora, there is a gentleman coming in about an hour. Would you please see that he is shown to my office?”

  “Aye, Sir.” Flora bowed her head then turned and walked toward the stairs that led to the third floor.

  Entering his office, Grant closed the heavy wooden door with his foot. Since he worked in his office every day except Sundays, there was always a fire burning in the fireplace. It was the only light in the room until he walked over to a table and lit an oil lamp. He gave the clock a good winding. It read 1:12 p.m. but because of the thick stone walls and narrow windows, there was little light coming in from the outside.

  Many years ago, the majority of the castle had been equipped with electricity to keep up with modern times, but Grant had them leave the office alone. When his mother asked him why, he had told her that it didn’t seem right to do so. “All of the lairds before me sat here in this room performing the duties that benefited the clan and the castle. I don’t know how to explain it, but it makes me feel closer to them to leave this room as it is.”

  His mother then stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “It makes perfect sense, dear.”

  Coming to stand at the fireplace, he stared up at the spot above the mantle where the shield had always been. The blank spot made the room seem so empty without it. He let himself get lost in the flickering flames as his thoughts wandered to the stolen artifact that had belonged to his great-great-grandfather.

  “What have you learned so far, Mr. MacDonald, as to the where a bouts of my stolen property?”

  Grant paced back and forth on the ancient rug that lay in front of the fireplace. Mr. MacDonald sat in a chair near the table with the oil lamp and flipped through his papers.

  Looking up at Grant, the man took off his glasses. “What we know is that your cousin has fled to America. He wasn’t alone, though. A woman and two men are with him. We’ve sent a broad sheet with their information and their pictures to the authorities there and we were assured that the information would be sent state wide.”

  “Well, he is married, but I wonder who the two men are?” Grant tapped his fingers on the fireplace mantle as he tried to picture who the men might be. “Good, that’s a start.”

  “The woman is not his wife.”

  He turned sharply to stare at the gentleman but he was glancing down at the paperwork in his lap. Not his wife?

  “I promise you, Mr. MacFie, we are doing everything in our power to get your stolen item back to you and your clan.”

  Grant stopped pacing to regard the police officer. “Aye, I know. The shield is dear to me.”

  “If I may be so bold, Mr. MacFie, why do you think your cousin stole the shield?”

  “That, Sir, is a very good question. I’ve sat for hours pondering that question and I can’t come up with anything. He was a good man, honest and faithful.” Grant picked up the fireplace poker and stirred the embers. “I don’t understand.”

  After a few more moments of discussing details, Mr. MacDonald left. Grant went to his desk and sat down. Maybe it was time to do a little investigating on his own.

  Picking up the phone and flipping through his Rolodex that sat on the corner of his desk, he stopped at a familiar name.

  After punching in the number, he sat back in his chair and kicked his long legs onto his desk.

  “Ramsey, this is Grant. I have a job for you.”

  Chapter 4

  “Son of a bitch.” Abigail stood quickly and stepped back from her desk. Her mug lay on its side. She reached quickly for some tissues before the stream of liquid raced off her desk and onto the floor.

  A familiar beep made her glance at her computer. The instant messaging box blinked indicating she had a message.

  History_Buff: Hello Starshine.

  Celtic Lady: Sorry, can’t talk now. Made mess in office with tea. Give me two seconds.

  Celtic Lady: Back. What’s up?

  History_Buff: Ruin anything?

  Celtic Lady: No, thank goodness.

  History_Buff: Good. How did the flea market go?

  Celtic Lady: OMG, wonderful! I made an amazing find.

  History_Buff: What?

  Celtic Lady: There was a booth there that contained Celtic items. All from Scotland.

  History_Buff: Really? Did you buy anything?

  Celtic Lady: A shield.

  Abigail typed more receipts into her computer as she waited for History Buff to respond. When she didn’t get an immediate response, she stared at her instant message box.

  Celtic Lady: U there?

  History_Buff: Of course. Dog wanted out. What does it look like?

  Celtic Lady: Umm, hard to explain. Give me your emai
l and when I get home, I will take photo and send it to u.

  History_Buff: Sounds good. Will chat tonight then. XX

  Celtic Lady: Until tonight. xx

  Grant stared at his screen, unable to believe what he read. She’d bought an antique Celtic shield. Could this be the break he needed? He tried hard not to get too excited, but having searched for four months, this was the first time there’d been word on a shield. He knew the chances were one in a million, but he had to hold out hope. He would get the shield back one day. The bigger question was how did Celtic Lady fit into all of this? Did she really find it at a flea market or was it just a ruse and she was in on this scheme with Malcolm from the beginning? He’d started thinking of her in a different way and he didn’t like it.

  When midnight rolled around, Grant settled back on his bed and logged on to his laptop. Opening up his email, his heart stopped when he saw the email from Celtic Lady. He ran a hand through his short, blond hair.

  “So, her name is Abigail.” He clicked on her email then opened the attachment. His heart skipped a beat. Staring back at him was his great-grandfather’s shield.

  All this time, he had searched for answers of the shield and his cousin to no avail. He joined any group he could that held the names of Scotland and Celtic in hopes that they would contain a lead. A far fetch, he knew, but he’d become desperate.

  Finding Abigail in the process had been a boon. They’d gotten along early on and continued to chat through instant messaging. Deciding not to reveal any information about each other in the beginning, but as time grew on, their conversations changed to more of a friendship with the occasional flirting. Seeing her name now made him smile. He enjoyed their chats and savored the friendship they had created. He found himself looking forward to logging on to his computer, eager to see if when he did so, there would be a message waiting on him or not. Sometimes, out of the blue, they would just say hi and send it if the other crossed their minds. In the beginning, they mainly talked about antiques and Scotland, but as time went on, the conversations became more about life. Could he be falling for her? He shook his head. How can a person fall for someone they have never met in person?

  What were the odds that she would be the key to regaining his stolen heritage? It seemed luck was on his side, but now he had to figure out how to get the item back. Then his thoughts turned sour. If she had something to do with the disappearance of the shield, then he would deal with her. If she did have something to do with the disappearance of the shield, why would she be taunting him with it now? He hoped she wasn’t involved, but he had to keep an open mind. He stared at her picture. Could he have been so wrong about her?

  It was time to set a new plan in motion.

  Chapter 5

  Abigail studied the shield hanging on the wall in her living room. It stood out against the gray of the paint and looked amazing. She couldn’t take her eyes from it. Maybe she could find a claymore to add. Proud of the excellent find, she called Susan and asked for a favor. She just happened to have an uncle that dealt with antiques. He was the director of the local museum and owned his own antique store. She had questions about the piece and needed them answered by a professional. Though she didn’t know a thing about weapons, she did know about antiques and something about this shield didn’t seem right.

  Hours later, he stood in her living room. Eyes trained to catch every detail, his gaze roamed over the shield with precision. Glancing at her watch again, she realized fifteen minutes had passed by. She was eager to hear what he thought and became more impatient as time ticked by.

  “And you said you found this at the flea market?” He turned to look over his shoulder and down his nose at her.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. Tapping his finger on his chin, he tilted his head a few more times, studying the shield then turned his attention fully on Abigail.

  “I will tell you that what you have is no replica. My dear, you have an actual 18th century Highland warrior shield.”

  Her mouth fell open in astonishment. Though a small part of her thought it to be real, she never actually believed she could get so lucky. She smiled as she turned to face the shield. Her heart began to pick up pace at the treasure hanging in her living room.

  “I can’t fathom why these people didn’t know better.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “How do you know they don’t know better?”

  Walter turned to her, placing his hand on her arm. He was serious. “Abigail, I want you to be careful. I’m not saying that anything bad will happen, but this shouldn’t be in your home. This is a valuable piece. Not just in money, but in history. I promise you”—He arched his eyebrows for emphasis—“someone is looking for this shield.”

  She patted his hand. “Thank you for coming over and talking with me. I appreciate it and I’ll keep in mind all you have said.”

  After letting Walter out, she went back to the living room and stared at the piece hanging on her wall.

  She’d pictured the shield hanging on her living room wall the moment she saw it. No way was she going to keep this in her store for a price. The shield was raw beauty. The light from the ceiling fan shone on the metal, making it sparkle, enhancing the dents and dings marking the surface. She’d cleaned it as best she could.

  If this shield could talk, what would it say? Would it talk about the loyalty and love of its owner or the fierce determination to protect its people? To think that this piece sat in a Highland castle somewhere or was in the hands of a Scotsman as he fought across the heathered land to protect those he loved was hard to wrap her brain around.

  She stretched out her hand to touch the shield. “Who do you belong to?”

  Zeus wormed his way in and out of her legs, begging for attention.

  Picking him up, she pointed to the shield. “What do you think, Zeus? Do you approve?”

  Thinking of the Highlands made her think of Grant. Logging back on to her computer, she checked to see if he had responded. She was interested in his opinion of her treasure.

  After running into town in the afternoon on business, Grant was anxious to get back home and work. There was a lot of preparation to do. He sat in his chair, unable to move or take his eyes from the computer screen. His heart raced with excitement at what he was staring at.

  He tried every lead he could get a hold of, looked in every nook and cranny of Scotland. When he couldn’t find anything, he broadened his search. Could this really be his great-great-grandfather’s shield?

  He needed to go to the States and see for himself. He hoped Abigail would be delighted to see him but how he would be able to get the shield from her? What if she was a part of this? He could see in the emails and texts how excited she was to find the shield. Could it just be a ruse? Getting her to part with his family legacy wouldn’t be easy, but it must be done.

  He would not come home without the shield. He’d do whatever he had to do.

  Chapter 6

  While dusting the ceiling fan in the living room, Abigail tilted her head to avoid a dust ball and coughed. Having wiped the blades clean, she began to climb down from the ladder but stopped on the last rung. Thoughts of Grant had plagued her mind all morning. More often than not, she thought of him. Maybe partly because she was intrigued by him and partly because she knew nothing about him. The last thing she had planned on doing was meet someone online. She’d broken the cardinal sin of Internet chatrooms when she sent him her picture. She should have just taken one of the shield but she couldn’t help herself.

  She shook her head. “Seriously, Abigail. It’s not like he is interested in you.” She sighed. A small part of her wished he was. As she was about to step down from the last rung on the ladder, the phone rang. She jumped down and jogged to the phone on the end table near the couch.

 
“Hello?”

  “Abigail? This is Grant.”

  Her heart caught in her chest at the sound of the Scottish brogue rolling out of the phone to caress her ear. Many times during the instant messaging chats she’d wondered what he might sound like. Her interpretation wasn’t this good. The phone dropped to the floor and she jumped back as if it might grow hands, reach out, and grab her ankles.

  “Hello?” She could barely hear the voice on the other end and it sounded worried.