Little Pink Taxi

by Marie Laval

  ‘Unless it was another hoax call. What safety measures do you have in place to protect yourself – against drunks or muggings, for example?’

  She bit her lower lip. ‘I don’t have any. This is a very safe area.’

  ‘Maybe it isn’t safe any longer. If anything had happened to you out here tonight, there would be no one to hear you, no one to come to your rescue.’

  He took his mobile phone out of his jeans pocket, looked at her and asked, ‘Shall I call the police now?’

  ‘The police? What for? It was probably a misunderstanding. I want to go home.’

  He stared at the bubble tube she was still holding. ‘What was that for?’

  Her cheeks hot with embarrassment, she tossed the tube onto the back seat. ‘It was just in case there were indeed people who were up to no good.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘So you wanted to blow bubbles into their face before stabbing them with the rabbit’s ear and finishing them off with a whack over the head?’

  He sounded so annoyingly superior she was tempted to do to him just what he’d described.

  ‘It was the only thing I could find.’

  ‘My point exactly. You must take care of yourself, and have ways to fight back if you’re ever threatened.’

  ‘Like what? A can of pepper spray, a kitchen knife? Why not a claymore?’

  Anger twisting her stomach in a hard knot she started the cab a little too fast. The tyres screeched and the cab skidded on loose pebbles as she drove out of the car park and onto the road that ran alongside the loch, offering a glorious view of the water over which the cold moon cast silvery threads and moving shadows. They drove in silence on the empty road for a couple of minutes, then met a tow truck coming from the opposite direction.

  ‘That’s Niall! He must be on a call out.’ She beeped the horn, slowed down to a crawl, then braked to a stop and opened her window. Niall did the same, and stuck his head out to talk to her.

  ‘What are you doing here? Is everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Everything’s fine. Fancy seeing you all the way out here. I keep bumping into you, these days, don’t I?’

  ‘What’s he doing with you?’ Niall pointed to Marc Petersen with his chin.

  ‘I’m taking Marc back to Raventhorn by the scenic route,’ she replied.

  ‘I see. Well then, gotta go. See you later at the Four Winds.’

  Rosalie pushed the button for the window to close and drove on.

  ‘What is this place – the forest, the loch and the ruined castle on the island?’ Marc asked.

  She was surprised that he should show an interest, but answered anyway. ‘This is Armathiel, and used to belong to the Armitage clan. They were always fighting the McBrides. Actually, they were the ones who abducted Isobel McBride and killed her husband.’

  ‘Ah. The mysterious Raven Lady. How old is the castle?’

  ‘I’m not sure, probably twelfth or thirteenth century. It was abandoned after being struck by lightning. Actually it was struck three times by lightning.’

  ‘Really?’

  She nodded. ‘The first time was the night Isobel died. The second time was the day after the Armitage clan rebuilt the castle. It was rebuilt again only to be struck by lightning a third time. Every time people swore they saw Isobel’s ghost nearby.’

  She waited for a snide remark but he remained silent. ‘The Armitages finally gave up on this site and built another castle near Avielochan. This old ruin is now an osprey sanctuary, hence the bird watching huts dotted around the loch.’

  ‘Who exactly was Isobel?’

  She cast a curious glance at him. ‘Are you really interested?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just passing the time.’

  ‘Well, hers is a very romantic, very tragic tale. In 1469 she was promised in marriage to a powerful laird from Orkney, Harald Johansen, or Harald the Cruel as he was also known.’

  ‘A good Viking name, like Magnus Barelegs, Sigurd the Mighty or Eric Bloodaxe.’

  She looked at him again, and arched her eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. I am partly Danish after all, and bound to be familiar with some Viking folklore.’

  ‘Harald was from Denmark too, but he had lands on Orkney, which at the time was still part of the kingdom of Denmark and Norway and ruled by King Christian I. He sought to form an alliance with a powerful Scottish clan, so it was agreed he would marry Isobel on his way to Edinburgh, where he was to attend the wedding of James III with Christian’s daughter Margaret. When he arrived in Irlwick for his own wedding, he was rumoured to be carrying rare and expensive gifts in a silver casket.

  ‘He married Isobel in the old castle, the one that’s now a ruin on top of the hill in Irlwick. It was love at first sight – or so the story goes –and they spent a few days there before starting their journey to Edinburgh.’

  According to a manuscript Geoff had discovered, the couple spent most of their time in the four-poster bed which was now in the Crimson Room, but she wasn’t about to tell Petersen that.

  ‘Shortly after setting off for Edinburgh, Harald, his new bride and their escort were ambushed by Armitage men in Corby Woods. The Armitages were after Harald’s treasure, of course. They were always stealing and plundering in those days … Harald was injured, most of his men were killed and Isobel was abducted by Finghal Armitage, who took her to his castle on the loch. It was reported that Harald went mad with rage and that the sky turned black at midday. Flocks of vengeful ravens filled the sky, the heavens opened, and it rained so hard that Loch Bran flooded and the small hunting lodge that stood near its shores was all but submerged … and it still is.

  ‘Anyway, the water level of Loch Armathiel rose too, cutting off the old castle. From that day onward the causeway that used to link the castle to the shore has been impassable.’

  ‘What became of Isobel and Harald?’

  ‘Harald and the few men he had left went after Isobel. She managed to scramble to the top of the tower and cry for help.’

  ‘She stood on that tower?’ His voice was a little hoarse.

  She nodded. ‘Harald swam across the loch to rescue her, but he was shot down by an arrow and his body sank, never to be found again. Isobel threw herself from the top of the tower and drowned too. The resulting feud between the Armitages and the McBrides has lasted for centuries – it’s still going on even now, to an extent – and whatever treasure Harald was carrying was lost forever.’

  ‘There’s still bad blood between the McBrides and the Armitages?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘Nothing too important these days. Silly arguments, nasty comments, dirty looks in the pub. The Armitages always felt that they were wrongfully displaced and they should rule Irlwick instead of the McBrides. Over the years there were accusations of women being ravished, horses being stolen and cattle being rustled from both sides. We even had our own Romeo and Juliet drama here, back in the early nineteenth century. A McBride girl and an Armitage boy fell in love, eloped to Gretna Green but were snatched back by their respective families before they got there and forbidden to ever see each other again. The poor girl supposedly died of a broken heart shortly afterwards, the boy ran away, joined the army and was killed at the Battle of Waterloo.’

  Petersen was silent so she carried on. ‘Isobel’s ghost has haunted the woods and the lochs for centuries. Local people claim she vowed to drown as many men as possible to avenge her murdered husband. Others that she seeks to retrieve Harald’s body from the loch and will only be at peace when she finds him. Others still that she’s a bird of ill omen and can foresee people’s death, like one of those fylgja who were—’

  ‘Guardian spirits warning people of dangers or announcing their imminent death, and who appeared in the shape of an animal or a bird,’ he finished.

  She had expected him to laugh or make a disparaging comment and was once again taken aback. ‘You do know about Norse mythology.’

  He nodded, serious. ‘So do you.’
/>
  ‘Well, that’s because Geoff has made it his life’s mission to find Harald’s treasure. He has collected dozens of books and parchments, and worked with researchers, academics and archaeologists. That’s how he spends most of his money – Raventhorn’s money, I should say.’

  ‘What kind of treasure are we talking about?’

  ‘Nobody knows for sure, although Geoff has this idea that it could be an ancient banner – a magic banner.’

  ‘A banner? Surely you don’t mean the Raven Banner?’

  She nodded and sighed. ‘That’s what Geoff thinks. His books and papers are in the library, if you’re interested, although I doubt you’ll be able to read them since many are in ancient writing – Anglo-Saxon, old Gaelic and runes.’

  Marc was quiet for the rest of the journey. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him about Geoff’s obsession for the lost treasure. Now he probably thought Geoff was a lunatic as well as a drunk.

  They didn’t speak again until she parked in the courtyard at Raventhorn. ‘Thank you for the history lesson,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed it.’

  The hint of a smile on his lips and the soft glow lighting his eyes unsettled her. She preferred it when he was arrogant and patronising. It was a lot easier to dislike him then.

  ‘You’re welcome. By the way,’ she added quickly, ‘not a word to Lorna about the hoax call. I don’t want to worry her.’

  The kitchen was warm and filled with the fragrant scent of lamb and vegetables cooking.

  ‘Something smells good,’ Rosalie said as she took off her anorak, and hung it in the utility room. She pecked a kiss on Lorna’s cheek. ‘How are you today? Any more dizzy spells or—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lorna interrupted.

  ‘How was Geoff?’

  ‘Restless and complaining about the food and grumpy nurses, which I suppose is a good sign.’

  Lorna took two plates out of the cupboard and laid them on the pine table. ‘He’s staying in hospital a while longer. The cardiologist isn’t happy with his heart rate and his blood pressure is far too high.’

  She slipped her hands into oven gloves and pulled a dish of shepherd’s pie out of the oven. ‘Do you mind if we eat in the kitchen?’ she asked Marc.

  ‘Not at all.’ He pointed to his muddy jeans and shoes. ‘I need to get changed. I won’t be long.’

  As soon as he’d left Lorna turned to Rosalie. ‘Geoff was asking for you. He is anxious to tell you about Marc Petersen.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that. I hope you gave him a good telling off for keeping us – or me, at least – in the dark about selling Raventhorn.’

  She drew in an angry breath. ‘However, considering that he can always twist you around his little finger, you probably fetched him a nice cup of tea and nodded at everything he said.’

  Lorna gasped and turned away but not before Rosalie saw her eyes glisten with tears. Suddenly she felt like crying too. Why was she being so mean? It wasn’t fair to take her anger and frustration out on her friend.

  ‘Sorry, Lorna, I’m being horrible. None of this is your fault. It’s just that it annoys me how Geoff always manages to win you over, whatever he’s done.’

  ‘I know, sweetie. And I also know how much you love him, despite everything.’ Lorna served two steaming portions of shepherd’s pie onto the plates and brought them over. ‘Will you go to the hospital tomorrow? I think he has something important to tell you.’

  ‘You mean he has another surprise in store for me?’ Rosalie poured water into a glass.

  ‘Please, sweetie. Do it. For me. For your mother.’

  ‘What has Mum got to do with it?’ She put the glass down, impatient once again. ‘Geoff should have thought about her before he sold Raventhorn to a stranger. I mean, what am I supposed to do with all her things, all her books, her clothes and trinkets, when we leave?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time you let go of the past,’ Lorna said, a hesitant, almost apprehensive look in her eyes. ‘It’s been over four years since your poor mum died, yet you keep her room the way it was the day she passed away. Her clothes and shoes are still in the wardrobe, you have even left all her toiletries on the dressing table.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this. You, who were Mum’s best friend! I thought you would be loyal to her memory.’ Outrage and hurt tightened Rosalie’s chest as she carried on. ‘What do you suggest I do? Clear the room, throw away her things, give her clothes to one of Elaine’s charitable causes? I bet she’d have a good laugh sorting through her skirts and cardigans. She always said Mum was the most frumpy woman she knew.’

  Lorna shook her head. ‘No, of course not. Forget I said anything.’

  Rosalie heaved a sigh. Lorna may have been insensitive about her mother’s room, but there was one thing she was right about. She did need to speak to Geoff about Raventhorn, Love Taxis, and her future.

  ‘All right. I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow morning after driving you to the station.’

  True to his word, Marc was back after five minutes. He wore tan chinos and a navy shirt, which made his hair lighter, and turned his eyes almost blue. He may not be classically handsome, but there was something strong and male about him that made her heartbeat quicken. She looked down and focused on her shepherd’s pie.

  ‘I’m coming with you tonight,’ he decreed as he sat down to eat. ‘I’ve never been to a Scottish ceilidh so it will be a new experience for me.’

  ‘No way!’ Rosalie slammed her knife and fork onto the table. Tonight she wanted to forget about the hoax calls, Geoff’s accident, and the chaos Petersen was bringing into her life.

  ‘Rosalie, what’s got into you?’ Lorna sounded shocked. ‘It’s only natural that Mr Petersen should want to meet people from the village. He is Raventhorn’s new owner, after all.’

  Lorna obviously had no idea about Petersen’s plans to sell up the estate to a hotel company. Not wanting to worry her before she left for her holidays, Rosalie darted the meanest look she could manage in his direction, and spent the meal sulking as Lorna told Petersen about the different dances and steps. After a hurried cup of tea for her and black coffee for Petersen, she cleared the table and went upstairs. To her dismay Petersen followed her up the stairs and into the hall.

  ‘When you phone the police about tonight’s incident, tell them I’ll be keeping an eye on you tonight.’

  She spun round, crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I don’t need a babysitter.’

  ‘It’s not just about you,’ he replied coldly. ‘I am protecting my investment too. Duncan’s cab was damaged last night. I want to make sure there are no other problems.’ He stepped forward and towered over her. ‘This isn’t open to discussion. In a manner of speaking, I am your boss now, and you’ll do as I say.’

  She gasped. ‘You’re not my boss. Nobody is my boss.’

  ‘I think that you will find that I am. Now I suggest you phone the police or I’ll do it myself.’

  She was so angry she was shaking when she lifted the receiver and dialled the number on the card the constable left the night before. How could she have been attracted to the man, even for a second? He didn’t care about her or the business that meant so much to her. He didn’t care about Lorna, Geoff or Raventhorn. The only thing he cared for was his investment, as he put it. He was cold and arrogant, and had a calculator instead of a heart.

  Chapter Six

  The Kingussie Fiddlers, Rosalie’s favourite ceilidh band, were in full flow, and like every Thursday night at the Four Winds, the music was loud, the dance floor packed and the bar heaving.

  ‘It’s a nice place,’ Marc remarked as they walked through the door.

  Rosalie nodded, but her eyes scanned the crowd and her foot already tapped the floorboards to the fiddler’s lively tune. A young couple were dancing a little too energetically and bumped into her, almost knocking her over.

  ‘Careful!’ she warned.

  ‘Careful yourself, you silly tart,’ the young man spat. It was Kian Ar
mitage, Niall’s apprentice at the garage.

  Before she could say anything, Marc took hold of his arm, almost lifting him up from the floor. ‘I think you need to apologise, young man.’

  ‘Get off me.’ Kian shook him loose and tilted his chin up. ‘Apologise for what?’

  He must have seen Marc’s icy glare, because he shrugged and turned to Rosalie. ‘All right, don’t fret. Sorry for bumping in to you.’ He glanced up at Marc again. ‘And for calling you … you know …’

  She smiled. ‘Apology accepted, but in future, watch where you’re going.’

  ‘Right. Whatever.’ The teenager grabbed hold of his girlfriend’s hand and pulled her away.

  Rosalie shook her head and leant towards Marc. ‘Kian is the youngest Armitage offspring, who also happens to be Niall’s apprentice.’

  ‘I recognise the girl,’ he said. ‘Isn’t she the doctor’s receptionist?’

  ‘Yes. I thought Stacey would know better than to hang about with Kian. He’s trouble.’

  Spotting Niall and Alice in the crowd, she waved. Niall’s face lit up when he saw her. He yanked Alice away from the dance floor.

  Rosalie felt a twinge of envy as her friend, stunning in a flirty red dress and black tights, tottered on her high heels towards her. How plain she must look in comparison, with her black top and her jeans tucked into boots. As usual, however, Niall seemed oblivious to Alice’s efforts to attract his attention. When would he realise that the young woman was crazy about him, and stop fantasising about rekindling his romance with Rosalie?

  ‘Hello again, handsome, will you buy me a drink?’ Alice fluttered her eyelashes at Marc and linked arms with him. Her fingers gripped his forearm, her bright red-painted nails a sharp contrast with the conservative blue of his shirt.

  ‘Sure. Would you like a drink too?’ he asked Rosalie, but she declined.

  ‘I didn’t realise they knew each other,’ Niall said as he watched the couple make their way across the dance floor. He turned to Rosalie. ‘You look worried. Is there anything wrong? Did you hear from the police about Duncan’s cab?’

  She shook her head.