by Bess McBride
“Auch, ye are such a foolish lad, Fergus! Ye have one more day.”
“Wait! Soni! What shall I tell the lass? Will ye no speak with her?”
Soni didna respond, and Fergus kent that she had gone.
Casey moved suddenly, and he turned to look at her.
“So will you?” she asked.
Fergus took her hand. “Ask Soni if ye can speak to her?”
Casey nodded with hope in her eyes.
“I did, lass. I spoke to her. She has frozen time twice now while I spoke with her. I am verra sorry, lass. She didna refuse to speak to ye, but she didna agree either. She lectured me for no completing my task, and then she went away.”
Casey’s shoulders slumped. “So, you saw her?”
“Aye, she came here on this balcony.”
“And I didn’t see her. Is she like a wispy spirit thing?”
“Nay, she appears as flesh and blood. But as I said, she froze time.”
“She froze me?”
“Aye, as still as a statue.”
“Well, that’s frustrating!”
“We have one more day together, lass. I must stay alert for an opportunity to earn Soni’s gift of life—nay, truly, her gift of ye, though I dinna think such was her purpose—but I am honor bound to fulfill my duty. I only wish I ken what it was.”
“She didn’t say? Didn’t give you a tasking?”
“Nay. I am left to discover it on my own.”
Fergus pulled Casey into his arms, and they turned to look at the river.
“I have an idea,” she said after a moment. “Let’s drive down to your clan lands so you can see your home one more time.”
“My home? Dunkeld? Are ye certain? Och aye! What a rare treat that would be! But are ye certain ye wish to spend yer last days in Scotland tramping about my home?”
“I would like nothing better, Fergus. Culloden is where you died. I want to know where you lived.”
“Is there time? I ken you have a car, but how long will it take to reach Dunkeld?”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s time, right? Do you have to be back at Culloden by midnight tomorrow night?”
“I dinna ken,” Fergus said. “Soni didna tell me to return to Culloden. I ken she’ll just wave her wee hands and whisk me away.”
Casey leaned up to kiss his cheek, and he pressed his face against hers, enjoying the touch of her skin.
“Well, let’s assume that she’ll whisk you away with her wee hands wherever you happen to be. Or better yet, maybe she’ll forget about you. You said there were seventy-eight other ghosts, right?”
Casey smiled cheekily, and Fergus responded with a grin of his own.
“I dinna ken that is likely.”
“Okay, well, let me go check GPS on my phone and see how far Dunkeld is.”
Fergus followed Casey to the bedroom, where she picked up her mobile device and studied it.
“It’s only two hours by car. If we leave right now, we can be there before dark.”
“I am most grateful to ye. Perhaps it is there where I may be of the most help.”
“You mean your heroic act? Your good deed?”
“Aye,” he said.
“We should get going. We’ll probably have to stay overnight if we can find a hotel or something. Let me grab a few things to take for an overnight visit. I’ll leave my suitcase here since I fly out of Inverness day after tomorrow.”
Casey opened up her trunk and retrieved several items of clothing and toiletries, which she thrust into the bag she carried across her body.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I am,” he said, taking her hand. “I am most pleased to show ye my home.”
Fergus thought he would tell Casey all about his home as they drove south along the A9 through a mountainous area called Cairngorms National Park. But he did not plan on the bout of melancholy that gripped him as he looked out the car window. He had wondered how the rest of Scotland had changed over the centuries. The road, a gray beast of an affair, rode smoothly to be sure, but the hills and heather flew by too quickly to appreciate.
“What a quaint little Victorian town!” Casey said as they drove past the village of Aviemore.
“Aye, it looks a wee bit English though. It’s Dunkeld ye want to see. The River Tay, the cathedral, the village, my family’s bonny house by the river. It would be braw to see that it still stands.”
“I hope your home hasn’t changed too much, Fergus.”
“I couldna bear it. Mayhap we should no have set out on this journey. The moor is my home now. I dinna wish to seem ungrateful, but I am fair fashing that Dunkeld has changed so verra much that I canna recognize it.”
Casey covered Fergus’s hand with hers and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
“Do you want me to turn around?”
She slowed the car as if readying to stop.
“Nay! Please, continue. Take me home, lass. No matter what. If Dunkeld is the last thing I see in this world besides yer bonny face, then I will leave this earth a happy man.”
“Oh, Fergus,” she said softly.
He brought her hand to his lips and said naethin more to fret the lass.
Rain began to fall, and the Highlands took on a more familiar feel. Mist descended over the emerald-green hills, softening their unfamiliar brilliance under the sun.
He relaxed. Scotland had changed, no doubt, but if he could but see Dunkeld once again under cover of the gentle gray drizzle, then he kent all would be well.
“Oh look! Highland cows! Look at those horns! That shaggy fur! They’re so cute!” Casey pointed toward a meadow dotted with brown cattle.
“Aye, the great beasties. Did ye no see the resident coos at Culloden? No on the moor proper, mind, but in the meadow opposite the visitors’ center.”
“No, I missed them.”
“Stinky, shaggy beasts they are. I think they keep them lazing about for the tourists.”
They crossed over a wee stone bridge, and Fergus studied it with growing excitement.
“Is that my wee river? The River Tay? Where are we?”
Casey peered at a bit of screen just beside her wheel, similar to the GPS on her mobile device.
“No, I think that’s the River Garry. We’re getting close to Blair Castle.”
“Blair Castle? We are no far then. The castle is the ancestral home to the Duke of Atholl, leader of Clan Murray. My kinsman and I joined in with the Atholliers during the forty-five, and we held the castle for the prince in 1745. The prince wanted to move on, and we left the castle, never kenning that the Agnews would occupy it. My kinsman and I fought to reclaim it, but the prince called us to him at Culloden...and I think ye ken the rest of that story.”
“Do you want to stop there?”
“Nay, I havena good memories of the castle. It wasna my home. I want to hurry on to Dunkeld before it grows dark.”
“Yes, it will be dark in a few hours. We’re almost there though. We’ll have to find someplace to stay tonight.”
“I could have given ye a bed and a meal at my house, but it was no more than a wee house, no a strong castle. I canna believe that it would survive two hundred seventy years.”
“Oh look. I’ll bet that’s the castle over there! That big white building! Yes, look. There’s a sign. Blair Castle.”
Fergus looked out across the highway toward a grand white building.
“Aye, will ye look at that! It hasna changed much over the years, mayhap a new coat of paint, more trees surrounding it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stop?”
“Mayhap if we had more time, I could be coaxed into a visit. I hear they have a private army, the Atholl Highlanders. It seems the English Queen Victoria allowed such. I canna imagine the English allowing such liberties.”
“Okay, we’ll keep going then.”
“It is braw to see something familiar again though, something other than the moor.”
They drove on, Fergus now scanning
the glens and vales for familiar sights. The windshield wipers swooshed back and forth as he strained to see through the rain-spattered car windows.
“We’re coming up on Pitlochry,” Casey said. “Look—there are signs for some distilleries. Do ye fancy a wee dram?”
She chuckled, and it did his heart good. He didna wish to disappoint her though.
“I could use a taste of Scotland’s finest, but we havena time today,” he said with reluctance.
“No, I understand. I couldn’t have joined you anyway. I’m driving. Another river. The River Tummel,” Casey said, nodding to a lovely bit of river flowing to the right.
“Aye. I ken it well. The River Tay joins it soon enough, and afore ye have time to think on it, we will reach Dunkeld. Although I dinna care for the gray blob of a road, it carried us here much faster than a horse, a wagon or my knobby knees could have.”
Casey laughed, and Fergus was pleased to see her smile. He vowed to have done with glumness.
And soon enough, there it was!
“The River Tay,” Fergus said, clearing his throat. “I fished with my paw in this verra river, played with my sisters.”
“It’s beautiful,” Casey said. “We’re pulling into the village. Where do you want to go?”
“Auch, lass. Dinna think I havena given this some thought over the years. I would be pleased to see if my house still stands, of course. I canna believe that it would, but...” He shrugged. His heart pounded against his chest. Being alive came with many discomforts, as he now recalled—pain, discomfort, bodily needs, hunger, fear, grief.
“But you never know,” Casey said. “Look at these lovely little cottages...or row houses, I guess you’d call them. That one with the colorful baskets of hanging flowers out front must be a pub,” she said pointing. “Has the village changed much?”
Fergus studied Dunkeld with surprise. He hardly recognized it. The road was paved, no dirt; cars lined the streets, no horses and wagons; the buildings shone white, no dark from smoke; folk wore trews and dresses to their knees, no kilts and jerkins.
“Aye, it has changed a great deal. I dinna ken where we are. Let me think on how ye might drive to where my house was. Mayhap turn here,” he said, pointing to a street.
“High Street,” she said, turning. “Wow! This is a narrow road. More little white row houses. What’s that at the end?”
“I dinna ken. Some sort of memorial? Ye ken the Scots. We love our statues.”
Casey drove past slowly. Fergus, distressed that he could not see a familiar landmark, paid no mind. He had thought to spy out the spires of the cathedral high above the village, but trees blocked his view, and he couldna find it.
“It’s a fountain dedicated to the sixth Duke of Atholl,” she said, reading an inscription at the base.
“After my time,” Fergus muttered, staring through the windshield past the rain.
“Okay, this turned into Cathedral Street. It doesn’t go any further though. There’s a gate there.” She pulled to the side of the road and stopped.
“Aye, there it is! Dunkeld Cathedral! Auch, I was afeared it had been destroyed. It’s a bonny sight. My house isna much further beyond the cathedral. Wasna mayhap.”
“Well, in looking at the GPS, it looks like there’s a road that runs alongside the River Tay, but we have to go back out of the village and turn left to catch it. This street ends here at the cathedral. The map shows a hotel along the river. We could try to stay there tonight if they have a room.”
“An hotel?” Fergus asked.
“Yes, it looks like it’s on the banks of the River Tay beyond the cathedral, but we can’t get there from here by car.”
“But that is where my house is...was.”
“Should we go there now to see if your house still stands?”
Fergus hesitated. “The cathedral has a churchyard,” he murmured, staring at the gate beyond the swishing windshield wipers.
“And you want to go there to see if your family is buried there?”
“I ken they should be buried there, nay? My parents were great supporters of the church.”
Casey’s hand closed over his.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Fergus.”
He laced his fingers through hers, warm, living.
“I must pay my respects.”
Chapter Nine
Casey put the car in gear and drove the few hundred yards through the ornate iron gate into the small parking lot in front of a massive gray limestone cathedral complete with Gothic-looking spires and a stunning arched stained-glass window that filled over half of the wall facing the street. She peered through the rain-sodden windshield.
“We’ll have to run through the rain.”
“Aye, such is Scotland,” Fergus said. His face held a grim expression as he stared at the cathedral.
“Well, let me get my jacket on. I wish I had something for you to wear.”
“I willna melt.”
Casey grabbed her jacket and slipped into it as they stepped out of the vehicle. She joined Fergus at the front of the car as he stared up at the cathedral. His face was paler than usual, his blue eyes wide. He seemed preoccupied, and she didn’t blame him. Still, he took her hand as he led her around the side of the rectangular building following a paved stone path.
Casey knew next to nothing about architecture but guessed the cathedral was Norman in origin. The far end of the church featured a beautiful clock tower. Well-manicured lawns fell away on both sides, dotted by old rhododendron trees in full bloom, majestic oak trees and mammoth yews.
They hurried through the rain to reach an open-air nave at least two stories in height, which must have once been sheltered by a roof. Casey supposed one could call the structure a ruin, but the building was too magnificent to be thought of in such a decaying term. With the exception of the roof and a floor, the intricate stonework appeared to be in good shape. Arched pillars rose from a blanket of thick green grass, standing guard over a small selection of tombstones and markers.
It was under cover of one of the many Gothic arches that they paused out of reach of the rain. Fergus balked as he stared at the small cemetery; his grip on her hand tightened.
“Are you okay?” Casey asked.
“I am, lass. I dinna see as many stones as I would have thought given the passage of two hundred seventy years. Come. Let us see if my family merited burial in the grand churchyard.”
For the next twenty minutes, they worked their way through the stones, stopping often to peer at the inscriptions. Soaked to the bone, Casey raised her eyes from the last tombstone to look at Fergus. He shook his head and led her back toward the shelter of the arches.
“No Fergusons appear to be buried here,” he said. “There must be another churchyard.”
He looked up.
“Twilight descends. The glen grows dark. Do ye see?”
Casey looked out to a thick forest of fir trees that lay beyond the cathedral opposite the village.
“What do you want to do? There’s probably another cemetery around here somewhere.”
“Aye, perhaps. But it grows late, and I am no of a mind to prance about kirkyards in the dark. Ghosties and such, ye ken.”
His smile, which had been suppressed since they had reached the cathedral, lightened his face and warmed her heart.
“Funny,” she said.
“My maw used to drag us along the river from our home to the cathedral for services. It seems verra strange to drive away from the village in the opposite direction when we could just walk along the river as I have done so many times, but let us go find this hotel. I am verra curious to see if my home still stands.”
They hurried back to the car, and Casey allowed the GPS to guide her out of the village and along a long, narrow paved road that led to the hotel.
“Does any of this look familiar?”
“Nay, lass. I recognize the hill beside us as one of two flanking the River Tay, but little else. We didna have such grand trees when I
was a lad. We cut them for firewood, ye ken. Ye could see the cathedral for miles. No tree was taller than the spires, but I canna see it now, buried as it is in the glen. I ken the river is just across that meadow, but I canna see that either for the trees.” He pointed to the left.
“That’s actually a good thing, Fergus.”
“Ye mean allowing trees to grow?”
“Yes?” Casey didn’t want to appear to criticize.
“Aye, I ken this ecology business. Dinna misunderstand me. The trees are braw! It is different, that is all.”
The very trees they discussed now hung low over the drive leading to the hotel. A beautiful white two-story building appeared out of nowhere, nestled between the hills and the banks of the river.
Casey pulled into the parking lot. Fergus got out of the car, rather slowly for his usual energetic self. He didn’t look stiff from the drive so much as dazed, stunned. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.
“Auch, it is as I feared. This is where my home was. It was no so grand as this bit, but it was a fine house. Five bedrooms, my mother used to boast. It was her grandfather’s house. A Murray, he was. I ken she married down when she wed my father. So it was said in the village.”
The rain had eased, and the river in front of the hotel sparkled with the reflected bright-orange rays of the descending sun.
“I’m sorry, Fergus,” she said.
He rotated slowly, studying every aspect of the building, river and surrounding grounds before lifting his shoulders in a shrug. He gave her a small smile, but Casey didn’t think his heart was in it.
“I canna say that I truly expected to see the house standing, but this seems a bonny place. My mother would be pleased to see her house grown larger.”
“I should go in and register,” Casey said, unsure of how to respond.
“Aye. If ye dinna mind, I will walk down to the river to visit with the salmon and birds.”
“Not at all. I’ll join you as soon as I check in.”
Casey walked purposefully toward the entrance so that Fergus wouldn’t wait for her, but she paused at the door to watch him cross the lawn to reach the river. His broad shoulders sagged; even his great kilt had lost some of its swagger. It seemed as if his return to his home had saddened and disappointed him. She had been afraid of that.