by L. L. Muir
His chest tightened at the memory. Pride, surely, beat on his breast from the inside, demanding to be let loose.
Before he made the conscious decision, his feet carried him across the street and to the left, following after the lass.
He could only hope that trouble could find him wherever he happened to go.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was a full two blocks later when he finally caught sight of her again. Her pale, sleeveless jacket fairly glowed at the far end of the path and he wondered if it was a trick of the light, or if locating her was what God—or a certain witch—intended. But even if he hadn’t suspected the lass of being involved in his personal quest, he was heartened by the sight of her. And considering the grudge he now held against her, that was mysterious indeed.
Some heaviness in his chest lightened—and not just his chest, but his entire body felt a bit lighter, as if needed, he could fly to her side.
A story came to mind, a scene from a Superman movie where the fellow discovered he had the power to fly and practiced at it until he mastered the skill. And while Seoc hurried along on the half-deserted street, he put a bit of spring in his step just to see what might happen. Unfortunately, however, it only served to make his gait clumsy, so he stopped.
The amused giggle of a young witch echoed in his head.
He growled. “Go away, Soni. If ye’ve no more direction to offer, dinna be listening in on my very thoughts, aye?”
Though he strained to hear, there was no further giggling and he chided himself for entertaining such foolish thoughts. Witch or no, how could the lass listen inside his head?
Until a week ago, Soncerae had simply been his young friend, the visitor to the battlefield who enjoyed some strange connection with Macbeth and his 78 fellow warriors—those who had risen from the dead after the battle and found themselves together, and at the same time, apart from the other spirits who wandered there.
Was it true, then? That they’d all lingered all these years from a common thirst for vengeance, wanting their chance to be heard, to berate Bonnie Prince Charlie for taking such little care with their lives?
It made no sense. It certainly wasn’t what had kept him tethered to the moor.
His steps slowed while his thoughts wandered back to the battlefield. His lean, powerful body was tiring with the new exertion. If he’d still been a ghost, he would simply allow his mind to clear itself. And in the doing, he’d find his rest for a bit. Quiet and unthinking, he would lie on his back near the well of souls and let time get away from him.
But he couldn’t do that anymore.
He picked up his pace and was soon only half a block behind the lass, which is where he remained, disinclined to catch her attention again, and wise enough not to come within reach of her wee but vicious weapon.
No. He would never again be able to allow time to slip away. He was allotted precious little of it to perform his heroics. After that, only God knew what was in store for him.
Well, God…and perhaps a young sixteen-year-old Scottish lass.
~
Seoc knew the moment the lass touched foot upon home ground. Her shoulders relaxed. Her hands came out of her pockets, and she began looking at the faces around her, waving and smiling, calling out a greeting here and there. He only hoped she wouldn’t take the time to look behind her. After all, she was still clipping along at a goodly pace, intent on getting somewhere as quickly as possible. A husband, perhaps?
The thought drew his attention away from his feet and he nearly tripped over the unseen leash of a small dog. The animal yipped and the owner turned just as Seoc was backing away.
“Pardon,” he said and quickly moved around the beasty before the man at the other end of the tether took issue.
So many people in current times took special care of their animals and yet treated each other with such distain. He would never understand it. He’d spent nearly three hundred years on the moors with Dauphin, Rabby’s beast, and he never would have thought to treat one of his fellows poorly in favor of the dog. But times were different now. Perhaps loneliness ran in direct proportions with the growth in population. Private space seemed to be much more important than the people one chose to share their space with.
But there seemed to always be room for a dog, or a pair of cats.
The lass neared the end of the block and her path veered toward a large apartment building on the far side of the street. Seoc’s instincts told him to slow and wait. He ducked into a wide doorway for good measure and peeked around the edge.
She strode purposefully for the door, then paused and looked behind her before turning her attention to a keypad. Careful to shield her motions from onlookers, she entered a code, pulled the wide glass door open, then disappeared inside. He imagined her making her way to the elevator, taking time to arrive at another floor, unlocking another door, then turning on a light. He watched closely for a new window to light up.
There. Top floor. Front west corner.
On the fire escape, a dark figure scrambled about, then pulled open the window and ducked inside!
Seoc took off in an all-out Highland charge. He paid no mind to the people who stepped out of his way or to the looks that followed him. He only knew he was needed. This was the reason why he’d been sent to Portland, dropped in a coffee shop, and lured away by the mean lass wrapped in a cheerful package. He was meant to save her from the intruder who waited for her return!
He considered the front door for only a moment, but he didn’t know the code and there didn’t seem to be much traffic coming in and out of the place. Chances of catching the door open were slim, and he had no time to dally. So he headed for the fire escape.
He was lucky to be as tall as he was, for the end of the ladder was within reach of his most energetic leap from the large rubbish bin. An inch shorter, he would have failed.
His arms strained as he pulled his body up the ladder until his feet could find purchase. As each story became harder to climb, he thanked God the building was not taller. For when he stood before the lass again and accepted her apology and her eternal gratitude, he would prefer not be winded.
CHAPTER SIX
Cat hurried through the door and dropped her stuff on the mirrored table. She didn’t worry about waking her grandpa because he always stayed up for a while after the nurse left. He looked forward to hearing the rundown of her day. And since she was home early, she could give him that rundown, fix him a bite to eat, then get an extra half hour of sleep.
She was way too young to crave sleep the way she did. People her age were staying up all night earning degrees or trying to keep their new businesses alive. She looked forward to the day she could be that kind of workaholic, or a sleep-deprived mother, instead of a sleep-deprived workaholic keeping someone else’s business alive.
That day would come, she knew. But when it did, it would mean her grandpa was gone, and she was in no hurry for that.
The cloud of rubbing alcohol and chemicals filled the living room and made her glad for the coffee smell still lingering on her clothes. She would have liked to burn a fragrant candle, but an open flame was forbidden around the oxygen tanks.
Her only option was to cook a little celery and onion in the oven, or a sliced apple with a little cinnamon sprinkled on it. But tonight she didn’t want to take the time. Since she’d be home in the morning, she would open all the windows and make the old man forget he was sick at all.
A whole two days off! Imagine the naps I can take!
She stepped up to the mobile privacy screens and cleared her throat. “Grandpa? I’m home.”
She always waited for an invitation. He had so little privacy anymore, she made sure he at least had it whenever possible.
He cleared his throat with real effort, then coughed a few times. “Sweet Catherine, you’re early!” She heard bedclothes rustling. “Come in, come in.”
The privacy screens weren’t nearly as effective as hanging curtains would have been, but they we
re cheap to rent and they did a good enough job creating a bedroom out of half the living room space. And he was able to keep to himself or be sociable at the drop of a hat, depending on his mood.
Fortunately for her, Alonzo Dabelko had a knack for staying positive, even though his lung cancer hadn’t responded to treatment and he was living on borrowed time.
She plastered the brightest smile of the day on her face and stepped around the screen. “Hello, Grandpa.”
She stepped forward to hug him, but he waved her back and started coughing. She plucked tissues out of the box on his hospital tray and held them out to him. He hated to be watched when he coughed, so she turned her back to him and pretended she didn’t notice. In reality, she listened to every little wheeze and grimaced at the sound of such a rough throat.
She pulled the blue curtains closed on the front windows. They were tall and wide and allowed a generous amount of sunlight in the morning, and if she stood close and looked to the east, she had a great shot of Mt. Hood. In the late afternoon, the windows invited a wonderful cool breeze to slip through if she opened all three of them by a few inches. There was a trick to it.
“That nurse forgot to open the windows again,” she said, after the coughs grew further apart. “But I promise to do it in the morning. Unless you need some fresh air now?” She looked over her shoulder and he shook his head at her before starting up again. She straightened the pillows on the couch while she waited for him to settle down.
A strange clanging sounded from outside. She held still and listened.
Metal. Against the building. Someone was on the fire escape and wasn’t being quiet about it.
Out of habit, she rushed to the entry table and dug her phone out of her purse, ready to call the police if there was trouble. They’d lived there four months without anything more alarming than a bike being stolen from the hallway, but that kind of luck couldn’t last in a big city. She was sure.
Her grandpa gasped, then stilled. She hurried to the screen and shoved it out of the way, worried the man was choking.
He was fine. His attention was on the side window where some dark form moved on the landing of the fire escape. The window flew open and a pair of large, bare, very manly legs stretched down to the floor. A drape of plaid cloth barely covered the guy’s unmentionables, but she didn’t dare turn her back. After all, this streaker was only a few feet away from her grandpa’s bed!
Her fingers found 911. The call connected. Rang once.
“911. Please state your emergency.”
“Um…” She was distracted by the fact that the plaid cloth looked familiar, and her heart dropped when she realized what was still left to come through the window. She started backing away.
“Your emergency?”
“Uh, a streaker… I mean, a stalker. A man just came in through my fire escape. I’m pretty sure he followed me home from work.”
The stalker in question paused while straightening his kilt and lifted his head just enough to skewer her with a bright blue eye and a raised black brow. Chills rushed up and down her spine and exploded into each other like a liquid form of the three stooges. She nearly dropped the phone.
“We’ll send a squad car right away. Did you say he’s nude? Can you lock yourself in another room? Or can you get out the door?”
“I can’t leave. My grandpa is an invalid.”
“Ho, ho!” The invalid in question sat up in bed, clapping and waving the big Scot closer. “Come in, laddie. Come in!” He turned and called to Cat. “Sweet Catherine! Did you arrange this?”
“Ma’am? What’s he doing now?”
“He’s… He’s shaking hands with my grandpa.”
“Your intruder is shaking hands? Ma’am, are you sure this is an emergency?”
She shook herself to get a grip. “Yes. Please send the police. I have an intruder in my house. Apartment 404.” She gave the address.
“Aye. Ye have an intruder,” the Scot said. “I saw him crawl through yon window when ye turned on yer lights.” He frowned at the old man for a second. “Or perhaps…it was another window… It was hard to tell, ye ken, from across the street.”
He faced her again, his eyes narrowed like they had when she’d tased him. Only then, he’d still been incapacitated and lying on the ground. Now he was there, in her house, probably remembering every little volt.
“I think you’d better hurry,” she said quietly into the phone.
“Why? What is he doing now?”
“Remembering that I shot him with my taser.”
“When? Just now?”
“No. About fifteen minutes ago, on the street.”
“Officers are on their way. Stay with me if you can.”
For about five minutes, Cat and the dispatcher listened to each other breathe. The Scot started answering her grandpa’s questions, but from where she stood, halfway into the kitchen, she couldn’t hear the details, just the tone. Her grandpa was like a kid coming face to face with his idol, which really ticked her off because the old man didn’t know who he was talking to!
“Ma’am? Officers will be there in a couple of minutes. Is your taser live?”
“Nope.”
“And where is the intruder?”
“Just standing there.” And he was, glancing back and forth between her and her grandpa while the old man rattled off questions faster than his hoarse voice could handle.
“Well, if you don’t have a weapon to defend yourself, you might want to apologize.”
“Apologize!?”
“I accept.” The guy grinned at her, winked, and sat down on the corner of the bed to give all his attention to her grandpa.
“Ma’am? The officers are at the door. Can you ring them in?”
“Yep.” She sidled to the entrance and pushed the buzzer, then left the door ajar before stepping to the edge of the living room again. Both men ignored her and kept chatting like old school chums. She focused on her breathing while she waited for the cavalry.
She realized she was holding her phone in front of her like a gun, but she couldn’t seem to stop, even when she heard the ding of the elevator from the hallway. She was seriously frozen in place, watching the Scot’s mouth move, watching her grandpa laugh and smile at words she couldn’t make out. Scottish small talk, probably.
I hate Scots! At least she tried really hard to hate them the whole time she stared at the poster boy for all things plaid.
“Ma’am?”
She turned toward the officer standing behind her right shoulder. He was trying not to smile.
“Ma’am? You can put your phone down now.” He tapped her raised arm and the touch seemed to unfreeze her.
“Thanks.” She put on a brave smile. “I’m sorry to bother you guys, but this guy followed me home from work, climbed in through the window, and now he’s like, casting a spell on my grandpa…or something.”
A bigger cop stepped up behind the first. They exchanged glances but kept straight faces. She had to give them credit.
The second cop glanced around nervously. “Someone got shot with a taser?”
The Scot raised his hand.
“And who shot you, sir?”
That raised hand folded and pointed at her.
The cops stepped away from her a little and the first one gave her phone a worried look. “And where is that weapon now, ma’am?”
She pointed at her purse lying open and unthreatening on the table. “It’s yellow. Look,” she pointed at the Scot, “he’s an intruder. I didn’t hurt him. I shot him out on the street, not in here.”
The smaller cop glanced at the window. “On the street?”
She didn’t know why that mattered. “Yes. He was stalking me, following me home. I was sure I was in danger—”
“Aye, the lass was in danger, officers.” Adonis was frowning again. “Three lads followed her out of the tea shop—er, coffee house—and had nefarious plans for her, I have no doubt—”
She grunted. “You were the o
nly one following me—”
“Aye. I followed to see ye safely home is all. I frightened the three away, but I worried there might be others.”
“Look—”
The bigger cop held up a hand to interrupt her. “These three lads. Was one of them blond? Curly hair?”
“Aye. With a large slash of red paint on his jack.”
“Jack?”
The Scot nodded. “A light coat, if ye will.”
The first cop smiled and nodded. “He means jacket.”
The Scot rewarded Sherlock Holmes with a smile. The man was still blushing when he faced her. “Three guys flagged us down half an hour ago to tell us that some creature roughed them up in an alley. We were pretty sure they were high. Maybe they weren’t.” All four men laughed in stereo.
What was this? The Twilight Testosterone Zone?
She put her hands on her hips. “So, are you going to arrest him?”
The first cop acted like she was the one that wasn’t making sense. “He said he was protecting you. And the three thugs have pretty much verified it. What more do you want?”
She gasped—three times—waiting for someone else to come to their senses. But none of them did.
“I want him out of my home. And maybe those thugs want to press charges.”
“Charges? I doubt it. Not if they’d been following you in the first place. But hang on.” Little Sherlock looked at the Scot. “You wanna press charges against her, for shooting you?”
Those bright blue eyes sparkled. His lips curled. She could tell the second he’d made his decision. Not only was she not going to get her extra half hour of sleep, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep in her own bed that night. She was actually going to be arrested!
Then something in those eyes changed.
“The lass has already apologized. As a gentleman, I must forgive her.” He inclined his head like he’d just won a joust or something in her honor.
What a joke!
The bigger cop gave her a look that said she should be counting her blessings and kissing her intruder’s hem. The truth smacked her in the face—if she stomped her feet and insisted on pressing charges against her stalker, he could change his mind and press charges against her.