Alistair: A Highlander Romance (The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 40)

by Jo Jones

  ’Twas a fool’s task, to be sure.

  Alistair eased his head around the outcropping. “Brie!” He yelled, needing to know if she still lived.

  “Mac?” she screamed, before her voice became a series of muffled squeals.

  That at least removed the gun-barrel from the cave opening, but at what cost to Brie? Nae. He wouldna chance that again.

  “I wish tae bargain with ye.” He yelled. “Will ye come out?”

  An ominous laugh floated from the cave opening. “I believe I hold all the bargaining chips. Why don’t you come in?”

  He could hear Brie’s muffled protests.

  The laugh came again. “I don’t believe Ms. Drummond trusts me.”

  “What would ye take in trade for the lass?”

  “Trade? For what? You have nothing I want.”

  “What about yer freedom?” Alistair taunted.

  “I believe I can call that bluff,” the man challenged. “Your only threat to me, is showing the authorities where I am. But by the time you do that, you’ll be picking up what’s left of your girlfriend from the canyon floor. Is that a trade you’re willing to make?”

  It wasna. “If I leave, will ye release her?”

  “Now you’re just trying my patience. I don’t mind sparring with you a little, that’s actually what I brought Ms. Drummond here for—a little intellectual stimulation—but if all you’re going to do is insult my intelligence, I can move up Ms. Drummond’s scheduled departure.”

  Alistair was at a loss. Nothing seemed to appeal to the lunatic. “What do ye want? Name it.”

  “Ahh, my delusional friend. I believe we’ve passed that juncture.”

  Alistair realized that once the Mountain Man tired of playing with them, he’d have no qualms about carrying out his threats. He had no intention of letting Brie live. He couldna.

  “Stay, Gus,” Alistair whispered, desperate to do something before the scoundrel grew tired of his game of wits. Alistair feared that time was imminent. He had no choices left.

  It took all his strength to climb the cliff face and inch his way to a spot ten or twelve feet above the cave entrance. His legs burned, and his arms quivered as he fought to keep his bulk attached to the craggy rock, where occasional brush and fledgling trees fought for survival amid the cracks and crevices. The tips of his toes and fingers were scraped raw, but if he could make it to the narrow shelf with the stunted tree growing from a fissure in the rock, he’d have something to rest against.

  After that, he dinna ken what to do. The drop was straight down to the canyon floor, from there.

  His fingers were bloody and nearly numb by the time he reached the small tree, it’s curved trunk reaching for sky and sunlight, as if it too, fought for survival. He dinna dare put his entire weight on it at first, but it seemed solid enough, so he leaned on it enough to ease the cramps in his muscles.

  What now? He had naught but his wits, two knives and the clothes on his back. One at a time, he wiped the blood from his hands on his plaid, desperate for some miracle that offered him an alternative to sliding down this rock face and hoping he dinna just bounce off the narrow ledge in front of the cave, and plummet to the bottom.

  He glanced at the blood, smeared across his kilt. His kilt! His belted plaid was sixteen feet of fine, strong Scottish wool! A miracle indeed!

  ’Twas a bit of a test to undo his brooch, belt and other trappings, while hanging by one arm from a sheer cliff with naught but the roots of a stunted pine keeping him from a several hundred-foot fall.

  Careful not to let anything drop, to alert the man below, he tied one end of his plaid around the base of the tree trunk and secured the entire thing as tightly as possible with his belt.

  With naught but his longshirt, boots and desperation, Alistair prayed to God and all the saints, the tree roots would hold. He draped the tail of his plaid, loosely over his shoulder to keep it from trailing down over the lip of the cave, hoping it would feed freely, as he descended.

  After testing the thick fold of wool attached to the tree, he carefully walked backward, down the face. Staying on his feet proved much harder than he’d imagined. His body swayed, first one way then the other, threatening to tip him over. If that happened, he’d be dangling like a fish on a line, and likely just as dead.

  Slowly, cautiously, he closed the distance above the cave opening. Six feet. Four. Two.

  “I love ye, Brie,” he whispered to the wind, working several feet of slack into one hand while he held onto the plaid, with the other. “If I dinna make it, I pray the Gods will grant ye that certainty, in yer heart.”

  On a breath and a prayer, Alistair released his hold, and jumped backward, into the air.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The extra slack dropped Alistair several feet. The thick plaid hit the upper rim of the cave and the momentum, and his weight, swung him inside.

  He dinna have time to gauge his landing or get his bearings. He let go, grateful to see solid rock beneath him as he rolled across the ragged, uneven floor of the cave, halfway to the back.

  Brie’s muffled gasp and the Mountain Main’s startled curse mingled as Alistair struggled to get to his feet before Brie’s kidnapper could react.

  Alistair pulled the sgian-dubh from his boot in one smooth motion, as he rose to a crouch, alert for any movement, until his eyes could adjust to the dim interior, and locate his opponent.

  Enraged, Brie’s kidnapper swung away from the far edge of the cave’s entrance, raised his gun, and fired. The shot skimmed past Alistair’s ear as he dove to the side, the sound deafening inside the cavern. From the clatter of falling objects behind him, the bullet must have hit one of the many piles, stacked along the wall.

  Tied and gagged near a fire, Brie emitted a stifled scream.

  A victorious sneer crossed her captor’s face as he took aim at Alistair, a second time. Just as he squeezed the trigger, Gus sprang from behind, knocking him face down.

  The bullet pinged off the cave wall behind Alistair, sending small shards of stone flying as it ricocheted into something with a dull thud. Alistair shot a terrified look at Brie to be sure it wasn’t her. With no time to even sigh his relief, he dove for the gun skittering across the cave floor. Both the kidnapper, and Alistair scrambled for the prize, twisting and rolling, with Gus growling and snapping as they fought. Somewhere in the struggle, one of them kicked the weapon over the ledge.

  “Stop, Gus,” Alistair yelled as the dog lunged for the kidnapper’s arm. Alistair wanted the blackguard all to himself. Rage burned in his throat and powered the curled fist he plowed into the man’s face.

  Amazingly agile, the Mountain Man rolled and sprang to his feet, landing a stunning kick to Alistair’s stomach. The air whooshed from his lungs forcing Alistair to stagger back a step. He swiped the sgian-dubh toward the man’s gut, catching naught but his shirt.

  Alistair’s size should have given him the advantage but his opponent’s quick, agile moves, evened the odds, taking Alistair by surprise. A sudden jab to his hand, sent his knife flying.

  ’Twas in the throes of focused, deadly, hand-to-hand combat that parts of Alistair’s past came crashing down on him as heavily, and shockingly, as if the cave’s stone roof had fallen.

  The smells of blood and bog assaulted his nostrils. Sounds of cannon shot and the cries of dying men filled his head as he fought Brie’s captor. One moment inside the rocky cavern, one moment on the muddy moor. He swung at a Redcoat, and landed his blow to the Mountain Man’s gut, making him stagger back a few steps.

  A sudden, stunning kick to Alistair’s chest dropped him to his knees as another smashed into the soft tissue below his ribcage where the broadsword had entered, twisted and dragged its way across his belly.

  Gus’s whimper and Brie’s stifled cries drifted to Alistair and he fought to stay focused. He used his buried anger for those who’d stolen Scotland’s freedom, to compound his rage at the man who’d stole
n Brie’s.

  All his strength, all his bottled-up fury, erupted on the piece of filth who’d dared to threaten her. Three successive blows to the kidnapper’s face, and a fourth to his temple, dropped him, unconscious, to the stone floor. Alistair grabbed him by the hair for another blow, when Brie’s grunt of protest caught his attention.

  Alistair let the man fall and turned to her like a beacon in a storm. “Brie,” he muttered, blinking his rage away. Relief, gratitude, love—so much filled him as he hurried to release her bonds and pull her into his arms.

  “Brie.” He buried his face in her hair. “Are ye all right, love?”

  “I am now.” Wincing from the weight on her foot, she slipped her arms around him and held tight.

  Alistair trembled, unable to hold her close enough. He’d nearly lost her! Slowly, he realized she’d favored her foot and he remembered the torn-up path of gravel he’d seen, and pulled back. “Ye’re hurt!”

  She shook her head. “Just a sprain I think, and a few bruises. What about you? Your head?”

  “Nae. ’Tis fine.”

  “Oh, Mac.” Both her voice and her chin quivered. “I was so afraid.”

  He drew a thumb across her lower lip and studied her face. “I should tell ye, my name is no’ Mac. Well, partially Mac, I ken. ’Tis Alistair MacDonell.”

  Surprise widened her eyes, followed by traces of happiness, worry, and a bit of fear. “You remembered,” she whispered.

  “Aye, lass. Well, some. No’ all. ’Tis still monstrous confusing. I canna quite piece everything together, nae reconcile the inconsistency in time. But…” He drew her close again, kissed her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. “I did learn that Soncerae doesna wait for me, as a…as a…”

  “Lover?” Brie suggested.

  “Aye . No’ like that,” he smiled. “I’m sure of it. A sister, mayhap. Or a treasured friend. Brie,” he continued cautiously, searching for the right words. “I think mayhap we… I believe I’m able to love ye, freely. If…when, I can ken that for sure, will ye have me?”

  Although he saw the answer on her lovely face, he needed to hear her say the words.

  “First, shouldn’t you find out who, or what—”

  “Aye, lass. I will. Ye’ve my vow on it. But no matter what I find, ’twill no’ change how much I love ye.”

  She sighed and dropped her head to his chest. “Mac.” Then she jerked back to search his face, “I mean…Alistair.” An apprehensive look crossed her face. “Even though I knew this change would come—and I want it for you, I do—I guess I’m still not quite ready.”

  “Ye havna answered my question, lass.” Alistair reminded her, anxious to hear her answer.

  Brie’s captor moaned and twitched, drawing their attention. Gus rushed to him, teeth bared, emitting a low growl.

  “Ye’ve quite a dog there, lass.” Alistair released Brie and took the bonds the man had used on her, to secure his feet and hands, then link the ties together behind the man’s back. He was still not fully awake when Alistair decided to add the gag he’d used on Brie.

  Renewed fury pulsed inside Alistair at the blackguard who’d dared put Brie in danger. He yearned for a way to subject the wastrel to the terror he’d put her through. He dinna just want revenge, he wanted to exact restitution from the man’s hide.

  “If ’twas up to me, I’d toss this rotten carcass into the chasm and let the buzzards have what they could scrounge from the remains,” he ground out.

  “No, Mac,” Brie’s soft voice came from behind him.

  Fighting for control, he heaved a shuddering breath. “We’ll leave him tied here, then. He’ll no’ escape these bounds. If the authorities think he’s worth the trouble to haul him out, ’tis up to them.”

  Still struggling with his desire for revenge, he turned back to Brie, but stopped short as a conversation replayed in his head. Gregor’s voice came clear and strong.

  “I’m feelin’ naught but the hope that Soncerae will choose me this night. I’ve an itch tae face the Bonny Prince and give him a taste of what he left us tae face wi’out so much as a ‘die-well, lads’ on his cowardly lips.”

  Alistair clearly remembered thinking what an empty pursuit such revenge would be. But if Brie had been harmed, he would have spent his last breath seeking exactly the same thing. What did that say about him?

  His whole life, he’d put honor above all else. He knew that with complete certainly. Where then, did that leave him now? Did his desire for revenge negate his honor?

  Alistair staggered to one of the chairs beside the dying fire.

  ’Twas too much!

  “What is it Mac—I mean, Alistair?” Brie limped to his side. “Is it your head? Are you hurt somewhere else? What’s wrong?”

  “Nae, lass.” He jumped from the chair and paced the space in front of the opening, his tormented soul bursting with frustration, anger, and the need for answers. “ ’Tis these bits and pieces of me that come like splinters, poking and festering inside me ’til I feel I’ll explode!”

  He turned to her, too weary to hide the agony inside him. “ ’Twas better when I dinna ken any of me. Nae matter how much I try, I canna seem tae reconcile the pieces.” He looked at her, loving her so much it was a huge ache inside him. “What if… What if neither of us can live wi’ who I really am?”

  Tears spilled from Brie’s lashes as she came to him and slipped her arms around him, like a balm. She held him for several long moments, then reached up and cupped his face with both hands. “I know who you are. I don’t care if you call yourself Mac, or Alistair, or something else, entirely. I know the man you are, in here.” She laid her palm over his heart. “This, is the man I love. I don’t care what happened in your past, or what you must do to reconcile that. I love you. The man standing here now. And nothing you did or must do will change that.”

  “Brie,” he whispered. Her love filled all the ragged empty places in his soul. “I want to be that man for ye. Whether ’tis for just this moment, or eternity, I wish for nothing more than tae spend whatever time I’m given, proving I’m worthy of yer love, and loving ye in return. Fully. Completely. Irrationally.”

  He slid his hand along her cheek, savoring the feel of her skin, knowing he’d never tire of looking at her pretty face, or into her enchanting eyes. His gaze fell to her mouth, anticipating the feel—

  “Huh-em.” The sound of someone delicately clearing their throat, startled them both. Alistair caught Brie as she stumbled back, sure her heart had jumped into her throat, as his had.

  Alistair expected to find Brie’s captor awake and making noises. He dinna expect to see the pretty wee lass, with a green mist swirling above her hem, standing at the back of the cave. Gus eagerly wagged his tail and looked at her as if he’d discovered a long-lost friend.

  “Soncerae.” He whispered. He dinna ken how he recognized her, but he was certain ’twas she.

  Brie’s whimper of fear cut to his heart. Even though his own still raced out of control, he sought to calm her. “Dinna fash, lass. This, I ken, is Soncerae. I’ve no idea how she came to be here, but she’ll do ye no harm.” He’d think her to be another of his visions if Brie dinna seen her, as well.

  Soncerae smiled prettily, sliding the hood of her soft cape from her hair, as calmly as if a young girl dropping into a cave, was an everyday occurrence. “Greetings, Alistair.” She switched her warm gaze to Brie. “This is your lady?”

  “Brie,” Alistair choked through a flood of emotions as memory after memory bombarded him. His knees buckled, and he slid to the ground, Brie with him, her hands firmly rooted to his arm.

  ’Twas like drowning in a river. He couldna breathe, as wave after wave of memories washed over him. His wretched childhood. Yearning for a family. Brotherhood among the warriors. His bond with Angus and Gregor. Culloden. The battle. Dying. The 79. Two days of mortality.

  It all surged and churned inside him until his stomach lurched. He
pulled away from Brie and rushed to the cave opening, searching for enough air to chase away his nausea, as the final certainty settled in his chest. He was naught but a ghost. A temporary farce of blood and bones whose time had ended. Though he was free to love Brie, he couldna stay wi’ her.

  “Nooooooo!” He screamed his pain into the vast emptiness and listened as it echoed back to him, knowing he’d feel the agony of losing her, through eternity.

  Drained, he turned and helped Brie from the ground. She quaked in his arms as he guided her to the chair and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Mac?”

  “There’re answers tae all yer questions, love. I just need a wee bit of time tae sort through them, myself, first.”

  He faced Soncerae. “I dinna ken what comes next, but will ye grant me the time tae see Brie safely home and try tae answer some of her questions?”

  Soncerae took a step forward and smiled. “I’m pleased tae see that ye were able tae find the answer tae yours.”

  “What…? Ahh, aye!” If he was gifted with but two days of mortality, what exactly, would be valuable enough to spend them on? He glanced at Brie, his whole being, bursting with love for her. “That, I did.”

  “Well, then, Alistair MacDonell. I ken ye’ve earned yer promised boon.”

  “If I’ve truly one coming,” Alistair pleaded, “would ye grant it tae Brie? I ken she’ll need some support in the days tae come. Will ye help, her?”

  Soni raised a delicate eyebrow. “I’ve more lads to help from the moor, Alistair. Can ye no’ help the lass yerself? Isna that what ye swore tae do? Spend every day proving yer worth tae her?”

  “Do ye mean…?”

  “Och! I’ve things tae see tae, Alistair. And ye’ve yer lady tae care for.” She pulled the hood of her cape back over her hair and gave a smile to the adoring dog at her feet.

  “One more thing,” she added, already beginning to fade as she pointed to his bare legs. “Ye may wish tae put on some pants.”