Tristan

by L. L. Muir

  Finally, the Highlands.

  Audie rolled down her passenger side window and invited the scent of pine needles and resin to flood the car. Thankfully, it did, and along with it, the cool humidity of a recent rain. But that was typical no matter which direction they’d traveled. She sucked the sharp fragrance into her lungs and hoped it lingered in her nose for a little while. A land-locked girl from Georgia could only handle so much eau d’ocean before she started forgetting what regular air tasted like.

  A minute’s worth of deep breathing had her feeling like herself again, and brought a distant brown sign close enough to read. Loch Lomond to the left, The Trossachs to the right.

  That’s it! “Loch Lomond! You said!”

  Natalie laughed. “Okay, you can open it now.”

  At her friend’s suggestion, they’d decided to bag the rest of their plans for the trip and relax beside a lake. With only three days left, they’d had their fill of Castles, old city tours, and old things in general. So there’d been no need to twist Audie’s arm. Relaxing for three days sounded like heaven after putting so many miles under them. But at least they’d be able to say they’d gotten their money’s worth.

  They’d spent nearly a month in Scotland, with a side trip to Paris. If she could never afford another trip to Europe, she at least crossed two biggies off her bucket list.

  The only catch to Natalie’s proposal was that Audie had to agree to spend those last days wherever Natalie wanted. And her friend wasn’t going to tell Audie their destination until they were as far as Loch Lomond. As part of the big reveal, she could open the bag from The Enchanted Tea Cup, the dim little store Audie couldn’t exit fast enough.

  Audie pulled the sack out of the backseat and set it on her lap. “Okay. Where are we going?”

  Natalie grinned at her, then looked back at the road for a few seconds. “Loch Ness.” Her eyes widened along with her grin. “About three more hours.”

  They’d already been on the road for an hour and a half, steering clear of Stirling and yet another day of castle trekking. Audie was content that she could spend those three hours on her butt for a change. And if they were driving through pine trees and heather, she really didn’t care.

  “Okay,” she said. “But if all you want is a lake, why not just stop at Loch Lomond? It has a song and everything.”

  Nat grinned again. “But it doesn’t have a monster.” She glanced at the sack. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  Audie opened the bag, found two wads of paper, and pulled one out. It was heavy, which had excited her a little bit in the beginning, but the idea of two large statues of a famous green monster sucked the excitement away. But for Natalie, she pretended.

  The paper fell away easily and sitting in her lap was a large, heavy pair of binoculars. She dug out the other wad of paper, a little smaller and lighter than the first, and braced herself again for a monster statue. But it was just a smaller version of the first.

  “Binoculars?”

  Natalie shook her head. “Here, they call them field glasses.”

  “So they suckered you into buying field glasses and looking for The Loch Ness Monster?” Audie laughed until she realized her friend was nodding her head.

  She looked out the window and took a second to think about how she was going to react. They were at the end of their long trip and they were both tired. Maybe a little emotional. And if she said something to deflate Nat’s excitement, it might hurt her feelings unnecessarily. Besides, it didn’t matter where they went, so long as they relaxed, right? And it wasn’t like monster hunting would be as exhausting as staircase climbing and bus chasing.

  She turned back to Natalie. “Sounds perfect.”

  Her friend was instantly suspicious. “Really?”

  Audie nodded. “Really.”

  “Good. Because I’ve already booked the place. Right on the water’s edge.” Natalie bit her lip and kept her eyes on the road for a long time.

  Audie knew that look. “What are you not telling me?”

  “We need gas. Tell me when you see a sign—”

  “Natalie…”

  Her friend shrugged. “Well, that woman told me—”

  “The one you think is a witch…”

  “Yes. That one. She said that, if you spot Nessie… Well, that night, you’ll have a dream about your true love.”

  “Hmm. You mean that true love you don’t believe you’ll ever cross paths with, right?”

  When they were younger, Natalie had insisted her soul mate had died young, and that she was destined to spend the rest of her life just passing time with runner-ups.

  Natalie shrugged again. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he didn’t die young. And if I see Nessie, maybe I’ll find out one way or another, right?”

  “That makes sense. Only…you have to spot a monster that hasn’t been seen in—how many years?”

  Natalie’s eyes widened. “That’s just it. I looked it up. Apparently, people report seeing her all the time. Dozens of times every year!”

  Wow. So many liars in one place. But she wasn’t about to say what she was thinking. And more importantly, it was the first time Nat had ever suggested that her true love might still be out there somewhere. She couldn’t pee on that parade.

  “At least you’ve got a chance, then, right?”

  “Oh, ho ho!” Nat laughed. “Not just me. You’ll notice I bought two sets of field glasses.”

  “Oh, right. I suppose that will double our chances.”

  Natalie grinned at the road. “I have a really good feeling about this.”

  Audie knew that smile, and that tone. But even though she smelled a rat, she tried to hide her suspicion and sound casual. “Really? Why? What did that woman tell you?”

  Suddenly, Natalie’s face cleared of all expression, leaving her looking completely innocent—and Natalie was never innocent. Sleeping, eating, thinking, not-thinking, Natalie was always up to something.

  “She said to have faith in things I can’t explain.”

  Audie rolled her eyes, knowing it was just her friend’s way of lecturing her while blaming someone else. She picked up the sack and turned it over and over again.

  Nat frowned. “What are you looking for?”

  “A phone number for that tea shop. Maybe I should call her up, see if she remembers giving you that strangely familiar advice. Hmm?”

  Nat grunted in disgust. “Fine. She didn’t say that, exactly. But you promised you’d play along.”

  “Yes, I promised I’d go along, and I will. I am. But you’re not going to make a believer out of me. So stop getting your hopes up.”

  “You’re right. I won’t. But you have to promise me one more thing.”

  Audie rewrapped the binoculars and stuffed them back in the bag. “Sorry. You’ve run out of blind-promise-credits for this trip.”

  “Not a blind promise. I want you to promise that if you see the Loch Ness Monster, you’ll tell me. You know, so I can see it too.”

  “Deal.”

  It was the easiest promise she’d ever be expected to keep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “You seem unreasonably nervous today for a dead man.” MacKenzie stood with a slightly transparent shoulder against the corner of the Leanach Cottage, and Tristan realized the Highlander could have been watching him for quite some time. “I’d say the visitors seem to sense it as well, for none have come to sit on yer lap all morning, aye?” He gestured at the bench Tristan was seated on as he came closer.

  It was true. He’d had the wee bench to himself for half the day with no need to jump out of the way to prevent some mortal form passing through him. No matter how shapely that arse might be, none of Culloden’s ghosts cared to have their space invaded. And when it happened unexpectedly, it left Tristan feeling somehow…sullied.

  Strange, though, that the visitors had left him in peace. Had they truly sensed his excitement?

  Across the moor, forms moved up and down the paths, studying, listening, but see
ing nothing of him and his brothers of spirit. The foot traffic seemed higher than usual that day, not less, so it was hard to believe no mortals had used the wee bench yet for taking pictures.

  Three women approached, their gaze taking in the details of the squat building at his back, showing keen interest in the thatched roof and deeply set windows as they neared. A good five feet from the bench and the ghost seated upon it, they suddenly halted.

  “Let’s go around the other side,” said the woman on the left. The one in the middle raised her cellular to snap a quick shot of the roof, then turned back without argument. The third woman lingered for a heartbeat or two, frowned in the general direction of Tristan’s knees, then hurried away.

  “Ye see what I mean,” said MacKenzie. “They sense something isnae right. And so do I.”

  Number 40 was a comrade of sorts. Belonging to Keppoch’s regiment, he’d bled his last not far to the left of where Tristan had fallen with so many of Young Clanranald’s men.

  “Strange. Aye.”

  MacKenzie cocked his head. “Perhaps ye’d care to tell me what has ye givin’ off such a stink, then?”

  There was no harm in sharing his thoughts, he supposed. “I have a strong feeling our Soncerae will come tonight. And... she did say I’d be next.”

  “Auch, I see.” The man raised his hand and began rubbing the back of his neck while his thick brows bunched together in thought. “Ye’re keen to go then, are ye?”

  “I am that.”

  “Eager to test her promise, that ye can set hands on the Bonnie Prince and exact yer pound of flesh?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Ye suppose? Then ye’re eager for something else?”

  “Come now, McKenzie. Are ye not the least bit happy for two mortal days? A chance to do everything ye wished ye could have done, but hadn’t the chance? Or do one or two things ye most enjoyed? Would ye not like to whisper into a lovely woman’s ear and have her hear ye?”

  “Auch, these lassies?” The man waved an arm in a wide arc that encompassed all the folks milling about the moor that day. “I suppose I might find one to my liking, if I were to look a mite closer. But no, I’m not so keen on living and breathing again if it means I must suffer some violence in order to take it away after two days. Or do ye suppose we’ll die again without much pain, in the blink of Soncerae’s eye?”

  It was strange to hear a soldier speak so, of fearing pain. But there was no reason not to be honest about such things, and that thought led him to wonder—would Number 40 laugh if Tristan told his own truth?

  MacKenzie was already lifting a brow. “Ye look as if something is trapped behind yer lips and eager to escape. Out with it, aye? If what ye suspect is right, ye’ve not much time left for sharing secrets.”

  Tristan nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell ye. Even though ye’ll laugh until ye heave.”

  With two fingers, MacKenzie crossed his heart, mocking a child’s promise.

  “Brace yerself.”

  The man bit his lips together, then nodded to encourage him.

  Tristan forced the words out. “I suspect...am not dead. Or rather, not completely dead.”

  Ewan’s amusement vanished. “Tell me what ye mean?”

  “I assume ye remember the battle—”

  “A bit, aye. I’ve had little else to do for nigh three hundred—”

  “And the way ye died?”

  Ewan pointed behind his own head. “Weel, I did note the great hole in the back of my neck when I saw my body lying face down, off to one side. I cannot say I felt it. Nor do I ken which of my comrades from behind me allowed a bullet to go astray. Only that I remembered nothing until I woke to the heavy breathing of Young Rabby’s dog, and the lad eager to give me my number. I then realized that the battle had ended abruptly for me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do ye remember something so different, then?”

  Tristan shrugged a shoulder while he tried for the first time to put his experience into words. “I suppose it wasnae so different. One moment I was charging forward, the next, losing ground and fighting for breath. But after I rose up, I was overcome with a determination to find something. That I must keep my wits about me and search… Do ye suppose it’s God who urges me? Has he left a wee bit of life in my body so that I will find something…significant…here on the moor? For if so, I have failed Him. I have turned over every stone that could be turned, and peeked beneath those that couldn’t be budged. I’ve found nothing of note.”

  To be sure, it was a burden off his shoulders to put voice to his worries, no matter how foolish those worries had sounded. He forced himself to face MacKenzie and whatever mocking might come of his confession. Thankfully, he found no mirth in the man’s mien.

  “So? What do ye think? Dinna hold yer tongue, Number 40. As ye said, I’ve not much time left for havering, aye? Is it possible that I am still alive? For at times, I am certain I hear my heart beating, see my chest rise and fall, and I vow that I’ve tasted the rain from time to time.”

  MacKenzie shook his head. “As have we all. Phantoms of our past lives, no doubt.” He rubbed the back of his neck once more. “I am sorry to be the one to break the news to ye, Bain, but ye’ve all the symptoms of being a ghostie. Ye’re no more alive than I am, and I’ve been farting dust for as long as Cameron has been telling lies.” He frowned. “Weel, perhaps not quite as long as all that, since the man was no doubt twisting the truth on his way out of his mother’s womb.” He offered a sympathetic tilt of his head. “‘Tis a pity, sure, if ye’ve been hiding that bee in yer bonnet all these years. But if it’s the real taste of rain ye’re after,” he pointed to the storm clouds gathering above, “look on the bright side—ye’re about to have it. If it is true what ye say, that Soni is coming for ye.”

  MacKenzie turned toward the battlefield and began to fade a little more with each step, but he suddenly turned back and brightened a bit.

  “When my turn comes, mind, I’ll tip back my head, let my mouth fill with Culloden’s rain, and save it to spit in Charles Stuart’s eye. See if I don’t.” He didn’t bother walking away before fading completely that time, but his robust laughter lingered and shook a bit of dew from the dainty plants beside the bench.

  Tristan felt immediate relief. No longer need he wonder if he’d missed some message from God or failed to fulfill his purpose there on the moor. Aye, he was a dead man like the others. There was no life left in his heart nor blood still haunting his veins. He had truly died in the battle, then risen with dozens of others the following day.

  Well and truly dead, aye.

  But not for long!

  Hell. If he would have known that, he might have wandered a bit closer on those days when a strange and bright doorway rent the air and hovered, waiting. But like the rest of the Highlanders, he’d shied away and kept his distance…just in case.

  Just in case. Those words had whispered through his mind thousands upon thousands of times. Just in case…there was more.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tristan could not take his eyes off the eastern horizon, certain as he was that the sky was about to lighten from black to the blue that came just before dawn.

  He’d been wrong. It was too late. Soni wouldn’t be fool enough to come in the witching hours when The Reaper was wont to walk across the earth.

  He turned to Forbes. “Have ye the time?”

  Forbes gave him a queer look and blinked out of sight. Then Tristan realized how strange he must have sounded to have asked about the time in a place where time meant naught at all. Still, he had to know.

  He imagined the office where the security guards reportedly spent a great deal of their night, and though he had never set a foggy foot inside the visitor’s center before, he did not hesitate. An image of one man’s face was all he needed to send his ethereal body where he willed it to go, and in the space of one cricket chirp and the next, he stood before the man.

  The second guard’s whereabouts were a mystery, but all Tristan required was a clock.


  He moved beside the man’s rolling chair and shoved him out of the way so he could peer at the small timer at the bottom of the computer screen.

  Five of twelve? Not yet midnight! “Then Soni might come after all!”

  He turned to share his excitement with the guard and only then did he notice that the man was looking directly at him, though his body was recoiled against the back of his chair. Tristan held up a hand and invited the other man to give him a high five. He was tickled when the man obliged, though reluctantly. Of course, the guard’s hand passed unhindered through his own, but his excitement would not be quelled.

  The frightened man jumped from his chair and made a frantic search of the room as he backed out the door. Tristan had returned to his unseen state once again. But it had been a heady thing, to have a mortal look into his eyes and see him, to have a mortal respond to his gesture.

  Other than Soni, no one had truly seen him since the battle. But soon, he would be visible to all and sundry!

  He remembered the promise well. One or two days of mortality, a chance to perform some noble deed, then to exact his revenge on the prince. He would feel again, taste again—whatever he might get his hands on.

  Yes, perhaps he might have embraced the next life by now if he’d only questioned the others, to discover that he had in truth died and that nothing more would be expected of him. But what did it matter now?

  With no wish to meander through the visitor’s center, he imagined himself outside again and found his feet where he’d intended, standing on the donator’s stones. The walkway was littered with names of those who had contributed to the preservation of the sacred battleground where Scotland was dealt its deathblow. And he gazed his last.

  As if his readiness had summoned her to him, the familiar white car entered from the road. Soni would be inside, and Tristan’s excitement was so intense, he wondered if the entire mortal world might be able to see him at that very moment.

  He was far too anxious to wait for Soni to come to him. Before he could talk himself out of it, he headed for the car park. She popped out of her car and her black cloak dropped around her like a heavy curtain. A happy smile lit her face in the darkness.