by L. L. Muir
Another five minutes ticked by as loudly as if that obnoxious desk clock had been on loud-speaker.
Tick tick.
Tick tick.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. “Tristan?”
He sat back on his heels and smiled—a painfully forced smile. Maybe a little sad.
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist and half the original smear was wiped away with it. His breathing was heavy, he looked tired, but she didn’t think all of it was from the digging. As for her, she was feeling a little sad too.
“Audie?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I have some of that water?” He gestured to the ground beside her where two bottles of water lay forgotten.
She took him one while he stood and stretched his legs.
He looked at her while he drank the bottle nearly dry, then poured the rest on his face and blinked the drips away. “Not long now. But I need to take a wee breather, aye?”
She strolled over to the orange trees and plucked a couple of leaves off to crush between her fingers and see what they smelled like. The fragrance was as bitter and unwelcoming as the trees looked. If Natalie were there, she would have said it was a sign.
As she turned back, Tristan stepped close, wiped his fingers on his sash, then reached out to touch her face. “Forgive me, lass. I should have never suggested this detour. We could be back at the inn where ye could enjoy better company and watching for another glimpse of Nessie.”
Audie snorted. “There wasn’t one in the first place.” But she saw the guilty look on his face before he could hide it. “You saw it too!”
He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and sighed. “Aye.”
“Why didn’t you admit it?”
“You wanted proof—”
“You didn’t know me then. We’d just met, remember? It was the first thing I asked you after you… After we…”
“Would ye believe I was too embarrassed?”
“Nope. Try again.”
He looked her straight in the eye. “That would mean opening door number two. And ye doona want that.”
She shook her head and took an unconscious step back. “Door number two it is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
So, the lass thought she was brave enough to face the chasm of differences between them, eh? Well, then, Tristan decided he could do no less himself.
“As ye wish.” He gestured off to the right. “Shall we walk?” There was no telling how she might react. It could go as badly as that first night, when she thought her friend had betrayed her, so perhaps it was best to lead her away from a large hole in the ground nearly big enough to hide his body.
They struck out for a line of trees in the distance, in the opposite direction of the car. Though he offered it, she didn’t take his hand, but he assumed it was due to the layers of dirt and mud. Her long strawberry hair swayed as she walked, and those three freckles were firmly in place.
“Listen,” she said. “If this is going to get ugly, I just want you to know that I’ve enjoyed spending the day with you.”
“As have I, Audie.” They exchanged quick but earnest smiles. “The first good day I’ve had in two hundred and sixty-nine years, to be exact.”
“Very funny.”
He raised his brow and waited for his sincerity to register. It didn’t take long.
She laughed. “I guess I kind of asked for that, didn’t I?”
“Aye, ye did. Curiosity killed the cat, as it were. And curiosity will likely kill the friendship as well. More’s the pity.”
“So you’re not kidding? You expect me to believe that you’re two hundred and sixty-nine years old?”
“Auch, certainly not. I lived all of twenty-four years. I only died two hundred and sixty-nine years ago. As of the 16th of April. And I’m not expecting ye to believe me. I’m only telling ye what I believe is the truth.”
She reached over and pinched his arm—hard.
He sucked air through his teeth, but didn’t pull away.
“I live in a proof-based world, remember?”
“Aye, I understand. And while ye think that ye’ve just proven I am not a ghostie—”
“That’s Scottish slang for a cute ghost, I assume.”
He grinned, relieved she was still able to joke about it. Hell, he was impressed she was still walking. “Aye. That’s me. And while I might be mortal, tangible, and irresistibly cute at the moment, the first two are recent gifts bestowed by my friend, Soncerae.”
“Who says you have to do something noble. So you can win your boon. I assume it’s something better than a box of rocks you get to dig up?”
He nodded. “Revenge against Bonnie Prince Charlie for leading so many of us to our deaths. Though, in truth I prefer digging for the box.”
She frowned in thought. “Bonnie Prince Charlie. Another supposedly cute Scotsman?”
“I wouldn’t describe him as such, no. But he did have a pretty face for a man.”
“Right. He’s the guy who escaped wearing a dress.”
“The very same.”
“Natalie and I went to a battleground—”
“Culloden.”
“In the visitor’s center, they had one of his uniforms on display.” She made a face. “It was tiny.”
“The average humans were much smaller back in the eighteenth century.”
“But not you.”
He shook his head. “No. Not me.”
“And you should know, because...”
“I was there.”
“You were there.” Her disbelief was like a tall iron gate between them, and it wasn’t budging, no matter what he might say. He wasn’t going to take it all back, and she wasn’t going to believe him.
After a stretch of silence, they reached the line of trees. He stopped and gestured back the way they’d come. She turned and started walking again with no complaints, but she clasped her hands behind her where he couldn’t accidentally hook his fingers on hers.
“I have to admit, ye’re taking my revelation much better than I expected.”
Frowning again, she pointed up the way. “And those ruins? Those stones.”
“The remnants of my father’s barn, as I said. I saw no sign of the house, but that did not surprise me, after so long.”
She nodded, though he suspected her thoughts were elsewhere. “So your wife is?”
“No wife.”
She smiled. “Well at least I haven’t been kissing a married ghost.”
“Now, now. Ye promised not to mock.”
She shrugged. “Sorry. Shock, I think.”
“Next comes denial.”
“How do you know?”
“Stages of grief and all that.”
She nodded. “Makes sense.” For a while, she simply breathed in and out. He did the same. “So, when you say you have to leave tomorrow?”
“I will either have my revenge and move on to face God or the devil, or I will simply move on without a boon. I’ve done nothing to earn one.”
“You will stop being mortal? And this Soncerae will decide everything?”
“I expect so. Aye.”
“Come Hell or high water.”
“Precisely.”
“I’ll hope for high water.”
He could stand her flippant acceptance no longer. Ignoring the dirt, he grabbed her hand and swung her around to face him, chest to chest. “My poor wee lassie. Ye don’t believe a word of it. And no doubt that brain of yers is scrambling for a more provable explanation.”
“Scrambled is right. I think I’m just...tired. Maybe I need a nap.”
He nodded over her head. “There is shade now, by the barn. Ye can lie down and rest yer eyes while I finish.”
They held hands loosely while they strolled to the shade. He led her to a soft bit of turf, then kissed her briefly. He had no right to do more, for he would be out of her life very soon, and he needed to think about distancing himself for both their
sakes.
She put her hands to the sides of his face and peered into his eyes. “Seriously. Who are you?”
He laughed and gave her a wink. “Just yer everyday hitman.” He held her arms and lowered her to the ground. “When I’m finished, I shall take ye back to Milton’s. I doona think ye’re in any shape to drive.”
“And a guy from the eighteenth century can drive better?”
“Ye forget, I’ve had nearly three hundred years to do nothing but turn over rocks and learn useless things.”
He only hoped her rental car moved somewhat akin to the security buggies at Culloden.
~ ~ ~
It had finally happened. Audie had spent far too much time with Natalie Harber, and all that metaphysical mojo had finally worn off on her.
Had to be osmosis. Probably when we shared that tiny twin bed in Hawick.
Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe the whole thing was just a dream to show her who her true love was. Had her subconscious been affected by all the fairy tales she’d heard in the past three weeks? If only she could meet Tristan Bain in Atlanta when she got back home—a perfectly normal guy who wasn’t Scottish, who didn’t speak with a brogue, but was tall and handsome and would think her career was terribly noble.
And he’d have no reason to expect her to believe in witches or ghosts or Loch Ness Monsters.
No. Wait.
Her head started swimming again, so she took some very deep breaths and concentrated on how nice it was to lie in the shade and just breathe…
~ ~ ~
The feel of metal on metal made Tristan’s heart jump and his chest swell. The box was there! When he’d found the flat stone so carefully placed, he’d worried that someone had been in that hole after his last visit to it—not that there was anything left to steal.
He cut the earth away from the edges, then put his poor misused skean duh back into his sock. There would be no need to sharpen the blade again. Not where he was going.
Brushing the dirt off the top of the box, he came across traces of fabric he never remembered before. It resembled cheesecloth and fell into pieces when he tugged on it. But all he was interested in was that tin box, and in no time at all, it was in his hands.
A few stubborn dirt clods came away with little pressure. The box itself was a wee bit smaller than he remembered, and not nearly as heavy. He shook it enough to know there were still some remnants inside of the river rocks that had replaced his own treasure.
His fingers smoothed over the raised outline of a milk thistle. A wee bit of purple paint clung to the edges.
He was holding it. In his hands. The grand search was over. And it was just as he remembered it.
Digging it up for his mother had been smart on his part, for obviously, the box would never have been found by anyone who didn’t already know it was there—himself, Edward Grant, and Cowlie. And if he buried it again, it would remain for all time.
If he buried it…
A grave he could call his own, then. He glanced up the hillside, out at the stretch of field between himself and the far tree line. A fitting grave for a Highlander. A fitting grave for him. And though his own body would never lie there, a bit of him could.
He pulled his wee blade out again, pressed the box back into its resting place, then cut the meat of his hand and let the blood drip down, covering the raised thistle.
A woman gasped. Audie stood to his right. “You’re bleeding!”
“Just a scratch,” he said.
She was suddenly kneeling at his left side, holding out the second bottle of water. He took it and poured it over his hand. The dirt and blood washed away with a light scrubbing. And when they both looked closely, there was no sign of where the cut had been. His flesh was completely whole.
Since it was surely part of the spell Soni had cast, he pulled his hand away quickly before Audie grew too curious.
“As I said. Only a scratch.” He casually nudged a bit of dirt onto the box to hide the blood just as she leaned down to look.
“You found the box?”
“Aye. Just where I left it.”
“Did you open it?”
He shrugged. “I did not.” He pushed more dirt in.
“Wait!”
“I ken what lies inside.”
“Do you? Won’t you wonder, forever, what was in it?”
He looked from her, to the box, and back again. “Well, I will now, won’t I?” He leant into the hole and grabbed the thing, then slyly wiped the top against the dirt wall as he brought it up. Another handful of dirt, scrubbed around the thistle, removed all traces of his interrupted funeral ceremony.
The lass was grinning like a child at Christmas, and he had a sad thought, that maybe she was one of those children who had never believed in St. Nick.
He held the box to his chest and pried the lid off. It took some working, but finally, he got the warped top to slide. Surprisingly, the inside was still quite shiny. But the things in the box weren’t his at all.
He’d found someone else’s treasure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Audie was dying to see what was in the old warped tin the size of a typical lunch box. But she wasn’t the one who’d come up that mountain for closure. And she needed to give Tristan some space.
She was just about to stand up and give him some privacy when he took an envelope out of the tin and handed it to her.
“Hold this, if ye will.”
Then he pulled out a small white sack and set the box aside. She held her breath while he pulled the drawstring open, then he stopped breathing when he looked inside.
“What is it?”
“Nothing of mine, to be sure.” He tipped the bag up, and onto his open hand, he poured a huge pile of colored gems. His broad hand was barely big enough to hold them all.
For a whole minute, maybe two, they just stared at them. All shades of yellow and brown. Some pale pink and light green. One purple the size of a nickel, some gray, and two blue ones as big and flat as egg yolks. There were another thirty or forty clear ones, the size of peas, filling in the gaps.
“Holy cow,” she whispered. “Are they real?”
“Auch, aye. They are. But again, they are not mine.” He stared another minute, then he backed away from the hole and started easing them into the sack. “I would regret dropping one.”
“Can we read the note?”
“Aye. Go on then.”
She opened the envelope, which was just a piece of paper folded at the corners and sealed with a little drip of wax, pressed into a circle with the letter G in the center. She pealed it off and put it on Tristan’s palm with the stones.
There was a single sheet of paper inside. Very thin. Very fragile.
She read the date in the corner. “August 8, 1748.”
He nodded. “I was dead by then.”
She read the greeting to herself. “Um. Looks like you might be wrong.” She showed him the words, Hear me, Tristan Bain. “Maybe they do belong to you. But the script is nearly impossible to read.”
He took the paper from her and scanned through it. He cleared his throat a couple of times, then read it aloud.
Hear me, Tristan Bain.
Forgive me, I beg ye, oh spirit of Tristan. I do confess I lied concerning the worth of yer gems, and I did plan with forethought to steal them from ye. I am a thief and a liar, and I have confessed the same to the kirk. But alas, that has done nothing to give me peace. Therefore, I have returned yer property, though ye be dead and have no use of these temporal stones.
I prithee, cease yer tormenting. Be gone from my dreams. For I have, since the Battle of Culloden, seen ye roaming the moor, searching for yer beloved stones. But they are here. And if they not be those I took, they are equal in value and size. For many I had already spent in the twelve years before yer death.
Know that I have located yer family and have cared well for them. They shall want for nothing.
May that be my penance paid, I pray.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Lord Edward Grant
“My family,” Tristan whispered. “I pray that his claim is true.”
He looked like his heart was breaking, even though none of what he said, and none of what he’d read could be real. So it was hard to find something reassuring to say without sounding patronizing. But she couldn’t just ignore the genuine pain on his face.
“I guess, if the stones are real, then his repentance was too, right?”
“Auch. Aye. He was a rich man to begin with, but in that century, these might have made an impact, even on his life.”
“Then it looks like you’re rich.”
He held the letter out to her, but she tucked her feet under her and stood up. She wasn’t really buying into all this.
Seventeen forty-eight? Was he kidding?
“Forgive me, Audie. I only wanted it placed back in the envelope. I realize it must be loathsome to ye, proof that it is.”
She dropped the envelope in his general direction and started backing away. If she took the time, she could make sense of it all. She just didn’t have that kind of time…
“I’m glad you got your boon. I mean, your closure. Um. I’m glad you got your gems back. But I think I’d better go. I need to shower, you know, in water that’s not brown. And Natalie might need the car, so… We better get going.” She turned and walked back along the slope, leaving him to catch up. If he wanted to fill in the hole, he could do it, but she wasn’t going to sit around and wait, and watch, and think.
She definitely wasn’t going to think.
~ ~ ~
Tristan hurriedly dragged piles of dirt into the hole with the side of his boot. He wouldn’t leave the pit open for some animal to fall into and be trapped or hurt. “God help me, I’ve broken her,” he whispered. When he was satisfied the hole was no danger, he placed the flat rock on top. A headstone of sorts. After all, some of his blood was buried deep beneath it.
“A fine memorial cairn for one,” said a familiar voice from behind.
He smiled and turned to see Soni standing in the shade with a wide smile on her face. She was dressed much like Audie, only her denims and t-shirt were partially hidden beneath a leaf-green cape with iridescent bits shining around her wrists and along the rim of the hood that rested on her shoulders. Her green mist was thinner and swirled much slower in the light of day.