Men of Midnight Complete Collection

by Emilie Richards

  Mara looked up and saw the man through the snowstorm. He was large and red-faced, and he was on horseback. He dragged the woman beside him until the horse halted. Then he sprang to the ground, his belted plaid flapping around his knees as he did, and dragged her up against him. He lifted a dirk.

  “No!” Mara opened her eyes. Duncan gripped her hands harder. “He’s going to kill her!”

  “What, Mara? Who?”

  But she was floating by then, floating like the snowflakes. Except that she was drifting toward the heavens instead of away from them. Below her she heard screaming. She saw a child running toward a stand of trees, followed closely by a woman carrying an infant. A man passed close by on horseback, but he didn’t pursue them. The child knelt in the snow. The mother knelt beside her and covered her with her own cloak. And the snow settled over them and hid them in the darkness.

  She floated higher. She saw smoke and the remains of a house, its thatched roof still smoldering. Animals, the shaggy black Highland cattle and sheep with fine, dark wool, ran wild in the steading, chased by men in uniform.

  She drifted higher. She could see mountains now, mountains rising in sharp peaks toward the sky. Her view had been so conscribed she hadn’t realized she was in the mountains, different mountains than she knew.

  The carnage was no less terrible here. She began to spin. Slowly, so slowly. Everywhere she was forced to look she saw fires and blood on the snow. She saw people trying to hide, some successfully, some not. She saw men and women, and children too, clambering through the drifts, up the frozen sides of mountains, into caves between jutting rocks. She tried to look away, but each view was as filled with horror as the one before it.

  And then the screaming stopped. Blessedly, the snows began to melt. As she watched, the fires died. Graves appeared and new cottages rose from the ground.

  Somewhere a piper began to play. It was a mournful tune, a lament for those who had died. Foxglove, cowslip and willow herb grew in the braes and beside the lochs, and badgers and foxes hunted for prey. Clouds cast their long shadows over awe-inspiring peaks and rocky glens, but there was a longer shadow over the place where the murders had been committed, a shadow that would never vanish in the brightest sunlight.

  And the piper played until the lament was finished.

  Mara opened her eyes.

  Duncan was gripping her hands. Tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t tell him what she’d seen. There were no words to describe it. She began to hum the lament, tentatively at first, then with more assurance. She remembered it all.

  “Do you know the tune?” Angus asked when she had finished. “Do you know what you were humming?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t take her eyes from Duncan’s. He had not been where she had been; he had not seen what she had seen. But he had suffered for her. She gripped his hands tighter.

  “It’s piobaireachd. Ceol Mor. The classical music for bagpipes. My father was a piper. If I’m not mistaken that’s ‘Lament for Glencoe’.”

  “Glencoe.” She breathed the word, and it chilled her to the bone.

  “Glencoe?” Duncan asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve forgotten your history, lad. Glencoe was the scene of a terrible massacre,” Dr. Sutherland said. “1692 it was. The Highland clans were told they would be pardoned for their loyalty to King James if they swore an oath of allegiance to William. One by one they did, but MacIain of Glencoe waited ‘til the last moment and was kept from making his oath by a storm until the deadline had passed. He did finally swear his allegiance, but it did no’ matter. He and his clansmen were attacked by a government regiment that had accepted their hospitality for most of a fortnight. The regiment rose up one night and slaughtered all they could, burned their houses and set their livestock free. Some of the clan escaped into the hills. Many did no’. There’s no’ been a waur day for Scotland.”

  “I saw it.” Mara took a deep breath. “All of it.”

  “The massacre?” Duncan squeezed her hands. “But you called out April’s name, Mara.”

  “I heard a child screaming.”

  “Was it April?”

  “No. But she’s there. That’s where she’s gone, Duncan.”

  “Glencoe? I don’t understand.”

  “Lisa took her there. It’s no’ that far, an easy drive.”

  “But why? Is there anything there to see now?”

  “I dinna know.” She saw his frustration. She felt it. She could feel every emotion that coursed through him.

  “She’s exhausted,” Dr. Sutherland said. “Let her be now. She must rest or I dinna know what will happen to her.”

  “No. I have to finish this.” There was no feeling in Mara’s hands they were held so tightly in Duncan’s, but she didn’t pull away. She had to have the connection to him if she was to see more.

  “Maybe you’d better listen to him,” Duncan said. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  Mara shut her eyes. For a moment she was afraid there was nothing else she could learn. She could hear Duncan’s breathing, the soft crunch of tires against snow in the street below…the wild screech of an eagle.

  She was floating again. The worst of the images had vanished now. But the wildflowers she had glimpsed were gone, replaced by a soft carpet of snow. She could see a highway and a glen with modern buildings and a vast car park at its edge. Then she was far from civilization, in a mountain pass. The snow was thicker here, a golden eagle soared above her searching for prey against the undisturbed white drifts.

  Below her, mountains walled in a canyon. She glimpsed cattle, dozens or more of them, shaggy and broad, penned in by the mountains, too. Then the cattle disappeared.

  She heard a child crying. She heard the soothing voice of a woman, then a scream. And she understood.

  She pulled her hands from Duncan’s. She would see no more. She took a moment to open her eyes. She let the vision stay in her mind as long as it would; she drifted with it, noting everything she saw.

  Then she opened her eyes. “They’re tenting. They are off by themselves in a wee clearing between two peaks. Lisa did no’ want to be with other people, in case you searched for her. So she took April to an isolated place, and they made a snug camp. But she did no’ guess that snow would come, and she was no’ prepared for it. When she tried…or when she tries…” She shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t be sure if what she had seen had happened or was about to.

  “Go on,” Duncan said.

  “There’ll be an accident, or there has already been one. I can no’ tell which. Lisa is hurt and she can no’ get April to safety. And they are in danger because of the cold and the snow.”

  “How do you feel, lass?” Dr. Sutherland asked.

  She shook her head, but she didn’t look at him. “Duncan?”

  His voice was gentle, as if he was afraid he was going to hurt her. “I’m sorry, lady, but Lisa has never camped or backpacked in her life. Her idea of roughing it is settling for a motel instead of a four-star hotel.”

  “Lisa’s changed.” She saw doubt in his eyes. She had felt completely drained of emotion. She would have believed she was incapable of more, except that dread was beginning to build inside her again. “Duncan, you have to believe me. That’s where April is, and you must find her.”

  “I know you saw something, Mara. I don’t doubt a word you’ve told me, and I know it’s been terrible to put yourself through this. But you’ve got to understand. This is completely unlike Lisa. Completely. You don’t know her or you’d see I’m right. She wouldn’t even consider taking April camping.”

  “She did.”

  “Do you need me, lass?” Dr. Sutherland asked. “Do you want me to bide with you awhile?”

  “There’ll be no more visions now,” she said. She held out her hand to him. “Thank you so much.”

  He took her hand and held it for a moment. “Have you ever been wrong? Have you ever seen a vision that did no’ come true?”

  “I’v
e never before seen women and bairns slaughtered in front of me,” she said. Her voice caught. “Am I to believe I saw them for no reason?”

  He squeezed her hand. At the doorway he turned. “Listen well, Duncan,” he said. The door closed behind him.

  “Will you listen, Duncan? Or will you no’ trust me again?”

  “I trust you.” Duncan touched her cheek, her hair. In a moment she was in his arms. He clasped her against him and his lips found her hair, her cheek, her lips. His arms tightened around her. “Mara, I trust you. I do. And I’m sorry you had to go through…such a terrible experience. But this is unlikely. You just don’t know how unlikely it is!”

  She pulled away, although it took every ounce of strength she had. “Then you lied when you said you believed I could tell the future?”

  “No. I didn’t. It’s just that this time—”

  “I’ve found April for you, Duncan.”

  He framed her face with his hands. “Can you say where she is exactly?”

  “No. I’ll have to go with you.”

  “You can’t go anywhere. You’re exhausted. You heard Dr. Sutherland.”

  “I’m the only one who can find her. I’ll know where to go when we get there.” She covered his hands and removed them from her cheeks. “If you dinna go, I’ll go without you.”

  She saw a change come over him. He was torn; she hadn’t expected anything different. As he battled with himself she knew what she was asking of him, but she couldn’t ask less.

  “We’ll need help,” he said at last. “Iain and Andrew are gone. We’re going to have to find some other men to help. I’m sure we’ll have to fan out when we get there.”

  She sensed resignation more than acceptance. She was disappointed, but right now the only thing that truly mattered was finding April. “We’ll have to tell them why.”

  “Are you sure? You’re willing?”

  “Aye. If the people of Druidheachd can no’ accept me the way I am, then I’ll need to move on. But I can no longer pretend to be something I’m no’.”

  “I can think of half a dozen people who might help.” He stood. “Roger. Geordie Smith—he owes us both, doesn’t he?” He named men in rapid succession.

  “Did you know you had so many friends in Druidheachd, Duncan?”

  He lifted her chin and bent closer. “Will you promise you’ll get some rest? It’s going to take a while to gather everybody together. Then I’ll come back for you, and we can leave. It should be nearly dawn by the time we get to Glencoe. We’ll see if we can find something for you to change into. You can’t hike into the mountains in what you’re wearing.”

  She knew she wouldn’t rest until April was home, but she nodded. He turned to go and the telephone rang. He nearly ripped the receiver from the cradle. “Yes?”

  He took a deep breath as he listened to the voice on the other end. She watched his face, but she couldn’t read it. He got a pen and scribbled as he listened. He repeated a number and a time. “And the flight hasn’t left yet?” He waited for an answer. “Not until then?”

  The conversation made no sense to her. She stood on strangely weak legs and went to the window. Snow was still falling.

  She knew he had finished when she felt his hands on her shoulders. “That was a woman I spoke to yesterday at Heathrow. A woman matching Lisa’s description just bought two tickets to L.A., and she has a little girl with her. The tickets were issued in the name of Elizabeth Sinclair.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” He turned her gently. “It sounds like it could be Lisa, Mara. The agent says she’s the right age, dark-haired and pretty. She didn’t get a good look at the little girl, but she was crying and tugging at her mother’s hand like she didn’t want to go. Lisa’s name isn’t Elizabeth, but it’s close enough that no one would question the difference, not at that point.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Their flight doesn’t leave for another four hours, but there’s no way I can drive to Prestwick and get a plane to London in time to catch them there. But I can take a flight out of Prestwick to L.A. myself. There’s one that goes straight through without a layover and Lisa’s…Elizabeth Sinclair’s flight lays over in New York for two hours. I’d beat them to L.A. by about an hour. I could be waiting when they step off the plane.”

  “Aye. You could.”

  He rubbed his palms up and down her arms. “It could be Lisa, Mara. And if she gets April back to L.A., she could disappear with her. Who knows where she’d take her from there? For all I know she’s had this set up with that crazy cult she was involved with. They’ve got branches all over the world, and they could keep me from ever seeing April again.”

  “Your daughter is at Glencoe, Duncan.” She gripped his hands. “Elizabeth Sinclair is no’ Lisa.”

  “You’re tearing me apart!”

  “No. I’m giving you back your child. And if you do no’ take her back, if you do no’ go and find her with me, I can no’ say what will happen.”

  “I never thought you’d do this to me! You’re asking me to choose what I think is right over your ability to see the future.”

  “Aye. But no’ to test you. I’ve never been surer of a thing in my life. You’ve said that you trust me. You must trust me now!”

  It had come to that. She saw it clearly. Somewhere echoing inside her was a child’s scream. She could do no less for April than make this, the ultimate demand on Duncan.

  She could feel the tension in his body against her palms. He was a man ready to fly into a thousand pieces. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she kept silent.

  “Glencoe,” he said. He pulled away from her. “I’ll go with you to Glencoe.”

  “You will no’ be sorry.”

  He walked to the telephone table. He picked up the receiver and dialed a long series of numbers, and he didn’t take his eyes off of her as he did. He put the receiver to his ear and waited. “Let me speak to Sam, please. This is Duncan Sinclair. Yeah, I’m calling from Scotland. What time is it there?” He waited, then he began to speak again.

  She listened as he outlined briefly what had happened. She understood from the things he said that the man on the other end was his American attorney. “I need you to meet a flight that will be arriving there in about seventeen hours. Lisa may be on it with April. If she is, you’ll need to get April away from her, and if you can’t do that, you’ll need to follow them. I’ll pay whatever I have to. Use a P.I. if you think it’s better. But you’ve got to be there to identify her.”

  He listened again. “Yeah, I’ve got all the flight info.” He picked up the paper he’d scribbled on. He gave the man the same information the ticket agent had given him. “You can do it? You’re sure? Okay, then I’ll talk to you after the plane arrives. Sam, thanks. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

  He hung up. “This has nothing to do with trust.”

  She didn’t speak because she knew there was nothing she could say that would change anything.

  “You’ve asked me to believe in you,” he said. “I do. Now I’m asking you to believe in me. I have to take every precaution.” He turned without another word and left her standing there.

  CHAPTER 17

  Glencoe at dawn had an unearthly beauty. Snow outlined its rugged peaks and ice glistened like diamonds on trees and trails alike. Duncan parked in the lot of a hotel several miles outside the village, but the region bounded by rivers, lochs and mountains was so vast that it would take days to cover the parts that were even moderately accessible.

  Duncan laced his boots tighter and pulled on an extra sweater for warmth before he zipped his jacket. The other men were doing the same. Not one of them had blinked an eye at his request. They had nodded sagely and asked when he planned to leave. And they had each been outside his house waiting when Duncan came to pick them up.

  Beside him Mara zipped her jacket, too. She was bundled from head to toe, but Duncan was still afraid she was going to suffer from
the cold. She was as pale as the snowfall, and her eyes were shadowed. He hadn’t asked how she planned to lead them to Lisa and April because he was afraid to hear the truth. She had gone through hell already; he was sure there was more of the same ahead.

  “I brought an extra scarf.” He offered it, but she shook her head. She had said very little since leaving the hotel. He had hoped she would sleep as they traveled, but instead she had stared out the window. He wondered if she was afraid to sleep, if she was afraid the dreams would return as she neared the site of the massacre.

  She had endured so much, and he wanted to tell her how sorry he was that April’s disappearance had led to her visions. But Mara had cut herself off from him. From the moment he had made the call to L.A., she had removed herself from his presence, even when she was sitting beside him.

  “Are you going to be warm enough?” he asked now. “You’re already so run down, a chill could be serious.”

  “Bring everything extra that you have for Lisa and April.” She turned away from him.

  “Duncan, do you think we’ll need ropes?” Roger asked. “I’ve brought a good one and an ice axe.”

  Duncan watched as Mara walked over to the group of men to confer with them. “It won’t be a bad idea to have them along,” he said.

  “You dinna think the woman did any climbing, do you? Not with the child?”

  “I don’t think they’re here,” Duncan said honestly. “But if they are, they’re just off a trail somewhere. Even if Lisa’s taken up mountain climbing, April’s too young to climb with her.”

  “We’ve food enough for the day, and water. But we’ll have to be back here by the time the sun goes down. We’re no’ equipped to spend the night out.”

  “We’ll be back on the road by then.”

  They joined the others. Mara was speaking. “I’ve asked Duncan to stop here because I saw this hotel in my…dream.”

  The men nodded. Not one of them seemed surprised.