Rhys: A Highlander Short

by L. L. Muir

  RHYS

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 42

  L.L. Muir

  Published by Lesli Muir Lytle

  www.llmuir.com

  RHYS © 2018 L.Lytle

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Series © 2015 L.Lytle

  Cover art by Kelli Ann Morgan

  All rights reserved

  Contents

  RHYS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Get more books from L.L. Muir

  About the Author

  License notes…

  RHYS

  Prologue

  Simon stood patiently while Soncerae brought Mather forward to face her magical fire. He prayed she would linger, as she sometimes did, so they could have a private moment together. Whatever they’d had between them before the Summer Solstice had only grown stronger since. And now, being near her was compulsory. He needed it as he remembered needing air.

  Once her foolish duties were completed and the Blacksmith gone, he’d make certain she understood what he required. And, if any of the others dared press her for a word… Well, God help them.

  The gathering of Culloden’s 79 took up half the space it used to. Those whom Soni had already removed had gone one of two ways—willingly and eagerly, or with their boots dragging. Though the tall Blacksmith tried to hide it, he was one of the latter.

  Fool. Did he not trust the lass’s judgement? Did he doubt her dedication to them all? It was surely an insult to—

  Soni’s arms lifted. Her hands danced. And Mather disappeared as if he’d willed himself back to his grave. But Simon, along with the rest, knew the blacksmith would not be seen on the moor again.

  The lassie’s hands remained aloft for a long moment and Simon watched, breathless, to see what she might do next. Would she conjure something from the fire? Send the green mist away so the two of them could truly be alone?

  Like a balloon losing its air in a whoosh, Soni’s hands fell lax, then her arms, her shoulders, and the rest of her as she fell to the ground and landed in a puddle of black cloth. Simon was there before her heart could next beat, but the space between them filled with green mist swirling furiously around her body, rushing over it like a hurricane, turning and spinning around the perimeter of her like the flash of green racecars.

  But none of that seemed to make a difference for the lass.

  The only thing that kept him from going mad was knowing, even from a meter away, that her heart still beat. There was no contortion of pain on her face. Her chest rose and fell as if she were in the deepest of sleep. But this was more than just fatigue.

  He turned to face his fellows and was gratified to see that all of them, even Lumsden, worried as he did.

  “Go,” he ordered the Highlanders. “Our lass needs human aid. I dinnae care how ye accomplish it, but bring the security guards. Lure them any way ye can!”

  Before the echo of his words died in his own ears, he was alone with her. As he watched, the white fire began to fade as it usually did when Soncerae turned toward the car park, ready to leave.

  Simon squatted beside her and looked into the most bonny of faces, tinged green by the mist that protected her. “I pose no danger to her,” he told the mist, in case it could hear him.

  The ghost of a worried face protruded from the swirling mass. It shook from side to side and, in his mind, Simon heard a whisper. “He watches. He searches.”

  Simon resisted the urge to rise and howl his frustration. It was a dire omen if the mist of Soni’s ancestors worried for her. But who watched? Who searched?

  He held his hands out to his sides to prove he was no threat. “Tell me.” When the worried face began to merge into the ring once more, Simon shot to his feet. “I must protect her!”

  But the face was gone. The mist slowed and dissipated the second the white fire went out. Though she’d explained that she needed protection only when she used her powers, he cursed the mist for leaving her exposed with no one to defend her from the mysterious “he.”

  Simon took advantage of the empty space and landed on his knees beside Soni’s still form. No matter how powerful his emotions at the moment, however, his hands moved through her. Laying his fingers at her neck gave him no sensation at all. But she was breathing. The sound of her heart beat, as if it dwelled in his own breast. For now, it was enough.

  With no more enchantment to distract him, the low roar of an engine came easily to his ears across the expanse of grass between himself and the Leanach Cottage. The rumbling was accompanied by the shouts of two very human men.

  The buggy appeared around the southeast corner of the wee building. Forbes bounced about in the front seat playing tug of war with the steering wheel. The stout guard sat on the passenger side with his hands on the wheel as well, his attention split between that wheel and the ground ahead.

  Running behind the wee vehicle came the youngest of the guards shouting in full voice that all his partner needed to do was press on the brake. His partner yelled back that he’d already tried that, and that the brakes were probably done for.

  Unnoticed by either man was the fact that the brakes seemed to be working fine. The wheels were locked and holding. But the force behind the buggy propelled it in any case.

  With his head down and his hands gripping the back of the battlefield’s quickest transportation came Lumsden. All the fight and fury he had spouted for two-hundred and sixty-nine years was now focused on moving one heavy man and an even heavier four-passenger ATV.

  The other Highlanders gave their all as well, pushing in waves, lending a wee bit of spectral kinetic energy to Lumsden’s efforts. The Cameron ghost perched himself on the roof of the buggy and laughed at them all with a high-pitched hoot, no doubt taking notes to weave into a tale one day. He sobered, of course, when they neared the cairn and the unconscious lass.

  “Call and ambulance,” Simon shouted, just in case his words could reach the portly fellow’s mind. But the man had yet to notice Soncerae, intent as he was on controlling the moving buggy. “Lumsden, halt!”

  The vehicle lurched to a stop. The soldier in question hurried forward and stared down at the still figure for a moment, then glanced at Simon. “Anything else, sir?”

  “That’ll due, man. Well done.”

  Lumsden stared at Soni again, as if he didn’t ken who she was, then he spun on his heel and marched off, grumbling as usual, his ire and volume building with each footfall.

  Simon’s gut lurched when the big guard rushed to the lass’ side, carefully checked for a pulse, and held a hand before her face to feel for her breath. “Janson! Call the ambulance. She’s aye breathing. Pulse is pure strang. But I dare not move her.”

  “Good man,” Simon whispered from soul-deep relief.

  The portly fellow glanced up sharply. His eyes widened when he found only air above him.

  Chapter One

  Weeks later…

  Few of Culloden’s 79 could be accused of harboring a positive attitude. In truth, it was their attitudes about the past—and the life to come—that kept them secured to the moor in the first place. But it was also true that some were angrier than others, and one more than the rest.

  Lumsden.

  Soni ignored the wave of dread that rippled through her stomach, shoved the gearshift into place, and headed off to the battlefield. It was the first she’d been allowed to leave the house at night, and alone, since her “illness.” If her mother’d had an inkling of how tired her daughter was, she wouldn’t have allowed her out at all, but Soni was good at hiding th
e truth from those without Muir blood, her adoptive parents included.

  Oh, she might feel guilty from time to time for leaving them in the dark, but her father always insisted her life was her own to direct.

  Should she take a bit longer to recover?

  Aye. Any mortal would. But mortals never had the weight of 79 souls weighing on their shoulders. And though that number had dwindled by half since Summer Solstice, the desperation to see them all settled had eased not at all.

  Forty more. After it was done, she could have all the rest she wanted. Her parents could stop worrying. The Muirs could stop flying to her aid.

  Just…not yet.

  Each time she turned onto another road, moving her closer to Culloden, adrenaline flooded her chest, and it took a long minute for her heart to pump it back out again. In her mind, she knew she had nothing to fear from Lumsden’s violent spirit, but soon, he would be flesh and bone again. Would she hold any influence over him then?

  Three ghosts would be leaving tonight; Alistair MacDonell, Ewan MacNabb, and Rhys Lumsden. But all three challenges lay in the present, not the past, so Soni had no need of her uncle this time. She’d sent a text earlier—

  No help needed tonight. Taking it easy. Sending three, but laterally.

  Wickham would understand that lateral meant “not backward in Time.” That’s what had gotten her into trouble over two weeks ago—she’d sent Mather back, just half a day, but it had been too much. She’d blown all her Muir circuitry, and it had taken weeks to return to normal.

  As normal as could be expected, at least.

  Far from the lateral pass of a football, however, she would soon send three living human beings through Place. The act would cost her very little since it was an ability she’d been blessed with, like being blessed with good eyesight. Hardly a strain at all. But Time was Wickham’s domain, and no matter what the need, she would leave that manipulation up to him from now on.

  She thought of Lumsden again. Please, God, let him want to go…

  She shook her head mid-prayer. Of course Lumsden wanted to move on. He hated the moor with all his might. His fits of anger sent him all about the battlefield, spitting and shouting, whirling up otherworldly dust like the Tasmanian Devil from cartoons. It was a wonder the human visitors didn’t recoil when he stormed and stomped a bit too close. But thankfully, none of his rantings were aimed at them.

  Soni nudged her thoughts in a different direction, but they nudged back to Lumsden, Number 16. She’d seen him fall in for Reveille, and though the other soldiers seemed surprised when he did so, the angry man always paused in his fury to call out his number when his turn came. But when roll call was over, he was the first to stomp away, as if just remembering why he’d been angry—why he was part of that roll call—in the first place.

  Her headlights lit up the first Culloden road sign. Not far now. Time to start weaving her inconspicuous spell for the sake of the security guards…

  Soni now regretted sending the text to Wickham, but it was too late to ask him to come, just to shore her up. He’d be in bed like the rest of his little family. Besides, she wouldn’t be alone.

  Simon McLaren will be there.

  Adrenaline poured into her chest again, but it had a different taste to it. And tingles—lots of tingles—accompanied every thought of the tall handsome Highlander who owned the very biggest piece of her heart.

  Simon detected Soncerae’s approach long before her wee white car turned up the lane. His sense of her grew stronger by the day, it seemed, which only made the past few weeks feel like preparatory school for Hell itself.

  Seventeen days it had been since she’d sent Mather on his mysterious errand, then crumpled in a heap on the ground. Simon had watched the sun swing across the sky and counted carefully. It had been seventeen nights since the green mist had spoken to him, leaving him to wonder from whom her ancestors truly protected her.

  He met her in the car park. Before she could turn off her vehicle, he demanded her attention, forced her to look him in the eye, through the side window, to assure him she was well. If only they could have remained that way for the rest of the night, dipping back and forth into one another’s souls, silently speaking all the horror and loneliness they’d both suffered in the past seventeen days…

  Eventually, he took a step back. She inhaled deeply, turned off the engine, and unfolded from the car. Simon looked about, wishing there was something he could do for her. If only they were school children, he would carry her books…

  “Hold my hand, Simon.”

  He grabbed at the offering, prepared to move through her as he’d done all those nights ago, when he’d tried to feel a pulse in her neck, but thankfully, his hand caught on hers. Though it was hardly the first time, it still shocked him. He grappled for something to say to cover his surprise.

  “Ye’re recovered, then?”

  “I am.”

  He looked down his nose. “Ye lie.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Mostly recovered.”

  “I would ken what caused yer faint?”

  She gave a gusty sigh as if she’d been expecting the question. “Uncle Wickham has power over Time. I thought I could use a little of it without too much backlash. I was wrong.”

  “Power over Time?”

  Soni shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it—”

  “Then ye couldn’t have answered my questions truthfully. And ye did promise there would be nothing but honesty between us.”

  “I did. You’re right. But I won’t discuss where I am sending your friends—”

  “They are not my friends—”

  “My friends, then.”

  It was his turn to shake his head. “Ye’re sae young, lass. How can ye presume to ken what these men are capable of? To ken where to send them? I can only assume that Scotland is in chaos what with 39 Highland ghosts running about.”

  Soni chuckled. “Nice try. But don’t worry. I have an entire army of Muirs working to help me.”

  “I have seen the pair whom Wickham calls his sisters—”

  “Yes. They help when I need them, of course. They are family. But there are others. Many others.”

  He stopped just short of the pathway. “Witches, all?”

  She paused long enough to give him a wink and a nod, then pulled away. The slight and magical sensation in his fingers disappeared as the other spirits began to stir and head toward the memorial cairn.

  Almost recovered meant not yet recovered. The lass was weak, then.

  Where the devil was her uncle? And those blasted ancestors? Did the lass ken that someone watched, someone searched? He dreaded earning Wickham’s ire if he said the wrong thing. But perhaps Wickham knew nothing of this mysterious “he.”

  For the present, Simon decided he would hold his tongue and simply guard the woman himself while she was on the moor. It seemed it was the only place they worried about her…

  He hardly paid attention to the ceremonial departure of Alistair MacDonell, so common had the ritual become. He did watch when Soni had to search out Ewan MacNabb because he was too busy flapping his gob to ken it was his turn. What surprised Simon, however, was the summoning of Rhys Lumsden.

  First of all, Lumsden’s departure would be equal to the disappearance of the local train. No longer would any of the spirits have to look before crossing his path, as it were.

  Secondly, sending a third Highlander from the moor seemed ambitious for a lass who was not quite up to snuff. Did she worry one might go astray when they were sent into the ether?

  And finally, he was worried that Lumsden might be difficult. What if the man refused? Or worse, once he became mortal, would he do something foolish that might hurt the lass?

  Surely, not. After all, the ghostie had all but dragged the security detail across the moor to aid Soncerae when she collapsed weeks ago. His loyalty to her had to be the same as the rest of them, and Simon was ashamed he’d thought such a thing…until Lumsden came
forward…

  Chapter Two

  Soni took a deep breath and called out the number sixteen.

  The Highlanders gasped in unison, which gave her some vindication for the worry she’s suffered since leaving the house. It didn’t help her nerves that Simon watched her so closely. He’d taken a step forward when she’d called Lumsden’s number, so she should be relieved he was hovering, ready to come to her aid if she needed it.

  The usual rage on his face gave way to a simple frown, and Rhys Lumsden wound his way through the throng toward the fire. “She called me, did she no? Clear out, ye sorry bastards.”

  The man stopped only a meter from her. The dust, from whichever world, swirled around his feet as if they had yet to come to a stop. He frowned in private concentration, then finally lifted his gaze to meet hers.

  “I’ve heard what ye promised the rest, witch. But I’ll have none of it. If ye give me back my life, I will take it and go. I’ll not give it up again. I should have never given it up in the first case. It was a mistake, do ye ken? And I’ll have that mistake undone the here and the now!”

  Simon tried to step between them, but Soni stepped to the side, refusing his interference.

  “Ye’ll take it and go? Do ye believe ye can outrun me, then?”

  The big blonde shook his head and lowered his head at Lumsden. “Ye’d take advantage of her now, when she’s so recently recovered? I’ll escort ye to Hell myself before I’ll allow it.”

  Lumsden blinked up at the taller man as if he didn’t recognize him. Then his features cleared. “I’ll accept the proffered life, sir, and I’ll leave Miss Soni in peace. No trouble if she does not invite trouble, aye?” He turned to Soni and gave a nod as if giving his word.