Ghosts of Culloden Moor 29 - Rory (Jones)

by L. L. Muir

  His mind swirled with confusion, unable to think of a single way to bring Lilly joy, outside of delivering her to her grandmother’s land. But how jubilant could he pretend to be, when even the scars on his back twitched with awareness as they drew closer to their destination? ’Twas naught but painful memories there.

  He’d worked tenaciously to transform himself from that cowering, fearful boy into the competent, daring warrior his fellow highlanders sought to fight beside. What if he lost control in this pain-warped homecoming, and shamed himself in front of her?

  Surely, the glen, like everything else, had changed over the centuries, but had the spirit of it changed as well? Did a shroud of pain and heartache continue to haunt the place the same way it still clung to Culloden Moor? Or did the anguish only exist in the hearts of those who’d been there?

  But, ’twas his personal experience that weighed upon him now. Unreasonably, he felt the shadows of a child’s terror, dark and foreboding, close in on him. His fingers curled into his sweaty palms until they bit into his flesh, as if he could squeeze away the memories.

  And now Lilly, fresh from a wholly foreign world, expected to step onto a patch of ground in the center of that very glen and find instant joy. So convinced was she, he didn’t have the heart to suggest otherwise.

  Surely, for her, he could hide his anguish? By the saints, he’d try. His hourglass of time with Lilly was draining far too rapidly and he didna want the shadows of a long-dead past to dim what time they still had. He would find joy. Somehow.

  For Lilly. For both of them.

  ~ ~ ~

  “ ’Tis just beyond that rise.”

  Rory’s voice sounded tight, almost strangled to Lilly, but maybe she’d just misinterpreted. She certainly couldn’t expect him to match her excitement. It was all she could do to keep her legs from bouncing and her foot steady on the gas pedal. Despite the difficulties, her wishes and dreams were finally coming true.

  Thank you, grandmother.

  “ ’Tis no’ as I remember,” Rory muttered under his breath, as if thinking out loud.

  “Pardon me?” She said, offering him an opportunity to expand on his comment.

  He shook his head, muttering and gesturing at the road they traveled. “ ’Twas naught but a cart trail.” A sudden, startled look flashed across his face. “I, umm…that’s how it must have looked, in yer grandmother’s time, ye ken.” He smiled awkwardly, smoothing away the furrow she’d noticed on his brow, the last few miles.

  “Centuries of history cloak this place, Lilly. Yer ancestor’s and…others. But ’tis time now to put yer own mark on the land. I wish ye joy here and happy memories to forever hold close. May ye find everything ye yearn for.”

  His gaze held such earnestness, she couldn’t doubt his sincerity but something else lurked in those emerald depths. Something that sent a shiver tingling through Lilly’s frame. Almost a déjà vu moment, but even more intangible, as if she were dreaming and just as she reached for something of extreme importance, she awakened before she could capture or identify it.

  As they wound their way up the incline on the hill Rory said overlooked the valley, he seemed distant, distracted.

  “Aye,” he whispered, almost to himself. ’Tis time someone brought joy to this place.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Rory took a slow, deep breath as they topped the rise and surveyed the long narrow glen below, reminding himself that his past lay buried in time and should remain there. He’d no’ allow his demons to destroy this day for Lilly.

  The valley seemed smaller than he remembered. Tighter, somehow. “ ’Tis a marked difference between the two old, abandoned places and that…updated one.” A marked difference. “Do ye agree Lilly?” He needed her to talk to him, to keep his mind in the present.

  Lilly pulled the car to the side of the road and gazed in awe at the valley below. “Absolutely,” she laughed, “But I like the old places best, even though they’re nothing but ruins. For obvious reasons, of course.”

  The Canfield farmstead at the northern end of the glen had clearly been abandoned for some time, it’s once well-tended lands all but reverted to nature. The McCallum farmstead, vacant for even longer, had somehow fared a little better, but still lay in decay. ’Twas only the Kintray lands that seemed to be prospering. And growing, Rory noted.

  Curiously, from this vantage point, Kintray’s segment seemed somewhat larger than the old McCallum place, which had once been identical in size. Had his uncle, or a descendant, finally won the long-standing boundary dispute or had one of the McCallum descendants finally conceded, or sold, a portion of McCallum land to a Kintray?

  “Which one belongs to my grandmother?” She chuckled, self-consciously. “I can’t quite think of it as my property just yet.”

  Rory pointed to the south end of the valley, toward the McCallum and Kintray properties. “ ’Tis just there.”

  “Really?” The excitement in Lilly’s voice didn’t come close to the delight exploding across her face.”

  “Dinna get too excited, lass.” Rory warned. “ ’Tis no’ the big bonny place on the left. ’Tis the dilapidated piece with the tumble-down pile of rocks, to the right. Do ye see those stone walls but half-standing, with the wee bit of rotted beam stuck to that tall corner? I ken that’s what’s left of yer grandmother’s home.”

  “Ohhhh.” Emotion thickened Lilly’s sigh. “That’s…amazing. It’s so much more than I’d dared hope for. What about that little rock outbuilding to the left? No, of course that couldn’t have been hers.” She laughed at herself. “That roof isn’t in the best shape but it’s certainly not two centuries old.”

  “Aye,” Rory, agreed, wondering why it appeared to be in current use. There was no question it sat on McCallum land. Or, had.

  “I love it,” Lilly whispered, her gaze studying what remained of the farm. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but somehow I know I’ll be able to feel my grandmother’s spirit when we get there. I almost can, even from here.”

  Rory suddenly regretted having no one to feel his soul, once he was gone.

  “It’s silly,” a wistful quality colored her voice, “and impossible after all this time, of course, but I wish my grandmother’s home was somehow still intact. Wouldn’t it be amazing to know exactly what it looked like? Felt like? Smelled like? Especially inside.”

  Her long pensive sigh filled the space between them but when she turned to him, her brilliant smile crinkled the corners of her eyes and brought out that faint, enticing wrinkle across her nose that he longed to touch, particularly with his lips. He studied her face, memorizing every subtle detail. He wanted to remember her absolute joy in this moment.

  “Let’s go see what is there,” she urged. “It feels like Christmas and I can’t wait a moment longer.”

  Lilly’s delight was so contagious, Rory found himself laughing with her, wishing her even more happiness. Mayhap, his birthday gift could be a detailed description of what the McCallum home had looked like. If he could paint a word-picture of the way her grandmother’s cottage and the glen had looked, she could hold onto that memory when Miles and her father tried to manipulate her into their image. If ’twould bring Lilly joy, now or in the future, he’d no’ fight his own painful memories of this place, quite so hard.

  “ ’Tis said,” Rory began cautiously as Lilly drove down into the valley, “back when yer Grandmother lived here, these three farmsteads were very poor and life was…harsh, to say the least. But, though the days were long and the labor hard, they still managed to keep body and soul together. Most times, anyway,” he added, mentally pushing back the dark memories of an almost constant gnawing, hollow belly.

  “Despite the harshness of the land and the endless clan disputes, I ken they were happy here. Content with their lives and each other.” Her responsive smile brightened her face as she split her focus between the road and hopeful glances at the property flashing through a line of trees.

  “I would have been,” she added, di
stractedly.

  ’Twas before Culloden, o’course”, he continued, striving to sort appropriate memories from the jumble of buried and painful ones he carried. “Ye already know yer family’s history enough to ken why, after The Clearances, the McCallum land has lain fallow for centuries, but ’tis odd that the Canfield lands seem to have fared no better. I recall a large brood of Canfield children…uhh…stories of them, that is. Strange that none have returned to work it. Mayhap ’twas sold to a party no’ interested in farming. Just barely enough to eat is no’ what a man seeks these days.”

  “Sadly, it’s that way in America, also.” Lilly added. “Family farms are almost a thing of the past. It’s heartbreaking, really. But you’re right. Times have changed and unfortunately, we’re forced to change with them.” She blew out a sudden, frustrated breath. “Now I sound like my father. Or Miles.” She reached over to squeeze his hand. “Come on, we’re not going to think about anything logical or practical today, remember?”

  When she winked at him as if they’d made a secret pact, he was lost. He could have denied her nothing.

  “Aye,” he agreed, resenting the cool air that replaced her warm touch when she pulled her hand away. He studied her profile as she maneuvered the car along the narrow road, and wondered how a man in Lilly’s world would win her. Specifically, Miles. What would he be willing to sacrifice to keep her? For a woman like Lilly, Rory knew without question, if the opportunity were his, he’d give all he had; his strength, heart, his very breath, to ensure her happiness. He’d love her as if every second with her were their last.

  He looked away before Lilly saw the torment on his face. Whatever seconds were left to this day, were their last. He hated the thought of Lilly going home to Miles, but he had no right or recourse to fight for her, or to alter her future in any way.

  Frustration tightened his jaw and his fists. For the first time since Culloden, he felt a tinge of regret over his vow to seek a reckoning with Prince Charles. He knew now, he wanted to spend the balance of his short mortality loving Lilly, not balancing the scales for a crime that took place centuries ago, and couldna be changed.

  The waiver in his resolve to seek reprisal was so abrupt and shocking it stunned him to his very core. He’d spent the last two centuries feeding his hatred and contemplating retribution, no’ just for himself, but for all the fallen lads who’d died for a prince without honor.

  And now, he actually considered forfeiting his quest in order to spend one more day of mortality with Lilly. But his word was all he had, all he was, and he’d given his vow to Soni to accomplish a selfless deed for himself, and the ghosts still tethered to the moor. Turning his back on that promise would be the ultimate selfish act. He couldna do it.

  But, as much as Lilly would allow, he could spend every single moment of this day loving her.

  …loving her…

  His breath caught in his heaving chest. Did he love her? Was this crushing need to be with her, help her, protect her, hold her, love her…real love? How could he possibly know? He’d never allowed himself to reach for more than acceptance. Belonging. How could he, broken and battle-weary, know how to love anyone? And in the space of only one day?

  Absurd!

  Nay. He admired her. Enjoyed her. Wanted her. But…love? Such a gift was no’ for the likes of him. Besides, Lilly deserved better.

  Focusing instead, on the job he was hired for, he fought past the defeat balled in his chest and pointed out the window.

  “The McCallum and Kintray farmsteads have always bordered one another. ’Twas only after Kintray took over the farm from his murdered brother-in-law that the battle over the border between his land and McCallum’s escalated into a bitter, long-standing dispute. ’Tis said, that Kintray was such a greedy bas—, umm, man that he’d have claimed the whole of Scotland if he thought he’d have a chance at takin’ it.”

  To keep from looking at Lilly and risking his resolve, he studied the land where he’d spent his childhood. He had trouble reconciling his dark memories with the tidy, prosperous farmstead it appeared to be now. The place must have been sold. No Kintray he knew would have worked hard enough to achieve this level of prosperity.

  “Yer Grandsire, stories say, was a kindly man,” Rory continued, searching for that familiar emotionless place in his head and heart he’d learned to run to as a boy, for safety. “Hardworking and loyal to both his family and Scotland. ’Tis said his only personal dispute was with Kintray, who stirred hatred and violence in everything he touched. He claimed McCallum had taken advantage of his unfamiliarity with the land after he’d inherited it, and greedily stole a wide stretch of Kintray ground. Wasna true, o’course,” Rory added, “but truth dinna have a place in Kintray’s world.”

  “What came of the dispute?” Lilly asked.

  “I dinna ken what happened after I…” Rory coughed and pretended to drink from the empty water bottle to cover his blunder. “Ye probably ken more than I about what came after, when yer Grandsire went off to fight for Scotland and dinna return.”

  So far, his desire to leave Lilly with happy memories of the glen and her grandparents, had been a dismal failure. He’d been a dismal failure.

  “Those times—before Kintray’s sister and stepbrother were killed, and long before Culloden tore their lives apart—I ken those were mostly happy times.” Rory spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, so he didn’t reveal too much. “The…sister and her husband were friendly and supportive neighbors to the McCallums. They worked together, celebrated together and relied on each other.”

  “But then…the couple died?” Lilly prompted.

  “Aye. In one of the clan raids.” Rory forced the words past the painful constriction in his throat. “They left behind their farm and their young son. Kintray moved in immediately, taking over the farm, and the boy. But ’twas only the farm he wanted.”

  “How sad,” Lilly whispered. “For everyone.”

  “Aye,” Rory agreed. ’Twas sad indeed, that such a tale was the happiest he had to offer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The burn of tightly contained emotions clogged Lilly’s throat as she emerged from a copse of trees and eased the car through the long grass obstructing the faint trail onto her great-grandmother’s land. Her pulse quickened as she envisioned her ancestors actually living here.

  They’d crossed this very spot, on foot or by cart. They’d made a home here. Loved here. Struggled here. And even though they’d ultimately lost here, their legacy had lasted centuries.

  With trembling fingers, she turned off the ignition and reached for the door handle. Her long-time dream of stepping onto a tangible piece of her history was almost a reality. Was she as big a fool as her father and Miles claimed, or was the connection she’d felt with her grandmother real?

  Before she boarded a plane back to New York, she wanted to know if all the years of longing, and finally this journey back to her roots, had been fate or folly. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but she knew the answer would determine who she became in the days and years to follow.

  Rory appeared lost in thought. He’d seemed spellbound by the adjacent farm as they’d circled around to access the entrance to her grandmother’s property. Perhaps that was just as well. It was probably fitting that she take this first step alone. It seemed as if she’d been reaching for it her whole life. With a huge breath, she exited the car and stood, at last, on her ancestor’s land.

  Her land, now.

  Gently closing the door, leaving her world inside, she took several steps on the uneven ground and raised her face to the sky and the scuttling clouds above her. “I’ve come home, Grandmother Iseabail,” she whispered. “Because of you, I’m standing on my own piece of Scottish soil, proud to have your Scottish blood pulsing in my veins.”

  A light breeze teased the hair from Lilly’s face as gently as if her grandmother had stroked it away with her own hand. Smiling contentedly, Lilly inhaled the scent of rich soil and dense green growth. When she close
d her eyes, the smells became part of an ancient scene.

  Iseabail moved across the yard, a basket on her arm as she passed through a slatted gate, into her garden. Just as she turned to set the latch, she paused, looked up and smiled.

  Lilly’s eyes flew open in surprise that turned to aching disappointment when her own world rushed in. The garden and fence were gone. Iseabail was gone.

  But she’d seen her! Felt her. Her spirit lingered here. Somehow, Lilly had known it would and no matter how impossible it seemed, they’d connected across time. No one could dissuade her of that. A surge of excitement and pure happiness bubbled through Lilly and she suddenly felt the urge to throw her arms wide and twirl around like a giddy child.

  Even as her logical mind told her how inappropriate the notion was, her body had already taken action. Lilly twirled, images of the property flashing in segments, like a disjointed story. She slowed, letting the impressions expand, noting details her first glimpse at the farm had passed over. Parts of the property, especially around the partial stone walls of the old house, were dilapidated and overgrown, clogged with grasses and vines that hugged the ruins like protective arms. Other areas were as wild and primitive as they must have originally been, even before her grandparents arrived. Mother Nature had greedily snatched it back. After centuries of neglect, who could blame her?

  In contrast to Lilly’s farmstead, the tidy fields on the adjoining property came together like a carefully pieced patchwork quilt, tucked snugly over the land. She supposed that to be the neighbor’s place, where her grandparent’s friends had lived, and died.

  As if in response to her thoughts, a gust of wind tossed her hair and stung her cheeks with an unexpected chill that slid along Lilly’s arms and wrapped her like a cape. She shivered, surprised by how quickly the clouds had thickened, already darkening the early afternoon sky.

  She heard the car door open and close behind her and felt Rory’s heat as he stepped beside her, thankfully blocking the increasing wind funneling down the valley. Still a bit overwhelmed from her vision, Lilly slipped her arm beneath his. Leaning in, she rested her cheek against the solid mass of his bicep. “Thank you, Rory,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing me home.”