Ghosts of Culloden Moor 28 - Hamish

by L. L. Muir

  “I told ye to stay put,” he hissed, and gave each one of them a hard stare.

  The woman looked about her, but not once did her notice catch on the children. That problem, at least, was still a problem.

  She sighed dramatically, put her nose in the air, and marched forward without a care for how much noise she made when she passed him by.

  He hurried up behind her and took her elbow. “Ye go the wrong way.” He steered her to the left.

  She mumbled something, but went along. When they reached the clearing, he bullied them all back into the trees. After they were sufficiently cowed, he left them put, went to the door of the cottage, and knocked twice. Thankfully, the string wasn’t visible on the outside of the door, so he was certain the old woman was in.

  For fear of that pole and blade greeting him, he stepped back when the door cracked open. Smoke from within snaked out to sting his eyes.

  “You again.” The old woman narrowed the gap and peered at him with one eye.

  He blinked rapidly and ran his hand down his face. Her eyes widened a bit when she spied his father’s ring, and it gave him an idea.

  “Well, madam, I have removed the criminals from the mountain. Ye can rest easy.” He scratched his chin with the ring and was pleased when she smacked her lips and opened the door farther to get a better look.

  “Did ye cut off their hands?”

  He shook his head. “They will not be back. Ye have me word.”

  “Yer word? Yer word?” Her eyes narrowed once more. “Perhaps ye should leave something with me, to ensure yer word. Come back in say, a month, and if they’ve left me in peace, ye can have it back.”

  He shook his head again. “I owe ye nothing more than what I’ve done.” He frowned and sniffed the air. “Although, if ye’d like to sell me the rest of yer tarts…”

  “For the ring.”

  “Done.”

  He slipped it off his finger, gave it one last look, then held it out, sure his father would understand. She came back to the door with a pile of cold pastries in hand. There were eight.

  She clicked her tongue. “And what did ye expect? That I’d saved them all for ye?”

  He nodded, accepting the number, and held the ring on one finger while he lined up the tarts along an arm held against his body. The woman snatched the ring from his finger and knocked the door shut. It rattled like she lost no time wrapping the string around its peg.

  “Dinna fergit,” she called through the wood. “If they come back, I’ll come after ye, Hamish Farquharson!”

  The sound of his name made him think of someone walking over his grave, but he remembered offering the information when he’d first arrived. Still, the woman left him uneasy, and he was happy to be rid of the place.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sam watched from the tree line while the Highlander walked up to the door of her rental property. She wondered how he would handle the disappointment when no one came to the door.

  He knocked twice, then waited. She was shocked when the door opened all by itself and a dull light shined out through the narrow gap.

  Someone was in there!

  She was always careful to lock the place up tight. She remembered doing it that afternoon. If one of the windows was broken, she was going to be pissed! But she decided to let the guy play out his little game with whomever was inside. And when he was done, she would march up and kick them out.

  He’d made it sound like it would be a short conversation, but he kept talking. His voice was low, conversational, but she didn’t hear the other party.

  She glanced around and wondered where the children were standing, and then it hit her—he’d completely convinced her that the ghosts of three children had come down the mountainside with them. He’d nearly convinced her that she was a ghost, and now he was trying to prove there was an old woman living in her rental property.

  It was enough to make someone believe they were losing their mind. It was called “gaslighting,” and it might just make a foreigner pack up her crap and run away. And it was mean to make a reasonable person decide there were easier places to live, easier ways to make a living.

  Had the other Scots been in on it?

  Her chest tightened when she thought about how friendly everyone had been at the pub, how they’d laughed and winked and bought her drinks all night until, finally, those two old men with silly names laid the final piece of the trap.

  Ghosts of children who led people off cliffs.

  A woman who played the violin which, coincidentally, Sam did. If they told her that Willa went up to the top of the hill to play, it wasn’t unreasonable that she’d want to try it herself, right?

  Wow. They were good.

  She’d been an idiot to think they would actually welcome an American into their community with no hard feelings about what revenue she might make off the tourists, revenue that should have gone in their own pockets.

  Had they tried to buy out her great grandfather?

  It didn’t matter. This place was hers. And unless they started sabotaging websites, to scare her renters away, she could afford to live there indefinitely.

  She was alone in the world. She had no family. She’d shed all other responsibilities to move there. And the people of Blair Atholl and Killiecrankie had underestimated an American chick with nothing to lose. Because, until her money ran out and the rental property failed, she had nothing better to do than to make them regret they’d ever messed with her.

  Starting with the Highlander.

  He swaggered back to the trees holding one of his arms against him. She stood still and waited, searching for the right thing to say, but was distracted by the sweet smell of cherry pie surrounding him like a cloud of perfume.

  He held his arm awkwardly because it was covered with little tarts, but she refused to get sucked back into his theatrics and dragged her gaze up to his face. Intending to order him off her property, she opened her mouth…and he popped a little chunk of pie inside before she got a word out.

  Not cherry. Some sort of berry pie. It was delicious—and it had come from inside the cottage!

  He winked at her like he was reading her thoughts. She choked when she noticed all the little hands reaching up to take a pie off his arm.

  “The kids! I can see them!”

  The man chuckled and leaned forward. “Two each. Nae more than two each, ye wee bampots.”

  She looked down to find three dirty bundles of fur holding their little pies as if they didn’t dare eat them. Judging from the smears on their fingers and faces, they’d already eaten one or two.

  The guy clicked his tongue. “Go on, now. ‘Tisn’t as if they’ll be yer last meal, aye?” His big hands held the last two pies out to her, but she shook her head.

  How could she eat a bite? Little demons, she’d called them.

  Poor little demons…. Poor real demons!

  “Hey!” She carefully touched the heads of the two tallest ones. Wide eyed, they swiveled around to stare at her. “You can see me too?”

  They nodded. The small one ran around behind the Highlander and hid, which pleased the guy for some reason.

  “You told me your name was Hamish Farquharson, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Any relation to the ghost who plays the violin?”

  “My sister, Willa.”

  She swallowed hard. “Your sister.”

  “And your name?”

  “Samantha MacKord—Sam. And just how long have you all been on the mountain?”

  His frown was barely visible with just the starlight to see by. “I’d been mortal an hour or two before ye turned up.”

  The children snapped to attention, and together, they started backing into the trees, holding their pies away from their bodies like they were about to kiss them goodbye.

  Hamish didn’t panic. He just shook his head and clicked his tongue again, like he was talking to horses. “Ye gave me yer word.”

  The two older ones exchanged a look, th
en came to a stop. The littlest boy watched them closely. Obviously, he would go where they went.

  Sam waved to get everyone’s attention. “Can we just cut the crap now and go to my house? I’ve had enough of the great outdoors for one day. How about you guys? I don’t care what’s real anymore. You, me,” she pointed to the kids, “them. And if there is an old lady living in my rental, making pies for the local ghosts, she’ll still be there in the morning, right?”

  Where that left her, though, she had no idea.

  Hamish suddenly reached across her and pushed her toward the kids, then turned and put his body in front of them all, shielding them from a man standing in the middle of the clearing with a gun in his hands, scanning the tree line where they stood.

  A man wearing a uniform that included a long red coat…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hamish considered pulling his weapons from his belt, but hoped the soldier wouldn’t start shooting if he felt less threatened. So, he held his arms out to the sides, making it clear he would defend the woman and the children if necessary. With his hands splayed, the man would easily see they were empty.

  He stood his ground and waited for the soldier to make the next move.

  The man’s gaze scanned the trees once more. In the dim light, perhaps he couldn’t be sure how many Scots Hamish had with him. Another man appeared from the far side of the cottage and strode casually to the side of the first, smirking and paying Hamish no mind at all.

  “No sign of them,” he said. “I think we’re done here, Sergeant.” He turned to go, but the first soldier ran around to head him off.

  “But, I heard them, Captain. Not five minutes ago. They must be here!”

  “And I say they must be ghosts, else we would have found some sign of them.”

  The first man pressed, uncaring that Hamish bore witness to his begging. “If we turn back now, it will mean we must start all over again tomorrow. The trail is still warm—”

  “That is where you are wrong, Sergeant. Tomorrow, we move north. I will report in the morning that we have cleared Killiecrankie Pass and we shall sweep our way to Inverness and aid in the work at Fort George.”

  “But, Captain!”

  “Keep a weathered eye, Mr. Campbell. They still may be hiding between us and the river. If not, I will not hear another word about violins or children’s voices. Is that clear?”

  The soldier’s chest puffed up with indignation. “Yes, sir.”

  To Hamish’s utter surprise, the two then marched by without a glance.

  “They can’t see us,” he whispered, then turned to find the others equally as shocked, equally as relieved.

  Each of them stood with their mouths open, their chins nearly to their chests. He laughed at them, and while they laughed back, he couldn’t help wishing he’d known such a woman in his day, that he’d had such brave children of his own.

  He scooped up the bairn and swung him around onto his back once more. “All right then, woman. Lead us to this home you speak of.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Never before had Samantha been so happy to be home.

  Her white-washed house had big cheery windows, a wide, welcoming porch, and thick, bright blue paint on the door and window frames that managed to look charming even in the dark. For the first time, she was grateful for the automatic lights that flipped on when so much as a bird flew by. And she prodded the kids toward the steps, confident the cheerfulness of her home would comfort them after a pretty hairy day.

  She unlocked the door and let them step inside at their own speed. They all held hands like they expected a monster to come roaring out of the kitchen, but they kept moving.

  “Welcome to my house. Make yourselves at home, okay?”

  Clyde’s eyes widened, but after glancing at his sister, his expression blanked again.

  Hamish stomped on the floor and cleared his throat like it was something normal to do when you walk into a strange house. He then frowned like he was waiting for something. She and the children exchanged curious looks, then watched to see what he might do next.

  His mouth turned up slowly at the edges, then he turned to look at her. “No man of the house, then?”

  She shook her head. His mouth quirked. Then his gaze roamed down her body and back up again. His blue eyes finally returned to hers like magnets snapping together. She forced herself to breathe normally and refused to acknowledge how her body reacted to that possessive, Viking-raider look.

  Instead, she narrowed her eyes and tried to send a clear message. There will be no plundering going on around here.

  The way he quirked one brow said, we’ll see.

  She suddenly remembered they had an audience, but thankfully, the kids had lost interest. Their little shoulders slouched beneath the ragged patchwork that covered them, and she felt guilty to have left them standing for so long.

  She gave Hamish one more warning glance, then went to work.

  ~ ~ ~

  Hamish was duly impressed.

  Four times the size of the cottage, the woman’s home sported all manner of rooms, two of which were bedchambers, none of which contained a husband or bairns. At least they wouldn’t have to waste any breath trying to explain the day’s disturbing events with someone who had not been witness to them.

  When he realized she hadn’t been spoken for, he immediately felt the primal urge to do so, long before he remembered he would have to leave them all behind in less than two days’ time. Whatever good he could do would need to be done quickly.

  Thankfully, the children spoke English as well as Scots, and Hamish insisted they keep using the former in deference to their hostess.

  She patted Clyde on the head, wrinkled her nose, didn’t bother hiding her reaction. “No offense, kids, but I would like you to have a bath while I fix you some supper. I’ll find you some…” She put her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong?”

  As one, the children had backed toward the door when they heard the word bath.

  “Lippa?” Hamish stared at the girl until she met his gaze. “Why do you not wish to have a bath?”

  She shrugged. “‘Tisn’t wise to bathe at night and catch a chill.”

  Samantha dropped to her knees and reached for the lassie’s grubby hands. “What if I promise that the water will be warm? I’ll give you some clean pajamas—er, clothes—and I’ve got lots and lots of cozy blankets.”

  Lippa’s eyes lit. “Warm water?”

  The woman laughed. “As hot as you want. And you can have bubbles, too, if you like.” She led the lassie away, down the hall. “You can go first. I’ll show you what to do, then give you some privacy.”

  Hamish gestured for the lads to come sit beside him on the couch. “I have heard that women cannot be trusted in times like these. We may be waiting a while before we get our turns in the water.”

  “Fine by me,” Clyde said, but his bottom lip protruded just enough to belie his words.

  A quarter of an hour passed before there was movement in the hallway. The woman came out just long enough to shrug off her half-soaked sweatshirt, give him a tearful look, and disappear back down the hall.

  Clyde looked worried. “What do ye suppose she’s done with Lippa?”

  Hamish shrugged. “I believe they’re bonding, lad.”

  “She hasn’t drowned her, then?”

  “Nay. Amongst women, bonding is accomplished with but a few tears.”

  “I doona understand.”

  “Auch, laddie. No man does.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hamish’s heart jumped when he heard the bathing room door open again. When Samantha emerged, her jeans were just as wet as the sweatshirt had been, but she didn’t remove them. Instead, she gestured toward the hallway behind her and announced, “Miss Philippa Menzies.”

  Hamish got to his feet and helped the lads do the same.

  A clean version of their sister stepped into the room. Her dark red hair was now bright copper and it hung in thick braids over e
ach shoulder. She had been scrubbed so well there was a shine to her freckled nose and cheeks. She wore a long nightshirt and oversized slippers barely visible beneath the blanket she held tightly about her.

  “She looks scared,” Clyde whispered.

  Hamish nodded. “She is afraid of what ye will think of her now, I reckon. Is there something kind ye might say to her?”

  The lad nodded and strode in a circle around the lassie, sniffing the air as he went. “Well, ye smell fine.”

  Lippa relaxed and finally smiled. Wee Roddy hurried to join them, but Samantha scooped him up. “Oh, no you don’t. You can give your clean sister a hug only after you’ve had your bath, young man.” She smiled at Hamish and his stomach jiggled like gelatin inside. “You want to show the boys how everything works? Apparently, they don’t know about toilets or water heaters, or electricity.”

  Hamish scoffed. “Well, they wouldn’t now, would they? Coming from the 18th century and all.”

  Samantha paled. Obviously, she hadn’t come to terms with the time change, so to speak. But she forced a smile for the wee laddie’s sake. “Would you like Hamish to help you?”

  The child nodded.

  Hamish cleared the embarrassment from his throat. “Perhaps ye’d better show them, aye?”

  She bit her lips together and nodded. “No problem. I can at least get you all started. Then I’ll cook up something. I assume you know how to scrub?” The lads shook their heads while Hamish rolled his eyes, and they laughed all the way down the hall.

  The explanations she gave for the water heater and the plumbing were a mite more complicated than Clyde and Roddy could understand, so Hamish knew most of her instructions were for his benefit. His pride kept his head nodding as if he already knew how to turn on the hot water, clean his backside, and flush the toilet.

  Just to prove he wasn’t as primitive as she might expect, he took over the lesson on electricity, since he’d watched it evolve from electric lights in Culloden’s Great Visitor’s Center to the wee cellular phones that everyone carried about in their pockets. By the time he was finished, the lads understood none of it and the woman seemed more confused than impressed.