Ghosts of Culloden Moor 28 - Hamish

by L. L. Muir

  When the fresh water was hot and deep enough for washing but not so deep they’d drown in the grand tub, Samantha pointed out the shampoo and soap and excused herself.

  Hamish clapped his hands together. “Clothes off, then, lads.”

  Wee Roddy gave him a dubious look.

  “There’s no cuttin’ around it. We cannot be less brave than our womenfolk, aye?” And thankfully, with that reasoning, the bathing was accomplished with only token resistance. In the end, however, he came out with a much closer resemblance to a drowned rat than Samantha had.

  He leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, crossed his arms and his boots, and watched the lass plating up eggs and toast. Thankfully, five plates.

  She turned and looked him over, then laughed.

  “Careful, lassie. I might just shake myself and drown us both.” He stalked toward her and she squealed. He got hold of one hand and pulled her up against him, squeezing her tight enough to transfer some of the moisture from his plaid onto her. She laughed up at him and his breath caught in his lungs—perhaps in his heart.

  For a moment, they simply stood, frozen, waiting for the moment to pass. But when she seemed in no hurry to pull away, he leaned toward her, slowly, offering ample opportunity to resist.

  But she didn’t.

  Like the inevitability of time itself, their mouths met. Tentative, sweet pressure sent warm cascades of chills through his body, and he could feel his own tremors mirrored in her.

  Muffled, young voices intruded on the moment. They were not alone in the house. There were children that needed tending to.

  “Perhaps we might finish this another time,” he murmured. With their faces still pressed together, there was no need to speak loud.

  She hummed, then pulled away with no commitment or agreement given, but he could tell by the sweet tension between them, she would welcome another such embrace. “I guess you want to get out of those wet clothes…”

  “Nay, my sweet. I’ll not run about bare-arsed, and I’m certain none of yer t-shirts would cover me well at all. I am content to let my body heat dry my plaid.”

  The woman sighed when he mentioned body heat, and for the next hour, it was all he could think of was hers.

  The laddies were content with nothing more than a t-shirt hanging to their knees. She pressed them into donning her thick fuzzy socks as well, and as soon as they’d gobbled up their meal, the pair of them took turns running in from the living room, stopping short, and sliding across the slick kitchen floor. Samantha indulged them until they suggested she spill some of her wash water so they might slide further. While the lads went back to their original sliding, she waved for Hamish to follow her into the hallway.

  He was right happy to do her bidding, hoping that she was as obsessed as he was with their next kiss.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sam was a nervous wreck when Hamish looked at her like that. She just wasn’t used to tall hot men showing much interest in her personally. And the handsome, powerful men who had been interested were diva-type maestros only interested in her talent.

  At first, she’d thought their kiss in the kitchen had been more of an accident than anything. It had been almost a natural reaction to being caught in someone else’s arms, with their faces only an inch apart. Hadn’t it?

  Her body, unfortunately, had become instantly addicted. When those eyes met hers, adrenaline bubbled up through her legs from the floor. It set off some switch that made her want to run from him again, so he could catch her again, so she could, you know, test her Natural Reaction Theory. But even someone as naïve as she was knew it would look way too contrived.

  Something had to be done, though, to break the tension that had built up between them all through dinner. She’d watched the kids eat. He’d watched her. Only he hadn’t been curious to see if she liked the food.

  When she waved him into the hallway, he shot to his feet so fast it was reasonable for anyone to feel threatened, but she stood her ground. Instead of playing silly high school games, she forced all that adrenaline in her bloodstream to burn off like the brandy on Cherries Jubilee.

  “Hold out your arms,” she said as he got close. She avoided looking him in the eye while she pulled blankets from the linen closet and piled them on his arms. “I don’t want anyone getting cold.”

  “‘Tis summer, lass.” His growled words vibrated their way into her veins, to mingle with the flames.

  “I know. But their hair is still wet. I would have used the blow dryer on Lippa, but I thought it would freak her out.”

  He nodded, but said nothing. She wondered if he even knew what a blow dryer was. And she was so hyper-sensitive to every breath he took, every breath he expelled, she wished someone would turn on a blow dryer just to drown out the details. He might as well have been breathing against her neck.

  When she still avoided eye contact, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Sparks shot through her like she’d swallowed a sparkler, and when she only leaned against him, instead of looking up, he chuckled.

  After a delicious minute of silence, he spoke. “Perhaps, considering the distance the children have come, we should move some things from the bedroom that might disturb them, aye?”

  She took a deep breath, prayed she could stop blushing, and tried to focus on the kids again. Distance? Yeah. By distance, she figured he meant time. If they really were from the 18th century—which was getting harder and harder to deny—the kids probably wouldn’t get much sleep with a bright alarm clock staring at them in the dark.

  She nodded and straightened away from him. “You’re right. Electric lights and the marvels of plumbing are probably enough to absorb in one day. But I’ll let you do it. You’ll know,” she gestured at his knees, “won’t you?”

  He tilted his head, then nodded.

  “You can just box the questionable stuff up, if you want. There are some boxes outside the back door.”

  He stepped into the bedroom and emerged again without the blankets. When he would have walked past her, she grabbed his arm. The touch of his skin brought the electricity back immediately, so she let go and tried to remember what she’d been about to say. She could tell by his expression that he’d noticed it too.

  “Um, I just wondered… If you’re so familiar with the place they’ve come from, how did you know about the lights? And you didn’t seem too surprised by the hot water heater.”

  He looked down for a minute, then his blue eyes lit her up again. “‘Tis a long story. Perhaps I will explain after I have had my own bath, and the children are asleep.”

  “Asleep?” Lippa’s voice came from the little bedroom where she was waiting for her brothers—they had refused to be put in different rooms for the night—and she sounded a little more alarmed than the typical ten-year-old when being told it was time for bed. “You cannae expect us to sleep here.”

  Sam went to the bedroom and walked calmly to the side of the bed. She sat down, picked up the little girl’s hand, and looked her in the eye. “I promise that you don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to.”

  Lippa’s eyes narrowed. “Not ever?”

  “Not ever.”

  It took a minute for the girl to believe her enough to relax. Sam was just glad she hadn’t needed to spit on her palm and shake hands or something, and she didn’t think people gave pinkie swears three hundred years ago.

  “I have a suggestion, though.”

  The girl looked suspicious, but didn’t tell her where she could stick her suggestion.

  “I think your brothers are pretty worn out. You’ll probably agree that they need a good night’s rest, right?”

  Lippa gave a grudging nod.

  “So maybe, after they get in here, we can dim the lights so they can sleep. And if you need to keep watch, you can. But believe me, Hamish and I are going to keep watch too. We won’t let anyone hurt you, ever.”

  Lippa nodded, but her attention had landed on the doll on the shelf opposite the bed. />
  “You can take it down if you want.”

  Lippa turned her head away, maybe embarrassed to be caught looking at it.

  Sam resisted the urge to tuck a wayward curl behind her little ear. The girl didn’t handle affection well at all, even though she’d allowed Sam to do her hair.

  “Did you ever have a favorite doll?”

  Lippa’s chin lifted in a pout. “I had a doll once. They’re not good for anything, so I… I threw it in a fire.”

  “Oh! That’s so sad?”

  The girl was genuinely surprised by her honest response. “What do you care? It wasn’t your doll.”

  “I’m just sad for you…because you don’t have it anymore.”

  Sam went to the shelf, picked up the rag doll, and looked closely at its face. It hadn’t meant anything to her before, when she’d added it to a stack of items at the antique store, only that its purple dress matched the flowers on the bedspread in the guestroom. But now, it reminded her of how much dolls had meant to her when she’d been a lonely little girl in a big house.

  “I remember a doll I had when I was about your age. Her dress was blue, with little yellow polka dots that matched her yellow hair. If I close my eyes, I can almost smell her.” She held the doll up against her nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled like one of those little lace pouches she’d found in her mother’s drawer, filled with flowers and perfume that would make your underwear smell good. “I wonder if this doll ever made a little girl happy. I guess that’s all dolls are really good for.”

  Lippa rolled her eyes like any pre-teen would.

  Sam pretended she hadn’t noticed. “I want you to have it, you know, if you want to. And if she can’t make you happy,” Sam shrugged, “maybe you can make her happy, huh?”

  This time, the girl snorted. “She’s but a thing.”

  Sam nodded. “Yep. Just a thing. But she’s got a pretty smile and a pretty smell. Don’t throw her in the fire, though, okay? I think she’d be pretty sad.”

  She held out the doll, but Lippa tucked her hands between her knees and shook her head, so she put it back on the shelf. No harm done, or at least she hoped not. It was too bad her grandpa’s stack of books hadn’t included child psychology. So, for now, she just had to wing it.

  Hamish knocked on the door frame and stepped inside with an empty box. The quick look he gave her said he’d been listening. He went to the nightstand, put the clock in the box, then showed Lippa how to turn the lamp on and off. She didn’t seem too freaked out by it, and Sam hoped that the kids were young enough to accept a lot of new concepts older people might struggle with.

  She spread another blanket over the bedspread and set two more on the chair. “Just in case anyone gets cold… Don’t forget. Hamish and I will be out here if you need us. The doors are bolted, the windows are all covered. And it looks like you’re in my territory now, where Redcoats can’t even see you, right?”

  Lippa nodded and gave her a fake smile, but her small hands were twisting her nightgown in knots. She was obviously overwhelmed, but Sam figured that learning the adults in the house were just as freaked out as she was wouldn’t help the girl feel any better. Maybe all she needed were her brothers.

  Roddy streaked past her, his t-shirt missing. He jumped up onto the bed and when his little bare bum disappeared under the blankets, Lippa instantly stopped fidgeting. As for the child being naked, Sam figured it was one of those moments when mothers had to choose whether to concede one unimportant battle.

  “Goodnight, guys. I’ll send your brother right in.”

  In the living room, Clyde shifted from foot to foot and stared at the floor. Sam wondered if he was embarrassed about something or guilty of pouring suds on the kitchen floor. It would explain why his little brother wasn’t wearing his shirt.

  She ducked her head to get his attention. “Ready for bed?”

  He shrugged, then waved her closer. Hamish came up behind her and bent to listen in.

  “Lippa didnae toss her doll in the fire,” Clyde whispered. “The Redcoats did. We had to flee and leave some things behind or be caught. When we went back… Well, I just wanted ye to ken that Lippa wouldn’t have done such a thing.”

  Sam nodded. “It probably hurts less to remember it the other way.” She mussed Clyde’s hair and told him he should be proud of how well he’d protected his family for so long. She told him to join the others, but left it up to him whether he would try to sleep. Who knew if anyone under that roof would be able to relax completely.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Sam came out of the bathroom, she found Hamish kneeling on the floor by the fireplace, praying. She stopped and tried to breathe silently until he finished, but she couldn’t help watching his lips move.

  He didn’t notice her until he got up off his knees and she suddenly realized his head came really close to the rafters.

  “Forgive me for leaving ye waitin’.”

  She shook her head. “No problem. After a day like this we should probably all be on our knees, right?”

  He pointed at the couch and insisted she sit before he did. “I wouldn’t have taken my time about it had it not been so long since I’ve said m’ prayers, aye?”

  “That long, huh?”

  “Aye. Ye see, I was not what ye would call a grateful man. My mum called me Hamish the Complainer when she thought I wasnae listening. And I fear I was well deserving of the title.” He shook his head, then sighed. “Ungrateful is a generous word for what I was. But, I pray never to be again.”

  “Oh?”

  He looked toward the hallway. “After what they’ve suffered, and not one complaint? Who am I to ever grouse again?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly—because when that breath was gone, she was going to have to ask the hard questions. And she worried her mind wouldn’t be able to handle the hard answers.

  “Shall I tuck ye into yer bed, then?”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Perhaps ye need sleep as much as the wee’uns.”

  She shook her head rapidly. “No. No, I told Lippa I would be out here for her.”

  His dark brows puckered together over his nose. “Pardon my saying so, but ye look a mite peaked. At least lie down here. Put yer feet in my lap so that I may rub them and help ye forget the worries of the day.”

  “I will not—”

  “I must insist.”

  “I’ve been wearing tennis shoes all day—”

  “Allow me to worry about such things.” He got up and went into the kitchen. She sat and stared at the opening for a minute, too embarrassed to do what he suggested, but she didn’t want to tick him off, either. And he had insisted.

  She grabbed the pillows from the chairs and piled them at the end of the couch, then reclined against them as elegantly as she could. He’d probably forgotten all about kissing her again, but at least he wanted to touch her, right?

  He came back with a bucket of steaming hot water and a towel. He lit a jar candle and turned off the lights before stripping off her shoes and socks in a mocking strip tease that had her laughing into a pillow. Then, he soaked the first foot in the hot water before pulling it onto his lap and massaging it with lotion, until she cried uncle. Then he started with the second.

  It had been so long since either of them had said a word, she hated to break the silence. But they had to discuss things while the kids were asleep.

  “Hamish?”

  “Mm?”

  “This afternoon, I packed a lunch and climbed up to Odin’s Helmet to play my violin—in the year 2015. So… What did you do today?”

  He closed his eyes and let his head drop as he exhaled. After about ten seconds, he straightened up and started rubbing again. “In the night… No. I must start before that. After I was…slain…on the battlefield at Culloden Moor, I remained on the moor in spirit form for nearly two-hundred and seventy years. Then, last night, a wee witch turned me mortal again and dropped me outside the old cottage…today. A
t least I supposed it was today.” His hands stopped and he looked to see how she was taking it all.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “So far, so good. I can’t say I believe it, but at least I haven’t fainted, right?”

  He smiled and his hands started working again. “Ye’ll remember I insisted ye lie down, aye?”

  “You knew this conversation was coming.”

  “Aye. I’m a canny man.” He slapped her foot. “Now, be still while I finish. As I was saying… The old woman paid me, by way of a single berry tart, to hunt down thieves she said lived on the mountain and stole her food. Having been sent by the wee witch to do an honorable deed, I accepted the duty, all the while believing it was, as you say, the Year of Our Lord, 2015.”

  “I laid my pie aside for a moment while I looked about, and the little bug—er, our three charges stole it from my sporran. I pursued them, discovering they were children only moments before I first laid eyes upon ye. Redcoats came and I hid with the bairns beneath the cairn until they were gone, all while someone played the violin. The children believed it was Willa, but I told them it was an American woman—as it happened, a woman they could not see.”

  He wrapped the towel around her feet and set them on the couch between them, forcing her knees to bend. He leaned against them, moving his face closer to hers. Those blue eyes stared at her lips for a few seconds, then looked into hers.

  “Would ye like to ken what I think?”

  “Mm hmn.”

  “I believe it was the berries.” His brows bounced up and down like he thought he was pretty clever, but she didn’t understand and told him so. “I had some of that first pie, aye? Just a wee bite, but ‘twas enough I think. Therefore, I was able to see both the children and yerself. As soon as I forced ye to taste a pie, ye immediately saw the children, did ye not? And after they’d done the same, they were able to see ye.”