Ghosts of Culloden Moor 28 - Hamish

by L. L. Muir

  “I… I guess that’s true, but hey. Really? Magic berries?”

  He gave her a disappointed look. “Truly? After a day like this, ye would balk at the idea of magic berries?”

  She laughed. “You’re right. You’re right. If any of the rest of this could be true, nothing else is too farfetched.”

  They both fell silent and she figured the same words were echoing in his head that were echoing in hers. If any of this could be true…

  “Okay. Here’s a question. I figure I could see you without eating any berries because we’re basically from the same time. But if that’s true, why did you disappear the first time?

  He shrugged his large shoulders. “Perhaps I could not exist in yer world and theirs simultaneously.”

  “That makes as much sense as anything, I guess.” She then told him about the stories they’d told her at the pub, that people believe at some point, the children died from exposure and haunted the hill, luring men to their deaths.

  “That explains why ye were so wary of them.”

  “Yeah. But I can’t imagine those poor little kids—”

  He interrupted her with a hand on hers and a vague shake of his head. “Dinna be too quick to assume, Samantha. They’ve had to do much to survive from fall to spring in the Highlands with men hunting them all the while.” He reached for the back of his head and winced. “I was nearly one of those casualties myself, though the proof of it is gone. But I cannot judge them for defending themselves. It is only a wonder they were canny enough to do it.”

  She tried not to think about the nightmares they’d lived through, worried she might get too overwhelmed herself. “So, when they woke up this morning, what year do you think it was for them?”

  He shrugged again and stared at the candle. “After the battle, in April of 1746, the Duke of Cumberland, The Butcher, ordered the wounded to be killed. Many captives were executed on the spot, some were hauled away, tried, and either hanged or transported. And those who fled were chased down and murdered. If they made it all the way home, their families would pay the same price. The Butcher wanted the Highlands cleaned of all Jacobites, so they might never rise up again.

  “Many a family hid in caves, high in the mountains, hoping to survive until the madness ended. But the clan system would never be restored. And families like our wee bairns’ were not so unique.

  “As for the year, I would estimate that, for them, it would be the summer of 1747. The soldiers mentioned Fort George. Since they did not begin construction on the new fort until 1748, after most of the punishments were over, I assume they referred to the first one, which the Jacobites destroyed in Inverness. Hope of rebuilding it might have lasted for a year after the battle. So aye, 1747.”

  Sam bit her lips together and toyed with the piping on the back of the couch while she tried to choose her words. Eventually, she looked back at Hamish and asked the hard question.

  “So. Now that we know where everyone has come from, just how long do you think the magic from the berries will last, hm? When we wake up in the morning, will you all be back where you started from?”

  “Nay, lass. For surely, whoever deigned that these bairns should be rescued, would not be so cruel as to send them back. And as for myself,” he turned away to stare at the candle again. “I have been promised two days.”

  “Two days? Two days before you have to go back? To being a ghost?” She held her breath and waited for him to deny it. She knew she was just the kind of fool to go wander around a battlefield trying to find him—and probably end up in a psych ward for it.

  He reached for her hand, but she pulled it back. “I will not be returning to Culloden Moor. I have…other appointments.”

  She folded her arms and made it clear she needed details. After he told her about some meeting with Bonnie Prince Charlie, he casually said his next appointment was with God.

  “My second experience with mortality was limited from the start, Samantha. There was no need for me to reveal the details to ye, but ye did ask, aye?”

  She nodded, then shook her head. “Can’t we talk to this Soncerae woman and explain that…these children need you?”

  He pushed her knees to the side and stretched over her, to cup her face with his large, warm hand—warm, strong, alive. “I would have been blessed to have another hour of life, let alone a pair of days. And I will not be ungrateful again. How many spirits are offered one more bite of blaeberry pie? A hug from a child? A kiss from a beautiful woman?” He dragged his thumb across her lips, then shook his head and sat back. “Soni could collect me now and I wouldnae complain. How could I?”

  “I guess I shouldn’t complain either, right?”

  He smiled and winked.

  “Well, I’m going to anyway. But I promise to wait for a couple of days. I don’t want to ruin what time you have left.”

  “Truly?” He got that look in his eye again, and he licked his lips while staring at hers.

  “I said I don’t want to ruin it. I didn’t say anything about…making it memorable.”

  He sighed. “Auch, sweet Samantha, ye already have.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sam’s romantic evening with a Highlander and candlelight ended abruptly when Lippa woke up screaming. After some prodding, she finally confessed that she’d dreamed of the day when Willa was killed, that memory having been revived by the fact that Willa’s killer was the Redcoat they’d all seen near the cottage.

  Lippa glanced nervously at Hamish. “I should have told ye when I recognized him.”

  Hamish smiled. “It would have served no purpose, lass, for he is still in the past, and we, in the future. I would have only been frustrated when I could not fight him, aye? But it also means that he can never come after ye again. So, sleep easy.”

  When their presence seemed to be the reason she couldn’t relax again, she and Hamish hung back in the hallway while the boys did what they could to soothe her. While she watched their interaction, she realized there was probably a second reason for Lippa’s agitation—she was usually the one in control, and she’d surrendered that control to a couple of strangers. Of course it brought on nightmares.

  Clyde insisted that the thing his sister really needed was to have the door closed. And once it was shut, Sam and Hamish listened with interest while the kids slid furniture against it.

  Unimportant battles, she reminded herself. Then she wondered if there would ever be any important ones.

  Sam headed for the couch, but Hamish took her hand and dragged her back to her empty bedroom. When she would have protested, he put his fingers over her mouth.

  “Wheesht, now. The hour is late, and thanks to the blockade, they’ll not be expecting us to come a’ running, aye?”

  “But I told you—”

  “And I’m telling ye that yer couch is too short, and I’ll not sleep on the floor when a soft bed is on offer.”

  “Nothing is on offer, buddy.”

  He rolled his eyes and muttered something at the ceiling while he nudged her backward with tiny steps. He pushed her down on the bed, rolled her onto her side, and flipped the free half of the bedspread over her. Then he laid down on the other blankets and spooned up behind her, pulling her back against him with his arm around her waist.

  “Like an auld marrit couple, nothing will happen, aye?”

  “I’m so sorry about your sister.”

  “I thank ye, but I mourned my sister long ago, when it was clear she must have passed, if only from age.”

  “Still, I’m sorry.”

  “Think no more of it.”

  “Fine. But to cheer you up, I’ll make you a nice American breakfast in the morning.”

  He groaned into the hair at her neck and she had to ignore the chills it gave her or she’d be in trouble.

  “You don’t think you’ll like an American breakfast?”

  “I heard the only things Yanks want in the morning are their guns and their coffee. Not verra filling, aye?”

 
She chuckled quietly and snuggled into her pillow. If she was honest, she couldn’t have stayed awake much longer. And if she held onto Hamish’s arm tightly enough, maybe there was a better chance that he’d still be there in the morning.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Sam woke the next morning, the sun was bright and the morning chill was long gone. The bed bounced as she wrestled her legs out of the tangled comforter. Then she lay still for a minute, enjoying the movement of air against her skin while the memories of the last night sharpened.

  She could tell he was gone before she reached behind her.

  This is not happening!

  She hobbled to the next room, her feet sore from hiking, and found the children gone too. But at least they’d been there. The bed was made up nicely and all the extra blankets were folded and in a pile on the chair. The doll was gone from the shelf, which made her happy, but it still didn’t stop her heart from breaking. She didn’t know what she could have expected, but there was plenty she could have hoped for.

  Even kids without birth certificates got adopted, didn’t they?

  As long as they were real…

  But of course, they’d been real!

  She shook her head to stop arguing with herself, then performed her usual ritual, hoping to hear some noises while she changed into clean clothes. When she came out of the bathroom, she hoped to find them in the kitchen, eating silently. But the kitchen was empty too.

  She started arguing again.

  It hadn’t been a dream. There was plenty of proof. But she couldn’t say for sure that they hadn’t returned to being ghosts. And, if so, it might be a routine they followed.

  Sucker someone in.

  Win their hearts.

  Disappear again.

  The growl of a small engine came from the front of the house and she hurried outside. A rider on a four-wheeler took off her helmet. It was Alison. And while Sam was happy to see her new cousin-in-law, it was kind of shocking to see a real person again—one she knew was not a ghost, and that included the chick she’d seen in the mirror that morning.

  Alison gave her a hug. “I’m a day late. Will ye forgive me?”

  “A day late?”

  “Aye. When we didn’t see ye yesterday, we were supposed to come make certain ye hadn’t passed in yer sleep, do ye remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah. I remember. But I’m fine. I was a little hung over, but I was fine.”

  “A little, she says.” Alison chuckled and walked toward the door.

  Sam felt instantly defensive of the memories that lived inside her house now, so she pointed out the chairs on the wide deck. “Let’s sit out here. I need some fresh air.”

  Alison nodded, but she was clearly suspicious. “Ye haven’t a man in there, then?”

  She shrugged. “He’s around here somewhere.”

  “Oh? That’s grand.”

  “He’s just a friend. And his children.” She couldn’t very well say that no one was there because, if they showed up suddenly, she wouldn’t be able to explain them so easily. “I promise to come back to the pub when they leave town again.”

  “Or bring them in. We’ve always children about, though we keep the whiskey away from them, aye?”

  “When will ye start renting the Witch’s House next?”

  “Not until next month. I hired a company to come fix it up a little, before I start having guests. But they can’t come for weeks.”

  “Save yer money. Hire some local men. They’ll preserve the charm and yer pocketbook. Yer grandsire was well respected. Ye’ll be treated fairly. And it truly is nice to have someone real up here, if ye ken my meanin’.”

  “Someone real?”

  Alison snorted. “Oh, I dinna mean a ghost has been running the place. No, it’s the property managers that come and go without a word, that send their cleaners along, but we see little of them. It will be nice to have a warm body on the mountain.”

  A warm body? Yeah, but unfortunately, just one. “I was thinking maybe I’d better get a dog. You know, so it won’t be so quiet.”

  “Auch, that’s a fine idea. Do ye fancy any breed in particular?”

  “Not really. Something brave, I think.” She smiled. “Something that can defend me if some random…redcoat shows up at my door.”

  Alison sobered. “Ye haven’t seen one, have ye? A redcoat?”

  Sam laughed, assuming the woman was just playing, but when Alison didn’t laugh along, she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Why do you ask?”

  The other woman bit her lip and grimaced. “I’ve spoken out of school, like.” She shook her head. “I truly didna come up here to add to yer fright. It’s just that the place brought back a memory.”

  “You saw the ghost of one of those soldiers, didn’t you? One of those guys the children led off a cliff?”

  Alison grimaced again. “I was young, now. Probably just imagined it.”

  “No. I don’t think you did.”

  “Ye’ve seen something?” She looked a little more excited than worried, so that was a plus. At least she wasn’t running out the door, promising to come back with a priest or something. After all, Sam didn’t want all ghosts to be banished from the place—just the scary ones carrying guns with bayonets.

  “I don’t know what I saw.”

  Alison gripped her hands firmly. “Auch, we never should have let those old bampots tell ye about the ghosties. They’ve got ye seein’ things, I’ll wager. Maybe ye’d like to come down the mountain with me, stay in a room above the pub for a few nights, since ye’ve no renters to fuss over at the moment.”

  Sam made a face. “No. I told you. I’ve got my friend here, and his kids. But maybe, after they go, I’ll come hang out for a while.”

  “Ye promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “And if ye need help, ye’ll call?”

  “I’ll call.”

  Alison left with a wave and a cheery smile that was completely forced. The woman was obviously worried about her, or else she was setting her up for a world class prank. There was just something about being alone that made her feel paranoid.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Staring out the window at the small patch of white cottage through the trees, Sam had to admit she was devastated to find the children gone. But the grief she felt over Hamish washed over her like the river at a baptism. For a few precious hours, she’d felt inspired, like she finally understood what she wanted in her life. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that a loving husband and family was what she wanted more than anything else—not just a side note to a moderately successful career.

  Correction. She’d wanted that man and those children.

  The violin was not her life. Making a living was not her life. They were both just the roads beneath her feet. And for a little while, she’d known where she wanted that road to go.

  It would be tough, obviously, to find another man like Hamish Farquharson. Someone whose presence made her inhale a little deeper, with every breath, until he left the room again. A man who was kind and gentle with children, who was not too proud to pull them close and comfort them. A man who inspired her.

  But where better than Scotland to find someone like him, right?

  She sighed. “Why couldn’t he just be real?”

  “Why couldn’t who be real?”

  She whipped around to find the handsome Highlander standing just inside the living room with Lippa behind him. It was the girl who had spoken. Hamish looked like he was at a loss for words. The girl still waited for an answer.

  “I had a dream,” Sam said, trying to hide the fact that she was so overjoyed she might dissolve onto the floor in a tears-and-chocolate mess. “A dream about a little puppy. I was wishing he was real, that’s all.”

  The expression on Hamish’s face told her he knew she’d been talking about him, and he stared at her for a long, sad moment before he spoke. “The bairns didnae wish to eat ye out of house and home, so we went hunting.”

  “Please,
tell me you didn’t catch anything.”

  “Sure we did. The lads are cleaning it now. A fine-sized pheasant, as a matter of fact.”

  Lippa grinned. “Pheasants are a mite slow.”

  “Aye, and our bairns needed no help from me. I now understand how they survived so long on their own.”

  Our bairns…

  Sam followed them back into the kitchen and pulled spices from the cabinet. To Lippa she said, “I want to share my food with all of you. Please don’t feel bad about it. You’ll have the rest of your life to worry about feeding yourself. You shouldn’t have to worry about it now.”

  “Ye’re not our mother,” Lippa snapped. “‘We are not yers to worry over.”

  Sam realized this was one of the important battles and pulled out all the stops. “I’m not going to tip toe around anything because I think you would rather I be honest with you. Am I wrong?”

  The girl shook her head but left her chin in the air.

  Sam put her hands on her hips. She needed to be intimidating. “I know you’ve been a mother to your brothers all this time. I know you’ve had to grow up fast and do…difficult things. But you’re not in charge anymore.”

  Lippa’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at the back door.

  “And I don’t mean that just because you’re standing in my house. You’re not in charge anymore because, unless you produce some relative that can prove they’ve been taking care of you, I’m taking you in. Not just for today, or tomorrow. You’re mine. From now on, my house is your house. My food is your food. And until you’re eighteen, you won’t have to worry about where your next meal will come from, or how you’ll get a new pair of shoes because your feet are growing out of your old ones.

  “I won’t stop you from taking care of your brothers, Lippa. But from now on, your job is to be their sister, not their mother. And you can bet I’ll be taking care of them too, because they also belong to me.”

  The girl gasped and looked at Hamish for help. He held up his hands and shook his head with in the timeless expression that said, Don’t look at me.

  “And now that I think about it, I should get a blood hound.”