Ghosts of Culloden Moor 28 - Hamish

by L. L. Muir

  He held his antique gun loosely in the other hand, as if he thought his presence alone would have her cowering and begging for mercy.

  She walked backward as she played. He noticed she was in no rush, so he kept his pace. Two steps to every one of hers. They both stopped when he stood about ten feet away. To her left was Odin’s Helmet, to her right, the pines. Perfect.

  She raised her eyebrows and began the second movement.

  He snarled. “Cease at once.”

  She grinned and played to the end of the phrase, then pulled the bow through with a dissonant zing. “Have it your way.”

  “Your man will be hanged in an hour’s time if you do not fetch your children to me at once. So, get on your…machine, and bring them here straight away. I have some pressing questions for them. If you all do as I say, I will let the entire family go without charging any of you with a crime. If you do not do as I command, like I have said, your man will hang. Even now, my men are preparing the noose, but I ordered them to wait an hour before stringing him up. I’m the only one who can save your family, madam.”

  He hadn’t noticed how his voice had risen while he spoke, but as soon as he stopped talking, he realized he’d been competing with more violin music. It echoed all around them when the entire orchestra joined in, and seemed to be coming from Odin’s Helmet itself.

  Perfect.

  “Who is that?” He tossed his gun to the side, threw his coat over it, and pulled his sword out of its thin metal sheath. “Tell them to show themselves.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy. I don’t see anyone.”

  His smooth features twisted into a snarl. “You hope to convince me you hear nothing?”

  “Am I supposed to hear something?”

  He lunged at her with his sword. She side stepped him at the last second. She might not know how to swordfight, but she was sure he only meant to scare her. If he really wanted to hurt her, she was sure he could, but he needed her alive so she could go get the kids.

  They had switched places. Now it was Sam with her back to the path home, and his back to the other side of the mountain. He was having a hard time watching her while trying to figure out where the music was coming from.

  She was just glad she’d plugged her phone in the night before, so there was plenty of battery. And the concerto would last another five minutes with no one to mess with her phone. She’d left it on the steps inside the chamber below Odin’s Helmet. Not only did it leak out of the hatch she’d propped open, but it echoed up through the rocks, too, like a giant amplifier.

  He turned his head toward the rocks. “I will not be mocked,” he shouted, “do you hear me?” He cleared his throat and spit in the music’s general direction. The tendons on his neck stood out like bones, stretching the red skin tight.

  The tip of his sword lifted again when he glanced at her, making sure she stayed put. With the neck of her violin in one hand and the bow in the other, she lifted them up to keep him from thinking she was a threat.

  He nodded to the four-wheeler. “Go now. Get the children. You are running out of time.” His head whipped back and forth like he expected an attack from all sides.

  She moved toward the machine, backing slowly. If she left, she could check on Hamish, but the soldier would head in the same direction, and she had to keep the two apart. It had been wrong for her to give the Scot a gun and send him off to kill a man. They needed to remove the danger another way—a legal way. Self-defense was one thing, but Hamish wouldn’t be around to tell his side of the story, and someone else would be found responsible for a dead body on the mountain.

  Where three strange children had been found the day before…

  Hopefully, Alison would come through for her. She just had to stall until help arrived.

  With a heart-stopping Highland war cry and a flurry of powerful limbs and plaid, Hamish came charging out of the rowan trees to her left. He was still screaming when he and the soldier came together, and with one swing of her grandfather’s rifle, Hamish knocked the sword out of the other man’s hand. Then he tossed the gun aside and ran at him. The two went rolling, ripping and punching at each other each time their positions changed.

  Sam scurried over to grab the rifle, then pulled the antique weapon out from under the red coat and tossed it a good fifteen feet into the pines.

  The soldier was now sitting on top of Hamish with his hands around the Scot’s neck. And while he sat there, Hamish’s longer arms came around to pound the sides of his head. First right, then left, then right again.

  Bloody spit dripped down into Hamish’s face, but he just kept beating the man. Sam cocked the rifle and the movement created a satisfying echo in the stillness, all to the background music of Vivaldi.

  Both men froze. The hands came away from Hamish’s neck and he relaxed his head against the grass.

  “I guess it’s an American thing after all. We prefer cutting the crap and getting down to business. You drink tea and prefer to fight with your hands, tossing aside perfectly good weapons. Why is that?”

  Hamish shrugged the guy off him. The soldier scooted back and held his hands up, but it was clear he wasn’t giving up hope. Hamish got to his feet and walked back to retrieve the sword, clicking his tongue at her while he passed. “I thought ye might throw yerself around my neck and praise God I’m still alive, aye?”

  She shrugged. “I’m a little busy at the moment.” She heard the welcome slam of car doors and could have cried, she was so relieved.

  Hamish hurried to stand next to her, sword held out in front of him. “Expecting company?”

  “As a matter of fact…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sam’s large cousin Paddy crested the top of the plateau with a rifle in hand. A tall, skinny man with a gun on his hip was close on his heels. Bertie and Rob huffed and puffed behind the first two, each carrying a cane over his shoulder like he’d come looking for a fight. Sam’s stomach dropped when she saw Alison too.

  She lifted the gun to her shoulder and made sure she had the soldier in her sights before she dared ask Alison if she’d brought the kids along.

  “Of course not,” Alison said. “A friend of yours was at the pub and said she’d watch over them until ye were ready for them again.”

  “A friend of mine? Alison, I don’t have any friends.”

  “She was convincing. Knew the children by name. Had a strange name of her own. I canna recall.”

  Hamish put a heavy hand on her shoulder but didn’t try to take the gun. “Perchance, was her name Soncerae?”

  Alison smiled. “Aye. That’s just it. Soncerae. The children were quite taken with her.”

  “And where is this woman now?” The soldier got to his feet and brushed off his pants like he thought the game was all over.

  Paddy cocked his gun and pointed it at the man, his jaw flexing deep beneath his substantial jowls. “Ye’ll never live to see them, ye bastard.”

  The man didn’t flinch even though he was staring down the barrels of a second gun. He puffed out his chest and didn’t seem to notice what a mess he was with one swollen eye, a fat lip, and so much blood on his face his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

  “I will remind you,” he said, “that I am the authority here. And I am arresting your…friends in the name of the king. The children will also be tried for their crimes, so I advise you to neither aid nor abet them. It may mean a noose for you.” He tilted his head to the side to take a close condescending look at Alison’s jeans.

  “In the name of the king, he says.” He chuckled along with the other men. “She was right. He is fresh from the Rising.” He turned back to the soldier. “How many Jacobites have ye executed here in Killiecrankie Pass alone, eh?”

  “That is none of your concern—”

  “Oh, but it is. This here’s the sheriff of Pitlochry. He’s interested to ken the number, are ye not?”

  The skinny man nodded, and though he ne
ver drew his gun, his hand rested on his belt next to it.

  “I have arrested none of your citizens, sir.”

  The sheriff cocked his head. “I have no doubt of that. But how many have been executed in these hills, say…since Culloden.”

  The soldier’s posture stiffened. “Nearly fifty outlaws, sir. As per the order of the Duke of Cumberland.”

  “How many by your own hand, eh? Surely ye’ve counted.”

  “At least one,” Hamish said. “There are three who can bear witness that he killed my sister, Willa.”

  The man swallowed, looked closely at every tense face that surrounded him, but denied nothing. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin before addressing the sheriff. “I remind you I am on the king’s errand, sir.”

  “Ballocks,” Hamish said.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ye’re not on the king’s errand anymore, are ye, Sergeant Campbell? Ye’re a deserter. The colonel put an end to yer hunt, but ye came back anyhow. Yer unit has moved on to Inverness, and ye’re up here on yer own, taking the law into yer own hands, intending to cut down my children—when it is ye whom the hangman awaits.”

  The soldier’s mouth hung open, his face paled, but it slowly turned red again when he realized where Hamish must have been to have overheard his conversation with his leader.

  He took two angry steps before he was reminded, the hard way, that his sword stood between him and the Scot. He suddenly dodged to his left, lunged around Sam to avoid her gun, and ran for his coat on the ground. He ripped it out of the way, roared with frustration, and punched the grass where his gun should have been.

  Sam pivoted and lifted her weapon to her shoulder again, ready to put down a rabid animal if need be. She just hoped she wouldn’t need to.

  Hamish reached over and pushed the barrel down. Sergeant Campbell’s wild eyes calmed and she could see the wheels turning as he tried to think of a way to take advantage. She just wondered what the Scot was thinking.

  Hamish shook his head. “Shoot him in the leg, lass, or foot—to keep him from getting away, aye? For Willa’s sake, his death should not be swift. Nor should it be painless.”

  Campbell started to freak out again and pointed at them both. “Did you hear them, Sheriff? You cannot allow them to shoot me!”

  “He’s right aboot that, aye?” The skinny man came to stand beside them. “Besides, I think he should be handled carefully. The man’s not right in the head. Thinks he’s a deserter from the 18th century, admitted he’d murder yer children if he got the chance, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right,” Sam said. “He’s incredibly dangerous. Do you think you can get him put away where he can’t hurt anyone?”

  The sheriff nodded. “We’ve plenty of witnesses here. I think we can manage just fine.”

  “I can’t allow it, I’m afraid.”

  Sam could tell the voice belonged to a girl, but she couldn’t afford to take her eyes off Campbell.

  “Soncerae.” The Scot’s voice held a mix of emotions—excitement, concern, sadness.”

  “Hamish.”

  “Where are my bairns?”

  “They’re waiting in the car.”

  Campbell’s nostrils flared and he strained to see past the growing crowd of people behind her.

  “Not a chance,” she said.

  He smirked. “I suggest you heed the young lady.”

  Hamish made a gesture Sam couldn’t see, and Paddy and the old boys hurried forward to guard the prisoner. Paddy gave her a nod and although Bertie and Rob were only armed with canes, she finally felt confident enough to turn her back on the Redcoat and face the witch who had come to take Hamish away from her.

  The girl matched her voice perfectly. She was young. But over her typical jeans and t-shirt, she wore a long black robe. She was barely old enough to drive, so it bothered Sam that she’d driven the kids up the mountain, and not just because it brought them closer to the man who’d been trying to kill them.

  Soni walked straight up to her and laid a hand on her arm. “I thought perhaps Hamish would like to say goodbye to them.” She may as well have punched her in the gut. Realization took her breath away and made her hunch forward.

  “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” She took a deep breath, straightened, and turned to grab Hamish’s arm. “I thought you had until tomorrow. I’m so sorry.”

  Soncerae shrugged. “He’s done his noble deed. No reason to linger.” She grinned. “Unless there is a reason to linger.”

  Hamish glanced behind them. “Auch, Soni. It is a fact I would like to stay and ensure this man can never threaten our children again. Or anyone else.”

  The girl nodded toward the pines. “Perhaps ye remember my uncle, Wickham?”

  A handsome, dark-haired guy stepped out of the trees and stalked forward to shake Hamish’s hand. “Mr. Farquharson.” He glanced back at the prisoner. “I’ll deliver this bloke to his regiment, and see that he is sentenced. A hanging will have to do, for he cannot be allowed to stay in the now.”

  “Can ye be certain he’ll not get away, that he cannot find his way back here again?”

  Wickham grinned and nodded as he walked backward toward Campbell. “I can, sir. For it already happened, aye?” He leaned into the soldier’s face. “It was a difficult hanging, poor man. For the rope that was used was rather thick and well crafted. It was nigh impossible for any man’s neck to break against it, so poor Sergeant Campbell, he strangled…”

  Sam couldn’t resist. “Mr, uh, Wickham?”

  “Yes?”

  She walked over to him and whispered, so Campbell couldn’t hear her. “Could you ask that someone play the violin for him, near the end?”

  “Done.” He gave Hamish a mock salute, grabbed Campbell by the arm, and disappeared into thin air with his prisoner.

  Bertie and Rob whooped and laughed, bent over to catch their breaths, then started laughing again.

  “Did ye ever see such a thing?”

  “We’d have to live another eighty years to see it again, I’ll wager.”

  Paddy rolled his eyes and came over to give Sam a kiss on the head. “Ye’re responsible for this, cousin. The least ye can do is come down to the pub in a day or two and let the old fools tell ye the story of what ye’ve just witnessed. For I’m sure my ears will be bleedin’ and needin’ a respite by then.”

  “I promise.”

  Alison resisted for a second or two, but finally went along with Paddy when he pointed out that whatever happened next was none of her business. When Bertie and Rob realized their ride was leaving, they said a quick goodbye to Sam, then shook Hamish’s hand and promised that if he’d just pop ‘round to the pub, they’d buy him all the whisky he could drink. Then they reconsidered and changed that promise to beer.

  The skinny sheriff waved and left without saying a word, rubbing his chin as he went. Sam doubted there would be any report filed on what he’d seen up at Odin’s Helmet that day.

  Besides the kids waiting in the car, there were soon only three of them left standing on the mountain. Soncerae, Hamish, and herself.

  Soni wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the mound of stones. “Perhaps ye should go collect yer phone, Samantha, before ye forget.”

  “Will he still be here when I come back?”

  The girl laughed. “Aye, sure.”

  She finally looked at Hamish’s face. He forced a quick smile, gave her a wink, then told her to go on. But she was pretty sure the girl was lying, and she would never see Hamish Farquharson again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Hamish turned to Soni and braced himself to be whisked away. He was fairly certain his heart would break in pieces when he found himself alone again, with no Samantha and no children beside him.

  “Perhaps farewells would be too difficult for the bairns, aye?”

  “Too difficult for all parties concerned, more like.” Soni sniffed. “Do ye suppose Samantha love
s ye?”

  He smiled. “I suspect she does, aye.”

  “And yerself?”

  “Oh, aye. I would give anything… Well, ye understand.”

  “Aye. I do. That is why ye’ll only be saying goodbye to me today.”

  He took heart. “Ye’re giving me another day with them?”

  She nodded. “Another day. And another. And another.”

  “Ye cannae mean it!”

  “I do.” She bit the corner of her lip. “Unless ye’d much rather pop Bonnie Prince Charlie on the chin.”

  “Oh, ye ken I would, lass, but my knuckles have seen enough fighting this day. I thank ye just the same.”

  Teary-eyed, she waved him closer. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. He pressed another to her forehead.

  “Go with God, Soncerae Muir. And thank ye for my life.”

  “Yer second life, ye mean.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the woman hurrying back to him. “Nay, lass. My life.”

  A tear fell from the witch’s cheek and before it could strike the ground, she was gone. He turned to face Samantha and watched her face contort with grief. Taking her hands in his, he pulled her close and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Wheesht now, my love. Soni has taken pity on me and left me in yer care.”

  “What?” She held still and waited for him to repeat himself.

  “Ye heard me. What I need to know is what ye plan to do with me?”

  She threw herself against him and wrapped her arms so tightly around him, he had difficulty breathing. But at the sound of children’s voices, she let go and they turned to greet the bairns that God had given them.

  God, and Soni, and an old woman who made extraordinary pies.

  EPILOGUE

  Sam stood talking to the locked door for the third time that morning. Hamish came out of the bedroom, kissed her neck, and whispered, “Which one this time?”