The manacles that had held his father had silently locked around his limbs, bound with a strength stronger than any metal, trapping him in the dungeon.
“Let him go,” Jock screamed into the air. “It is me you cursed, not the boy. I beg you, let him go.”
“What’s happening?” Wallace asked, bewildered. “What have I done?”
“You are the last of the MacGregor line,” Jock said. “You freed me and condemned yourself.” He suddenly staggered and fell to his knees.
“Father, are you all right?”
One hand gripped his chest. “I am fine,” he said. “Just a pain in my arm-”
He fell onto the letter, his face hitting the scum covered stone floor with a horrible crunch. He lay still, nothing moving other than the slightest twitch of his foot.
“Father!” Wallace said, pulling at the chains that bound him, trying desperately to reach the stricken figure. “Please, say something.”
There was no answer.
Wallace began to sob. He was still crying when guards appeared in the doorway shortly afterward. They took one look at him and then at the corpse beside him.
They began to laugh. “Looks like we got ourselves a new prisoner,” the hook nosed one said, taking a step far enough into the dungeon to kick Jock’s prone body.
“Did you not ken about the curse?” the squat one added.
“Poor snot nose doesn’t ken anything about anything. Look at him crying.”
“Help him,” Wallace begged. “Please.”
The squat guard kicked the body. “It’s your fault he’s dead, you ken that, don’t you? Only the last of the line can shift them chains and only onto himself.”
“Dinnae worry, lad,” added the hook-nosed guard. “We’ll leave him there for company. Father and son, happily together at last.”
“The MacCallisters always win. Didn’t you know that?”
“I curse the MacCallisters,” Wallace spat, his tears drying up, anger consuming him like a fire. “I curse all MacCallisters.”
“Curse us as much as you like. You’ll still be trapped in our dungeon and bound in our chains.”
They turned and walked away, laughing as they went.
Wallace yelled after them. “I curse the MacCallister line. My soul will not rest until the last of the MacCallister line takes my place in these wretched chains. Then I shall laugh, and your clan shall die. This I vow in the name of my father, Jock MacGregor. I will get my revenge on the last of the MacCallisters.”
“Course you will,” a voice echoed back. “Once you find a way out of those chains and find a sword and a swordmaster to train you and find the way past the guards to the clan laird.”
“And an army to back you up,” a second voice added. “Best of luck with that.”
The mocking laughter faded away.
Wallace was left alone. The candle beside him spluttered and then died.
In the darkness he saw nothing. He swore the oath once again, this time to himself. His soul would not rest until he made the last of the MacCallisters pay for what the clan had done to his father.
Seven hundred years later, the last of the MacCallister line shuddered despite the warmth of the sun streaming through her bedroom window.
She had a sudden strange feeling that, as she looked at MacCallister Castle, the castle was looking back at her.
Not just looking, glaring with a furious rage fierce enough to make her stomach turn over. She found herself unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but stand there.
She had no idea how long it lasted but the feeling only ended when she heard someone shouting from downstairs.
“Natalie. Better get a move on. You’re going to be late.”
2
Natalie broke into a run as she headed for the open door. She was hoping she could sneak straight through the visitor center and out into the abbey grounds. Do that and she might not get told off yet again for-
“Natalie,” a man’s voice said loudly from behind the counter. “If this was Back to the Future, what would I be giving you right now?”
“A tardy slip,” she replied, turning to face her boss as he used the old joke yet again. “I’m sorry John but the weirdest thing happened this morning.”
“We will discuss it later. Cleo’s here.”
Natalie knew what that meant. The area manager was prowling the grounds looking for things to complain about. Everything had to be perfect. That meant she better be quick at getting into costume.
Pushing open the door to the staff room she squeezed into the tiny bathroom beyond, double checking the door was locked behind her. Then she undressed, slipping into the medieval washer-woman costume that hung from a hook on the back of the toilet door.
Once she was done, she ran a brush through her hair before heading out onto the site, ignoring the glare of her boss. She could tell him the truth, that she got lost in her own thoughts staring out her bedroom window for twenty minutes, but it wasn’t exactly a great excuse. Better to just get straight to work.
Two minutes later she was in the warming house, sitting on the stone step, ready to talk to the visitors.
This was the part of the job she loved, getting to share her love of medieval history with the people who came to tour the abbey. She had barely sat down when a family appeared in front of her. “Morning,” she said in character. “Tis a bonny wee day for a tired old wretch such as me.”
“You meant to be a MacGregor or a MacCallister,” the father of the family said, pushing his glasses up with the tip of his finger.
“I’m Nellie MacGregor, servant to the monks of the abbey.”
“So,” the man began, folding his arms and getting ready. Natalie had seen this many times before. She knew what was coming. “You’re scum then? Right?”
“Actually, there’s a lot of conflicting evidence that suggests the MacCallisters were the crueler of the two clans.”
“That’s nonsense. This abbey was founded by the MacCallisters. I read it in the guidebook. They wouldn’t have let a MacGregor work here. You’ve got your history wrong.”
“I’m here aren’t I?” Natalie asked, winking at the kids who grinned sheepishly back. “The monks hired me to clean their cowls. They consider it sinful work better suited for a woman.”
“A woman of sin,” the man said, displaying a superior smile. “From a clan of scum.”
“I promise you, I’m not scum and nor are the MacGregors.”
The man took a step toward her, a cold look on his face. He turned and glanced at his children. “This woman is a liar, you two. Don’t believe a word she says.”
“I’m not a liar,” Natalie replied, refusing to be riled.
“I’m complaining about you,” he spoke over her. “Where’s the manager?”
“Can I help at all?” a voice said behind the group.
Natalie winced. She knew that voice all too well. Appearing in the doorway of the warming house was the rotund figure of the area manager.
“This woman is lying to my children and upsetting them. The guidebook specifically says it was the MacCallisters that founded this abbey and she’s telling me it was the MacGregors. Don’t you train your staff?”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to confuse you, did you, Natalie?”
“I was just saying I’ve been doing some research and there’s contradictory information about it all.”
Cleo held up a hand. “Natalie, go to the office.”
“But I-”
“Go.” Her voice was icy cold.
Natalie went, not looking back as Cleo began apologizing to the visitors on her behalf.
Should she have kept her mouth shut? What was more important, telling the truth or keeping the peace?
John was waiting for her in the office. “Natalie,” he said, opening his laptop as she entered. “Cleo just radioed. Don’t sit down, this won’t take long.”
“Listen, I know how it looks but-”
“We’re goi
ng to have to let you go, Natalie.”
“What? But why?”
“Do I need to list the reasons? Late three times this week, arguing with the visitors, refusing to do what Cleo and I tell you. Are you a historian?”
“What? I don’t see what that has to do about anything.”
“Answer the question. Are you a historian?”
“No, I’m not a-”
“Correct. You’re not a historian. You go around correcting people as if you know everything about the Middle Ages. You don’t know anything.”
“But that’s not true.”
“See, there you go again, defying authority. You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut, young lady. Now I’ve spoken to Cleo and she’s given me the authority to pay you in lieu of giving notice. Go change out of that costume and then go home.”
“But I don’t want to go home. I like working here.”
“You should have thought of that before you started bad mouthing the guidebook.”
“But-”
“This conversation is over, Natalie. We’re done here.”
Natalie opened her mouth and then closed it. In the hours that followed she thought of a dozen great lines she could have said but in the moment all she could manage was, “Fine.”
She walked out of the office and closed the door behind her. Fired from her job. Unemployed because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
She headed into the staff room and changed back into her normal clothes.
She would miss the place. Sure, she hadn’t really made any friends working there but the site itself was beautiful and getting to work somewhere with so much history was hard to beat.
She drove home, trying not to be angry It was just so unfair. The countryside rolled away but she barely saw it. A month’s pay in lieu of notice. How long would that last?
She was going to have to start looking for work straight away. And get the book finished, stop procrastinating. Prove the MacGregors weren’t as bad as they’d been portrayed through history.
She got home an hour later, parking on the street, the drive taken up by the cars of her housemates. So, they were all home for once. She didn’t think to wonder why.
Unlocking the door, she heard laughter and conversation, but it stopped as soon as she called out, “I’m back.” She leaned down, picking the mail up off the doormat.
“Natalie,” Karen said, sticking her head out from the dining room. “Can we have a word?”
“Can we do it later. I’m having a very bad day.”
“It’s kind of important, yeah? Come on through.”
She walked down the hall and into the dining room, feeling a growing sense of dread.
The others were sitting around the table. None of them were smiling. “We’ve been talking,” Karen said, motioning to an empty chair. “And we think it might be for the best if you moved out.”
“What? Why?” Natalie began to wonder if this was a nightmare. Nothing this bad could happen to a person in one day.
Winnie took over. “You don’t fit in, Natalie. We thought you’d come out clubbing with us and stuff, but you just sit in your room not talking to anyone. Last night you really spoiled our buzz.”
“But you know I’ve been working on my book.”
“See,” Karen pointed at her. “That’s it right there. You’ve been writing that book of yours forever when you could have been having fun with us. You’re only young once.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“Exactly. You should be partying, getting laid, going wild.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Then maybe find somewhere more suitable. We’ve rung the landlord and told him. We thought a week to clear your stuff out would be more than enough time.”
“But-”
“I know you’re worrying about how we’ll afford the rent without you, but Winnie’s cousin is going to take your room so it’s all cool. She’s broken up with her boyfriend so it’s perfect really.”
“Do I have any say in this at all? Don’t I have any rights?”
Karen smiled sympathetically. “No written contract so not really. We’re cool though, yeah? Friends?”
“Oh yeah, great,” Natalie said, hating herself for doing so. She wanted to yell and scream at them about how unfair it all was but what was the point? They’d still throw her out. “I’ll probably move in with Greg. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure when to bring it up, but he dropped by earlier.”
She raised her eyebrows. He’d been avoiding her calls for the last week and now he’d suddenly shown up out of the blue.
“Yeah, he wanted to ask for his DVDs back if you find them. Said he’s sure you’ll find someone else eventually but if you could stop ringing him and leaving messages that would be great.”
“But…but he hasn’t broken up with me.”
“He was very much under the impression he had. Said it wasn’t you though, it was him. Needed some time to find himself. Thinks you’re great. That’s sweet, isn’t it?”
“No, that isn’t sweet. That’s the biggest cliché of all time. No, second biggest. The biggest would be saying we hoped we could still be friends.”
“Oh yeah, he said that as well.” Karen smiled. “Never mind. All the more time to work on your theory, right?”
“Yay,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Lucky me.”
So, she’d gone from employed to jobless and homeless in a day. Boyfriendless too. She looked down at the mail. There was a letter addressed to her. Was it going to tell her she had cancer? That seemed all that was left.
She took the letter through to her room. The laughter and conversation resumed almost at once. She closed her door, leaning back against the wood before taking several deep breaths, her eyes closed.
When she opened them again, she felt calmer, her hands no longer shaking. Everything happens for a reason. That was what her parents always used to tell her. But then they died in a car crash. What was the reason for that?
She tore open the letter and managed a half smile. It was from her agent.
We’re pleased to enclose the advance negotiated with the publisher. Please be aware that the deadline has now been confirmed below for final submission of the completed manuscript. They will require confirmation of your theories regarding the highland clans before publication can progress any further.
She looked at the check. It was low four figures, but it was at least something. That and the money in lieu of notice from work and she should at least be able to find somewhere to live until she got another job.
She crossed the room to her desk and opened up her laptop. It coughed slowly into life and then she had to wait another age for the Internet to load. She spent the rest of the day looking for places to live.
She lost count of the number of phone calls she made. They all followed the same pattern.
“Hi, can I ask about the room to let?”
“Sure.”
Then some small talk before the killer blow from them. “And what job do you have?”
“Well, actually I’ve just lost my-”
The endings ranged from abrupt to polite, but they were all the same. No one wanted to let a house to someone without provable income. She tried mentioning the check from the publisher but that made no difference.
She left several messages for people, hoping they’d get back to her. She signed up to as many email alerts as she could find. Finally, she began to cast her net wider. Did she really need to stay in Cromarty? Just because she’d grown up here wasn’t really enough of a reason to stay. What about moving somewhere different?
She requested callbacks, filling in her details and her needs. They weren’t much. Just a room. That would do. She didn’t have much stuff. Since her parents had died, she’d given away a lot of possessions, and had never really regretted doing so.
It was nine o’clock that night when she got her first call back.
It was the call that changed her life.
She was laid on her bed reading a nineteenth century treatise about the founding of Sweetheart Abbey, tapping the page as she did so. “I told him I was telling the truth,” she said out loud. “Right here. Some early sources believe Wallace MacGregor founded the abbey in memory of his father.”
She was doing her best not to think about Greg. When her cellphone rang, she jumped. She wasn’t expecting a call. At first, she thought it might be Greg but nope, unknown number.
“Hello?” she said, holding it up to her ear.
“Is that Miss MacCallister?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Hi, my name’s Albert Drayton. I work for Time to Move. You signed up for alerts on our website, is that right?”
“Oh, did I? Have you got something for me?”
“I’m not going to lie, it’s not the greatest property but it’s the only thing we’ve got in your price range.”
“Where is it?”
“MacCallister Castle.”
“Sorry, what?”
“MacCallister Castle. Have you heard of it?”
“Heard of it? I’m writing a book about it.”
“Oh, well that’s great. Would you like me to arrange for you to have a look around?”
“Hang on.” Something suddenly occurred to her. “Is this a joke? Did Karen put you up to this?”
Drayton sounded confused. “Who’s Karen?”
“Never mind. Just answer me this. How is MacCallister Castle in my price range?”
There was silence on the other end for a moment. “It’s been on the market for a while. It’s proving…challenging to let out.”
“Why? It’s not falling down is it?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just been difficult to get anyone to take it on. The landlord’s been forced to drop the price a couple of times and when I saw your details, I gave him a ring and asked if he’d drop it enough to make it worth you looking. You are looking for long term, right?”
“If it’s the right place, I could spend the rest of my life there. When can I come and see it?”
“When are you free?”
The Key to Her Past: A Highlander Time Travel Romance (Clan MacGregor Book 4) Page 2