Scent of Scotland

by Mac Flynn

  "What is that?" I asked him.

  "The letter to my priestly friend," he explained. "It contains the full account of my ghostly ancestor, and a plea for him to come." Moray frowned and patted the letter into the palm of his other hand.

  I walked over to him and studied his face. "What is the matter? Do you hesitate to send it?" I guessed.

  A half smile slid onto his lips. "That is exactly the dilemma. I have no wish to exorcise my ancestress, but-" he turned to me and softly looked on my face, "-I have no wish for you to suffer further."

  I shrugged. "I could live with it. At least, I don't believe she means to harm me."

  Moray sighed. "Whatever she means to do I am sure my friend will have the answers we seek."

  He strode past me and towards the door. I reached out to him and stumbled on the hem of my dress.

  "Wait a moment! Wait for me!" I pleaded.

  He reached the door and turned to me. "You needn't come."

  I stood tall and frowned at him. "No, but I'd like to. Besides, I need someone to help me with my dress, and you seem willing to accept the duty."

  Moray chuckled and returned to me. He was the perfect gentleman as he helped me on with my clothes, though he was a little less experienced than Mrs. Greer.

  "These things are easier to take off than put on. . ." I heard him mumble as he tied the many strings.

  "And now you know how we women suffer to spoil you men," I teased.

  He tied the last string and stepped up beside me to offer me his arm. "There is it. Now shall we go before the horse dies of old age?"

  I took his arm and Moray led me downstairs to the front outside staircases. A horseman was atop his steed with McKenna close beside. I noticed a large satchel that was situated on one side and close to the rear of the saddle. "Has the rider more post to deliver?" I asked the lord.

  Moray smiled and shook his head. "No. Inside the satchel is a bottle of one of my best whiskeys."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Is this father a temperate man?"

  "More often than not, but he is partial to the stuff," he admitted.

  "And this is the man you trust to help us?" I wondered.

  "He is a little unorthodox in his methods and beliefs, but one must be when one knows of the existence of werewolves," he pointed out.

  "What has that to do with anything?" I questioned him.

  "To know of the existence of people cursed and yet not evil leads one to believe that not all is black and white," he philosophized.

  We reached the horseman who bowed his head to us. Moray handed him the letter and the man slipped it into his waistcoat.

  "If the father is in need of a swift horse sacrifice your own. I will have someone fetch you with another," Moray commanded him.

  "Aye, sir," the horseman replied.

  "Then off with you," Moray ordered.

  The man clicked his heels against the side of the horse and the steed galloped down the driveway. I stepped up to Moray and watched the man disappear from sight.

  "Is it far to your friend's home?" I asked him.

  "Some fifteen miles. A long drive for a carriage, but not so far on a fast horse," he replied.

  "And until then?" I wondered.

  Moray sighed and pursed his lips. "Until then we wait," he answered.

  I turned away from the road and towards the house. "Would you mind my waiting in my room? It is rather cold out here," I teased.

  He looked to me with a smile. "I would give my permission for that," he agreed.

  We parted ways, he to the far reaches of his abode and I to my chambers. A warm fire greeted me, but I was not long in enjoying its heat. A snowball hit the window, and I couldn't help but smile at the familiar call. I strode over to the window, and I noticed that there was more than one mark of a snowball. The window was duly opened and I leaned out. Beneath me stood two very impatient children.

  "There you are!" Adam scolded me.

  Heather glared at her brother. "Hush!" she hissed.

  He stuck his tongue out at her. "I won't hush! She promised to play with us this day and we've been a long time in waiting!"

  "That's because you're not patient!" she scolded him.

  I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle my laughter. "Are we to have more snowball fights?" I called to them.

  "Only if the laird is willing," Adam called back.

  I shook my head. "I wouldn't count on his coming. He awaits a friend this day."

  "Then what are we to do?" Heather wondered.

  "We could show her that," Adam suggested.

  The children looked at each other, and broad smiles graced their faces. They turned back to me, and I frowned.

  "'That?'" I repeated.

  "Come down and we'll show you!" Adam promised.

  Heather clasped her hands together and I swear her bottom lip quivered. "Please?"

  I sighed, but nodded. They clapped theirs hands, and soon I was in their company on the green. They each took a hand and led me towards the north.

  CHAPTER 24

  Our path led into the wintry maze. A fresh inch of snow had fallen the night before and covered the world again in its white wonder. There were no other tracks than ours save for birds and rabbits, and we wound our way through so many turns that I paused and swept my eyes over the many walls of hedges.

  "Is it much farther?" I asked them.

  Adam leaned forward and glared across me at his sister. "It would be less far if Heather hadn't taken us on the wrong path," he told me.

  "This is the prettiest way!" she protested.

  "You haven't even told me what we're looking for. Perhaps I might help," I offered.

  Adam tugged on my arm and Heather joined him. "We're almost there. Really."

  A few more turns and we came to a broadening of the path. Four trails led to this intersection, and in the center was a patch of snow-covered grass surrounded by a low, narrow stone fence. In the center of the fenced area was a short statue. Its height didn't exceed two feet, and the stone was hewn from a block of red sandstone. The statue appeared to be carved into the shape of a praying figure, but time had weathered its features so much that I could not be sure.

  The children led me to the edge of the fence. "What is it?" I asked them.

  "Nobody knows," Adam replied in a soft whisper. "Father only says its very old, maybe older than the castle, and we're never to play around it."

  "And we're never to venture into the fence," Heather added.

  "That's because it's haunted," Adam told me.

  Heather leaned forward and frowned across from me at her brother. "It is not! It's just really old and we need to be very careful not to mess up the fence!"

  He glared back at her. "It's haunted!"

  "Old!"

  "Haunted!"

  "Old!"

  "Haunted!"

  "What's all the fuss about here?" a voice spoke up.

  A man of thirty strode into view from around a hedge. He was of average height with short, dirty brown hair and dark eyes. His face was covered with a long beard and whiskers, but all those hairs didn't hide the smile beneath them. The man wore a coat of rough wool and tall, thick leather boots that were tight enough to hold water, and keep out the cold. In one hand was a broom, and both his hands were covered in snowy mitts.

  "Father!" the children shouted.

  They abandoned my hands and rushed over to their father. He smiled at them as they caught hold of his snowy mitts and tugged on his arms.

  "Abby wants to know about the statue, Father!" Heather told him.

  "It's haunted, isn't it?" Adam insisted.

  He frowned and glanced from one child to the other. "You haven't been playing around it, have you?" he questioned them. They both shook their heads.

  Heather pointed at me. "No, Father. Abby wanted to know why it's surrounded by the fence."

  The father followed her finger and bowed his head. "Good afternoon, miss."

  I curtsied to him. "Good a
fternoon, sir. I am-"

  "The Miss Abigail of Castle Moray," he guessed. He walked over to me with his children in tow and bowed his head to me. "I am Jardine, the gardener."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," I returned.

  "And the same to you, Miss Abigail," he replied. "My wife told me what a fine lass you were for playing with our children the other day."

  I smiled. "It was my pleasure." The statue caught my eyes, and I looked past him at the carved bit of stone.

  The man chuckled. "Ah, but you were wondering about the stone. A queer little thing, isn't it?" he asked me. He half-turned and tapped his broom against the fence. "This is to keep the gravel off the grass, and certain naughty young ones from ruining an old piece of stone."

  Adam's face fell. "Then it isn't haunted?"

  He chuckled and shook his head. "No, but they do say it has a queer sort of feel around it."

  Heather tugged on her father's arm. "But it is quite old, isn't it, Father?" she asked him.

  He smiled and nodded. "Aye, quite old. Far older than most parts of the castle," he confirmed.

  "What sort of feeling has it around it?" I wondered.

  Jardine furrowed his brow and tugged on his dark beard. His white mittens left snow in his curly hair. "I can't quite explain it. It's something like an unsettled feeling. Like when you know something's going to go wrong, but you don't know what."

  "Has anything bad happened here?" I asked him.

  "Well, my wife, bless her heart, swears she saw fairy lights dance here one night," he admitted.

  "'Fairy lights?'" I repeated.

  He nodded. "Aye. They're said to be the glow of pixies flying through the air. I keep telling her if they're anything then they're the spirits of those who've lived in the castle."

  "But you said it wasn't haunted!" Adam pointed out.

  He looked down at his son. "A haunting's a bad thing, Adam. I'd say this is far from it."

  "Like the White Lady?" I guessed.

  Jardine shook his head. "No. She's a sad case of God punishing unhappy souls. I'd say they were kind of protective spirits. You know, they were probably fond of the place in life and want to stay here to protect it. That sort of thing."

  "That's a very romantic view of things," I commented.

  He smiled and shrugged. "That's my wife's doing. Her and her telling the fairy tales to the children most every night." His eyes fell on the small patch of grass with its single stone guardian and fence. "Aye, there's something good there. How else could I have nearly fallen and some hands I couldn't see right me before I broke into their little paradise?

  "You fell?" I guessed.

  He nodded. "Aye. Twas fifteen years ago when I worked as under-gardener with my father. I was careless and tripped over the stone fence that surrounded the patch in those days. It would have been a nasty fall on the rest of the fence if something hadn't caught me and rolled me onto the path."

  Heather's eyes widened. "Then a ghost saved you?" she asked him.

  "I think so," he replied.

  "Did you see it?" Adam wondered.

  Their father smiled and shook his head. "No, and I was scared out of my wits for a good fortnight after it. Your grandfather had to beat some sense into me before I'd venture out here alone again. When I got thinking about it myself, that was when I knew they didn't want to hurt me. Something saved me from the fall, and it could only have been them. So the first thing I'd do when I became head gardener was replace that fence with something that wouldn't hurt anybody and they wouldn't need saving." He turned to me and shook his head. "But here I've been talking your ear off. Were you wanting a tour of the Gardens?"

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. "No, thank you, but I would like to know what that is used for." I nodded at his broom.

  He held it up and chuckled. "To sweep off the benches. The laird has a fondness for walking the Gardens and I like to have the benches cleared so he can rest his feet."

  I furrowed my brow. "Then you must truly respect him," I guessed.

  Jardine gave a nod. "I do, Miss Abigail. He's a fine master. Never have I heard a cross word from him, even when I cut the hedges wrong or neglected a path. A lesser laird would have yelled and cursed at me, and maybe even beat me."

  "I see. Well, I think I must be going. They might be worried with my being gone so long," I commented.

  "Must you?" Heather asked me.

  "Can't you stay longer?" Adam pleaded.

  I smiled and shook my head. "I'm afraid not, but I'm sure we'll play again very soon."

  "You promise?" Heather persisted.

  "Children. She needs to be going now," their father scolded them. He bowed his head to me. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Abigail."

  "And it was a pleasure to hear your stories. You must tell me more of your life here at Castle Moray," I requested.

  He smiled and bowed again. "It would be an honor."

  I waved goodbye to my friends and followed our footprints back to the castle. Mrs. Greer met me in the courtyard, and her face was flushed.

  "There you are!" she scolded me. "I thought she had led you into the Gardens or a deep drift!"

  I tilted my head to one side and furrowed my brow. "No, I was merely with the children. Is something the matter?"

  "Lady Stewart talks of nothing but that the ghost will appear anywhere and lead her off to a gruesome death, and because of her fears my laird has asked me keep a watch on you at all times," she explained.

  I frowned. "I'm sure the White Lady would never do anything so cruel."

  "Whether or not she would, I am to keep you by my side until supper," Greer told me.

  Mrs. Greer was true to her word, and the remainder of the day was kept in her company. However, this was to my advantage. My curiosity was piqued over the strange little statue, and as we sat in my room by the warm fire opposite one another I engaged her in conversation.

  "Do you know of the small statue in the Gardens?" I asked her.

  She didn't look up from her needlework, but nodded. "Aye, I do. Tis the strange little figure you speak of, isn't it?"

  "Yes. Mr. Jardine told me the statue had been there since before much of the house," I told her.

  Again she nodded. "Aye, and he's right. The statue was there before the east and center wings of the house were built."

  "Do you know anything of it being surrounded by spirits?" I wondered.

  She chuckled and shook her head. "I am sure those are just old tales to scare their children from walking on the grass."

  "Like the White Lady?" I reminded her.

  She paused and furrowed her brow. "I suppose there was a tale I heard once from the laird." She shook her head and resumed her work. "But that was some years ago, and was perhaps just the imagination of a child."

  "Do you remember what he told you?" I persisted.

  She shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not, but he may remember if you ask him at supper."

  "I will do that," I promised.

  CHAPTER 25

  My time with Mrs. Greer was uninterrupted until an hour after the sun had set. We heard a commotion downstairs, and ventured to the stairs. The front doors were open and Moray had just stepped through the portal and into the snowy world. I caught a glimpse of the gravel driveway. Torches blazed along the drive and cast flickering shadows along the white ground. Two shadowy horsemen galloped towards the house.

  "It must be my laird's old friend, Father Carmichael," Mrs. Greer guessed.

  "Let us go see," I suggested.

  I led the way to the stairs outside the castle. Moray awaited his friend at the bottom of the steps where I joined him with Greer a few respectful steps behind us. Other servants stood by with torches as the horsemen reached us. One of them was the postman, and the other was a priest.

  The man was robed in black with a black cloak that covered most of his white collar. He possessed a youthful face and short, blond hair dusted with brown. His stature was no greater than mine, but
his demeanor was more calm than meek. There was a bright smile on his face as he dismounted, and his blue eyes fell on Moray. He took the hand offered by Moray and gave it a hearty shake.

  "I had hoped to hear from you, old friend, but not under these circumstances," the man commented.

  "As did I, Father, but it could not be avoided," Moray returned.

  The man closed his eyes and shook his head. "Nothing as formal as 'father,' if you will. I have, and will always be, your intimate friend."

  "I am glad to hear it for this is a most intimate problem," Moray told him.

  The man nodded. "Aye. Your letter did recount those whom usually sighted the White Lady. Who is the fortunate young woman?"

  Moray stepped aside and gestured to me. "Father Dal Carmichael, allow me to introduce you to Abigail."

  "Abigail Glenn," I finished. We exchanged a bow and curtsy.

  "You cannot know how glad I am to hear my friend has finally found his mate. Perhaps now he will settle down and do God's will rather than be a force of mischief," Father Carmichael teased.

  "I wouldn't waste your prayers on me, Dal, but I am glad for the assistance of one of his favored," Moray returned. He grasped the man's shoulder and turned towards the stairs. "But come. Let us inside to the warm parlor."

  We stepped inside and were greeted by Lord and Lady Stewart as they reached the bottom of the entrance hall stairs.

  "Dal! What a pleasure to see you!" Lady Stewart exclaimed. She forsook her husband's arm and rushed over to give the father a hearty hug.

  "And I, as well, Mae," Father Carmichael returned.

  Lady Stewart pulled him to arm's length and studied the man. "But I had no idea you had already taken your orders! When did this happen?"

  "Just last autumn. To tell you the truth my father was no less surprised to hear the news," he replied.

  "And you are the one who is to exorcise this ghost?" Lord Stewart spoke up.

  "That would depend on if an exorcism is necessary," the father told him.

  Lord Stewart raised an eyebrow. "What other choice is there?"

  "That really depends on what more Moray can tell me," Father Carmichael explained.

  "And all that would depend on your coming to sit in the parlor," Moray reminded him.

  Father Carmichael smiled and bowed his head. "You always were the source of practical reason."

  Moray led all four of us into the parlor where we took a seat. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table with two glasses. Moray took three more from the glass case, but Lady Stewart interrupted him.