by L. L. Muir
Sound finally reached his ears, but Soni held his attention with another wee squeeze. “Try to remember the forgiveness, though. And know this: nothing at all would have changed if I’d have allowed ye to stay.”
He shook his head and raised his voice over noise behind him. “Nothing would have changed? What do ye mean—”
“Penny!” It was a heart-wrenching cry and Moodie turned to find Tom in the distance. Facing the sea from the far side of The Gloup, the man fell to his knees, his hands holding the sides of his head as he screamed the name, over and over, into the devil’s pit. “Pennyyy!”
Moodie took off running. There was plenty of distance he needed to cover. A hundred yards.
Now, seventy-five.
Why did the eejit not do something helpful?
Penny’s own description of Tom came back to him. “He was never very good at taking action. He would have been standing on dry sand, yelling at me as I drowned.”
Fifty yards! God help him!
The pack of dogs pawed at the edge along the south rim. More than one animal was missing, though Moodie would not waste time counting noses. Instead, he hurried toward the edge nearest himself to find the quickest way down. Obviously, animals had been caught in the Malt Barn yet again, and they all needed saving. He only hoped Soni would allow him enough time…
He nearly toppled into the pit before he came to a stop. He found the first foothold immediately, but when he looked for the next, he was struck immobile by the truth.
The tide was already in.
Water lapped at the cliffs all the way ‘round. Nothing of the beach was visible, even when the waves receded to gather steam and hurl themselves at the cliffs again.
The Malt Barn, the cave, the passageway…all under water. It was too late.
“Penny,” he howled, then did what his body demanded—he started the descent. There was no risk to himself. But if the lass was trapped, he could swim in and drag her out again.
“Ethan!” Soni appeared over the edge. “Come back, my friend. It is too late. Trust me one last time, I beg ye. She is gone.”
She is gone?
She is gone?
The words were foreign to him. His brain wouldn’t allow them in. They meant nothing. But then tears dripped off Soni’s cheeks and he had no choice but to believe. Trust me one last time.
He clung to the rocks like faith itself, wishing he could deny it all, praying wee Soni was mistaken. He breathed in and out, in and out, needing to expel more than just air—wishing he could expel the pain.
Penny was dead.
Then more truth struck him like a wall of water—Penny had needed him and he’d not been there!
The temptation was to blame the witch, of course. But he now understood her pronouncement, that it would have been no different had he been there. And it was true. If Penny had gone after the dogs, he would have gone after her. If she’d already been too late, they would have both been murdered by the North Sea.
With his two days spent, he would soon be spirit only, just as if he’d drowned. But Penny? What about Penny?
Pushing his pain deep into his gullet, he made his way up the cliff with great effort, his arms struggling to lift his body and carry so much sorrow all at a go. By the time he had his feet beneath him, he’d also recalled the reminder to forgive. Soni had been trying to warn him and ask his pardon at the same time.
When he once again stood facing the wee lassie, he opened his arms and welcomed her into his embrace, grateful he was substantial enough to hug the stuffing out of her.
“Auch, mo chridhe, ye would have intervened if possible, I ken it.”
“I would have.” The lass sniffled against his chest. “I knew ye loved her, Ethan.”
They stood that way for a long time, struggling with the truth, waiting for the next thing, dreading the next thing. Then a thought niggled its way to the fore.
“Lass,” he said, “do ye ken if my…Penny suffered greatly?” He’d seen many sorts of suffering, his brother’s visit being one of them, but he had to ask, even though it might gut him to hear it.
“I do not know.”
Moodie took his arms from around her so he could see her face clearly. “Then how did ye ken she was gone?”
“Because I can see her…just there.” Soni nodded toward the north edge of the great pit where the dogs had relocated and settled themselves. No longer frantic or pawing the ground. But neither did they seem to notice the woman standing in their midst—the one in the flowing white gown with red curls swaying at her back, from a slow-moving, unearthly breeze.
“Penny,” he whispered. “My Penny!”
Soni pushed him away. “Go on with ye, then, before she gets the wrong-headed notion of haunting the island for the rest of eternity.”
Moodie took a step, then paused and grabbed up with wee witch for one last embrace. “I kenned ye would make me happy somehow, when first I laid eyes on yer wee bonnie face. Would that I could do the same for ye.”
“Don’t worry for me, Ethan Moodie. I will find happiness soon enough, when all my 79 have found theirs. Godspeed, my friend.”
He kissed her on the head and tore himself away, trusting she spoke the truth. But his heart could take not another moment away from his Penny.
Fergus stirred as Moodie neared, but never looked directly at him. He was touched that the dog was so determined to protect his mistress even after death.
Farther along the rim, Tom still struggled to compose himself. He’d obviously concluded that all was lost, but Tom was no longer a worry.
Moodie had beseeched Captain Mackenzie to harass Penny into leaving Stroma. So he imagined the older man would be surprised that Ethan’s interference had come too late. Perhaps they all would assume that Ethan himself had perished with the woman.
But no matter.
In point of fact, nothing mattered at all but his Penny.
“My love, my heart,” he whispered as he drew near, not knowing what she would or would not see. He opened his arms to her in any case, not knowing what she would or would not feel. But when her eyes lit up and she rushed to accept his unspoken invitation, he felt the tangible and forceful press of her soul against his own. Not mortal. Not ghost. But solid to each other.
The kiss that followed was as joyful as Heaven itself must be, when compared to the simple, mortal press of their lips, and he pitied any lovers who would only experience the latter.
Finally, reluctantly, the kiss ended and he was able to speak. “Forgive me—”
His apology was stopped by the brush of her gentle fingers over his mouth. “You came back,” she said. “I knew you would.”
“Were many dogs lost, then?”
“Not lost. Three have gone on ahead. I wanted to wait for you. I thought I’d have to wait a lot longer, though.” Her eyes shone with something other than tears. Relief, perhaps. Or better yet, love.
“Nay, lass. It is I who have been waiting for ye. For nigh on three centuries.” He noticed the lightening of the sky in one particular spot where it seemed the air was rent open. “I shall tell ye all about it. But first…” He gestured to the portal like the one he’d seen opened for his brother. “I believe this will take us on to finer places.”
She scoffed. “Finer than Scotland?”
“Perhaps, if it be possible.”
She squeezed his hand as they went along, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “Do not leave me, Ethan.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Never again, lass. Never, ever again.”
THE END
I hope you enjoyed Ethan and Penny’s romance. When you leave a review, and I pray you do, please oh please don’t hint at the ending. Let everyone be surprised.
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30. McBean (Diane Darcy)
31. Tristan
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About the Author
L.L. Muir lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and ghost stories, obviously, but only true ones.
A disturbing amount of cheese ball was consumed while writing MOODIE.
If you like Lesli’s books, be a sport and leave a review on the book’s Amazon page. You can reach her personally through her website— www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.
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Copyright
Published by Lesli Muir Lytle
Moodie © 2019 L.Lytle
The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Series © 2015 L.Lytle
All rights reserved
Cover Art by Kelli Ann Morgan
License notes…
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
