Walking Through Fire

by C. J. Bahr

  Laurel stared blindly at the page before her, the wheels and cogs of her mind churning. It was so obvious now. Simon wanted her away from Alex because almost two hundred years ago he lost his finance to another MacKenzie. Were Simon’s warnings spouted solely from jealousy? She needed to keep reading.

  Almost an hour later she reached the last two letters in the placket. The common room was mostly deserted now, except for a male guest using the hotel’s complimentary computer. The earlier bright sunlight streaming through the large glass-paned windows was now absent as dark billowing clouds from the North Atlantic flooded the sky. The saying if you didn’t like the Scottish weather, wait one minute and it would change, held true. She never knew if it would be raining, windy, sunny, or just cloudy from one hour to the next. Laurel may not know how to predict Scottish weather, but she had learned a few things after reading the many letters. First, Alastair MacKenzie didn’t have a high opinion of Simon and took every opportunity to share it with Fiona Sinclair. Second, it was also quite obvious the man was completely besotted with Fiona. Alastair genuinely seemed in love.

  Laurel opened the next to last letter and saw that it was the shortest to date.

  Fiona,

  I beg you, please meet with me. If your feelings for me still are true, we must talk. Some disheartening information has reached me about your betrothed and you must be told. I plead for your forgiveness in advance. I never would hurt you intentionally, but I vowed to love and protect you, even though you may disagree.

  If you still hold even the slightest kindness in your heart for me, meet me this eve at the fountain in the center of the hedge maze by ten of the clock.

  A.M.

  Damn, no date. Sighing, she folded the short note and placed it on the stack of read letters then opened the last vellum in the packet.

  Dearest Fiona,

  It has now been several months since MacKay has returned from the Continent following the Earl’s untimely death. This silence between us must stop. You know he cares nothing for you and only I have given you my love. Nine years ago he selfishly left you and his family without word. He defied all honorable conventions being heir and first born to join the army, a lowly profession beneath his status. Since his return, he has barely paid you heed. These are not the actions of a gentleman.

  It burdens my heavy heart to write these ugly, but truthful, words to you, but you have left me little choice since you refuse to speak nor even write to me. You know my love for you, my fairest, Fiona. It was I who have stood by your side and helped you through your grief. It was I, by your side, when you needed help and advice. It is I, who has sworn myself to you. Are you willing to throw this all away? For what? For a betrothal from the cradle? Do not let our love die a callous death over a selfish man.

  Please, dearest Fiona, please contact me. I live in hell, suffering the fires of the damn with our isolation. Save me. Save us.

  With All My Love,

  A.M.

  Written on this Second Day of June in the Year Of Our Lord, Eighteen Hundred Nine.

  It appeared Fiona had stopped her cheating ways when Simon returned from France and stonewalled Alastair. What had MacKenzie told her to change her mind? How had the engagement been broken? Laurel folded the last letter and placed it with the others. She gathered the yellowed linen back around the pages of vellum and once more tied the blue silk ribbon around the placket.

  Her attention was drawn to the hotel guest at the computer as he stood. He noticed her watching him and gave a genial smile before leaving her alone in the common room. There was so much to ponder. Were the warnings about Alex purely from a jealous ghost holding a grudge? The letters certainly gave that impression of Simon. Yet, there were untruths in them, too. She already knew Simon hadn’t abandoned his family and stolen the Jacobite gold. Instead, there had been threatening notes and his agonizing murder in a dark cave. How sad to think his family might have believed he had betrayed them. There had to be more going on.

  She eyed the computer across the room. There was always more than one side to every story. Maybe it was time to do a little research on Alex. He had googled her after all. She stood and stretched then walked over to the computer. Placing the letter placket on the table, she tapped the keyboard and woke up the computer.

  She launched the web browser and Google’s page popped right up. Perfect, it was already set as the homepage. Placing the cursor in the search box, she thought a moment before typing in her request: Alexander MacKenzie, Scotland, Treasure, Rare Antiquities.

  Surprisingly, the page filled with results. Now it was just a matter of finding her Alex MacKenzie. She clicked on the first two links and easily ruled them out, the first being too old and the second a fictional character. Scrolling further down, nothing looked promising, and then she remembered Google’s images. It would be much easier finding the correct MacKenzie if she saw a picture of him.

  She clicked on the images button and the screen quickly filled with columns of pictures. Scrolling down the page, she saw lots of photos, but none of Alex. She thought she’d struck out until the second time she selected “more” and he popped right up onto the page.

  Alex stood in front of the Scotland National Museum in Edinburgh. The side column bar held the direct link to the site where the photo was taken. Clicking on it, a website for an online news site popped up, along with a bold and screaming headline.

  Grieving Family Blames

  Modern Day Indiana Jones

  What the hell? Right below the headline was the photo of Alex at the museum. Holding her breath, she read the article.

  The Carver family seeks justice denied them by Scotland Yard against modern day treasure hunter, Alexander MacKenzie. Elizabeth (Ellie) Carver, 26, a graduate student from St. Andrew’s University, was assisting MacKenzie on his quest to locate the mysterious Knights Templar’s cave supposedly hidden on Sciehallion.

  Ms. Carver disappeared more than two months ago while working alongside MacKenzie. He had run into town to resupply and when he returned, she was gone. Her backpack along with climbing gear were also absent.

  Rescue parties along with MacKenzie searched the area for over a week, but found no trace of the missing woman. The Carver’s blame Alexander MacKenzie, a successful fortune hunter, believing he is responsible for her disappearance. They now think, since there has been no word from Ms. Carver, she must be dead. The family has pursued this line with Scotland Yard.

  Laurel stared shocked. There was a picture of the missing girl. It was the same woman in the photograph on the mantel in Sinclair House. The girl she had mistaken for Alex’s sister.

  The Yard refused to press any charges, claiming there is no evidence of foul play. In their opinion, the woman must have succumbed to a hiking accident or possibly arranged for her own disappearance. “With a solid alibi, Mr. MacKenzie has been cleared of any wrong doing,” stated the lead investigator, Inspector Trent.

  The Carver’s disagree. Considering it was just MacKenzie and their daughter alone together in an extremely isolated spot, their daughter could have been killed at anytime. They only have MacKenzie’s word that Ellie Carver disappeared when he was in town. It is extremely suspicious in their opinion, considering the subsequent Templar treasure found in a cave where they had both been searching.

  After all formal pursuits against MacKenzie have failed since their daughter’s disappearance, the Carver’s are now willing to try other avenues of justice convinced of MacKenzie’s guilt.

  “We will not give up,” vowed the father of missing Ellie Carver. “My daughter would never be out of touch with the family for this length of time.” Mr. Carver feels his daughter deserves the justice Scotland Yard has denied his family.

  Laurel had to stop reading. She couldn’t believe Alex had been accused of murder. It was shocking. Her mind reeled. Was that why he had the picture of the poor missing girl? A reminder of a colleague he had lost?

  She scanned back up the article. Not a colleague, but a
n assistant. Yet, she remembered Alex had said he worked alone. He hadn’t liked to share in the profits. Unless the article was incorrect, Alex had had an assistant at least once. Was it after this horrible time, he had decided to work solo?

  Laurel checked the original date on the article and found it was only a couple of years old. It didn’t make sense. Alex had been at his lucrative career for years. She needed more information, but how in the world to find out if he lied? Why would he lie? Why keep a picture of a girl he murdered? A trophy? Or had it been some horrible accident, and she’d just been a friend and he wanted to remember her?

  Getting an idea, she scrolled down to the bottom of the article. Most online news sites had assorted links relating to the story. Maybe one of them would point her in the right direction.

  She lost herself within the Internet. Following inner hunches and her knack of finding what she needed on the web, another hour flew by and she stared in disbelief at the two other articles she had managed to track down in the buried circuits of the computer.

  Three. There had been at least three missing or dead assistants. Two too many for a man who claimed he worked without partners.

  Besides the missing, presumed dead, Ellie Carver, she found Shaun Ryan. He died in a supposed diving accident during the discovery of the sunken ship Gibraltar in the English Channel. Alex had made a hefty profit from finding the steam and sail cruiser that had originally been used by the American Confederacy during the Civil War. Ryan’s death preceded Ellie’s by a good three years.

  After more searching, she also found Eric Rosemount. He had been Alex’s climbing partner when they found a cave on a rocky precipice in the Highlands of Scotland. Rosemount had fallen to his death, while Alex made a small fortune on the well-preserved Jacobite artifacts from the lucrative cave.

  Sick to her stomach, Laurel stopped searching when she read about Rosemount. Two accidental deaths and one missing person, probably dead as well? Granted, all three events were years apart and obviously the places Alex went to were high risk, but what were the odds? And profitable treasure to be gained in all instances? Afraid to find out more, she stopped reading as a shiver chased up her spine. Three? Two dead assistants might be a coincidence, but three? She checked the date on the newspaper article. It was older than the other stories. Were there more?

  Her gut clenched. He told her he didn’t use assistants. He didn’t have partners. Yet here was proof he lied. Did he stop using assistants because like the poor drummer in Spinal Tap, they just kept dying? Or was Alex a murderer? What if the climbing and diving accidents weren’t so accidental? What had happened to that poor girl? Her instincts screamed at her in a way all the slanderous writing about Simon hadn’t.

  Were Simon’s warnings about Alex to be believed? If so, she was working with a killer.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Leaning against the piling of the battered yet still functioning pier, Alex wondered what was keeping everyone. He had been waiting at least twenty minutes. He closed his eyes and let the ocean breeze caress his face. The day was starting to warm now the sun had broken through the cloud cover and the wind was starting to pick up—a bonnie day to go sailing.

  “MacKenzie! Are you daft? Where the hell have you been?” The shout echoed down the beach to him.

  Alex opened his eyes and pushed off the piling and saw Grant striding through the sand toward him. He frowned then walked to the head of the pier waiting for him to arrive.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” Grant said, breathing hard as he reached his side. “Why haven’t you called?”

  Alex narrowed his gaze. “I had things to do. Where’s everyone? We were supposed to start sailing at one.”

  “Aye. That was the plan, we’re just running late. The girls are right behind me. We haven’t much time,” he exclaimed.

  “What are you nattering on about?”

  “Christ. You should have called me, and now there isn’t time.” Grant shot a look over his shoulder back down the beach making sure no one was around yet.

  “Just spit it out, Grant.”

  “The ghost is real!”

  “Bloody hell,” he swore. “Not this tripe again.”

  “It’s true. My wife had some ghost hunters out a few days ago. Today they revealed their findings and had evidence of Simon MacKay. I’ve seen and heard the proof.”

  “Get a hold of yourself, man. You’re acting the two-year old.”

  “The torch. It turned itself on and off by direction.”

  Alex couldn’t help himself. He laughed. Grant was coming unhinged and that would make him another liability, which was enough to end his mirth. He really didn’t need this right now. “You’re afraid of a bloomin’ torch. It’s just a light, Grant. What do you think he’ll do, blind you? Not that I believe a ghost is involved. Find your spine. We have enough problems without you adding spooks to it.”

  He wished Grant would drop the haunting thing. What could a ghost possibly do against two live men?

  “Was that all?” He let the sarcasm drip.

  “Alex, I know I’m not convincing, ye, but it’s the truth. There was a voice,” Grant swallowed hard. “The voice clearly said ‘no’ to the question if Simon killed the Earl.”

  “Who cares? The murder happened over two hundred years ago. No one gives a bloody hell. Right now,” he kept his voice a low whisper. “You should concern yourself with me. I am much more dangerous than a flickering light or a subliminal noise a mass hallucination has conjured into words.” He draped an arm casually over Grant’s shoulder and turned him to the group that was now a few yards out.

  Adding in a voice pitched only for Grant to hear, Alex threatened. “If you’d like to join MacKay, it can be arranged.” He felt Grant stiffen under his arm and was satisfied when a shiver chased close behind.

  He dropped his arm and put on a warm smile when Beth and Laurel stopped in front of them. The rest of the soon to be sailing merry-goers were still approaching.

  “Grant was just telling me I missed the excitement,” he greeted the lasses, first giving Beth a hug and a peck on the cheek, then took a hold of Laurel’s hand. “Sorry I missed brunch.”

  “No worries,” Beth replied, pointedly looking at their joined hands with a big smile. “You’re welcome to come over any time to review the evidence. Laurel can keep you company if you get scared.”

  “I might have to take you up on it,” he smiled broadly. “But first, to the sea!”

  A small cheer went up from the crowd as the revelers started to disperse down the pier to various sailboats.

  “Lori, you coming with Grant and me or…” Beth trailed off.

  “She’s with me,” Alex insisted. “Unless that’s a problem for either of you, lasses?”

  “Not me,” Beth grinned and grabbed her husband’s hand yanking him down the gangplank. “Come on, Grant.”

  Alex watched them disappear along the pier before turning his attention to the American at his side.

  “Let me show you the coast. I’m sure you’ll find it lovely.”

  “All right.” Laurel darted a glance at the retreating Beth and Grant.

  He didn’t miss the slight hesitation to her reply. Why the pause? He firmed his grip on her hand and gave a small tug. Laurel let him guide her to his skiff. He helped her aboard then grabbed the mooring line and jumped into the boat, releasing them from the pier.

  “Have a seat. I’ll row us out of the inlet than we can get some canvas up.”

  As he settled the oars in the guide rings, from the corner of his eye he watched Laurel settle in. She was blindly staring at nothing in particular.

  “You’re awfully quiet. Is everything okay?”

  He saw her shake her head, setting her silky, high-set ponytail swinging.

  “I’m fine, just tired. I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “Oh, aye. I bet you lasses gossiped through the night. It must be grand to have such a close friend. Were you speaking of the ghost of Cl
eitmuir?” He chuckled as he maneuvered away from the dock and started rowing.

  “I take it you don’t believe in ghosts,” she replied, shading her eyes with her hand in order to see him.

  “In all of my travels, be it to sunken ships, dark caves or archeological sites, I have yet to come across a spirit, or even a supernatural echo. I leave that stuff to the movies. You’d think with some of the tragic places I’ve been, a wee ghostie or two would have made themselves known. So no, I don’t believe in ghosts,” he finished with a hard pull to the oars and a charming crooked smile. “And I take it you do...”

  She shrugged and looked out to sea. “I guess I always have. It’s hard to believe in an afterlife and not think about some poor souls who might get lost. I just haven’t had any personal experience.”

  “That is, until the other night,” he cajoled.

  “What?” Laurel snapped back around to stare at him, a shocked expression on her face.

  “The ghost hunt,” Alex said wondering why she was so startled. “The torch, the mysterious voice?”

  “Oh,” she gave a short laugh. “Of course. You’re right.” She gripped the seat with both hands. She gave him a sheepish smile than turned her gaze back to the water.

  Alex mused the American certainly had odd moments about her. No matter, he had her well in hand. He’d be between her long legs before the day was through and then have her undivided attention with finding the treasure.

  “Alex,” Laurel continued to scan the water ahead of the inlet. “Are there any caves around here?”

  “Aye, the area is riddled with ’em.”

  She swiveled to look at him. “Can we go inside any?”

  “Sure, though most aren’t verra exciting,” he thickened his accent trying to keep her attention on him. Don’t lasses like watching men row? She barely seemed to notice him. In fact, since she walked up to the pier, she’s been distracted even distant. Well, he’d change that and a cave was just the place for a seduction, private and out of the way.

  “But you never know, some of these caves were used for smuggling. Maybe we’ll find some treasure.”