Alexander: A Highlander Romance (The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 36)

by Cassidy Cayman

  “They are jewels,” she muttered, carefully peering down at a halter. “It looks like pearls and turquoise. And I thought we used to be rich.”

  “Aye, ma’am.” A stable hand popped up in front of her. “That halter and bridle set cost over three hundred thousand pounds.”

  “Daft waste of money, if ye ask me.” A huge Highlander with raven black hair and blue eyes smiled at her. “But that’s my wife for ye. Like a magpie when it comes to shiny things.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “Lachlan Ferguson. Ye met my wife Piper this morning, I think?”

  She nodded, a little afraid of him even though he seemed friendly enough. She glanced over at Conall, who was showing Kevin the parts of a saddle. He looked far scarier than Lachlan and yet she felt completely comfortable around him now. She decided she may as well give Lachlan the benefit of the doubt.

  “Yes, she was kind enough to arrange a private tour with Shane.”

  “Enjoy it,” he said with a slight bow. He leaned in close to her so the stable hand wouldn’t hear. “I’d like to speak to your ghost one day. I think we may have much in common.”

  Her head spun and she could only nod as he walked away. It really was a shame she couldn’t have kept Conall’s ghost status a secret, since he would be gone soon. That thought made her more upset than the thought of having to explain his absence to her gossipy neighbors.

  She refused to give in to sadness. Not if it was their last day together. She had to consider herself lucky to get any time at all with such a miraculous person. Brought back from the dead to protect her! It gave her goosebumps.

  She cleared her thoughts and realized both Conall and Kevin were on horses. She hurried over and clutched Kevin’s skinny leg. He seemed a mile above her head. He positively beamed as he sat proudly in the saddle.

  “Please don’t act like I’m about to be killed, Mum,” he pleaded. “I want to feel like a fierce warrior like Conall.”

  She turned then to Conall, also miles above her. He did look right at home on the horse, back straight, eyes sharp, face serious but clearly full of excitement. She’d admired his powerful form more than once since meeting him, but seeing him now took the cake.

  She pressed her hand against her chest to make sure her heavily thudding heart wouldn’t burst through her blouse. His serious countenance melted into a smug smile. Could he tell how attracted to him she was? Apparently so. How embarrassing.

  “Are ye riding as well?” Shane asked.

  “I am not,” she asserted.

  “Come on,” Kevin called. “I never rode one either, and I’m not scared.”

  “You don’t have a Shetland pony or something smaller, do you?” she asked Shane.

  He laughed before he realized she wasn’t joking and assured her the horses they reserved for tourists were gentle, plodding creatures.

  Belying his statement, the black monstrosity Conall was on reared up on its hind legs with a demonic whinny. He quickly got it under control and instead of jumping off and running for cover from the beast, Conall looked invigorated.

  “Fine, spirited animal,” he said, fondly patting the horse’s neck.

  “That doesn’t look gentle or plodding.” She turned an accusatory look on Shane.

  “He isn’t one of the tourist horses,” Shane said, crossing himself. “That’s Lachlan’s horse but since your boyfriend there is part of the historical reenactors, Lachlan said it was all right.”

  Oh, so Conall was getting passed off as part of the campers who lived the eighteenth century life out in the woods, was he? It seemed only a select few knew he was a ghost. That was comforting.

  “Don’t be such a mum for once, Mum,” Kevin cajoled.

  “Fine,” she said, getting two grins from far above her.

  Within minutes she was on a horse named Chestnut, following along behind the men as they made a quick turn around the paddock to acclimate themselves before heading out onto the trail.

  Once she got used to the rolling sensation, it was rather relaxing. Seeing Kevin so happy for the first time in ages made whatever discomfort her bum would be in the next day worth it.

  “I can see the appeal in this,” she said when Shane and Kevin moved ahead of them on the narrow trail.

  “I did love working with horses,” Conall said, patting the black monstrosity on the neck as if he was a dog.

  “Is this where you’re from?” she asked, wishing she could learn everything about him.

  “A bit south and further west,” he said.

  “Will you go back?” she asked.

  “No time, I dinna think. And there willna be anything left there for me.” He turned and gave her a slow smile. “I’m happy enough to be in the Highlands. And I canna complain about the company.”

  Her face burned under his attentive gaze, but she was disappointed when he looked ahead again. The trail was so narrow, their horses were only inches apart, but neither of them made a move to slow down or speed up. He held his reins in one hand, the other casually resting on his muscular thigh.

  The expanse of manly leg that was exposed by his kilt riding up from sitting in the saddle was a big distraction. That and wanting to reach over and grab his hand. There was something so intoxicating about his confidence on that horse. The thing was at least half a foot taller than sweet Chestnut and had a definite glint of mischief in its eyes, yet Conall was right at home. She almost got beheaded by a low hanging branch from staring at him in awe and dropped the reins while trying to duck.

  He grabbed up her reins, effortlessly leading her horse a little off the path until they were out from under the tree. The trail widened again but he stayed close.

  “Ye feel safe to take the reins again?” he asked.

  “Yes, I just wasn’t paying attention. I don’t think I’ve been on a horse since I was ten.”

  “We’ll have to change that,” he said. “I shall give ye and the lad lessons.”

  They turned to each other, the wistful look in his eyes mirroring what she felt. If only. She shook herself so the sadness couldn’t sink in, accidentally snapping Chestnut with the reins. She managed to loosen her death grip on them enough to lean over and pat her in apology. But now she felt confident enough to rest her hand on her thigh the way Conall did. She leaned her body toward him, trying to signal to Chestnut to get closer.

  “It would probably take a lightning strike to get that one moving faster than she is now,” he said.

  He spied her hand, nervously tapping at her leg, and covered it with his. Mission accomplished! She interlaced her fingers with his and lifted her face to enjoy the sun. He did the same and sighed with happiness.

  “Ah, it does feel good to be alive again.” He chuckled. “Holding the hand of a fair lassie on such a fine day.”

  She couldn’t hold back the smile that threatened to split her face in two. It seemed they were on the same page about everything. All too soon, the trail circled around back toward the barn and before she knew it they were in the paddock again.

  “I don’t want to get off,” Kevin said, voice dangerously pouty.

  “A few more times around the paddock, that’s all,” she told him. “We’ve still got the indoors and those parapets. I’m sure that’s equally dangerous as horseback riding.”

  Shane helped her dismount while Conall stayed on the giant black horse, beaming down at her.

  “It’s good to ride again,” he said, his smile turning melancholy.

  “Yes, there’s definitely an allure,” she said rubbing her backside before patting Chestnut. “Who’s a good horse, eh?”

  “Oi, lad, leave off there!” Shane shouted.

  She whipped around to see her daredevil child trying to dismount his horse onto the fence rail connected to the pigpen. The giant sow trundled to her feet, her beady eyes curious. Kevin made it off the horse, balancing on the fence while still holding onto the saddle. His horse must have figured it was done with work for the day and ambled over to a patch of grass a few fee
t away.

  Kevin’s arms windmilled and he plummeted to the muddy ground inside the pigpen. The sow’s eyes pinpointed with fury and she was on him in a second. Mia shrieked, running to the pen. Her little boy batted ineffectually at the rampaging hooves as the pig trampled him deeper into the thick mud. What seemed like foot-long tusks bared and rooted around viciously, as if Kevin was a tasty truffle.

  Mia reached the fence and hoisted herself to the top, one leg already over.

  “Nay, lass, stop!” Conall called, pulling up his big black steed in a spray of dirt.

  He flung his body from the saddle, flying over the fence and landing in front of the sow. She seemed to grin at this new rival, barely grunting when he kicked her square in the side. He managed to knock her away enough that he could reach down with one hand to drag a screaming Kevin out of the mud. He punched the sow in the snout and kicked at her again as he tossed the boy to Mia.

  Kevin clattered into the fence, his muddy hands slipping as he tried to scramble over it in his terror. She reached over and hauled him to safety, panting and sobbing as she searched him for injuries.

  He was coated in filthy, smelly mud, but the way he was flailing around she didn’t think anything was broken or dislocated.

  “Did it bite you?” she asked, trying to clear the muck from his scratched face.

  “I don’t think so,” he cried shakily. “Just tried to bury me alive. I wish it was bacon!”

  Conall swore and she spared him a glance. Cradling his arm as if it was hurt, he gave the sow one last heavy boot to the neck. She decided he wasn’t worth it and hustled back to her corner while Conall climbed out.

  “Ye all right, lad?” he asked, wiping his hand. He marveled at it, turning it this way and that. “I coulda swore she bit me.”

  There wasn’t so much as a scratch. He crouched down beside them.

  “I think I’m fine.” Kevin collapsed backwards onto the paddock ground.

  “But you both could have been killed.” Mia realized it the moment she said it and flung herself into Conall’s arms.

  He patted her back, murmuring comforting sounds into her ear. Shane had run for help and returned with a medical kit and several stable hands.

  “It’s fine, we’re all fine,” Conall said, waving them away.

  “I’ve never seen such a display of bravery,” one of the stable hands said. “I thought people only jumped off horses like that in old cowboy films.”

  “Ah, weel, that’s a father’s instinct for ye,” another worker said as they went back to their various duties. “Bloody pig shoulda been Christmas supper last year, I tell ye.”

  Mia pulled away at hearing the man’s words. A father’s instinct? It was true Conall had acted as quickly as she had and was far better suited in size to fight the massive sow. If she had gone in the pen, both she and Kevin would have been hurt. He’d saved both of them.

  “Thank you,” she said, planting an impetuous kiss on his cheek. “That thing was about to eat him. And then probably me as well.”

  Conall turned red. “Nay, it was naught. It was—” he stopped and looked around fearfully. “Did I just complete my quest? Is this it, then?”

  She found herself looking around as well, though she had no idea what she was looking for. That infernal light, perhaps? Feeling as stubborn as Kevin, she clung to Conall, not about to let him go into it.

  “Dinna ye dare, Soni,” he called out, still looking wildly in every direction. “It’s not time, nor have I done all I can.”

  “Did she listen, do you think?” Mia asked, still holding onto his arm with a vice-like grip. “Was saving Kevin your quest after all?”

  Who was Soni and why did she have so much power over Conall’s fate? The poor man had been killed in a violent manner, made to haunt the place he died for more than two hundred years. Why couldn’t he have more than just two days? She slumped against him. Two days was more than most— any?— got. Still, she hated this Soni with a passion.

  Kevin joined their huddle, throwing his muddy arms around them both. “I don’t want you to go,” he said, crying afresh.

  Time seemed to slow and the minutes slogged by. Another tourist family wandered past the paddock, pointing in horror at their dirty little tangle. Finally, Mia pulled away.

  “I don’t think it’s time,” she said, unable to keep from looking around.

  A shiver of fear rushed up her spine. Now that she knew Kevin was safe and was pretty sure Conall wasn’t going anywhere yet, the severity of some sort of looming specter swooping down and stealing him away at any time closed in on her. And if saving Kevin’s life wasn’t his quest, what was?

  Chapter 7

  When they returned to Mia’s house, she sent Kevin straight to the bath to get all the pig filth off him. He ranted the whole way home about not getting to see the parapets, even stretching Conall’s infinite supply of patience. When he was freshly scrubbed, he ran into the kitchen where Conall was searching for something to cook.

  “Pizza! Pizza!” he chanted.

  Mia followed him, an exhausted look on her face. “No pizza. Not until I get a few paychecks anyway.”

  She squeezed past him to inspect the pantry, which he’d already found wanting. With a frown, she went to the fridge.

  “Rather bare, aye?” he asked. “Not even enough eggs left for all of us. I’m fine with plain bread.”

  She held up the bag of bread, revealing a lone crust. “Not enough of that, either. You know what that means?”

  “Boo,” Kevin whined. “It means we have to go to the shops.”

  Mia turned to Conall. “You’ll be glad when your Soni shows up, won’t you, with him being so cranky?”

  “Mum, I nearly got ate by a mad pig. You’d be cranky as well.”

  Conall turned and gave the lad the sternest look he could muster. “All your own fault,” he said. “Now be grateful your ma doesna put ye to bed without supper as my own woulda done had I acted so outrageously.”

  “That’s right,” Mia said, nodding. “Children had to go hungry when they were naughty back in Conall’s day.”

  “And get whipped until our skin was raw,” he added, sorry for it when both their faces paled. “Good thing times have changed so much, aye?” he said quickly. “It’s a good thing children are no longer beaten. Now get your shoes on so we may get to the shops before they close.”

  Kevin slunk off and returned with his shoes on his hands and a huge grin on his face.

  “Ye didna say where to put my shoes on, did ye?” he said.

  “Nay, that’s true. Your accent is coming along fine, lad. But ye should also be proud of who ye truly are. If someone doesna like ye because of where ye were born, that only speaks poorly of them, not ye.”

  “But I wager if I keep living here, I’ll talk like a Scot anyway,” he said. “Without pretending. Mum, let’s live here forever, aye?”

  “I wouldn’t mind it, sweetie.”

  She exchanged a look with him and he knew she was hoping she wouldn’t have to keep running from her ex-husband. If only he had more time he’d see she could live wherever she liked for as long as she liked.

  They made it to the village proper and while Mia and Kevin went into the grocery store, he found his way to the historical museum. He was pleased to see Archebald Bancroft, the man who’d come after the stolen gun, was puttering about at a display.

  “Oh, hello,” he said, looking up. “I thought for certain I would have seen you at the camp by now,” Archebald said by way of greeting. “Your plaid is one of the most authentic I’ve seen in a long time. Clan Alexander is it?”

  “Aye, that’s right. And it is authentic. I’ve this as weel, if ye’re interested in it.”

  He pulled his beloved knife out of his sock and held it out by the blade to the historian. Archebald leaned over it and gasped.

  “Early 1700s?” he asked. “And in near perfect condition. The carving on the handle is exquisite. Yes, that is definitely something I’d
be interested in.” He waved to his displays. “Normally I and the other reenactors buy up such things for our own use but something so fine should go in the museum.”

  “I’ve no interest in donating it,” Conall said. “It’s modern money I’m after.”

  “Wait a tick, then,” Archebald said, hurrying toward the back.

  A moment later a pretty dark-haired woman leaned over the knife. She turned it to and fro and whipped out a magnifying glass to study the blade.

  “You say it’s authentic, Archie?” she asked.

  “Authentic and in the best shape I think I’ve ever seen.”

  Conall looked down to hide his smile. The blade had been a gift from his father, right before he’d left to take up the Bonnie Prince’s cause. It was far more expensive than his poor Da could afford so he’d treasured it, cleaning it carefully after each use and sharpening it regularly. It wasn’t much more than a year later and he’d been killed with the knife tucked firmly in his sock, never needing it again. He offered a silent thanks to Soni for restoring it along with his body.

  Archebald and the woman moved away, whispering back and forth before returning.

  “I’m afraid all I can offer is six hundred pounds,” the woman said.

  He managed to keep from staggering backwards, but just barely. He’d thought he might get enough to treat Mia and the lad to the pizza he so wanted for supper.

  “I’ll need it in sterling,” he said.

  They laughed heartily. “You reenactors can break character every once in a while, you know,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Would cash be all right?”

  He wished Mia was there to advise him but he longed to surprise her. He had a sudden disheartening thought that perhaps six hundred pounds wasn’t so much in this time. What if it wasn’t enough for the pizza? No, that couldn’t be right. He was almost positive it was only eleven pounds to get into the visitor center at the moor. A small fortune in his time, but the tourists handed it over without much problem. Surely a pizza wouldn’t be more than that.

  “Cash will be fine,” he finally said.

  It didn’t sting as much as he thought it would to hand over his knife. What would he do with it where he was going, anyway? His fists would work just fine on the prince, and after that? Nay, it was better to be useful to Mia. And he longed to make her smile.