Ghosts of Culloden Moor 02 - Lachlan

by L. L. Muir

  Her first move was to sit up. “So…how did you get from Scotland to here?”

  He narrowed his eyes a little, watching her. “I was sent by a witch.”

  “I didn’t think there were real witches.” She stood up and looked around the room like she was bored.

  He sat back and folded his arms. “Auch, aye. There are witches a’ plenty in Scotland. Even today.”

  She swung a foot and stepped to the end of his couch to look at the statue on the end table. “Why did she send you here?”

  He shook his head. “A story too long to tell now. I’ve no idea how much time I have left, lass. I could go at any moment. If ye mean to kiss me, ye’d best get to it, aye?”

  She thought about denying it, but his smile had her unraveling at record speed. A second later, she was sitting on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tight.

  “What? No kiss, then?” he asked over her shoulder.

  She pulled back. His eyes sparkled with amusement. She tried not to look at his lips.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I can weigh you down. And if you start to fade, I can grab you and keep them from taking you.”

  He laughed, and when the laughter died, he was stone sober. “My sweet Harper. I cannot stay. I’ve already bargained away…everything…to stay with ye until I could see ye safe.”

  “I understand. I mean, it’s not like—”

  She found it hard to finish her sentence with his lips pressed against hers. Warm, firm, and…determined. But he was right not to let her waste any more time talking about stupid stuff.

  When the kiss ended, she opened her eyes and grinned.

  “What is it, lass?”

  “You’re still here.”

  “Oh, aye. Would ye look at that?”

  She leaned in and kissed him again. No way could he be a ghost and be so warm and solid against her. And no ghost could make her feel so…alive.

  After minute, she needed to catch her breath and get a grip. “Thank you for saving me from the train,” she said in a rush. “And at the library. I’m sorry I thought you were with Bart. And he shot you! I’m so sorry you got shot! But I’m glad you weren’t hurt…”

  He lifted his shoulder briefly, and with it, one of her arms. Again, she couldn’t imagine someone so solid turning into something intangible. But he already had, if only for a few seconds! He really was going to disappear on her!

  “It was like Culloden. A bullet stopped me, but this time, a lass saved me from being finished off.” He sighed. “‘Twould be a grand way to re-write my own history.”

  She glanced at the window. The sunset was growing dimmer. She had to talk fast!

  “I’m sorry I tried to lock you out of the truck. It’s just, I thought I’d rather never see you again than see you get killed trying to help me. And I—”

  “Harper—”

  “I’m just glad you were here. That’s all. I mean, I wasn’t alone anymore. And it was…great not being alone anymore.”

  “Hush, lass. The moon has yet to rise. No need to rush anything.” He took her face in his hands and lowered his brow. “I want ye to have faith in Ewan MacFarland. He will keep ye safe until St. Clair is no longer a threat. He has given his pledge, aye?”

  She nodded just so she could feel the strength of his hands rubbing against her cheeks.

  “If only we’d met in another time, my sweet.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, in Scotland.”

  “Aye. I’d have done anything for a lass so brave as ye.”

  “And I’d have persuaded you not to go off to war that day…”

  He made a guttural sound. “If only…”

  “MacLean,” Ewan called from the adjoining office. “I think we’ve got trouble!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The hairs rose on the back of Lachlan’s neck. The sounds of the city below seemed normal enough, but there was a rapid succession of thumps, as if many car doors had closed.

  “What is it?” she whispered, her mouth only a few inches from his, and he couldn’t help himself. It might be his last chance. So he leaned forward and indulged himself, like moss drinking greedily of the spring rain.

  Yes, he thought. Just the taste of her was worth giving up his revenge. Soni had been right to put an end to it all.

  The double doors swung wide and Ewan stood in the opening with a gun in his hand. “They probably found you through the cab company. My people won’t be here for another half hour at least. I’ll try to hold off St. Clair until then.” He tucked his gun behind his back. “I’ve also called the police, so I want you two to hide. There was an officer here earlier, but his car is gone. And Salt Lake’s finest may not get here soon enough either.”

  He strode quickly to the bathroom door, pushed it open, and with his gun he pointed to the ceiling inside.

  “There’s a drop ceiling. I’m not sure if you can get up there or not. But at least lock yourselves inside if you can’t figure out something better.” He hurried back through the doors. Just before he pulled them closed, he looked at Harper. “I’m sorry I didn’t take the threat more seriously. I could have had some men here…”

  As it turned out, the panels in the bathroom ceiling were nothing but foam. There was no miraculous air shaft or vent to climb into.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “Ewan has a gun, but that won’t stop Bart. We know that. And a witness or two hasn’t seemed to bother him all day.” She started for the double doors, shaking her head. “I’m can’t allow these people get hurt for me either.”

  Lachlan took her hand and kept her from reaching the knob. “Dinna go, lass. Give MacFarland a chance. Perhaps he’ll convince them we’ve already gone, aye?”

  “I can’t risk that. Not if Bart comes in shooting.”

  “Alright then.” And to her surprise, he opened the doors for her without argument. Together, they walked into Ewan’s office and Lachlan gave a helpless shrug. “She wants no one else to end up as a ghost this day.”

  Ewan frowned, but nodded. “Milly, you stay in here.” And together, the three of them stepped into the outer office.

  He and Ewan stood together facing the large oak door and gave Harper only a few inches to see between them. But the lass didn’t complain, for which he was grateful.

  The door opened wide. Bart gave them a sneer, then stepped back to let another man enter ahead of him—a man in a dull black suit and artificially blond hair.

  St. Clair.

  “Hello.” The man’s lips stretched into a sly smile. “I’ve come to collect my stepdaughter.” He tipped his head to the side and looked Lachlan over. “You must be the Scot she dragged into her little tantrum. Tell me your name.”

  “No.” Harper pushed her way between himself and Ewan. “You don’t get to talk to him. Do you understand?”

  St. Clair’s jaw flexed and the look he gave the lass was pure loathing. “You hold your tongue. You’re in enough trouble—”

  “Shut up, Robert. We all know what you’re capable of, but I won’t allow you to hurt these people. I’ll come along with you, willingly, but only if you keep quiet and get back in the car.”

  St. Clair simply breathed at the brave lass for a moment, probably trying to decide how important her cooperation was to him.

  “Go,” she barked, and the man flinched. The look in his eye promised she’d pay for embarrassing him.

  “You know,” Ewan began, then nodded to Lachlan. “I think maybe we should all sit down and work things out. What do you say, St. Clair? That’s a Scottish name, too. Maybe the three of us have more in common than we might think.”

  The man was trying to stall until reinforcements arrived. Aiding him in that regard was the least Lachlan could do.

  “Aye. And let’s no’ be rude, Harper. The man asked my name. ‘Tis the least I can do to introduce myself.”

  Harper turned and gave him a warning look, then shook her head at St. Clair. “Don’t listen to him, Daddy Deare
st. They’re only trying to stall you until the police get here. Let’s go.”

  He felt like a battering ram had struck his middle, he was that surprised by her betrayal. But when he considered the last long look of regret in her eyes as she stepped into the hallway, he realized she was still just trying to protect them all. Had she no faith in anyone being able to help her?

  The party turned a corner and he finally risked speaking. “Ewan. I’m going after the lass. Have ye another weapon?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “He pulled his gun from behind his back and pointed it skyward.

  Lachlan worried the man wasn’t thinking clearly. “What are ye about? Ye ken ye may lose yer profession, if ye kill a man.”

  Ewan smiled. “I thought I’d show a little faith. And besides, I have a pledge to keep.”

  “Well, then. Come fight alongside me, MacFarland.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Being a martyr is overrated.

  Harper tried to tell herself, over and over again, that she was taking one for the team, that the rest of them were safe—well, except for Lachlan, who’d never been safe in the first place—but it didn’t help calm her down. She was scared to death.

  When she stepped outside, surrounded by the small party of goons, her attention first went to the parking stall where the cop had been. Too bad he hadn’t stuck around a while longer. Next, she gave the sunset a nice glare. There was little more than some red clouds left above the Great Salt Lake, and a very distant glow of yellow over Nevada.

  She paused and searched the darkening blue for the moon, but there were only stars trying to turn up their intensity so they could be seen.

  If the moon wasn’t up yet, there was still time—only she wouldn’t be around to enjoy it.

  She remembered the conversation inside the cold truck. Lachlan had been so excited by the idea of haunting her, so he could be with her until July. And now she realized he hadn’t been kidding.

  “Haunt me, Lachlan McLean,” she whispered. “I dare you.” Too bad, as a ghost, he wouldn’t be able to do much more than be a lookout. He wouldn’t be solid enough to use his warrior moves on Bart and the boys again.

  Bart gave her a little shove—speak of the devil. But she was still high on adrenaline and defended herself—with the back of her elbow applied to the front of his face. She felt a satisfying crunch. His screech was like a song she’d been dying to hear on the radio.

  “Leave her alone, Bart,” St. Clair snapped. “She’s coming willingly. Are you blind?”

  Bent in half, Bart groaned into the hand he held over his nose. One of the others offered him a handkerchief to stop the bleeding and he ripped it out of the guy’s hand. “It’s Brad,” he grumbled.

  Harper threw her head back and laughed…and did it just in time to see a Scotsman, in jeans, flying over her head to land on top St. Clair’s town car!

  Lachlan McLean was a beautiful sight, but she didn’t take time to stare. She ducked and backed away from the open door she’d been about to climb into, careful not to bump into Bart, who was still bent over trying not to get blood on his clothes. He had no idea!

  Lachlan stepped to the far edge of the roof and kicked the driver in the face like a punter would. The guy went flying backward. Another goon stepped up and reached for him, and Lachlan stepped on the guy’s hand with one foot, then stomped on his head like he was trying to drive a nail home. When he stepped off his fingers, the guy slithered out of sight.

  Harper kept backing away, taking it all in, wondering if fleeing would be the smartest thing for her to do. But she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her Scot again.

  Two bodies lay prone on the sidewalk with Ewan MacFarland standing over them in his shirt sleeves, like he’d jumped on them from the roof above. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he started beating on his chest, he was so pleased with himself. With a grin on his face and his eyes flashing, he looked for his next target.

  There were two suits standing next to a second car. Their attention was torn between MacFarland and watching St. Clair for orders. But her stepfather was only concerned with Lachlan.

  “Shoot him,” he barked.

  His nose still bleeding, Bart pulled out his gun and aimed. Lachlan grinned at him and hopped onto the hood of the car. He ripped one of the windshield wipers off, then dropped to the ground and struck a pose, holding the long black wiper blade like a sword.

  Bart laughed and aimed at Lachlan’s heart. Harper screamed, and drew everyone’s attention to the fact that she was halfway across the parking lot.

  “Harper, honey!” Mildred called out from an open window. She held a tablet up in front of her. “Come back this way a little,” she hollered. “I’m streaming this live and I need to keep you in the shot!”

  Bart whipped his gun arm around behind him to hide from the camera. The two guys by the second car jerked their doors open and disappeared inside. St. Clair waved at the only goon left not bleeding or unconscious, who then ran toward Mildred, but he was taken down from behind by MacFarland who moved impressively for a man his age.

  Harper didn’t dare move. Was Mildred telling the truth? Was the fight streaming on the internet? Or had she said it to save Lachlan?

  Since no one was left to do his dirty work, St. Clair ran toward Harper. She stood her ground even when he slammed into her and wrapped his arm around her neck.

  “Smile for the camera,” she growled.

  “You think I care who’s watching?” he hissed. “We’ll be in Rio by morning. And I’m sure the asylums there won’t be nearly as pleasant as the ones you’ve been imagining.”

  Not if she could help it. “Rio!” she shouted to Mildred, just before her air was cut off. She could barely breathe and had to use all her energy to pull his arm away from her throat.

  Bart held his left arm out toward Lachlan like he was trying to talk a jumper off a ledge, all the while hiding his gun from the camera. Mildred kept filming. Ewan approached the second car and started taunting the men inside to come out. Instead, they started the engine and drove off. St. Clair gave Harper’s head a little twist, shooting pain down her neck, and she figured that was his way of saying it was her fault he’d just lost two goons.

  “Lass?” Lachlan glanced briefly her way. “How do ye fare?”

  She raised an arm and gave him a thumbs up and hoped he knew what it meant. He nodded, then turned all his attention to Bart. Ewan headed in her direction with a gun in his hand, but St. Clair jerked her sideways so they were both facing the lawyer.

  “Drop the gun or she dies!”

  The tall man raised his hands and sent his weapon skittering twenty feet away. At least St. Clair wouldn’t have the chance to get a hold of it.

  “Get back,” St. Clair snapped.

  Ewan backed away slowly. Little steps, little progress, but it was enough to make St. Clair relax his grip a little and she was able to take a deep breath.

  Lachlan swatted Bart with the black plastic, over and over again, pissing him off. Did he want to be shot? Was he hoping Bart would be sent to jail for killing him? Surely not, if there was no body to show for it. She didn’t understand.

  Suddenly Lachlan moved in close, his improvised weapon whipping in a dozen angles. Bart screamed, his voice strident with anger. His gun clattered on the asphalt. He stepped back and looked at his hands for a second, then he started searching for his gun.

  Lachlan moved in again. This time, Harper saw the flash of a metal blade and realized the Scot was armed better than she’d thought. It had to be the little knife he had worn in his sock. And she could have laughed—Bart probably thought he was being sliced up by a wiper blade!

  Frantic, Bart fell to the ground, no longer trying to defend himself so he could find his gun. His screams became grunts of pain. He lunged under the car, landing on his stomach, and Lachlan retreated. By the time Bart was on his feet with his gun in hand, Lachlan had backed up all the way to the brick wall.

  St. Clair’s b
ody stiffened at her back and he made sure her head was facing the drama.

  “I don’t want you to miss this,” he said. “It’s your fault for getting another body guard. And here I thought you’d learned your lesson.”

  “Would you shut up so I can see this?” she yelled. If bullets bounced off Lachlan like they did off vampires, she wanted to see the look on Bart’s face when he realized his opponent was unstoppable. And if the moon came out and turned Lachlan back into a spirit, she wanted to be able to tell him goodbye before he faded.

  Lachlan raised a hand, then dropped it quickly. His knife flew so fast she lost track of it. Bart grunted, then fell forward. His gun never went off.

  St. Clair’s surprise didn’t last long. He produced a gun she hadn’t realized he had and aimed it at Ewan. “Back inside,” he said calmly. “I’ll shoot all of you if I must.” He turned and aimed at the window where Milly stood. Harper struck his arm just as the gun went off. The bullet hit the brick.

  Lachlan walked straight for them, his chin lowered, his eyes narrow. St. Clair had to give up his hold around her neck in order to pin her arms down. While he wrestled with her, he had to use the gun hand. But when the Scot was still five feet away, the monster was able to aim again.

  The weapon fired and her heart jumped—the sound matched perfectly with the fear exploding in her chest—and all for a guy who was already dead.

  Lachlan went down on one knee, but unlike the shot he took in the hallway a lifetime ago, he wavered like he was going down! His hair fell forward and she couldn’t see his face. Had he lost his invincibility when the sun went down?

  “Lachlan!” Tears poured down her face. Her body cramped from the pain she imagined he suffered.

  Ewan moved cautiously toward Lachlan, his hands held out to his sides and empty. In the distance, sirens began, multiplied, and grew louder.

  Suddenly the heavy point of the gun pushed against the base of her skull. “Hold it,” St. Clair said, and Ewan halted. “You either let us leave now, or she dies. If I can’t take her with me, I’m certainly not going to let her live.”