The Storyteller: A Highland Romance (Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 45)

by TERRI BRISBIN

  When he’d appeared in that last moment, she thought she’d conjured him up somehow. He wore a Scottish kilt, for gosh sakes, and looked as if he’d stepped off a reenactment field or out of a TV show. The muscles in the strong arms that held her were real. The heartbeat that pulsed against her arm was real. Worse though, the blood pouring from his arm after she’d shot him was hard to ignore, too.

  Damn it, she could not stand the sight of it! When she’d come to and he’d stood over her staring down, she’d felt his strong hand holding her head off the ground. She’d looked into eyes as dark green as the leaves on the trees around them. Though she expected to see censure or anger there, instead she found empathy and sadness.

  Even when he realized what she’d been planning—and she’d noticed the change in his gaze the moment he did—she never saw pity or disgust. What a strange, strange man. What a strange, surreal situation. And yet, his “normal” actions of introducing himself and ignoring the fact that she’d shot him somehow put her at ease.

  As though waking from sleep, Fee found herself lost in her confused thoughts and feelings and unable to focus then. She’d expected to die. She’d expected to never have to interact with others again. And now, minutes after she’d placed the gun and touched her finger to the trigger, she faced someone without understanding who he was or how he’d come to be there on the cliffside.

  Fee reached out and pushed some branches out of their way until he reached to grab them. The heat pouring off him surrounded her then and, for a moment, she wanted him to wrap her arms around him. She ached for a true embrace, even of a stranger. Just a moment of compassion. Caring. Tears burned her eyes and she cursed herself for the fool she was. His arrival would only be a delay in her plan. Once she’d let him clean up, he would leave and she would … end things.

  He was still telling his story when they walked into the clearing that held her parents’ cabin. There was something in the way he spoke that convinced her he was definitely not a local. Serenity Harbor across the bay drew visitors from all over the world and, had it been the season, she would have no doubt that he was heading or visiting there. But the tourist season was over now and that left only the townies to inhabit the island and surrounding villages and campgrounds.

  Fee admitted to herself she’d not paid much attention to any announcements or mailings from the administrators of the nearby camp about reenactments or shows on the grounds. Even so, it was possible that there was a simple explanation for his appearance. He carried her up to the front door and once she regained her balance, she stepped closer to it and reached up to get the key.

  “Here, let me,” he said.

  His height made it an easy thing and he slid his hand along the ledge of the door until he found the key. Handing it to her, he stepped back. She unlocked and opened the door, walking back into one place she never expected to be again. The photos still sat there, but now they seemed to mock her failure. It was her own guilt and sense of failure, Fee knew that, but she looked away and to the man who was now silent behind her.

  “The bathroom is through there,” she said, pointing down the hallway that led to the two bedrooms and bathroom on this floor. “I’ll get the first aid kit for you.”

  Fee walked into the kitchen area on unsteady legs and opened the cabinet closest to the back door. All the necessities were stored there—first aid kit, flashlights, batteries, emergency radio and more. Only when she’d gathered up what she thought he needed and stood did she realized he’d not moved.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, walking back to him. It was easier to get around on smooth, flat surfaces. Taking in his height and build, she knew for sure that, if he fell or collapsed, there was no way possible for her to hold him up or get him back on his feet. “If you’d rather use this sink, it might be easier?” She nodded at the deep, double-wide sink there under the windows. Her mother’s pride-and-joy when they’d renovated and expanded the cabin four years ago. “There are towels in that drawer.”

  Fee laid out the disinfectant soap, the antibiotic cream, the bandages and tape and stepped away. Struan slid his fingers into the handle and eased the drawer open in an almost child-like way of doing something for the first time. He slid it closed and then opened it once more. And then again. His strange behavior made her think he was the woozy one here.

  “If you faint, I won’t be able to save you,” she admitted aloud to him.

  He snorted and let out a harsh breath before opening the drawer and grabbing a stack of the folded towels. She would have moved away to give him some room to see to his injury but he just stared now at the sink and the faucet and spigots as though he’d never seen anything like it.

  Her mother’s tastes usually ran to the traditional, but she went all-out new and futuristic when she redid this kitchen. The faucet was a multi-purpose wonder that included sensors, a spigot that could be a hose and even automatic temperature controls. Mary Richards might be a country girl at heart, but she wanted her kitchen to be the height of urban design.

  “You wave your hand here to turn it on. Swipe your finger this way for warmer,” she demonstrated as she spoke, “and this way for cooler.” She pushed the button to release the built-in hose. “And use this if it’s too hard to maneuver your shoulder and arm under there.”

  Fee stepped back and watched as he began to experiment with all the settings and pieces. Like he had with the drawer, Struan acted as though he’d never turned on a faucet and he continued to turn it on and off, changing the settings and the force and the temperature of it until he seemed to grasp all of it.

  “’Tis a fine thing, Fiona,” he called out to her. Since she knew he’d have to open the rough bandage he’d made and there would be bleeding, Fee made her way over to the living room area and sunk into one of the overstuffed chairs there. “I have never seen the like.”

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Scotland,” he answered in a prideful tone. “Where is this place?” His accent thick, it made some words hard to understand at first, so she answered the question she thought he’d asked.

  “My parents’ cabin.”

  “I thought as much,” he said. Struan turned off the water and walked closer. “Where does it sit?” She frowned. “Where are we?”

  There was so much he did not know and could not understand in this place. So much he wanted to know and to ask her about. Oh, he and the others had watched the years pass and had witnessed many, many changes. In clothing. In roads and transportation. In buildings and such. In the way people lived and the way they acted. The lands around Drummossie Moor had changed over the decades and centuries and the seventy-nine had watched it all.

  When he appeared before her, Struan knew he was not in Highlands or even in Scotland. As he looked around at the cliffs and the large bay, it felt very close to the places where he’d lived and grown but he knew it to be a faraway land. Her voice told him she was an American. So, he knew that’s where he was. From her garb, it was the same time and same season of year as when Soni had summoned him. But where exactly was he?

  “I have been traveling for some time and am … all turned about in my directions,” he offered. Her features eased and she nodded.

  “We are to the south and west of Serenity Harbor,” she said. “Maine.” She pointed back toward the cliff where he’d found her. “I thought you might be heading there? It’s a huge tourist destination.”

  “Ah, Serenity Harbor,” he said. It sounded like a grand place, but Struan had never heard it or Maine either. “Maine,” he said with a nod. “I am from a small town in Scotland. These modern conveniences have not made it to my town yet.”

  He tried to remember the words and phrases he’d heard from visitors to the battlefield. These must have worked for her worried expression eased as she leaned back in the chair as he spoke.

  “Tell me of your small town.”

  As he considered how and what to tell her, he noticed that s
he seemed to be swallowed up by that chair. Another quick glance revealed the exhaustion that dulled her gaze and made her look drawn and pale now.

  How she had walked herself up that hillside to the edge, he knew not. He’d bided his time, recognizing that she would never make it down the path on her own. When she began to stumble, her legs not holding steady, he lifted her slight form and carried her the rest of the way here.

  Struan looked over the items she’d gathered and began to speak about his village and its location not far from Achnacarry, near Lochs Arkaig and Lochy. The words about his family did not come easily to him so he told her more about his chieftain who had called him to fight for the rights of the dispossessed king across the water. He spoke of their lands and extended kin. But he chose not to speak of his closest kin, for it pained him too much.

  “My village is a smattering of cottages and tradesmen gathered where the River Arkaig empties into Loch Lochy,” he said softly. “My parents farmed lands there.”

  Whether shock was setting in now or exhaustion overwhelming her, he could not decipher. Her eyes fluttered a few times and then closed as he talked.

  Struan continued speaking of this and that until her breathing eased and evened into sleep. Then, his interest piqued, he walked back to the miracle of modern plumbing in the kitchen and saw to his wound. ‘Twas mostly just bleeding without serious damage as he’d thought. He unwrapped his plaid, rinsed out the bloodied spots and laid it over a chair to dry. But touching his arm, the one that had been hacked off in battle, sent shivers through him. He was whole once more. He was, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it to prove it to himself, alive and breathing.

  Soni was truly a powerful witch to be able to give him this time though he’d been so long dead. And to experience it in his own body, returned and renewed, was nothing short of a miracle. But, why? Why him? Why here? Why now?

  Fee muttered and whispered in her sleep and he walked to her side there. Was she the reason? Was he meant to stop her from taking her own life? Or meant to witness her act? Nay, not to witness but to stop, he was certain.

  Had he succeeded then, in the task Soni set for him? He looked around the room and wondered for a moment. Nay, he had not finished or surely Soni would have collected him. So, there was something more for him to do here. The lass shivered then and, for the first time in such a long time, Struan noticed the gooseflesh on his now-bared arms. Cold. He felt the cold and reveled in it. When she trembled in the chilly air once more, he knew what he needed to do.

  It took a few minutes for him to make a fire in the hearth. First, he was out of practice and second, he lost some time when he found chunks of peat there among the wood. The feel of it in his hands and the smell of it filled him with a longing for home that shook him deeply. Emotions that had been muted for the last two hundred years on the moor now flared as the flames in the hearth soon did.

  Struan arranged the blocks in the iron grate and lit them using one of those matches he’d seen tourists use to light cigarettes as they walked the paths of the battlefield. The earthy scent filled the room and the air grew warmer. The lass settled down deeper into the cushions and Struan brought a smaller stool to her chair. Lifting her legs as gently as he could, he positioned the stool beneath them and then tossed a blanket over her. And she slept on. Struan wandered through the cabin, marveling at so many things he saw.

  The ghosts saw many things around the battlefield and when they chose to enter the visitors’ center there. The ‘technology’ they called it—ways to see images that moved and spoke. Visitors carried ‘phones’ that could save images and could be used to speak to others not there. The ghosts had witnessed a great many changes while in a state that could neither impact nor participate in the flow of time that moved ever forward around them. Now though, as he moved about, Struan touched the devices and screens he found throughout the cabin and marveled over them. It mattered not to him that he had no idea of how to use those he found.

  When his exploration was done, Struan returned to the living room, as she’d called it, with a book he’d found in one of the upstairs chambers. He’d not found candles to light and doubted he’d be able to read without them, but just holding a book in his hands felt good. Then, as he settled near her, something clicked and lights burst to life around him!

  “Bloody hell!” He jumped up in surprise as several fixtures flashed in his face. He fell back into his Gaelic for the next words.

  It was when he turned back toward the lass that he found her staring at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Only then did he remember removing his bloodied shirt and plaid.

  Chapter Three

  This must be the dream continuing, Fee thought.

  She’d fallen asleep listening to his deep voice speak about … something. She remembered not wanting to let go, but the exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had taken control of her.

  In the dream, she’d been whole again. No stumbling. No scars. No damage. Fee stood before the Scottish warrior and felt no shame. She’d smiled at him as he spoke in that voice that sent shivers across her skin. He took her hand and smiled back. His words became clear to her then.

  His words were vows.

  Vows …

  Then he yelled and she startled awake. He could curse fluently in several languages it seemed. He wore fewer clothes than when she’d closed her eyes for right now he stood before her bare-chested in only his body-hugging pants. Unable to look away from his very well-developed body, she swallowed several times, trying to bring moisture back into her mouth.

  “The lights are set to go on automatically,” she explained when she could force the words out. Fiona’s gaze flitted over his muscular thighs, encased in pants she imagined did not allow even a molecule of air between the fabric and his skin. Heat filled her own skin. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt this way. His questioning expression and glance at the light on the end table reminded her of what had happened. “I forgot to turn the power off.”

  “Just so,” he said with a nod.

  His expression—a mix of terror, anger and confusion—belied his words of acceptance. That look was so very out of place on the face of such a big and imposing man. Yet, there it was. Again, he appeared to not know about electric lights or timed-delay controls. Even his earlier explanation of living in a small village did not explain it. The entire world knew about electric lights, even if they did not have it.

  So, who was he and how had he gotten here, to the middle of nowhere, just as she was about to end her life? A crackle and pop drew her attention from him. She turned her head and glanced at the hearth.

  “You made a fire.” Something unfurled with her at the sight and smell of that fire, and at knowing he’d made it. She could not identify it but it made her smile. “I love the smell of the peat.”

  “I do as well, lass,” he said. His mouth curved then and dimples settled in both of his cheeks. Rather than making him seem softer, it made him seem … more male. This Struan Cameron was a handsome man, but when he smiled, he was wickedly gorgeous. “It smells like home to me.” A flash of sadness crossed his face, but was gone so quickly she doubted she’d seen it.

  “How long has it been since you were there?” she asked. He did not answer her right away. Several seconds passed before he gave a sad smile and shrugged.

  “A long, long time, I fear.”

  So much longing and sadness filled those few words that something uncurled deep within her as she watched him. A whisper of a need to comfort him. Empathy for whatever kept him from his home and those he clearly loved. Emotions she had not felt in years. Three years, two months, one week and three days, if she was counting.

  “Why can you not go there? What is keeping you away?” she asked, knowing that she pried shamelessly into this stranger’s life. His gaze narrowed and he let out a breath in a huff. She knew what he was about to say before he uttered another sound.

  “They’re all gone,
lass. Every one of them.”

  “How? What happened?” Fee did not remember hearing of a disaster, man-made or natural, that had struck Scotland and that would explain an entire village or town being … gone?

  Only when he turned in silence and walked over to the door did she realize that they had fallen into some sort of comfortable companionship that had just ended. How weird was it that she did not feel any fear of being with this complete stranger? This man could get her in a lot of trouble with just one call to the police. After all, she’d shot him. No matter that it had been an accident and he’d not been her target, questions would be raised about the gun and her use of it. More questions would follow and she would find herself unable to finish what she’d planned and started.

  Now, though, her questions had brought the sense of ease with him to an end.

  Fee slid back before pushing herself up to stand. Twinges in her legs told her why she should not have fallen asleep in that chair. Questions began to swirl in her mind making her realize that she was more curious about this man and his sudden appearance in front of her on the cliff than she should be. That she was interested.

  “Struan?” she whispered. Clearing her throat, she repeated his name a little louder. “Struan.” That second time, he did turn back to face her. “Would you tell me how you got here?” He frowned for a moment. Before he could speak a word, she asked another question. “Why are you here?”

  Struan was sorting through his words when the funniest thing happened. A feeling he’d not had in centuries began in his belly. Well, he’d not felt the joys or weaknesses of the flesh since his death, but the one he felt now had been a constant companion during the last months of the fight against the German usurper and his ilk. His stomach rumbled loudly, bringing her lovely gaze to his body and announcing its need to both of them.