by L. L. Muir
She glanced at Dawson and the others like they were little more than unwanted furnishings.
“This is yer home, remember. It is only my opinion, but I doona believe ye should allow beasts in the house.”
It was all the encouragement the yanks needed to scramble their way to the front door, which, by the way, closed quietly.
Elspeth gave a good riddance nod in their wake, stretched her neck from side to side, and closed her eyes again. Her face was suddenly drawn and creased with tired lines, like she’d lost many a night’s sleep waiting for that silent promise to be kept.
And as she faded, Jamie decided it might be best not to tell her…it already had been.
CHAPTER TEN
Elspeth felt her mind stirring, but tried to ignore it. Waking meant pain, each and every time.
It wasn’t the flagstones beneath her that made her ache, of course. She was long past feeling anything so physical. There would be no ache in her bones, her head, or her belly.
No. It was only her heart, ethereal as it may be.
For two hundred and seventy years, she’d ached. And if she was very careful and allowed her mind to still, she could postpone the return of her woes for a day, maybe more.
It was a fact she was usually unaware how much actual time passed between wakings. She only knew the year because of things she overheard. Occasionally, a newspaper was discarded where she might glimpse the date. But for the most part, she was left to guess the season by the weather. And in a country like Scotland, it was impossible to tell.
She could wake one evening to the soft patter of rain. The next, she would find lazy snowflakes floating to the ground. But had those two days been one after the other? Or had they been different seasons? Month’s apart, or years?
She closed her eyes tighter against the stones. If she could simply slip into nothingness for a few days, Jamie Houston would be gone and her shadow life would resume. Painful, but not insufferable.
For it was, in truth, agonizing to see the man’s face.
She groaned inwardly. The thought of Jamie Houston was enough to keep her from her respite. His image made her fear she might never find that temporary rest again.
With a sigh, she sat up. Absently, she willed away the ghost of blood on her nightclothes, as she always had upon rousing. But her next worry was not so habitual—she wondered what her hair looked like.
Heaven and angels help her, she wanted to look presentable in case she saw Jamie again! What nonsense! Why would it matter? It wasn’t as if Ian was coming for her anytime soon.
Jamie had been foolish to claim it would never happen, but she knew better. She’d seen the gesture from afar. She’d read the heartfelt pledge as surely as if he’d written it in his own blood. No mistake.
And then…after her untimely death, the years mattered not at all. Ian would still come for her. Even if he was nothing more than spirit when he did so, he would come. He would remember that promise, no matter if a wife and children had occupied the rest of his mortal time, no matter if his bones were buried in a distant country. He would remember, and he would come.
And she was determined to be there, on her tower, when he arrived.
He would see for himself that she’d kept her unspoken promise as well. In his eyes, it would appear as if she hadn’t moved an inch since last he’d seen her. He would hurry to her side, and they would touch their hands together, just as she’d imagined thousands of times.
No. Ian wouldn’t forget. And if he had forgotten, he would remember. Any day now…
With peace restored in her breast, she allowed herself to slip away once more.
~
There is one thing that plagues both mortals and ghosts. Physical bodies notwithstanding, dreams also come to spirits.
Unfortunately, Elspeth slipped not into a senseless state, but into a restless dream. Dread filled her, knowing just what would come, for pleasant dreams were lost to her.
She dreamed she was on her tower again. Always on her tower. Always in her nightdress. Always with her hair spilled around her shoulders just as Ian preferred to see it.
And there she stood, pressed against the fanciful crenellation, intent on painting a picture when he turned to look back. An image he could carry in his mind of the woman who waited for his return from war. A reason to give her young soldier to fight wisely and come home.
Her heart leapt when his figure moved away from Kinkeld House and into view. Each of his steps pricked at her heart as he moved ever farther from her down the drive. But she would not so much as whimper. She’d promised, when they’d parted for the last time, the night before. She wouldn’t fall upon his neck and embarrass him. She’d be as stoic as his mother. Proud and silent as he went off to do what a man had to do.
“I’ll stand on the tower and watch ye go,” she’d told him. “All I need, to see me through until ye come back to me, is for ye to turn back. Just the once. Turn back and know that I will be here a’waitin’.”
He’d promised.
But as he stomped down the drive with purpose, she worried he might forget. It was torture, truly.
So she’d prayed. “Turn, Ian. Turn. If ye love me, ye’ll turn.”
And still he stomped.
Perhaps he’s frightened. Perhaps his parents look on and he’s trying to prove he’s not afraid… But he willna forget me.
Jamie appeared on the drive then. He hurried to catch up with Ian. The end of Archibald’s Brown Bess wobbled against his broad back as he ran. Two grown men, strapping and brave, going off to fight for prince and country.
Once the two were together, the confusion began. They were too far away to distinguish their faces. And to make things worse, they began dancing around each other, shoving shoulders, teasing as they always did.
She held her breath as their forms neared the road. Another moment or two, and they’d disappear behind the thicket of trees twenty feet to the left.
Turn, Ian! Turn! If ye love me…
And he turned. The very angels in Heaven sang in her ears! He hadn’t forgotten.
Jamie, at his shoulder, turned as well. They both looked their fill, then Jamie turned back to the road and went on.
But Ian lingered. She knew, without seeing him clearly, that his attention was on her and not the house.
She raised her arm and reached out to him, telling him she knew.
Ian. My love! Come back to me!
Then he won her eternal devotion by placing a kiss on his fingers and blowing it back to her.
Giddy with joy and relief, she pretended to catch it. Then, for the longest moment, they simply stared at each other. His hand rose to match hers, like he longed for one last touch, just as she did.
Far too soon, he nodded and turned away. He stepped into the road. The Brown Bess nearly swung off his shoulder as he did so, but he shrugged it back into place. Half a dozen steps took him beyond the trees that blocked her view of him. And while he took those steps, she was frozen in horror.
Surely, Ian had also been carrying a gun.
Surely he wouldn’t be hurrying off to join Lord Lovat unarmed! And Jamie was a second son. Archibald’s gun should have gone to Ian—unless Ian had his own.
Surely!
But she kept replaying in her mind the moment that Jamie had stepped into view and hurried to catch up with is brother. That weapon slapping his back as he went.
That was it. She only remembered Jamie’s gun because it had bobbed back and forth so comically as he ran. Ian’s weapon had done nothing to draw her attention. That was all.
That was all.
And yet, that concern had plagued her dreams all these years.
She took solace, though, in the logic that only one of the brothers had noticed her on the tower, had blown her a kiss, had lingered and reached out to her. Hadn’t she told Ian she would be there? Jamie wouldn’t have known to look for her, and he certainly wouldn’t have blown her a kiss…
Her own weary conscience nudg
ed her, reminding her that Jamie Houston was probably still on the property, available for the asking. All she needed to do, in order to end those nightmares, was to put the question to him.
Was it ye?
She was a fool not to ask it, but it wasn’t foolishness that tied her tongue…it was cowardice.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wasn’t that a fine kettle of fish then?
Jamie had frightened off the film crew, but he’d also lost Elspeth. Soni might show herself at any moment, take a good look about, and shake her head in pity before sending him off to face his Maker.
It was probably time he considered what he might say to The Almighty that had him high-stepping back out into the yard to look for the lads to whom he’d been unkind. If his actions would have disappointed Archibald Houston, they surely would disappoint God. But it was probably his respect for the former that dictated his actions for the moment.
Though most of the equipment was still inside the manor, the men were all out at the vans. The lights inside the vehicles gave them away.
Jamie hiked out to them and rapped on a side door. After a long moment, it slid open, though tentatively.
“How is Matt?” he asked.
Dawson shook his head. “We don’t know where he went.”
“I came to beg yer forgiveness.”
To a man, their brows rose in surprise.
“I’m sorry if I frightened ye,” he said. I was wanting a private word with the lass, ye see…”
“No problem,” Dawson said. “But just to be clear, you’re really a ghost?”
“Aye.”
He gave them a brief summary of his life, his death, and his time at Culloden. It was disappointing that so much could be covered in a few sentences.
It was clear that the crowd was a little mixed. Some believed he was a ghost and some did not. But they all conceded that he had, indeed, been speaking with the 18th century ghost of a woman, and on familiar terms.
“What’s the problem, lads?” Jamie chuckled. “Is it because ye watched me eat supper with ye?”
That started an entirely new conversation that ended with him explaining about the quest to perform a noble deed.
A camera man raised his hand to get attention. “So, that’s why you wanted us out of here, so we didn’t steal your thunder?”
“Steal my thunder?”
The man shrugged. “Well, if we helped her cross over to the next life, or whatever, then you wouldn’t fulfil your quest, right?”
“Ye wish to help the woman?”
Dawson grunted. “Well, yeah. That’s what we do. It’s not all for the camera, you know. If she never shows up on film, we’ll still try to convince her to move on.” He shrugged a shoulder, which wasn’t easy in the tight space, with seven other men crouched inside one van.
Jamie was taken aback. He’d heard many a “medium” claim to want to help the spirits they harassed, but most of them were more interested in their own ends. So it was surprising to hear it, even though he’d come to like Dawson and his crew. It must have been the dramatic acting in front of the camera that had convinced him otherwise.
But something else occurred to him and he was sorely ashamed.
There he was, sure as rain in Scotland that his motives were nobler than those of the yanks. But in fact, his intention of aiding Elspeth had been driven primarily by his own thirst for revenge. He was no better than Dawson and the rest. In fact, he was worse. At least Dawson had intended to help the woman whether or not he got footage of her.
Could he claim the same?
He pitied her, certainly. But did he hold just a little something back? Did he begrudge her enough, for choosing his brother over him, that he might have left the lass to her haunting if it did not suit his end?
It fairly frightened him to think it. And if it was true…
He was not his father’s son!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sincerely ashamed of his behavior, Jamie led the yanks back to Kinkeld House. He even helped carry one of the larger cameras for a man who looked a bit too nervous to be trusted with it. In an attempt to lighten the mood a bit, he mustered up a conversation with Dawson.
“I’m grateful ye lads have had experience with this sort of thing. From a ghost’s perspective, I’ve never paid much attention to ghost whisperers per se. I wouldn’t have kenned how to go about sending a ghost to the other side.”
“Experience?” Dawson grimaced as he walked. “We don’t really have experience. We’re always just…kind of…shooting from the hip.”
“Shooting from the… I don’t understand,” Jamie said, but he suspected the explanation wasn’t going to resemble what he wanted to hear.
“I mean,” Dawson spoke to the road before him and gestured oddly with his hands. “We’ve never actually seen a ghost before, you know? Elspeth is our first real sighting.”
Jamie concentrated on his steps, determined not to stop and take issue with the man. There would be nothing gained by upsetting them all again, and a fine tongue lashing from a ghost would likely send them all running back to the vans.
Forgive me, Elspeth. The doctors I bring ye are no doctors at all.
~
As it turned out, Elspeth’s form had never showed up on the recordings, but they kept filming anyway. Tuke claimed he’d be able to make something out of the clips they did have, which had recorded her voice. However, he didn’t sound any more convincing than Dawson had when trying to explain just how they would be shooting from the hip.
It didn’t much matter to Jamie whether or not the lads were able to make a tv program out of the experience, but since they were kind enough to worry over Elspeth’s soul, he would do what he could to make sure their trip to Scotland hadn’t been in vain.
He patiently waited for a camera to be pointed his way before he spoke, and then spoke clearly.
“We’ll find Elspeth by the tower. It seems the lass fell to her death there, so when she fades… That is, when she goes dormant, as it were, she’ll likely return to the place and position in which she died, aye?”
Tuke hurried forward, whispered something to Dawson, who nodded, then turned to walk backward so he could face both the camera and Jamie.
“Tell me,” he said. “Is it the same with all ghosts? They return, not just to the place they died, but the position?”
“Aye. At least it is true of all the ghosts I know.”
Dawson’s brows rose and his steps grew slightly more skippish. “Really? Well, uh, um, would you mind telling us just how many ghosts you know? Personally?”
Jamie turned his head away from the camera while he considered. If he told the truth, which he preferred to do, there might be a great run on Culloden Moor by ghost hunters who had no inkling of how many spirits truly wander there.
However, if Soni had been sending the others away, one every few minutes or so, she might have cleared all his fellows off the moor already. Besides, he’d heard one of the camera operators explain that it would be a few months before they would need to have the footage from Kinkeld House ready to air.
Plenty of time for Soni to finish her business with the rest.
“Sorry, dude.” Dawson laughed. “Would you rather not tell us how many ghosts you know? Or are you counting?”
Jamie turned back until the light shone on his cheek. “Those I know well, including Elspeth?”
“Yeah. Including Elspeth.”
He nodded once. “Seventy-nine.”
One of the men at their backs used an expletive Jamie had never heard before. The camera and the light attached to it, veered off to the left. A hand stopped him and Jamie looked down into the face of the shortest man amongst them.
“Those, uh, seventy-nine, um…” He took a deep breath. “They’re not here now, are they?”
Tuke rolled his eyes and took the man’s camera, handed it to another, then returned to put his arm around the short man.
“Nay. They’re not here,” Jamie said. “The
rest are at Culloden Moor, remember?”
Tuke led the guy away from the rest and tried to calm him down. Dawson stood next to the fountain staring up at the tower. Jamie joined him and pointed to the ground where he’d seen Elspeth’s spirit fade.
“I saw her there,” he said.
“But she’s not there now?”
He shrugged both shoulders, as a gesture as much as a need to flex the muscles there. “She may be. Once she’s dormant, ye can’t see her. Or rather, I can’t see her, so I assume ye can’t either.”
Dawson nodded and looked back to the tower. “High enough to kill you if you fell.”
Jamie sighed with the weight of the truth, that she hadn’t fallen, but jumped to her death.
Dawson’s face twisted. “You think someone might have pushed her?”
“Nay.” Jamie scoffed at the idea of anyone so villainous at Kinkelding.
With a sudden smile and a wrinkle around his eyes, Dawson nodded toward the tower. “Let’s go up.”
“Ye think ye might attract her attention up there, do ye?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They took the short camera man with them and left the others below for Tuke to direct. The outer door was locked, but Jamie knew another way in from the third floor, at the highest point where the tower and manor were still attached.
They went to a small solar with a wide fireplace. To the side of the mantle stood a small arched door that might have been a short cupboard of some sort. But it was actually part of an escape route meant for the family, a way to get themselves into the tower without needing to go outside to do it. A heavy slab of stone sat just inside the small passage, ready to be moved into place should the manor be attacked, the tower becoming a refuge that seemingly could not be breached once the outer door was sealed.
The escape plan had been a great comfort to Archibald Houston after he’d lost his sight in an accident at the smithy’s. If the alarm bell was rung, the family could find safety without the need for him to gather them all himself.
