10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set
Page 86
"I spent many years in the army. Pipe corps mostly." He smacked his lips. "But I was quite the boxer. Was known for dealing out black eyes like cheap licorice."
Thank goodness, he isn't a reincarnated pirate. Next, he'd ramble on about tea-leaf readings like the locals. None of that tonight. Soothsaying was about as unsettling as ghosts these days. "A boxer?" Murdo leaned forward onto both elbows. "Boxed a bit myself. Although, I'm not begging for a match."
Both men chuckled, raising their cups to their lips as if nodding in agreement.
So, Murdo can take care of himself? Not a bad thing. But did that really matter when he'd been so hot after Jennifer's potatoes?
"So what would you prefer? The local history? Clan tales? Perhaps ghost stories?" Liam prodded. "'Tis the skipper's most important duty to entertain his charges."
"I believe Katie's had enough of ghosts today," Pam blurted.
Motormouth.
Liam squinted his wrinkled mask my direction. "Oh?" His lips continued to purse long after the word faded into silence.
Pam and her big mouth. I kicked Pam's firm shin beneath the table.
The corporate bulldog didn't wince.
A lot of shin-kicking probably went on during board meetings. Girlie shoes had to be lethal weapons. They did serve a higher purpose. If only I'd rise to the occasion and exist on their level…But Black Liam's stare still demanded a reply. "Yes." Hopefully, he won't ask for the details about Mr. Boots. No more talk of it.
Liam tipped his glass against his lower lip, gulped, then asked over the rim of the tumbler, "What of it?"
Hell. His entertained stare isn't going to let the subject go. I licked my lips.
But the moisture didn't make everything disappear. No. There was truly no magic in Scotland. Time to just choke up a lung. "It was in the Vaults beneath South Bridge."
"Edinburgh?" Liam asked.
Of course. I nodded politely even though my host harassed me. "A ghost, I mean a man, attacked us with a knife. We left quickly."
Liam studied everyone for a few moments, rubbing his bristled jaw with a tanned hand. A hefty shiny ring flashed from one of his fingers when the sunlight hit a diamond set in the center of a square platform of gold. Liam threw up both hands in a dismissive gesture. "No one should go there. Let the spirits rest. Bad things happened in the tenements. Things we'd rather not remember."
Hadn't we all come to that conclusion?
"Only Katie saw the ghost," Pam droned.
The last thing I want is to be labeled a ghost magnet. I held my eyes still, fearing they'd roll, and tried not to shout expletives. Although, Pam deserved a few. The jury was still out on Black Liam.
"And you're staying at Culcreuch Castle?" Liam asked.
"Yes," Pam replied.
Liam cocked his chin left, going straight-lipped. He eyed Katie sideways. "Culcreuch Castle has spirits of its own."
The warning in his voice made my tongue swell. "I know." What else could be said? The rooms are paid for. Who actually expects to get her money's worth with ghosts before stumbling up on Mr. Boots? We scoffed at the supernatural back then.
Liam smacked his lips. "There's the severed boar's head. It flies about the walls on a silver platter, only to plummet to the ground where it vanishes. 'Tis outside though, lass."
Is that supposed to be reassuring?
"Then there's the ghost that wanders the halls, brushing by people in bedrooms and corridors. They say it feels like a mass of cold air." Liam smiled. "And most people don't get to see the third. She's a sad woman, a Buchanan, from the sixteenth century. She lost her husband after Lord Gailbraith stabbed him at supper. The man died in her arms. She tries to soothe her grief by playing her harp. They say guests are wooed to sleep by the ghostly tunes that still fill the chamber."
"What chamber?" Pam and I begged simultaneously.
"Och!" Liam waved a hand at them. "It's too expensive to sleep in that room."
Shit. Pam's room was just right down the hall. Pam's room. Not mine.
"Which one?" Pam insisted.
As if light dawned over yonder hill. I choked down a tattling giggle.
"The Chinese Bird Room."
Chapter 7
Katie met Pam's wide-eyed gaze where she sat across The Introspection's table waiting for the sun to set on the loch. Pam's corporate poker-face expression suddenly smoothed, going way too rational. She is not going to try to talk reason, Katie decided. Not when Pam had insisted on paying for the final night in the fantastic accommodations at Culcreuch Castle. If it wasn't for the prepaid reservations, we could walk away from luxurious beds and ambiance. But we can't. Because of Pam.
Pam certainly paid a fortune to purchase the ultimate memory for our trip. How can this be the last bloody night to end my reprieve from Cousin Sticky Fingers? This is not the way vacations are supposed to end. Like I walked into the bowels of Hell. I kicked Pam's stiff leg under the table.
For good measure.
Pam's calm mask twisted. "I'm going to be bruised, and sleeping there was all your idea," Pam snarled, rubbing her leg beneath the table. "I'll have to wear black hose for a week."
"With power suits and pumps, no one will be the wiser." I rolled my eyes and turned to the sinking sun.
Nothing mattered with Mr. Boots' distant cousin strumming the harp in the Chinese Bird Room at Culcreuch Castle.
"You should be fine if you retire to your room." Liam chuckled. "What better than sweet harp song to lull you to sleep. Maybe Ms. Buchanon knows about your day in the Vaults and will ease your stress with a pluck or two."
No thanks. "I'd prefer a pluck-less evening."
****
Anything proved easier than watching the blonde distress over the captain's tales of ghosts, Murdo concluded, studying the ring on Black Liam's finger. Still, something about the ring tugged at my mind. The trinket is the right shape but sunlight hit the square upper surface at such an angle that I couldn't discern any motif on the platform. Therein, a stone sparkled with great exuberance. Intuition chanted patience would reveal Truth…If the captain is a retired Ring Master, I'll soon know. I glanced up at the skipper.
Black Liam eyed me speculatively.
Liam slid his gaze to Katie.
Dragging my gaze along. As if trying to tell me something.
The maiden's brow wrinkled with angst in front of the calm vista of Loch Lomond.
She shouldn't be so distraught when the sun God, Lugh, prepared to set near the hallowed loch. But her face had been knotted by the ghost stories. Why had Black Liam yammered on about spirits if he was a Ring Master when the annoying tales only elevated her fear? No Ring Master would promote such discomfort. I slid my gaze back to the skipper.
The man tucked his ring-bearing hand beneath the tabletop.
Out of sight. Purposely? Who knows? But there are other clues that, in the correct context, identify Ring Masters. In the original style big kilt, pleats only belted at his waist, the end thrown over and pinned at his shoulder. Liam dressed with Ring Master panache. I just need to test Black Liam. Get a good look at the ring. Glimpse the pentacle, the sparkling star of what existed in all things. Or wait for a Freemason's greeting. Then I'll know Truth.
****
Hunger combined with dread only made Katie feel lightheaded on the boat as she stared out the window, waiting for the bloody sunset.
"Do you find the pipes pleasing, Lass?" Liam rumbled.
At me, she noted. I suppose. Who didn't like bagpipes? "Yes." With a stiff drink, even better. I reached back for my glass's promise of drowning embrace nestled in the serenity of its dark draught. Men could kill you. But a Scots' brew could help you forget.
Liam pushed off from the table.
Murdo shot me a half-hearted smile.
Too many of those smiles could seduce a woman. Not tonight. Chug-a-lug. I sucked down a burning sip of caustic brown liquid.
Liam opened a tall wooden cabinet door and extracted a prickly black bag.
After struggling with the bundle of pipes and bag, Liam sat at the table across from us. He straightened the instrument and grew serious. "Now, you're to watch the Loch, Lass. The magic of it will ease your woes." He twirled a finger to instruct them all to turn to the windows.
Is my discomfort so obvious? Just forget it all. Drown in whisky. Watch the sun hanging low, casting a golden path across the water.
Four birds flew by, unidentifiable in the way their bodies blackened against the sun.
"Keep your eyes on the Loch. This one's for Katie." Liam inhaled with a long windy breath.
Good. I preferred being significant. Even if it was only with older men.
The instrument's first whine hummed into a full resonating note. Four notes later, I recognized the tune.
Amazing Grace. Whether it was an omen or a blessing remained to be seen. If it foreshadowed the night with a ghost or my demise, I'd find out. My thoughts blinked to my parents' funeral where I'd heard the same song. Then to the lonely years in college when Jennifer and Pam had kept me going. And onward to last year's long Scottish winter that drove me to the brink of depression. Being alone sucked. Totally. Irrefutably. I gulped down the last of the sympathetic bitter brew and stared into the empty cylindrical tumbler.
Where's the damned bottle?
****
I'd listened to the ancient song, felt the baying notes move the earth, enliven the wind when I closed my eyes for a moment, but Loch Lomond demands my reverence. So I opened my eyes and gazed upon the riffling mercurial surface. My life--mission-is important. Och! Aye. Purpose is undeniably sacred. From purpose springs hope. And by the look of Katie's forlorn expression hovering over her empty glass, she'd forgotten about hope. I'd repair the damned sword. Travel to a stone circle and see what the Stones of Destiny had planned with all of this mess. Maybe, I'd know by then what to do about her anguish.
When the spirit of the song faded into nothingness, my heart kept pounding in my ears.
Katie stared out the window, her innocence hidden from our view. She lifted her hand and wiped one of her eyes.
Not tears. The maiden ached for reasons not of his time in a century when there's little to rely upon. And she was orphaned. History unequivocally ruled with twisted justice.
Black Liam gasped. "Tears, lass?"
She turned, her reddened features, baring her heart to the room. "Of course. Who can listen to Amazing Grace on the bagpipes in Scotland without tearing up?"
And to think being marooned in history is gauged the worse fate of all. Not so, Time dogmatically revealed. Not with a lass of her caliber crying at Scottish things.
Katie wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. The glittering evidence still showed on her face.
Liam grinned big, nodding. Light glinted off his teeth. "You come down any time you want, Lass. Black Liam will take you out on the Loch no matter the weather. Those tears are payment enough."
Katie smiled. "Can I get that written in blood?"
Blood pledges? What plagued the maiden so much to demand blood? Something bad. A man showed her kindness, and she demanded a contract. Katie Innis hid many secrets. I leaned my head back and emptied the rest of my warming draught.
Burning liquid slowly scalded a pathway to my stomach.
Blessed fire. That seared my insides in punishment for just sitting here. Something needed to tie me to this seat, before I grabbed the lass and squeezed the agony from her blue eyes. I managed to quietly place the tumbler on the table.
No one would hurt this maiden again with a Ring Master afoot. Perhaps that's why the fey marooned me in this time…Woe be to he who turned from The Call. That bit of Ring Master creed would coerce any Brother into commitment. And what kind of Ring Master wouldn't save her? Ask whatever they would of me, I would do the Gods' bidding.
****
I'm growing far too fond of the lovable Black Liam's broad grin. What girl could resist his charm? He refilled my glass with jangling whisky. So much for rational thought. My waterlogged head is too heavy to hold upright.
"And what of you, Katie? What do you do in Scotland?" Liam asked.
"I'm a sword smith." Hopefully, my speech isn't slurred.
Liam's features stretched with surprise and a smile. "I knew it had to be something special."
Right. Scotland and metallurgy. That combination harbored a special sort of synergism. Don't sign me up next time. Time. Oh, yes, that damnable term. Time. Time to change the subject. "What's your favorite time of any day on the Loch?"
"Oh, that would be easy. Millarochy Bay at sunrise, on the bank, beneath the trees. The morn's growing sunlight blackens the gnarled tree trunks and boulders in the shallows as it breaks through the mist. It's not the same at sunset, or I'd take you there."
Promises. Promises. But the place sounded primordial. Amazing. As if it had a grace of it's own. I'd love to see it. Especially if Black Liam was good on his promises. I'd swing around as often as possible. See the Loch until I couldn't stand to look at the craggy hills, oaks waving in the east, or the faceted mirrored surface of the lake broken by islets and shores. Yeah. Like I'd ever return. Dreams are fantasies. Life proved that time and time again. Unattainable fantasies.
My stomach growled a reality check.
Suppertime. Isn't whisky enough? You think these Scots would think so!
"Where's Jennifer?" Pam peered over her shoulder toward the last place we'd seen Jennifer.
Ho-ing the riffled swells of the loch, no doubt.
Liam braced his hands on the table and pushed up. "Let's have a look then."
Of course, he'd go running to her rescue. Men.
We followed the skipper forward, through a door, and out into brisk cold air where Jennifer and Todd manned the wheel.
Dang, the wind can bite. I crossed my arms over my chest for heat and struggled to hold my weighty head up.
Whisky had a unique kind of magic. One that could turn a head's organic molecules into lead. Someone should write a fairy tale about that one instead of King Midas--the ultimate metal smith.
The golden sun dipped low, the orb floating above the horizon.
Murdo stepped beside me.
Blocking the sun with his body's dark silhouette, and the worst of the chilling wind. Nice move. I'd have to remember that one.
Black Liam's kilt flapped where he stood next to his son.
Todd was taller. Handsomer in his youth. But the elder had fine values. If only they hadn't broken the mold with him when ditching their ancestral garb. Scots. They are a force to contend with. The last culture you wanted to piss off. Intelligent to the bone. But dumb as a rock when they cast aside the kilt. Good thing rocks could be smelted into fine steel. All I need now is to find a man like Black Liam. Or Todd. Too late for him though. Princess Slut already snagged him to serve as another one of her consorts. My problem is I didn't use peanut butter.
My teeth began to clatter.
Apparently revolting against my thoughts. Adios crazy ideas. I pivoted, darted back inside, and sank back in place on the comfortable bench and softness of my sweatshirt.
There's the damnable shirt. A quick thrust of hands and the sweatshirt's waistband snapped around snuggly around waist.
Good thing something did these days. Time to wait for sunset.
My teeth rattled off a rebuke to my adventurous foray into the cold night.
Like I planned to tick them off.
The door thumped.
Blue-and-green tartan moved in my periphery.
Murdo.
He sank back into his seat. "Are you well?"
"It was cold outside." My teeth cooperated enough to allow me to somewhat enun
ciate.
With Peanut-butter Legs? The wind equated to a cold shower. He's recovering the title of Mr. Perfect with his sanity.
The door creaked.
Chilling wind ripped through the cabin.
"I could use a cup of tea," Jennifer announced.
Joy. Go away. She obviously returned to jack with my life.
"Skipper Liam's got tea and more," Black Liam reassured.
Jennifer plopped down on the bench next to Murdo. He seemed to lean away from her. But the action was of little use. Jennifer snaked her arm around his elbow.
"He doesn't look like he wants you to touch him," I blurted.
Pam sank on the bench next to Katie and rolled her eyes.
What? Had I spoken out of line? Me? Never.
Jennifer grinned at Murdo. "You don't mind keeping me warm. Do you, Murdo?"
Pam would have spat a plume of whisky if she had a mouthful the way she gasped. But nothing snuffed Jennifer's grand plan.
"What do you think? We'll get up in the morning and see what we can see on the road to Glasgow?" Jennifer leaned into Murdo's arm. "You're so warm. Scots must have high body temperatures."
God. What a pointless statement. She's so ho-ing again. Obviously. Using science to appear intelligent. Surely Scots could discern between temptation and intelligence. Who can stand watching? I turned back to the window.
The sun had slipped a tad beyond a craggy horizon, its glow deepening to orange, casting the lake's broken surface into dancing strips of the same hue, leaving strips of gray to mark islands in the water.
I'd change the subject. "What's on the islands, Black Liam?"
"Wildlife. But there's a hotel on one."
"Is it haunted?" Jennifer whined.
"No, lass."
A faint steady whisper noted Liam had put the water on for tea. The boat stilled except for the occasional shifting from a passing swell. The kettle finally hissed. Or is that the sizzle from the sunset? I'd have that to remember. Not for long if I didn't make it through the night in the Chinese Bird Room.
A disharmonious clanking rang through the cabin.
"She's setting." Black Liam's voice hummed nearby.