by L. L. Muir
Fin lifted his hand, palm out. “Aye, Soni. I’ll not ask for another day. I’ll not have ye pay for another hour, do ye ken?”
Soni bobbed her head, her eyes shifted back to Angel, assessing. “And what of you, Miss Mott? What would ye pay to keep him?”
Fin stepped forward with a roar and held his arm out like a parent would restrain a child when he fears their car might crash. “She pays nothing. I will go, and now, if we can leave her in peace.”
Soni shook her head. “But she’s not in peace, is she, Finlay? And she would be willing to pay. It is written on her face…and on her heart, aye? But she must say the words.”
“No!” He moved his whole body between them. “Soni, what do ye here? The lass is innocent. I have told her nothing. She has seen…she has seen that I cannot be harmed, but I have explained nothing. Surely—”
Soni laughed, but there was nothing mean-spirited about it.
Fin’s shoulders relaxed and his arm lowered. “Ye would toy with me, witch?”
Angel gasped. Had he meant to call the girl something worse, or had he really meant “witch?” It would explain so much—if it were true, which it couldn’t be.
But still…
“Heed me, Soncerae. I will not burden this woman with things she need not know.” Fin faced Angel and put his arms loosely around her. He looked into her eyes and tried to smile, but failed miserably. “Let us say our goodbyes, lass. ‘Tis time.”
She shook her head and took a handful of his shirt in one hand and a handful of plaid in the other. “You’re not going anywhere. You haven’t explained anything. Tell me what the hell is going on. Tell me the truth.”
“‘Tis all right, Finlay,” the girl said. “She should be told.”
He looked away as if in pain, then pulled Angel against him so she couldn’t see his face. His voice was a harsh whisper against her ear that sent delicious, agonizing chills down her neck. “Can ye not simply remember me as an honorable man who came to yer aid on a difficult day?”
“Honorable? Absolutely. You’re a regular boy scout. But what else are you? Give me the real reason you have to leave. And don’t tell me she’s taking you to jail, or returning you to a mental hospital, or somewhere you actually have no choice about. If you have made some kind of contract with her—”
“He has,” Soni interrupted.
“Then maybe I can afford to buy her out—”
“‘Tisn’t money I must collect.”
Fin squeezed her tight and barked at the girl. “Do not—”
“‘Tis his soul.”
Angel held perfectly still and waited for Soni’s words to make sense. But after a few seconds, she gave up waiting. “So, this is the story you’re going with? She’s a witch and she’s here to take you off to Hell? Really?”
She closed her eyes and took just one more second of comfort from his arms, then she leaned back enough to see his eyes. She expected to see guilt written all over his face for even trying to feed her such bull. Or maybe he’d be laughing at her. But she wasn’t prepared for the expression that begged her to believe it was true—that said louder than words that he believed it himself.
“Finlay. You can’t possibly—”
“I tried to tell ye when we first met, that there was magic in the mist.”
Clearly, he did believe it. There was no use arguing with him. So, she glared beyond his shoulder at the girl. “What did you do to him to make him believe such a load of crap?”
Though Soni still smiled, there was no humor there. Instead, there was something old, something patient, something…sad. “What did I do?” Tears puddled along her bottom eyelids, just a blink away from spilling out. “Once upon a time, I lost my heart…to seventy-nine ghosts.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Fin dared not speak. The tension between Soni, Angel, and himself was as thick as had been the smoke from his fire that morning. And, judging from Soni’s watery gaze, the gray stuff might yet have been blowing about. But alas, it was only emotion that rose up to sting all their eyes.
If the wee lass began to weep, he was done for. Thanks to the human form he’d been granted, he was now capable of greeting right along with her. He only prayed they could both hold steady, though he would not wager much upon their chances.
Soni glanced pointedly at him. Angel followed her gaze, and when understanding dawned, that he was one of the ghosts to which the lass referred, he felt much like the mountain must have done when a large piece of itself suddenly came loose and tumbled to its feet.
Exposed. Diminished. Irreparably flawed.
He let his arms fall to his sides, expecting his angel to recoil—if not from the frightening prospect of standing so near a ghost, then from standing so near a madman—but she only pulled him closer, her grip on his clothes all the more tenacious.
“There are no such things as witches. Not in the real world.”
“Ah, but we don’t come from the real world,” Soni offered cheerfully. “We hail from Scotland.”
Angel grunted. “Not helping.” She lowered her gaze for a ten count then lifted her chin, and in her eyes, he found a reflection of his own helplessness. “I’m afraid if I say I don’t believe in ghosts, you’ll disappear.”
He smiled. “Such a clever lass ye are, but I am not so timid a spirit. And for the moment, still a man.”
“Until you leave?”
“Aye.”
“Then don’t go.”
“Say the words, Angel.” Soni whispered the suggestion, then looked about her as if fearing someone might overhear.
“Dinna listen to her, lass.” He gave Soni a warning frown. It was impossible to know what she was playing at, but her impish grin implied it was merely play. Had she not been the young witch he kenned so well, he would truly worry over her intentions.
“I don’t want him to go,” Angel told her.
“Say the words,” Soni repeated.
“You want me to admit that I love him?” She blushed and lifted her chin again. “I barely know you. I don’t know you at all—”
“‘Tis no matter. She but teases—”
“I’ve never really been in love before, but…I am—”
“Say the words, Angel.”
The lass looked at Soni. “I love him.”
Soni rolled her eyes and shook her head before whispering the command yet again. “Say the words, Angel.”
Fin realized he was wrong. It was no game after all, and he lifted his hand to cover Angel’s mouth, just in case. But she batted it away.
“I would give anything if you let him stay.”
Soni heaved a sigh of relief and nodded her approval, but nothing distressing happened. “I suggest ye put the kettle on, Finlay, while I regale Angel with the tale of Culloden.” She pointed at the pot on the table. “Fresh water, if ye please, while I tend to the fire.”
With a wave of her hand, she turned the cold pile of ashes into a hungry but manageable blaze that might have warmed a large cottage. He watched for a five count, to see if it would turn white, or green, but it seemed to be just as real as the one he’d started that morning. He peeked at Angel’s face to see what she thought of Soni’s talents, and when he found her pale and wide-eyed, he eased her into the nearest chair.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when she repeated the expletive twice more before he went inside to do as he was bid.
He was infinitely more relieved than he expected to be, now that Angel had truly witnessed Soni’s magic for herself. He’d witnessed the wee thing conjure her white fire a dozen times before, but seeing it afresh, through Angel’s eyes, he was reminded of what a miracle the lass had wrought. No matter how dire and imprudent the consequences of 79 resurrections, he had to admire her gifts.
Once inside the kitchen, he filled the pot and replaced the lid. When he was ready to go back out, however, he froze. Outside he would be greeted with the epic and heartbreaking tale of Scotland’s destruction,
and he was in no condition to hear it. At least for the moment, he was still a man and the emotions he was endowed with were an hundred-fold stronger than those he’d carried around the moor all those years. The memories had unfortunately been resurrected along with his body and he had to treat them like the sorest of bruises. To press on them might cause unbearable pain.
So, to give Soni plenty of time to recount a bit of history along with the battle, he did what any red-blooded man would do—he went in search of cheese-cake.
~ ~ ~
Angel stared into the flames and listened carefully to her first lecture in Scottish History. But unlike her time in high school, she was pretty sure she’d retain most of what she heard because she personally knew someone who had participated in it.
It was like a basketball game being much more exciting if you knew at least one of the players.
But her little history lesson turned into a horror story and her sleeves got sopping wet from wiping tears from her face while she listened to the hell Finlay and his companions had gone through. She couldn’t imagine what monsters their enemies must have been to chase down and murder those who hadn’t fallen in battle. And what they did to entire families, like Fin’s…well…
Well, it was enough to convince her that, had she heard the story as a young teenaged witch, she would have tried to do exactly what Soni had done. She would have tried to find some way to make up for what had happened to those seventy-nine who haunted the moor…because they were haunted themselves.
And Finlay was one of them.
She had to shake herself to make sure she wasn’t having an elaborate dream. And even if she hadn’t believed Soni was a witch, or that Fin was one of those ghosts, she believed her own eyes. And her eyes told her that a pile of blazing pine logs had suddenly appeared where papery white coals had been a second before.
She’d seen the fangs of that snake get caught, briefly, in the flesh of Finlay Robertson’s leg. And she’d seen that yellow semi crash into the man with such force there should have been nothing left of him.
And he didn’t have a scratch.
He’d predicted the landslide long before she’d heard the boom. He’d predicted that phone call and how she would have reacted to it.
She shook herself again. When Soni had appeared out of nowhere, she shouldn’t have been surprised at all. In fact, the only thing that surprised her now was that it took so long for her to add it all up.
What an idiot.
“I beg yer pardon?” Soni asked.
“Dinnae mind the lass,” Fin said, finally emerging from the restaurant. “As I said before, she has a habit of thinking aloud. I am fair to certain she did not mean to call ye an eejit, Soncerae.”
“No! I didn’t!”
Soni laughed, then peered closely at Fin. “Ye took yer own sweet time, aye?”
He wiggled the ceramic coffee pot, then put it next to the coals. “My apologies, ladies. I forgot about yer tea, distracted as I was by a small cheese-cake.”
“Well, you missed my history lesson,” Angel said as he leaned over to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“Nae matter, lass. I ken it all by heart.” He winked and sat down next to her, then rested his hand on her knee. It was a heavy, welcome weight that helped her relax.
He’s still here. He’s still a man. At least she hadn’t said that aloud.
She put her hand on top of his. “I’m so sorry about…everything.”
He shrugged it off. “‘Twas long ago. Dinnae fash.”
“I hope ye don’t mind,” Soni said, “but I told her about your vision of yer grandmother and yer sisters.”
Angel could almost feel his pain as he swallowed the mere mention of his family, and she was glad he’d been out of hearing while Soni had described the battle. She could easily imagine him standing bravely on the field, unflinching in the face of all that gun and cannon fire, eager to fight but never given the chance. Then, if she could believe what she’d been told—he would have awakened the next day as a ghost, then been tortured for over two hundred years with the knowledge that losing his life had all been for nothing.
Surely the rest of Soni’s ghosts had it easier, not knowing what horrific things were happening to their families until much later, when someone came around to make a memorial and give details within earshot.
Fin had zoned out, staring at the dwindling fire like he was watching the battle unfold in the flames. She squeezed his hand, but he didn’t squeeze back, so she exchanged worried glances with Soni. Thankfully, the young witch knew something to say.
“With whom did ye fight, Finlay? There were Robertsons in a number of regiments.”
He blinked a couple of times, glanced across the pit, then nodded. “I fought with the Atholl Brigade. We had the place of honor, farthest right, front line. And before I had a chance to raise my weapon, I was shot, here.” He pointed to the right of the notch in his throat. “I couldnae move. The bullet paralyzed me. I bled slowly and watched the rest unfold, just as I had seen in my vision, from the ground.
“I watched two of our lieutenant-colonels, Menzies and Mercer, cut down and then my cousin fell. When the battle was lost, not half an hour later, I was still alive to see it.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “My biggest regret, of course, is not that I chose to fight against my better judgement, it was that I chose to leave home when I had been shown what would happen there. And at home…”
Soni reached into her cloak and pulled out an envelope. “I was poking around in a private library maintained by Clan Muir. There we preserve the records of many a witch and seer of Scotland, Muir or otherwise. Because the information is still dangerous, even in this day, it must be protected. But I thought ye had a right to see this, so I made a copy of it. I would suggest ye burn it at some point, for yer own sake.
She stood and stretched over the fire to give it to him, then remained standing. “I must be going,” she said. “And Miss Mott needs to make arrangements with her suppliers, aye?”
Angel jumped to her feet and tried to keep Fin from standing. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no rush!”
Soni shook her head. “Unfortunately, there are other ghosts I must attend to, other arrangements to make. I cannae dally.” She pointed to the letter. “I would love nothing more than to stay and share that moment with ye, Finlay, but I cannot. Come give us a kiss, and be quick about it, so there is no time to greet.”
Fin grabbed Angel’s hand from his shoulder and stood. They stared at each other, wide eyed. She was frozen by hope, paralyzed with fear. Did he really get to stay?
“Aye, Finlay Robertson, ye’re truly a mortal man now,” Soni said.
He gave Angel’s shoulders a quick squeeze, then hurried around the fire to take Soni’s hands. Angel would have preferred he didn’t get too close, just in case, but she couldn’t open her mouth quick enough to tell him so.
“I suggest ye dinnae risk toying with snakes again,” the girl said, “for all my miracles will have been wasted on ye, aye?” She grunted as she was crushed in a bone-cracking hug.
“Ye mean it?” His question was both whisper and shout, like he’d really like to celebrate, but he didn’t dare yet. “Do ye truly mean it?”
Soni laughed. “I do.”
He suddenly straightened away from her, but Angel couldn’t see his face. He held the girl at arm’s length. “That would be fine, indeed. But at what price?”
Soni rolled her eyes dramatically. “Angel bought yer life, ye silly man, when she said she’d do anything to keep ye. Willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. It was a stipulation I gained from my uncle Wickham when we made the bargain. All that was required was her willingness, not her sacrifice, do ye ken?” She left a stunned Scotsman staring at the parking lot and came around him to give Angel a hug. “Two of a sort are we.”
Angel nodded and tears leaked onto her cheeks. “I feel the same. I can never thank you enough.”
“Oh, ye can. Ye can keep this bampot out of t
he road when there are trucks about, aye? He’s a precious bit o’ baggage.”
Angel couldn’t have picked a better word herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Bidding Soni farewell was more difficult than he had imagined. He would think of her daily, he was certain. And in time, he would not build a fire without remembering the wee lass that had stolen his heart and then his soul, only to give them both back to him.
Just after the witch disappeared, a playful bit of wind harassed the tops of the trees as if Soni were stirring in them a’purpose. Perhaps he would think of her each time the wind blew as well.
Angel pointed at his belt where he’d tucked the envelope. “Would you like some privacy, so you can read it?”
He plucked up the missive and stared at it. “Whatever lies within, I would share it with ye. But first, make yer phone calls. We doona wish to ignore tomorrow’s opportunity, aye?”
She nodded, collected an armful of split wood, and added it to the pit. “May as well keep it going until dark, right?”
“Just so.”
“I’ll have them bring up another generator, so we can afford to use the electricity. And I’ll have someone come run a line above ground to the propane tank, so we can have hot water.” She bit her lip while her eyes flashed.
“Go, Angel. I am content to wait until ye’ve organized yer wee army.”
A pair of hours later, Angel finally crossed off the last item on her long list. If there was a contingency she hadn’t prepared for, he would be verra surprised.
At long last, he settled in a chair and insisted she sit across his lap. Once her arms were comfortably settled around his shoulders and her feet dangling happily off one side, he opened the letter and was shocked to see his grandmother’s hand. She always added an extra flourish to her R’s that he’d seen only his gran do.
The letter was dated December 13, 1748. A note, written by another hand, reported the original had been translated from Gaelic to English in May 1843.
To all Robertson seers,
Let it be known to ye and yers, to be passed to yer posterity, that visions and forecasts, no matter how clearly seen and no matter how surely felt, can be altered. In February, 1746, I was given of God a vision of the massacre at the Battle of Culloden Moor. I also foresaw my own death and that of my granddaughters at the hands of the Hanoverians wherein we were locked inside our home and that home burned to the ground. Since I believed all my visions to be God’s pronouncement, I believed our fates were sealed.
