Ghosts of Culloden Moor 05 - Gareth

by L. L. Muir

  “Mayhap if ye’d been alone, they wouldnae have bothered ye. No doubt they simply wanted a test of their strength.”

  “Get real, they’d have robbed me blind,” she said darkly. She glanced at her watch. “We’d better get going. How far is the drive to Inverdeem?”

  “I’ve no idea. If we walk it, and push hard, we might get there in the wee hours of the morn.”

  “What? You said it was a short walk.”

  “It is.”

  She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “I thought you didn’t have much time left? Let’s go rent the car and we can probably be there in time to do some research today.”

  He sighed. “That’s probably so.”

  “I thought you wanted to go home,” she said softly.

  He shrugged. “I’ve wanted to walk away from Culloden Moor for more years than I care to count. I’ve wanted to walk all the way home and feel the wind, sun, and rain. See the hills and smell the heather. Walk past mountains and trees. I’ve wanted to take in the sites and feel again. But ye’ve the right of it. I’ve not the time to do such.”

  Her heart suddenly ached, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate pity. “Could you please excuse me for a moment? I need to check in with my boss.”

  “Dinnae let him bully ye.”

  “Are you telling me what to do?”

  He sighed. “Call the man.”

  She stood and he followed. “You’re not going anywhere are you?”

  “Ye’ve my company for a bit longer, and ye’re still in my care.”

  She didn’t bother arguing, and reached into her pack and withdrew the phone. She turned it on and after it booted up, she had five text messages. Three were from Mason.

  Hey babe, have you had a chance to talk to Perry about a part for me?

  Hey babe, I miss you.

  Hey, babe. Surprise, I’m in Scotland! You need to call me so we can hook up!

  Was he serious? She dialed Mason and it only rang once.

  “I wondered when you’d call me back. Your phone just kept kicking over to voicemail, and you didn’t answer my texts.” He sounded whiny and irritable.

  “You said you were in Scotland? Are you joking?”

  “Oh, no, don’t worry, I’m here. I’ve rented a room outside the Edinburgh airport. Where are you? I need you to come get me. I don’t want to have to rent a car or pay for rooms when we can share.”

  Share? They’d never shared a room in their lives. She wasn’t sure what to say to him. “I’m outside of Inverness in the Highlands.” She glanced up at Gareth. “Look. I’m not sure why you’re here, exactly.”

  “Oh, you know. I thought if I helped with the research, and if I took a few calls from Perry when he contacts you, it might be good for my career.”

  “You want to help me research?”

  “Great idea, right?”

  She glanced at Gareth to see him glaring. “This just isn’t a good idea.”

  “Lissa!” He sounded slightly panicked. “I’m here. I’m at your disposal. I need you to come get me!”

  “Edinburgh is hours out of my way. Round trip, it would be even more. I’m not coming. I don’t even have a car at the moment.”

  “Fine! I’ll rent a car and come find you.”

  “Mason, no. This is not a good idea.”

  When Gareth reached for her phone, she was ready for him. She pulled it away from her ear and hissed at him. “I’ve got this!”

  He folded his arms again, and looked at her, impassive.

  “Go back to Inverness,” Mason demanded. “Be there when I arrive.”

  “No, Mason, don’t. I won’t be able—”

  He’d already hung up.

  She looked at her phone. She didn’t want Mason here for her own sake, but knew putting the two men together would be an incredibly bad idea.

  Gareth clucked his tongue. “A problem? I told ye to let me take care of it.”

  She didn’t appreciate the way he towered over her. “Come on. Let’s go rent a car.”

  “What does yer boss want that he’d come all this way to see ye?”

  “You could hear my conversation?”

  “Parts of it.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but that wasn’t my boss.”

  “Who was it?”

  “His name is Mason Baldwin. He’s an actor. He thinks if we become a couple, then I might be able to help him with his career.”

  “I dinnae like the sounds of that.” His voice was gruff, and he was starting to look angry again.

  “I don’t care what you like. Let’s just go.”

  “I thought ye needed to call yer boss.”

  Feeling the need to flee, she hurried out of the park. “I can only handle one problem at a time. Right now, we’re renting a car. I’ll talk to my boss later.”

  He was walking behind her and she’d swear she could almost feel his bad mood growing. “Mayhap we should wait on the man. I should like to meet him.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Anyway, I thought I was your personal research assistant. We’re headed toward Inverdeem and that’s final. The sooner we get answers the better, right? Anyway, I don’t want you fighting anymore.”

  “Why not? I cannae be hurt.”

  “Others can. And no more cutting your body. If you do, I’ll find you a therapist, so you can work out your issues.”

  “What issues?”

  “Nevermind.”

  Feeling a twinge of guilt, she turned off her phone again.

  ~~~

  Once they rented a car, it took over two hours to get to Inverdeem, leaving Lissa exasperated that Gareth thought she’d walk the entire way. She didn’t rebuke him though, as she could tell he was getting nervous. He wasn’t talking at all as they closed the distance to Inverdeem.

  “I think I’m getting the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road,” Lissa tried an innocuous subject, hoping to relax him. “How about you? You doing okay?”

  He grunted. “I suppose I might be gettin’ the trick of ridin’ in a car. Though if the Scots drive on the left side, I must say, they no doubt have the right of it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I believe we were here first.”

  She laughed. “I can’t argue that.”

  “Anyway, I’d think men would drive rather than women. In my time ’tis how it was.”

  She raised a brow. “Okay, Father Time. You have a lot to learn, so I’ll give you a pass on that one.”

  Gareth stopped talking again, answering only when spoken to, and he wasn’t even doing that by the time they arrived.

  She watched him taking everything in. Inverdeem was a small village, homes and businesses interspersed with trees, bushes, and a nearby loch. Newer homes were built beside older gabled homes, and brick and timber seemed common. She even saw a decrepit castle off the road that looked like a tourist destination judging by the gated fence. Taverns, stores, and restaurants spread between apartment buildings and more homes. The place was actually quite lovely. “This is beautiful.”

  Gareth clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “Does it look different?”

  He finally nodded. “Some of it, of course. We didn’t have this large road runnin’ about, that’s for sure. But some is remarkably familiar.”

  “I bet it’s strange coming home after all this time.”

  He nodded and directed her to a white church. She pulled into the parking lot, shut off the car, and looked at him. He didn’t say anything, so she opened the door, exited, and waited for him to do the same. They stood studying the old white building with its stone foundation.

  “It’s a pretty church. Do you think any of it is original?”

  He shrugged, seeming nervous.

  “Let’s go inside and see what we can find.”

  They headed indoors and a priest turned around and smiled at them. “Welcome.”

  Lissa glanced at Gareth, who made no move, so she walked forwa
rd and held out a hand. “Hello, I’m Lissa Stuart from America.”

  “I can tell by yer accent. I’m Father Ross.” He looked curiously behind her.

  “Gareth?” She prodded.

  Gareth moved forward and spoke Gaelic to the man who responded in kind. Once they started they didn’t stop, and Lissa moved away to study the church. It was beautiful, the white of the outside complimenting the classical inside. The dark wood of the pews matched the roof beams, two beautiful stained-glass windows, set behind the altar, depicted saints.

  “Miss?”

  Lissa turned to see both the priest and Gareth watching her.

  She smiled. “Am I allowed to take pictures?”

  “Certainly, but I understand ye’re hopin’ to find some old records? Ye’ve come to the right place. Both the Roman Catholic church and, after the Reformation, the Church of Scotland were—and are—great record producers. We get this sort of request more often than ye might think. We have records for baptisms, marriages, and deaths that extend as far back as 1538.”

  He directed them into an office with shelves loaded with boxes, as well as a computer at a desk. “If yer searching for relatives or ancestors from our area, chances are I have records that can help ye. If ye can’t find what ye’re lookin’ for, I can send ye to the Diocesan Center where a lot of records are on microfilm. But that’s by appointment only. Let me help ye get situated.”

  “Thank you. This is exactly what I was hoping for.”

  “This should get ye started. There’s no password on the computer so dinnae worry about that.”

  It didn’t take long for Lissa to get started on research. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was find information.

  She could hear Gareth still talking with the priest. “Are there many MacGregor’s left in the area?”

  “Quite a few.”

  Lissa swiveled in the office chair. “Any who count family going back to Culloden?”

  “Some. But many moved on. To be a MacGregor after that time meant ye were hunted for a good 50 years or so. Many went to America, by force or by choice.”

  Lissa nodded. She knew that, but judging by Gareth’s face, she wasn’t sure he’d realized. She turned back to her work. She had Gareth’s sister’s name, Tavia MacGregor, and started there. After about twenty minutes she was still having a hard time finding the information she needed.

  “Gareth?”

  He hurried into the room.

  “What was your girlfriend’s name?”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “The girl you were to marry?”

  “Dierdre Campbell.”

  “What year was she born?”

  “1725.”

  She typed the information into the computer and came up with a ton of genealogical information. “I’ve found her. It looks as if she had a lot of family who emigrated to America. Just looking at this, it appears she’s related to thousands of people living in the world.”

  “If I’d have married her, all those relatives would be mine?”

  She just shrugged.

  Gareth went back to chatting with the priest. She could hear them talking about the old ways and how things were different now.

  Still nothing on his sister.

  She pulled down one of the boxes, pulled back the lid, and gasped. Books of handwritten records dating back hundreds of years were mixed with stacks of photocopied information. She headed out to find the priest. “Have all those records been stored on a computer?”

  “Nae, lass. We’re workin’ our way through them. It takes time.”

  She realized why she hadn’t been able to connect the dots before. The information might be sitting here in Inverdeem and nowhere else in the world. The thought of a fire made her cringe. “Do you have more copies?”

  “Aye, lass. Years ago all copies were sent to the University of Edinburgh.”

  She let out a relieved breath, pulled on some gloves, and started going through the books. She found records going back to the 1600s and was hopeful. Her fingers carefully turned pages as she searched for information. It was difficult because when the MacGregor name was outlawed, many adopted the names of Graham, Murray, Stewart, Grant and even their sometimes enemy, Campbell.

  Hours later, she found what she was looking for. She hurried to find Gareth, now asleep on a bench. “Gareth. I think I found your sister. It looks as if she married a man named Robert Grant in 1748.”

  She continued to read. “She had three children. Two boys and a girl.” She smiled and, when she glanced up, his expression was hopeful. She continued to study the book until finally she found what she was searching for.

  She double checked the names and sat back, her mouth slightly parted. How was she going to tell him this?

  “What is it, lass?”

  Perhaps she should lie to him. He was leaving soon. Why should he have the pain of this?

  “Tell me! I can see ye’re thinkin’ on lyin’, but dinnae bother. I’ll know if ye’re tellin’ me the truth.”

  She wished she was anywhere else at that moment.

  “Lass?”

  “It looks like…it looks like one of Tavia’s children had children. But by the year 1807 the entire family line is gone. Wiped out by an epidemic. Most of them are buried in a churchyard at Balquhidder.” Her voice trailed off as she turned her worried glance upon him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gareth’s throat tightened to the point he swallowed twice, unable to speak. He bent over to glare at the record book as if to make sense of the gibberish written there, but the words meant naught to him. “That…” he cleared his throat. “That cannae be right, can it?”

  The priest moved forward. “I’m sorry to say it, but that was often the case. Childbirth, dysentery, war—plague, murder, execution. Sometimes entire families were suddenly wiped out.” The man peered at Gareth, curiosity on his face. He’d no doubt the priest wondered why the deaths of people hundreds of years ago should matter now.

  Fearing the emotions showed plain upon his face, Gareth drew a breath, straightened, and moved away. He headed out the door and heard Lissa call his name, but it sounded as if it came from a great distance.

  He carefully walked down the steps toward the car.

  Within 50 years of his sister’s death all of her line died? There was nobody left? All of her children and grandchildren gone? He scrubbed his face with his hands.

  He thought about all the times he’d wondered. The times he’d woken from a deep sleep and searched through visitor’s faces, hunting for a familiar nose, brow, and way of speech. Listening for familiar names.

  Everyone had family! They didn’t just die out.

  Even his former love had a large posterity.

  His mouth tightened. He’d wanted to know. He’d wished to find his living family and be assured it all meant something. That pain, life and death, all meant something. Then, when the witch came for him, he could move on. He could get his revenge against Charles Stuart and progress to the hereafter. Or wherever it was determined he should go.

  But now what? It all seemed for naught. His life, that of his entire family—the loving, the pain, the hardscrabble drive for something more—all seemed meaningless.

  He could feel tears burn his nose, his eyes, and his jaw tightened to the point of pain. Abruptly, he strode into the woods without a thought. He could hear Lissa calling after him and walked faster. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t need a living reminder The Young Pretender had living, breathing relatives while he had none.

  Without thinking he headed for the place he went to be alone, to talk to God, or to recover from a thrashing.

  It was still there, his waterfall, the pond, the boulders.

  Was this it then? Was it—life—all for naught?

  He sat on a boulder, put his head in his hands, and wept.

  ~~~

  Maybe she’d missed something. After taking a few pictures of the church and the surrounding area for her boss, Lissa s
at in the car and continued the search on her computer. Perhaps she’d got it all wrong? Please, God, let her find she’d got it wrong.

  She did a backward search on the Internet, providing names of Gareth’s ancestors and started with the names of lairds from previous decades and centuries.

  She was about to give up that line of reasoning when she got a hit.

  A Mr. Ian MacGregor listed genealogies on an elaborate website and the lairds he claimed relations to were the same as Gareth’s.

  She did a search forward and backward, checking and double checking the names, but couldn’t find the missing family link that connected Tavia MacGregor’s children to this Mr. Ian MacGregor. There was an email address for him.

  She checked again, but still couldn’t find the connection that led the man to his conclusions. So how could he claim the same relatives as Gareth? It didn’t make any sense. Was the man part of another family? A distant cousin? Had he mixed up his MacGregor ancestors? Was he the world’s worst genealogist, making up facts to support his findings?

  As far as she could see, Gareth’s line died out. She’d seen copies of original records.

  She sighed. Regardless, the man was obviously passionate about his ancestry to list all the information he’d collected. What if he had more materials than she had access to? Perhaps he had yet to input everything?

  She clicked his email address and wrote him a brief note about who she was searching for, a list of the relatives Gareth MacGregor had in common with him, and how they were looking for answers.

  She glanced up, but there was still no sign of Gareth. Should she follow him into the woods? What if he didn’t come back?

  She’d sit here all day if she had to. She’d wait for him until there was no hope left.

  The pain in his face had been stark, real—and that anguish pierced her own heart.

  How could she have feelings for the man so quickly?

  Could someone actually fall in love in a day or two?

  That was ridiculous, of course. They’d just met. Sure, the man attracted her, but was it normal for her heart to ache as if she was the one who’d just lost her family?

  She admired him. She admired his strength, his honor, and his one track mind. She loved the way he looked at her. Maybe it was as simple as that. How long had it been since a man had teased her, protected her, and looked at her with such interest. Never, that’s how long.