Alistair: A Highlander Romance (The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 40)

by Jo Jones

  Surely, ’twas nothing, but he picked up his pace, all the same as Gus ran onto the deck, barked and scratched at the door. After no response, he jumped down and ran around to the shed.

  When Alistair caught up and saw the open door, he sighed with relief. Good. Brie was inside. “We’ve come tae fetch ye, lass. Ye’ve been gone far too—”

  Gus whined from inside, but when Alistair entered, the room was empty. Several cans had been pulled away from the wall and left in disarray. Unusual for Brie, given her pension for tidiness.

  Mayhap she was in the cabin and just dinna hear Gus. As he turned to leave the shed, however, he noticed a partial, mud-dusted imprint of a boot, on the floor. The heel looked much like the one they’d seen outside, last night.

  Alistair’s throat tightened. “Brie!” He raced for the cabin, praying he’d find her, inside. She wasna. But another dusty footprint, matching the one in the shed, stood out clearly on Brie’s spotless floor.

  He searched the entire cabin, finding no sign of Brie, or any disturbance other than the footprint.

  Back outside, he scoured the ground, trying to build a picture of what happened. The blackguard had been in the cabin, and the shed, but by the disordered condition of the shed’s interior, ’twas most likely he’d taken Brie from there.

  If he’s harmed so much as a hair…

  Rage engulfed Alistair, until he forced himself to take several deep breaths. “Ye’ll canna help her if ye dinna keep yer wits about ye!”

  He hurried inside the shed for a possible weapon but found nothing useful. However, he could use a couple of Brie’s knives. Racing back to the cabin, he rummaged through a drawer until he found a long, sturdy one for his belt, and a smaller, sgian-dubh for his boot. No’ quite the broadsword he was used to, but ’twould have to do.

  His hand shook as he closed Brie’s knife drawer, recognizing the absurdity of such a thought. Where could he have used a broadsword? A flash of his battle alongside Angus, played in is head. He actually remembered swinging the blade, before taking the point of another, in his side. His knees almost buckled as he recalled the agonizing thrust.

  ’Twas no’ possible! ’Twas naught but a dream!

  Alistair forced his confusion and questions aside. He couldna examine them, now. No’ when Brie was missing.

  “Gus,” he shouted from the deck, swinging his arm in a wide arc, at the forest beyond the cabin’s clearing. “Go find Brie!”

  Gus barked and hopped backwards, then turned and sprinted to the edge of the clearing, sniffing back and forth, across the ground.

  Mac started back at the shed, scanning the ground for any indication of what direction they might have gone, but he dinna see anything more than he and Brie had found the night before.

  He made his search wider with each pass, extremely resentful of the time it took, as he carefully scrutinized the ground for anything out of the ordinary. Single-mindedly, he shut everything else out, putting all his focus and energy into the task. Again, and again, he searched the ground. ’Twas a familiar, yet tedious, process and required patience. He’d had a devil of a time teaching that to Angus, but the lad had proven himself a good pupil, time and again. He’d even shared his skills with Gregor, when he’d joined them to track Redcoats, and their sympathizers.

  Och! Here, near the underbrush, the smallest bit of a toe print. “See it?” He’d raised up to point it out to Angus and realized he’d been somewhere else entirely, in his head. In a time far removed from this world, he’d been with highland warriors, tracking English Redcoats.

  He staggered back a step, dizzy from the realization that he may well have lost his rational mind. The dreams of a different century. Soni’s voice. His footprints in a place that he’d no’ walked into. His bond with Angus. Even now he felt the brotherhood of their friendship, wi’ just the thought of his name, and Gregor’s.

  No’ now, he pleaded. He’d yearned for his memories to return, but he couldna deal with the confusion they brought, now. He had to find Brie. He could sink into madness once she was safe.

  Trembling, he dropped to one knee, praying the toe print was real and not part of his fantasy. He nearly cried with relief as he traced the edge of the print with his finger. ’Twas narrow and not too deep. Too thin and shallow for a man.

  Brie’s!

  “Gus!” he called. When the dog came, Alistair indicated the print. Gus sniffed all around it and whined. “Find her, Gus.” The dog turned and disappeared into the bushes. Alistair continued his study of the ground, alert for the next sign his cunning lass left for him.

  Gus searched. Mac searched, but the weight of time, disappointment and mounting fear, clutched at his mind with visions far too vivid. What had Brie called the scoundrel? The Mountain Man? What had prompted him to take her? What cruelties was he capable of? Any fool would ken he couldna let Brie live and still keep his secrets.

  That he’d taken Brie was mayhap a sign that he dinna intend to harm her right away, and might have given Alistair the time he needed, if he’d no’ wasted so much of it following empty footprints to nowhere!

  If something happened to Brie, ’twould be his fault. Memory or no’, he couldna live with the loss of her.

  Gus pawed at a spot littered with pine needles. Alistair kneeled to examine it closer but dinna see anything significant. Then he realized the needles had been spread too perfectly, like a carefully laid blanket.

  “Good boy, Gus.” Very gently, Alistair swept them aside, a few at a time. Beneath them, he found Brie’s print, deeper this time as if she’d intentionally pressed it into the mud.

  Further on, with Gus’s help, Alistair discovered a bush where a twig had been freshly broken from the tip and the branch bent low to the inside, to hide the damage. But the leaves around the stem had been bruised in the process. Barely detectable, but a sign, nonetheless.

  The time expense weighed heavy on Alistair’s mind as they made their way through thick undergrowth, almost to the edge of a curved ridge, when Gus jumped onto a fallen log, sniffed all along it, then whined and pawed at the grass below.

  Alistair studied both the grass and log. The blades were bent, and several small shallow cuts marred the smooth bark of the log. Alistair sat on it, placed his hands over the marks and smiled. Clever Brie. She’d known he would follow and she’d done all she could to help him.

  “Let’s go,” he called to Gus who’d hopped to the other side of the log to sniff at something. “Gus! Come!” Alistair ordered, anxious to be on their way, but the dog laid down, whimpered, and wouldna budge.

  “Gus!” he called again, but when the dog still refused to move, Alistair joined him. “What is it?” He stepped over the log. As soon as he did, Gus jumped up and pawed at the grass. Alistair’s careful search yielded a small circle of gold. Brie’s ring! She’d worn it on her little finger, nervously twisting it when she’d shared her heartbreaking story about her father.

  “ ’Tis a grand tracker, ye are, Gus!” He gave the dog an enthusiastic hug. “The lads would be mighty proud to have a keen dog such as ye, join ‘em.”

  Alistair slipped Brie’s ring into his sporran, realizing he’d begun thinking and speaking more and more gibberish. Setting his confusion aside once more, he rose and moved on. His madness would have to wait.

  After studying the curved ridge to his right and the dense, tangled brush to his left, Alistair couldna imagine anyone getting through that bramble. He chose the ridge, watchful of any sign that told him he’d chosen correctly. On the other end, a high mountain rose up to his left, far too steep and craggy to drag Brie up. At least he hoped so.

  Following his instincts and Gus’s lead, he started down a sloping valley. A little over halfway, he spotted the edge of a heel print. It looked as though someone had stepped onto a flat rock but dragged a heel just enough to leave the mark. ’Twas enough to give Alistair a measure of encouragement.

  At the end of the drainage, a large dead tree
stood sentry over a much sharper incline. Gus ran ahead to a group of flat rocks, where he sniffed, circled, and sniffed some more. Alistair caught up with him and examined the surface.

  Several pieces of gravel had been stepped on and ground over the stone face, leaving small white scratches in their wake. The direction they’d scattered suggested Brie and her captor had gone further downhill, over that bedrock.

  He continued that direction and caught his breath as the edge of a wide, deep ravine came into view. He’d brought Brie here? Why? Panic clogged his throat as he considered the possibilities.

  Gus raced ahead, through a split between two large boulders, bounding from rock to rock. Alistair followed as fast as he could and emerged on a narrow stone shelf.

  “Brie,” he whispered, seeing nothing but this empty, narrow ledge and a terrifyingly deep canyon in front of him. Dread twisted his gut.

  Gus moved along the rock shelf, nose to the ground. Alistair’s heart leapt into his throat when the dog suddenly sprang onto a group of boulders that spilled over the edge, and disappeared.

  “No, Gus!” he yelled. But ’twas too late.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In the dim light, the cave appeared wide, but low ceilinged. Brie shivered, both from the cold and the throbbing pain in her ankle, the swelling stretching the limits of her boot. Her back burned. She wouldn’t be surprised if there were bits of gravel imbedded beneath the skin. But, she’d never been so happy to slam into a boulder!

  “I should have pushed you the rest of the way,” Blanchard complained, panting from all but packing her the remaining twenty feet to his shelter. “That generator better not be damaged.”

  Brie didn’t respond as he deposited her on a camp chair near a blackened firepit. She propped her aching foot on one of the rocks and studied her surroundings, stunned at what she saw.

  Piles of items were stacked all around the cave walls. Stuffed bags and backpacks were everywhere, along with lanterns, and weapons. He even had a hammock hanging by pitons. Food items had their own area and in a far corner, a mound of what looked like opened cans and rubble.

  “How did you find this place?” She still couldn’t believe everything she saw. “How did you manage to haul all this stuff in here?”

  “I’m capable of a lot of things, Ms. Drummond. So, do not underestimate me, or my patience.” He pulled a man’s jacket from a neatly stacked pile of clothes and tossed it at her while he laid the wood for a small fire.

  “However, I will indulge your question. I spent my first summer up here, perfecting my survival skills. I had several theories I needed to validate before adding them to my curriculum. However, there were—and are—several I have perfected that I will not make public.”

  He liked to brag. She needed to indulge in more ego buffing. A small price to pay if it kept her alive long enough for Mac to find her.

  “Your first summer? How many have you spent here?”

  “This is my second. The first was all about setting-up my shelter. I needed a secure, un-trackable location. It took months to find the perfect spot. But I’m not a quitter, Ms. Drummond. That’s what’s wrong with society today. No one is willing to do what it takes to survive. So…” he glanced up at her as he struck a match to light the fire, “few of us will.”

  Once the flames took hold, he stood, removed the tiny pewter wizard from his pocket and set it on a long, narrow cleft in the cave wall, alongside dozens of small objects

  “That’s my wizard!”

  “Well, it was yours,” Calvin sneered.

  Anger surged through her. She didn’t care about the generator, or anything else he might have taken from her, but the little wizard figurine was her mother’s reminder that Brie carried her own magic.

  The thought brought her up short. Her mother’s reminder…

  Brie’s resolve deepened. Her mother was right. She wouldn’t sit back and let this deranged fanatic beat her. She ground her teeth and silently called him every ugly word she could imagine.

  “And your second year?” She prompted, to get him talking while she scrutinized the loot he had stacked around, for anything she could turn into a weapon.

  “This second year, has been about putting my skills to use.” He proudly indicated his large store of items. “As you can see, I can walk in anywhere and take anything I like. Skills like mine are what separate expert survivalists from the wanna-bes; what I endeavor to drive home in my lectures. Evaluate, adjust, and try again. I’m very good at thinking outside the box. Really good, in fact. After two years, the authorities still have no clue who I am, or where to find me.”

  “Yes. Your expertise is quite evident.” Ego stroke, number two, you pathetic little man! Two can play at this game.

  “Next year will be even better.” He almost purred with self-adoration before his gaze fell on her and turned hard. “Which, unfortunately, is why there’s only one way you’ll ever leave this cave. I have plans, Ms. Drummond and I will not be diverted from them.”

  Brie’s blood turned to ice, completely convinced he meant every word. She had to buy time, no matter what. She cursed her swollen leg and the limitations it imposed. Running from him certainly wasn’t an option.

  “I’ll admit there are times I miss intelligent, stimulating conversation, which I hoped you would provide,” Calvin continued, “but like everything else, when something is used up or worn out, I get rid of it, and find something else that pleases me.” He shrugged. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

  “Of course not,” she smirked.

  “Unfortunately, now that school is back in session, and my lecture tour scheduled to end soon, I’ll be limited to weekends up here, so I’m afraid, out of necessity, my hospitality will be quite short lived.”

  He indicated her ankle, where the swelling bulged over her boot-top. “I trust you’ll stay put while I retrieve the generator and panels. You might wish to pray your clumsiness has not wasted my days efforts and cost me the prize.”

  Blanchard stepped to the mouth of the cave and zipped his jacket. Not far away, a dog barked.

  ~ ~ ~

  Alistair peered down the rock flow, his heart beating a reckless cadence in his chest as he searched for Gus. A piece of fur, the tip of a tail, anything that would indicate the dog wasna lying at the bottom of the chasm.

  What prompted him to leap over the edge like that? Surely Brie couldna be down there.

  Alistair shifted back and forth, watching for Gus. When he moved to his left, something flashed. He moved his head a few inches the other way, and it disappeared.

  Something shiny lay below, among the rocks, which meant Brie could be there, after all. Alistair appraised the rock formations, picked an initial route and descended. Far below, he heard Gus’s bark and felt a surge of relief and exhilaration. Gus was all right. Had he found Brie?

  A gunshot echoed through the canyon.

  Startled, Alistair missed the large boulder he’d been jumping toward and slid off the edge, rolling several times before he came to rest at its base. His shoulder had taken a good hit, but luckily his head had no’.

  He scrambled to his feet, a cold weight in the pit of his stomach. The Mountain Man had weapons. Who, or what had he been shooting at? Brie? Gus? The bitter taste of fear filled Alistair’s mouth.

  Alistair’s furious growl colored the air as he hurried down the remaining rock face, to the spot where he’d seen the flash of light. He found the two items from Brie’s shed he’d noticed this morning when they’d taken the wheeled-machine out. The square panels looked as if they’d been placed carefully against a stone base, while the small black box looked to have been tossed into the rocks.

  There were several boot prints, and a long, steep, torn-up path of gravel indicating someone had endured a long, rough slide. Brie. Had she been hurt? Or worse?

  Ye canna think on that, he reminded himself. Find her!

  Listening carefully for any sounds, he moved
farther down the steep terrain as stealthily as possible. He couldna see Gus, nae hear him, but Alistair did find an occasional paw-print to guide him.

  Suddenly, the muffled, low vibration of a snarl hung on the still air. Alistair stopped, hoping he’d hear it again so he could pinpoint the location. But then he smelled the smoke. He almost laughed with relief that the Mountain Man had made such a crucial mistake.

  Using his nose as a guide, he eased closer. He almost stumbled onto the cave before he recognized what it was and pulled back behind the outcropping that hid the opening. A few feet ahead, Gus belly-crawled toward the mouth of the cavern, where a gun barrel protruded.

  “Gus,” he hissed.

  The dog stopped, and his ears perked up.

  “Gus, come.” Alistair whispered.

  Suddenly, the dog jumped up, whirled and raced to Alistair, as the sound of a second gunshot reverberated through the ravine.

  Relieved, Alistair kneeled to grasp Gus in his arms. If he’d crawled any closer, he’d have been shot. Thankfully, Gus was safe, but they’d lost the element of surprise.

  Alistair kenned he held the weakest position. If Brie’s tale had been correct, the Mountain Man could likely hold out in his shelter indefinitely. Alistair, on the other hand, could no’. He dinna have so much as a cup of water to share wi’ Gus. And what of Brie? Was she hurt? Still alive, even?

  Think, Alistair! What would it take to draw the badger from his hole? He couldna come at the cave from the side. Gus had proven that. The opposite side was a sheer drop-off to the canyon floor. Only above or below, remained.

  He dinna believe he could maintain any element of surprise from below, even if ’twas possible. Was it conceivable to climb above the cave opening without landing in the deep gorge, below? Even, if by some miracle of the heavens, he made it there, how could he lower himself to the cave opening?