by Trisha Telep
“Praise be.”
“He likes the babies, Caleb. You know, if we have them two at a time, we might get that baker’s dozen. We’ve already got Susie.”
Laughter overtook him. The kind of wife every man wants but hardly ever gets.
He thought of Anyah.
Danke. Thank you.
The Heart Thief
Cindy Miles
One
North Eastern Scotland, on the North Sea, near Cruden Bay – late August
“Right. Lubbly jubbly! All you lambs and woolies – here’s your home for the next two nights,” Miley, the tour guide, a sandy-haired girl from Australia, said joyfully. “Gather your bags and rucksacks from the overhead, your suitcases from the back of the coach and meet me in the lobby. Chip-chop! Supper’s in an hour and I’m famished!”
Dari St James stood but was immediately pushed back down as the horde of passengers of Wilde Ride Coach Tours scrambled to exit. With a sigh she sat and waited as everyone else rushed to get out of the coach. She literally lacked the energy to fight anymore, and the last thing she wanted to do was waste what little energy she did have shoving and shouldering her way to the coach’s front door.
She mentally cursed her sister and best friend for convincing her to go on a chartered tour of “Magical Scotland”. Alone. And with a group of eighteen- to thirty-year-olds. Most of them being closer to eighteen.
Dari being closer to thirty.
And, to the horror of her sister and best friend, still single.
Needless to say she was, hands down, the matronly portion of the group, and the others sort of stuck together. Dari didn’t care. She’d agreed to go on the tour for the sole purpose of acquiring spectacular material and photos of Scotland for the company. With her sister Becca, and best friend, Samantha, they together ran Dream Vacations Travel Outfit out of Charleston, SC, and Dari had taken some fantastic photographs of Scotland so far for their in-house travel magazine. Even if she did have to suffer being the old lady outcast of a party-hardy tour group. Bah humbug.
“Er, you’re coming along then, right?”
Dari glanced up at the only person left in the aisle and on the tour who seemed to notice or care she existed: Malphus MacPhee. At twenty-two years old, Malphus was a tall, rail-thin computer programmer from Dublin, with a long sharp nose, brown hair and perpetual allergies. He’d come on the tour in hopes of finding “someone special” – at least that’s what he’d told her the first day they’d been on the road. He’d also told her he fancied Americans. And that he liked her hair (nothing special – it was shoulder-length, wavy, blonde with highlights/ lowlights).
Dari had a suspicion Malphus wanted her to be that someone special.
She was pretty positive she didn’t want to be.
“Sure,” she said, rose from her seat and grabbed her camera bag from the overhead. She offered Malphus a quick smile and moved into the aisle ahead of him. “Thanks.”
“Absolutely,” he said. He moved closer behind her. “Er, what are you doing later? Fancy a drink at the pub?”
Dari squeezed her eyes closed for a second then took a deep breath. “Um, I’m actually doing some work,” she said, giving a light-hearted chuckle. A long hank of bangs escaped her ponytail holder, and she blew it out of her face. “Boring, I know, but that’s why I’m here.” She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. “Work— whoa!”
Dari’s hiking boot caught against the rubber mat and sent her sprawling. Lucky for her, the metal handrail at the front of the bus stopped her from hitting the floor.
Unfortunately, it used her noggin to cushion the fall.
“Are you all right?” asked Malphus, pulling her back by her shoulders.
Dari held her forehead and inwardly cringed. “Yes, I’m fine – no worries,” she lied. It throbbed, but no way would she let Malphus doctor her. The pain would eventually stop. She pasted on a smile. “I fall all the time. Seriously. I’m totally used to it,” she said, and that wasn’t a lie. She had to be the clumsiest person she knew. With another reassuring smile, she climbed from the coach and threw him a wave. “See ya, Malphus.” She hurriedly walked to the back of the bus and gathered her single rolling suitcase. Malphus, now engaged in conversation with Miley, was sidetracked. Relieved, Dari glanced around.
She sucked in a breath of surprise.
So distracted by Malphus and smacking her noodle on the handrail, she hadn’t paid attention to their surroundings. The beauty of it shook her and she stood in the car park, drinking it in. The wind was decidedly stronger, and it whipped her ponytail, making her squint against the briskness of it. She almost didn’t notice, so taken she was with the sight before her.
Across the single-track lane wound a graveled road leading to an aged stone two-story dwelling with weathered black shutters. It sat dramatically upon an ancient shelf of rock, surrounded by gorse and clumps of purple heather, and looked out over the North Sea; a faded white-and-black painted sign swayed on rusty hinges in the wind over the entrance and read THE CLACHAN, EST. 1620. Shouldering her camera bag, Dari grasped the handle of her rolling suitcase and began to move toward the inn. A prickle of excitement coursed through her, and, all at once, despite the rest of Scotland’s beauty, this particular place spoke to her. She thought she’d never seen anything more rugged and beautiful in her entire life.
“Are you all right, love?” Miley, the bubbly tour guide said as she and Malphus passed her.
Dari hadn’t even realized she’d stopped. She gave a quick smile and adjusted her camera bag. “Oh yeah, no prob. Just . . . looking around.”
“Gorgeous little nugget, yeah?” Miley said, and turned back to her conversation with Malphus.
“Yeah,” Dari said quietly, more to herself. “It sure is.”
A sudden movement on the inn’s rooftop caught Dari’s attention, and she peered into the fading sunlight. She blinked.
A man stood, propped casually against the chimney stack. He seemed to be staring directly at her. She couldn’t make him out completely, but he looked strong-bodied, young, wearing a white billowy shirt and dark pants, and—
In the next blink, he was gone.
Dari rubbed her eyes with her fist, and then looked again. Nope. Nothing there.
“I’m losing my mind,” she muttered, drew a deep breath, then headed inside to check in. Must have been a carpenter, repairing something on the roof. In the morning, she’d set out early for sunrise photos. Anticipation gave her a spring in her step she hadn’t experienced since boarding the Wilde Ride Coach Tours bus.
She could hardly wait for morning.
Two
Justin Catesby watched the girl below bound into the front office.
She’d seen him. He was sure of it. She’d trained her gaze directly on him.
Not an easy feat for a mortal when faced with a spirit for the first time.
Scratching his chin, he leaned over the edge of the roof, bracing his weightless self against his thighs. He watched her ponytail swing, and her backside, err, well he watched her sashay straight into the office, dragging that rolling monster behind her.
“For shame, lad. You’re all but pawing her from afar. A rogue voyeur. A shameless pirate.”
Justin grinned. “Jealous, Godfrey?”
“Damn right I am,” Godfrey said, sighing. He eased closer to the rooftop’s edge and peered down. “I don’t see her, boy.”
“She’s inside,” Justin said.
“Did she see you?”
Justin stood and met his old friend’s gaze. “Aye.”
Godfrey, wearing that ridiculous plumed hat he fancied, scratched his forehead in thought. “And had you made yourself visible to the lass?”
“Nay.”
“Interesting,” Godfrey replied. He moved away from the edge and regarded him. “So she’s . . . sensitive?”
“That’s the only thing I can surmise,” Justin said, then grinned. “And to think I wasna even goin’ to stop by the old place. Fla
t glad I did.”
“Did you get a good look at the lass?” Godfrey offered.
Justin shook his head. “Nay.” He glanced at his friend. “But I will. Tonight.”
“Let’s go then, lad, and make you ready!” Godfrey began to disappear.
“Right behind you,” Justin said, and glanced at the inn’s entrance once more. Something struck him about the girl. He had no clue what that something was, but he was damn happy to find out. Easing into his invisible state, he joined Godfrey.
He could hardly wait for the night.
Dinner at the inn was an event.
Especially when sitting beside Malphus. He continuously stared at her. She could see him out of her peripheral vision.
When he cleared his throat she knew she was in big trouble.
“Um, yes. Dari?”
Dari popped a chip in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Yes?”
Malphus broke out into a cold sweat across his forehead; he mopped it with his napkin. “Would you care to go on a walk with me? After supper?”
Eesh! She smiled, hopefully concealing her strong desire not to go for a walk with him. “Well, thank you, Malphus, for the invite. I’m really beat though – was going to stay in and do some work before bed. You know?”
Malphus hung his head. “Right – of course. You’re on a working holiday.”
She smiled. “Yeah. I am.”
“What about in the morning?”
Well, gotta give him a point for persistence. And guts.
Oh go on and tell the lad yes, for saint’s sake.
Dari glanced over her shoulder, then back to Malphus. “Did you say something?”
Malphus turned beet red. “No, never mind.”
A chuckle, male, strong, and so not Malphus’s, sounded behind her. Dari turned quickly to look. Nothing. No one stood there. It had sounded right in her ear.
“Did you just laugh?” she asked Malphus.
He merely shook his head. “No, it wasn’t me. Goodnight, then.”
“Yeah,” Dari said. “Goodnight.”
Malphus rose and left the dining room.
Dari inspected the other diners, all from her tour. They were all engrossed in their own conversations, no one paying the first bit of attention to her. Malphus had been the closest and she knew the sounds hadn’t come from him.
Who then?
With a head shake, she drained her glass of soda, rose, dropped two pounds on the table, and wandered upstairs to her room. On the top floor, down the hall and to the right, she stopped at her door, unlocked it and went inside.
That laugh, that voice, stayed in her head all night long. Even when she pulled out her laptop to work on the travel brochure, the voice sounded in her head. And even when she went to sleep.
She tossed and turned all dang night. Or at least until she woke with a start.
Dari had no idea what startled her, but she bolted up and looked around the room.
A man stood over her. And for a split second – a split second – terror gripped her. She could do nothing more than stare. Tall. White billowy shirt, leather vest. Dark pants. Long hair.
With a gasp, she clapped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. With her heart slamming against her ribs, she tried to breathe in, out, catch herself before she hyperventilated. She lifted one eyelid slightly open. Then, opened it all the way. Then both.
No one was there.
Dari nearly fell out of bed reaching across the mattress to the side table to click on the lamp. Quickly, she gazed around the room. Nothing; nobody. Hanging over the edge of the mattress, she slowly lifted the bed skirt, then jerked it up. Her eyes roved beneath. She saw nothing. Just clean, wooden floorboards.
In only her knickers and T-shirt, she squirmed and wiggled until she was back on the bed. She sat there on her knees, glancing about.
What the heck was going on? She sighed, scooted back to the headboard, pulled the covers up to her waist, and waited. Nothing happened. “Well, I’m for damn sure not going to turn the lights out and go to sleep,” she muttered to herself. Maybe it was an old inn. Scotland was filled with magical lore and stories, and they’d told her plenty on the tour. Maybe her head had just heard enough. Now she was waking to finding billowy-shirted men staring down at her?
She was a freak to the nth degree for sure.
Tomorrow had to be better. She’d planned on taking an early morning photography hike out to Slains Castle – rumored to be the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. She’d read it – again – on the transatlantic flight. Maybe that’s what her problem was – a little too much Bram?
Soon, she yawned, stretched; exhaustion claimed her, and Dari closed her eyes.
Three
Captain Justin Catesby stood, just outside the girl’s chamber, his head against the door. He could, of course, slip back inside, but whereas his invisible ghostly state worked with most mortals, it apparently did not do so with Dari St James.
He’d checked her name at the inn’s registry.
She’d bloody caught him staring at her whilst she slumbered. He hadn’t meant to stay so long, but damn, she was fetchin’. There was something more than just her lithe body, her lovely hair and her bonny face. ’Twas more tae do with the way she’d scrunched her nose up at supper when that oaf Malphus had persisted to ask her for a walk. ’Twas certainly more tae do with the way she’d insisted she’d heard something. For the most part, she’d caught his attention when she’d tossed her backside to the air with nothin’ more than the slightest sliver of bloomers to cover it, all to check beneath the bed.
He’d fancied it.
Nay, no’ just the sight of her in her knickers, but the way she’d behaved when alone. Endearing. True.
And she did have the cutest little bum.
Justin turned and nearly ran straight into Godfrey.
“You cannot just watch the lass whilst she doesn’t know it, boy,” he accused. “Have you been inside her quarters then?”
Justin frowned. “Aye.”
Godfrey gasped like a wee girl. Even covered his lips with his fingers.
Justin scoffed in disgust. “Damn, man, stop that. ’Twasna like she was naked. She wore . . . things.”
Godfrey frowned now. “What things, lad? We’ve been around modern lasses, you and I, and we know just what sort of things they have these days.”
“Knickers and a T-shirt then,” Justin said. And when Godfrey frowned deeper, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didna go in there to catch her in her knickers, fool,” Justin said. “I . . . just wanted to watch her slumber.”
“Well, you mind your manners,” Godfrey said. Then, he grinned. “Or at least bloody wait for me to join you next time.”
Justin smiled and shook his head. “Daft.”
Godfrey patted his shoulder. “Maybe, my boy. How ’bout a game of knucklebones, aye? Take your mind off yon lassie?”
Justin draped an arm over his old friend’s shoulder and started up the corridor. “Do you ever grow weary of that game, then?”
As they disappeared through the wall, Godfrey chuckled. “Never, young Catesby. Never.”
Justin threw a glance at Dari’s door before he disappeared. He’d follow her tomorrow, just to see what she’d be up to.
Dari woke with a major crick in her neck.
She’d slept against the headboard all night long.
With her vision still sleep-hazy, she peered at the clock: 5.20 a.m. Easing off the bed, Dari made her way to the en suite bathroom, took a quick shower, dried her hair and dabbed on a little make-up. After brushing her teeth, she pulled on some worn, faded jeans, a pair of old brown hikers, an under-tank and a long, over-sized cream sweater; then gathered her hair into a pony tail. She grabbed her camera equipment and set out. It was almost 6 a.m. and she wanted to get an early start, possibly a few sunrise pictures. Those would look wicked in a brochure. Nearly forgetting about the night’s strange incident, Dari set off downst
airs.
Bruno, the desk man, was already awake and at his post. Of course, he lived there, and it was just what Bruno did. He was an older gentleman, cheerful, with a head full of thick, wavy silver hair.
“Morning, Bruno,” Dari said. She pulled out a rough map of the A975 that ran along the coast and pushed it beneath Bruno’s gaze. “Can you point me in the general direction of Slains?”
“Aye, aye.” He used his thumb to press against the map. “Just here ya go,” he said, then leaned over the desk. “’Tis just up the road there, about a couple of kilometers. Be careful, though, lass – ’tis quite treacherous to the untrained.”
“Thanks, Bruno. I’ll be careful,” she said, and headed out into the early Highland air. The moment she stepped out, the unique scent of clover and heather assaulted her and, as she walked to the road, she noted the yellow gorse and purple heather in bushes and clumps. Still too dark for great pictures, she decided just to get to the ruins and find a place to set up her tripod for sunrise shots. Walking along the A975, she managed the hike in a handful of minutes with some brisk walking and crossed the road, toward the ruins. The sun was just peeking over the North Sea, and Dari hurried. She was just in time.
A burst of yellow and orange and red glowed over the water, and the angle she’d chosen, with Slains in the foreground, took her breath away. She managed several shots as the sun rose, the old stone of the ruin at first looking black, then slowly taking on color.
She wanted another angle.
She gauged the climb and the fact she’d have to haul along her camera equipment.
It would certainly make for some fantastic shots.
Shouldering her equipment, Dari made it to the open ruins and inside to what once was the courtyard. Picking her way through the rooms full of vegetation – sometimes shin-high – she marveled at the structure, wondered at the souls who could have wandered through. Especially Bram Stoker, who’d been inspired by the ruins.
She should have been looking where she was going – she knew that right off. But something up above – not a puffin, or a kitti-wake, or a razorbill – something . . . else. The sun peaked, casting a bright beam of light through one of the chambers, and Dari shaded her eyes with her hand and stared at the stone ledge above.
