Ghosts of Culloden Moor 30 - MacBean (Darcy)

by L. L. Muir

  Heat ran up her neck and into her cheeks. “No.”

  They stared at each other across the distance.

  Lilith finally started to feel uncomfortable, wondering if what she felt showed on her face. “Well, I’d better put Olivia down for a nap. If you need anything, I’ll just be downstairs.”

  She left the room, and the light feeling of attraction still hummed and buzzed in her veins. She didn’t care if it was because he’d saved her daughter, or if it was because he looked like the freaking Highland warrior to beat all Highland warriors. She was going to enjoy this feeling for as long as it lasted.

  He wasn’t going to be there long.

  They were moving.

  There was no way this could turn into anything more than a passing attraction.

  Wrong time, wrong place.

  Still, why not relish it while she could?

  She grinned as she carried her daughter down the stairs.

  Chapter 3

  Alan liked this little family very much.

  And they were little. Tiny in stature and few in number.

  Focusing on the latch, he easily figured out how the simple mechanism was broken and fixed the catch, enjoying the weight of the unusual tools and hardware in his hands,.

  He tested the window a couple of times, confident the wee lassie would not be able to reach the fastening.

  Again, he remembered how he’d caught the little one in his arms, and a fresh wave of pride swelled in his chest.

  Her mother was certainly attractive, with her dark hair twisted atop her head in one of those impossible styles. When the woman’s green gaze settled upon him, his heart had thundered in his chest.

  He rubbed at the offending organ.

  Aye, Lilith was a looker, and aye, he’d been looking.

  He glanced around the attic for something else to fix, but found naught. Anticipation filled him as he glanced at the door that led to the stairs. He’d just have to find Lilith and ask for another chore, wouldn’t he?

  He headed down the stairs, glancing around at the numerous rooms. On the first floor landing, family photos lined the wall and were arranged along a long table. So many different people. Alan looked at the pictures and wished he had some of his grandda. Cameras weren’t invented until more than a half-century after the battle where he and his brothers-in-arms had been slaughtered, but he’d watched society progress from the Moor.

  Some of the pictures were black and white or faded with age. Others were colorful, and he found a few of Lilith and her daughter.

  Another was of Miss Celia, still recognizable as a young woman smiling at the camera.

  His gaze was drawn back to Lilith’s picture. As he walked along the long table, there were more of her and Olivia, but he didn’t see a man in any of them.

  Had her husband died? Was it too painful for her to display his likeness? He didn’t think he’d have the nerve to ask.

  One of the frames sported a small mirror and he examined his battle-scarred reflection. For perhaps the first time in his life, he wished he were handsome.

  So why did Lilith look at him as if she thought as much?

  Feeling foolish, he followed both his nose, and the clatter into the kitchen.

  When he saw Lilith, his heart thundered in his chest and his pulse raced. “I fixed the window latch. Is there naught else I can repair for ye?”

  “Let me think about it. In the meantime, I’m making lunch. Please, sit down.” She indicated a tall chair against the counter, and he slowly settled into the high seat.

  Just as he did, the outside kitchen opened, and a slim young man came inside. Alan surged to his feet to stand in front of Lilith.

  The man halted a few feet away and scanned him up and down. “And just who are you?”

  Alan glared at the impossible color of the man’s hair. Never had he seen that shade of red. “I might ask ye the same.”

  “Lilith? A little help here?”

  The young man didn’t have much muscle on him, but had an easy smile and was obviously at home in the place. Could this be her young man? His stomach sank. He should have known—she was too pretty to be unattached.

  Lilith spread a white concoction upon slices of bread. With a casual wave if the knife, she introduced them. “Trent, this is Alan MacBean. He’ll be staying with us for a few days. Alan, this is my friend Trent Massey. We’ve been friends and neighbors for years.”

  So, the man was simply a friend? Alan reluctantly held out his hand and clasped Trent’s, resisting the urge to crush his fingers.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. MacBean. What brings you to Herrick House?”

  “Herrick House?”

  “That’s the name of our home.” Lilith waved the knife again. “The place is on the historical registry, so …” she shrugged. “The pretentious name goes with the territory.”

  The two men settled themselves at the counter, a chair between them, and Alan was suddenly glad for the other man’s presence, as being alone with Lilith made him nervous.

  The entire kitchen smelled wonderful. A memory of hearth and home and his grandda’s cooking washed over him as Miss Celia came into the room and took the seat between them. “Hello, boys.”

  After murmured greetings, Trent leaned over to look at Alan around Miss Celia. “You look and sound Scottish. What are you doing in Massachusetts?”

  Alan wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’ve been sent to look about.”

  “Oh,” Miss Celia handed out napkins. “Do you have any relatives from here? Any ancestors? A lot of folks come through town to search out family from the Salem witch trials era.”

  “The witch what?”

  “The witch trials.” The two women exchanged a glance. “You’ve never heard of the Salem witch trials?” Miss Celia asked.

  “Nae, I’ve not.”

  “Really?” Miss Celia straightened. “Well, your education has been sorely lacking. Simply put, back in 1692 there were a series of false accusations and people were charged with witchcraft. There were trials and denials, and in the end, over twenty of the falsely accused died horrible deaths.”

  “None were witches?”

  Trent laughed. “Good one. I like your sense of humor.”

  Miss Celia smiled. “None that we know of.”

  Alan nodded. “A true witch would’ve escaped a trial.”

  “Exactly so!” Miss Celia agreed.

  “They burned witches in Scotland, many years ago. It wasnae a pretty sight. Of course, I had naught to do with any of it.”

  “Of course, you didn’t.” Lilith’s gaze was amused.

  “Since then, I’ve come to find there are good witches.”

  “Amen to that!” Miss Celia exclaimed.

  Lilith chuckled again and Alan found he was having a hard time looking away from her as she worked across the counter. The way she continued to glance at him, as if he were a hero of old, was doing crazy things to his insides.

  He finally forced himself to look away. There was a world map on the wall and Alan stood and crossed the room to study it. “Where is Scotland?”

  Lilith moved forward to show him Scotland on the map and he could smell her soft perfume, clean and fresh. He followed her finger and his eyes narrowed. “’Tis so small. Is this drawn to scale?”

  Lilith laughed. “It is.”

  He realized his tone was offended, but he’d been over every inch of the land and it had seemed endless in his time. Apparently, the world was much larger than he’d envisioned and he suddenly felt at a loss.

  “And here is Salem.” She pointed it out on the map.

  Across the ocean. The thought of it, of Soni’s power in sending him there, gave him chills.

  Lilith set plates of food at the counter, each holding a creation that he recognized as a sandwich—something guards and guests alike always favored at Culloden Moor. “Time to eat.”

  Alan returned to his seat as Miss Celia picked up her food. “I’ll tell you one map I’
d like to get hold of, and that is the treasure map!” She waved her sandwich. “Alan, I don’t know that we mentioned it, but we’re having a séance tonight, to once again ask the ghost of my great-great-grandfather where he hid his treasure. Would you like to join us?”

  For a moment, he was at a loss. “The man’s ghost ye say? Aye, I’d like to meet him.”

  Lilith grinned. “Wouldn’t we all. We’re going to eat dinner before the séance. What would you like? I’m a chef, so name anything that sounds good and I’ll make it for you. A thank you for saving my daughter.”

  His cheeks heated with pleasure. “Meat pie?”

  She smiled. “You’re easy to please. Meat pie, it is. I’ll dig out Jeremy’s favorite recipe.”

  He couldn’t help but ask, “Jeremy was yer husband, lass?”

  “I’ve never been married, so no. Jeremy is my cousin.”

  Never been married?

  Alan quietly let the implication sink in. Never had a husband? Who’d fathered her child? “Did yer man go to war and die before ye had a chance to marry?” He knew his friend worried endlessly about the same. He’d anticipated his wedding vows, and never did find out what happened to his lass. Had she conceived? Had she been cast out by her family? Niall agonized over the thought of it over the centuries.

  “No.” She glanced at him. “I suppose what you’re really asking is who Olivia’s father is?”

  He’d no right, but didn’t nay-say her either. He was curious, and did wish to know.

  She shrugged. “I was seventeen when I got pregnant, eighteen when I delivered. I thought it was forever, but he thought it was just for the night. My parents urged me to give my daughter up for adoption, but I didn’t. The boy didn’t want anything to do with me after he found out I was expecting.”

  Alan was outraged. “I’d say he lost the right to voice such an opinion at that point!”

  She laughed. “Well, his family didn’t think he should marry at such a young age, and incidentally, I’m glad we didn’t.”

  He heard a slight ache in her voice, however. She might feel such now, but when she’d been young, alone, she’d no doubt wished for and needed his support.

  “Tell me where he is and I’ll find a priest forthwith.”

  She laughed. “That would be a sight to see.” She laughed again. “Actually, he’s married now, and from what I understand he’s not been a very faithful spouse. I made a mistake, and I’m glad I don’t have to pay for it for the rest of my life.” She met his gaze. “If it makes you feel any better, he does pay child support, though he doesn’t see Olivia.”

  Dark thoughts shifted through Alan’s mind as he returned to his seat. If the man was dead, his wife wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, and perhaps the vengeance of it would settle Lilith as well. “His name, lass. And his direction if ye have it.”

  She laughed again. “I’m not telling you. But, thank you just the same. You aren’t the first to consider he should have done right by me. But I’m glad it’s worked out the way it has. I really don’t want anything to do with him.”

  Mayhap a sound thrashing would suffice.

  Mayhap Miss Celia would give him the man’s direction.

  As he ate, Miss Celia and Trent chattered about the upcoming séance and Alan glanced at the smaller man and wondered again if he courted Lilith. Trent must have caught something in his gaze because he lifted both hands in the air in a defensive gesture. “Uh, gay over here. In case anyone wanted to know.”

  The man did look gay, indeed, a state of mind none had ever accused Alan of sporting.

  No doubt Lilith needed lightheartedness in her life after what she’d been through.

  He glanced at Lilith again. Though he missed his brothers, and worried over them, protectiveness welled within him for an entirely different reason, leaving him with a strange feeling of vulnerability.

  He might only be here for two days, and Lilith obviously wasn’t meant for him, but while he lived and breathed, he’d keep her safe, body and soul.

  A while later, Lilith was alone in the kitchen when she heard the doorbell ring.

  She dried her hands on a kitchen towel and headed for the foyer. She recognized the tall, white-haired gentleman through the frosted glass windows before she opened the heavy wood door. “Hello, Mr. Porter. How are you today?”

  Was that hope in her voice? Of course, she was hopeful. What if Mr. Porter’s friendship with Grandma could somehow make this entire foreclosure problem go away?

  She knew it was unrealistic, she knew they’d have to move, but kept hoping that because Mr. Porter worked at the bank, he might be able to do something for them.

  The older gentleman bowed his head. “Hello, Miss Clarke. Is your grandmother home?”

  “Come in.” She gestured the man inside, and he set his briefcase down and took off his hat. “I’ll just go get her for you, alright?”

  He nodded. “I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

  She headed past the staircase and down the hall, and met Grandma coming out of her sewing room. “Mr. Porter’s here.”

  “Is he?” Grandma smiled widely and headed to greet her friend, hands extended so she could clasp his. “George! How wonderful to see you today.”

  Lilith stopped by the staircase. She didn’t wish to intrude, but really wanted to hear what the man had to say. She could see his face as he gazed down at Grandma, and had no doubt Mr. Porter, nearing retirement age, had a huge crush.

  It was impossible to tell if Grandma returned the feelings, as she treated everybody much the same—as long lost friends she was thrilled to see.

  No wonder she had so many friends.

  “Celia,” Mr. Porter’s voice was hesitant. “I truly hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I believe I’ve done everything I can, and the bank is still insisting on foreclosing in four days.”

  Grandma made a distressed noise, and Lilith’s heart sank. He hadn’t been able to get an extension?

  She thought about all the furniture in this place, how difficult it would be to pack it up, and how the storage sheds she’d looked into were so expensive, especially as they’d need three or four large ones.

  Part of the problem was that Grandma refused to sell a single stick of furniture.

  And Lilith didn’t have the heart to force the issue.

  Well, she didn’t have to force anything, did she? The bank would do it for her.

  Mr. Porter hung his head. “I wish I could help.”

  “I know you do.” Grandma gently patted her friend’s face. “And I appreciate that.”

  “Perhaps I could offer you a few thousand dollars of my own money? To tide you over?”

  “Oh, George.” Grandma’s tone was grateful. “You’re sweet to offer. Thank you, but it will all work out in the end. You’ll see.”

  “Celia, I wasn’t able to get you any extra days. You’ll have to be packed and out by Monday night. I’ve been informed that you’ll be removed from your home by the police if you’re not out, and blocked from setting foot on the property. At that point, it will belong to the bank, and anything removed will be at the bank’s discretion. I just wanted you to know, so you can be moved out in time—so you won’t have to deal with any ugliness.”

  The police would really drag them out of the house? Lilith’s stomach churned.

  “I’ll be glad to help you anyway I can. I’m sure I could get my two sons to come over and pitch in with moving as well.”

  “Thank you,” Grandma said softly.

  “Do you still want me to come to the séance tonight?”

  “Oh, George, of course I want you there. After all, contacting great-great-grandfather is my last hope, isn’t it? I want all my friends around me.”

  The look on George’s face said it all, then his gaze dropped to the floor. Grandma’s last hope offered no hope at all.

  As Grandma walked out onto the porch to say her goodbyes to George, Alan walked up behind Lilith. “You’re losing yer home?”

>   Lilith willed back the tears pressing behind her eyes. She nodded. “Yes, we have until Monday to be out.”

  She walked back into the kitchen, and could feel Alan watch her go.

  If there was absolutely nothing she could do, she’d at least make tonight the best party Grandma ever had. Something to talk about for years to come.

  If they had to leave, they’d go out with a bang.

  They were to lose their home.

  Alan had been homeless a time or two, himself.

  He stood there like a lump on a log as he watched Lilith head back into the kitchen, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her worry. Celia headed into her sewing room.

  This was obviously the reason he was here. He felt into his sporran and rubbed the few coins he had together. He didn’t have the gold to save their house, but if this was what he was sent to do, there had to be a way, didn’t there?

  He felt like a great lummox, and anger at himself burned in his stomach.

  Three unprotected females had been placed in his care. There had to be away for him to help. He took two steps towards the kitchen, toward Lilith, then stopped. What had Miss Celia said earlier? About a treasure? Mayhap that was the reason he was there.

  He turned around to move in the other direction, and found Miss Celia sitting in her little parlor, an embroidery hoop on her lap as she stared into the cold fireplace.

  “Miss Celia?”

  She gave him a wide smile. “Oh, Mr. MacBean. Can I help you with anything?”

  “I dinnae mean to be getting into yer business. I know when people do such things, ’tis most times unwelcome. But I have to tell ye I could not help overhearing the banker tell ye that ye have to leave this house. I’d like to help, if I can.”

  “Do you have a treasure then, Mr. MacBean? I have to admit my pride has sunk to a low point. I might even be willing to except money from strangers.”

  “But not from friends?”

  She sighed. “You know what they say, borrow money, lose your friend. I like my friends too much to risk them.” She softened her words with a smile. “But I count you as a new friend, so that won’t work either.”