“Craig,” she yelled louder.
A low laugh behind her turned her blood to ice. It was sly, malicious and chilled her to the bone. She rounded on the source, dragging her long hair from her eyes as the wind blew stronger. Freya knew Blair Dubh well. The elements only began to seethe when danger was near. This was what the weather had been like the night her mother died. It had been a warm night, everything still and calm until she’d followed Logan up here then the wind had started to howl, whipping her nightgown and hair around her, just like it was now. When Martin Lynch had struck a full on storm swallowed the village. It was influenced by the evil that inhabited it and suddenly Graeme’s words made sense. He could feel it, just like she could.
“I’m not your victim anymore Logan,” she said quietly, her anger rising. “I’m not your victim anymore,” she screamed into the wind, which stole the words from her mouth. “You want me? Bring it on.”
Jeezo, the woman’s a loony, thought Docherty as he watched Freya spinning round and shouting into the air.
After seeing that fleeting shadow he’d started to believe the place was really haunted, until he saw the woman crouched behind a large gravestone halfway across the graveyard between him and the church, chuckling to herself. He’d no idea who the woman with the bobbed dark hair was but she had a fantastic pair of legs. She also clutched a very large knife. If she thought she was going to steal his fun she had another thing coming, he’d waited years for this moment. He had to warn Freya off before that mad harpie leapt out and stabbed her to death because, judging by the malevolence in her eyes, that was exactly what she had in mind. It wouldn’t be hard to frighten Freya, she was already close to the edge as it was, the creepy graveyard playing tricks on her mind. But what to do? Whatever it was he had to do it fast. The woman with the knife was peeking round the side of the gravestone, what would have been a very pretty mouth twisted into a grotesque snarl, hatred and a little insanity warping her good looks. She was getting ready to pounce and Freya had no idea she was even there.
Just as he was pondering the dilemma there was a tremendous crash to his right, as though something huge was tearing through the undergrowth towards him. Deciding not to hang about to find out what it was Docherty took off in the opposite direction back towards the church, running for his life, images of a giant black bear spurring him on. Glancing over his shoulder he could make out a vague shape. He faced forward just in time to avoid running head first into a tree and dodged round it. To his left he saw a pale streak as the woman with the knife ran for cover, likewise startled by the horrific noise. He hoped he didn’t run into her, he had enough to worry about.
Fortunately he didn’t encounter her. Docherty burst out of the line of trees and pelted towards the back of the church, running inside and slamming the door shut behind him, pressing his bodyweight against it in case the thing tried to break in. He held his breath, straining to hear over the pounding of his own heart but nothing slammed into the opposite side of the door, there were no ominous growls or scratches to indicate a wild beast.
He bent double, gasping for breath, ashamed to realise he was shaking.
The cracking of twigs and pounding of feet sent Freya’s pulse skyrocketing but when she spotted Craig racing along the edge of the tree line she relaxed. It looked like he was in pursuit of something and she ran parallel with him through the graveyard.
“Craig’s chasing someone,” she yelled to Steve and Gary as they entered the cemetery.
The two men nodded and raced off in the direction she indicated, disappearing into the trees.
“Who are they chasing?” said Hughes, puffing into the graveyard a few seconds later, face bright red and dripping with sweat.
“I don’t know,” she snapped, still annoyed with him. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help them?”
“There’s three of them. Someone needs to stay with you and make sure you’re okay,” he replied, eyeing the darkening woods with reluctance.
“Coward,” she spat before sprinting off after Steve and Gary.
“Freya, wait,” he called.
Just as she reached the trees Craig emerged talking with Steve and Gary and shaking his head. “I saw someone, I almost had him then I fell and got caught on some stupid brambles.”
“Craig,” she breathed with relief, throwing her arms around his neck. “I was so worried. Don’t do that to me again, please.”
“I’ll try not to,” he replied with a grin in his voice.
When she pulled back she was horrified to see blood staining the front of his t-shirt. “What happened?”
“I got caught up in some brambles, that’s all. There was someone in there, I nearly got them too then this happened,” he sighed, indicating his torn, bloodied top.
“Did you see who it was?” said Hughes, eventually catching up with them, holding his side as though he had a stitch.
“No but it was definitely a man. Was Graeme Doggett in the pub when you left?”
“No, he left a couple of minutes after you did,” replied Steve.
“Let’s see if he’s at home,” said Craig. “If it was him he could make it there without being seen by sticking to the woods. If we hurry we might be able to catch him out.”
Hughes stood before him like a stocky little guard. “You’re not going anywhere, this isn’t your patch anymore. I’m sergeant here.”
“And my wife is the one being threatened. Now get out of my way,” said Craig through gritted teeth, squaring up to the man.
“Let them deal with it,” interjected Freya. “You’re bleeding.” She was concerned with the wounds, they were bleeding more than they should for bramble scratches.
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. Look.”
He glanced down and was surprised to see his front stained with even more blood.
“She’s right Sarge,” said Gary. “That looks bad. Sure it was just brambles?”
“It must have been but I’m still going to catch Doggett out.”
“No you’re not,” said Freya, pushing her hands against his shoulders to stop him running off. “Steve and Gary are more than capable.” She turned to them. “Go on quick lads. I’ll see to Craig.”
They both nodded and ran back down the hill.
“Hey, wait,” called Hughes, looking like a toddler chasing after the older children with his ridiculous run, throwing his legs forward like a kid learning to walk.
“I’m amazed he passed the fitness test,” said Craig, amused as he watched him stagger down the hill. Freya started pulling up his shirt and he grinned. “Feeling frisky again?”
“No I’m not, I’m feeling worried.” When she saw the wound her eyes widened. “Holy shit Craig, that’s not brambles.”
He looked down to see a long thin cut about four inches long running across his abdomen. He’d seen enough in his police career to know what it was. “It’s a knife wound.”
“Oh my God. We need to get you to hospital.”
“It’s fine, just a flesh wound. It hasn’t penetrated.”
“You got stabbed and you didn’t notice?”
“I just assumed it was brambles. It was dark in there and I tripped over something and felt the pain in my stomach. My t-shirt got hooked on some brambles and scratched my arms and I thought they’d got my stomach too.”
“That means there was someone else in there other than the person you were chasing.” Her eyes snapped to the trees, searching for any sign of life, but all was still. She took his hand and pulled him away. “Let’s get you to Lizzy, she can take a look.”
“It’s fine Freya.”
“Are you a doctor? No, and it’s still bleeding. Hurry, please.”
CHAPTER 21
Mandy watched them rush down the hill, Freya dragging Craig along looking like she had the fury of hell on her heels, which she did.
She looked down at Martin Lynch’s unmarked grave, caressing the knife, the blade red with Craig’s b
lood, running it through her fingertips, enjoying the feel of his warm sticky life fluid. He’d been so intent on pursuing his quarry that he’d failed to notice her crouched behind a tree, waiting for him. He’d gone flying over her outstretched leg and landed face down, getting tangled with some brambles. It had been a simple thing to slash him then disappear into the shadows before he’d even got back on his feet.
Mandy didn’t know why she’d done it. All she knew was that the urge to hurt had been strong. It would have been so easy for her to kill him, she could have aimed for his heart instead of a harmless slice to the stomach but then he would have died as Freya’s man, leaving her no chance to get him back and win.
Gritting her teeth she dragged the blade across her palm then rubbed Craig’s blood into the wound, mingling part of him with her so she would have him with her always. Blood from the wound trickled down her arm and she held it over Lynch’s grave, watching the droplets spatter onto it. She wondered if it would seep through the earth to the coffin then through the wood onto his body. She imagined the eyes of the corpse snapping open, the lust for blood and murder animating the putrefying cadaver.
Mandy shook her head, pushing the image away. Her thoughts were becoming more disordered. Once she’d been all about beauty, not just her own but everyone else’s. Lately all she could think about was destruction and murder, dark horrible things that once would have frightened her but now she wanted to indulge in. It was all Freya’s fault, things were never this bad before she’d barged her way into her life. She had always been quick to anger, lashed out with her fists when she didn’t get her own way but someone of her splendour ought to be indulged. It made her furious when the stupid ugly people around her thwarted her but her thoughts used to be manageable, she had the ability to push away the ones that scared her. Now the desire to ignore those bad thoughts as well as the understanding that they were wrong had dissipated. This village had a lot to do with it. It was almost magical. When you set foot on its soil it was easy to forget the rest of the world existed. The normal laws and rules didn’t apply here. No wonder two men had gone on the rampage, they probably thought they could get away with it. One of them almost did.
The breeze engulfed her body. Angrily she tore off the wig and tossed it into the undergrowth, letting her long red hair stream out behind her. She would hide away no longer. She would confront Freya and when she did her blood would spill on this land. Maybe that would finally lay all the ghosts to rest.
“Can’t sleep?” said that soft sing-song voice.
Will looked up into his nurse’s gentle face and shook his head.
Her heart went out to him, his eyes were so full of sadness.
“Would you like a drink?”
He nodded.
She held the straw to his lips and this time it was easier for him to form the seal. After drinking his fill he reclined back in the pillows with a satisfied sigh.
“I can sit with you for a while, if you like?”
Another nod. She smiled when his eyes lit up. His lips started to move and she had to tilt her head close to his face to catch what he was saying.
“Name? Do you mean my name?” she said, pointing at herself.
He nodded.
“Nurse McDiarmid.”
“Real name,” he rasped. His lips were still sore but the swelling had gone down enough to make it just about possible for him to form words again.
“Moira.”
“Pretty.”
“Thank you Will.”
“You’re pretty.”
She blushed as those blue eyes gazed up at her.
When he spoke again she had to lean even closer to hear.
“Talk to you?” she frowned.
Will nodded.
“About what?”
“You.”
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. She had never been one to put herself forward. “Well, I live with Oliver.”
Will’s heart sank.
“Oliver is a cat,” she smiled, pleased when relief stole into his eyes. “I’ve been a nurse for seven years and I love it. I’ve lived in Glasgow for ten years, although I’m originally from Paisley. My parents both still live there. I’ve got a younger brother but he’s away in Afghanistan. He’s in the army.”
He saw the worry in her eyes for her brother and took her hand. She jumped at the contact so he hastily retracted it.
“It’s okay, just unexpected,” she smiled.
His eyes smiled back and he took her hand again. Without thinking she began to stroke his hair. She didn’t know why, she didn’t do this with the other patients but she felt it soothed him. She hesitated, unsure if the attention was wanted but he nodded encouragingly. His lovely eyes became hazy with pleasure as she ran her fingers through his thick blond hair. He’d had a bed bath - Will had been disappointed when a burly male nurse had done it. As he was now able to sit up for short periods he’d been wheeled to the bathroom sink and his hair had been washed, revealing its true warm honey colour, the dried blood gone.
“What about you? Do you live alone?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual.
Another nod.
Moira smiled. Something really drew her to this man although he’d hardly spoken and she hadn’t even seen his face. At first it had been his sheer helplessness and fear that had made her heart go out to him. It had seemed so callous to handcuff the poor man to the bed, despite the horror stories she’d been told about him. For some reason she hadn’t believed them and she’d been right not to because that wasn’t him. Will McMillan was a good man, a kind and fair one according to his colleagues. Even that horrible Harry Jacobs had sung his praises. Will hadn’t deserved what had been done to him.
“Do you have a cat?” she said.
She heard a chuckle deep within the bandages and he shook his head. His eyes were growing heavy, soothed by her hand in his hair and her soft voice.
“No, but I’d like one, called Oliver,” he mumbled before drifting off to sleep.
Moira remained by his side watching him sleep, only leaving him when another patient demanded her attention.
“Just a shallow cut, nothing to worry about,” assured Lizzy, applying a dressing to Craig’s wound. “But it would be best to go to hospital and get a couple of stitches.”
“No need for that, I’ll be fine,” he replied.
“Lizzy was a nurse. If she thinks it’s best then it’s best,” said Freya.
“I’ve had worse. Thanks Lizzy.”
She patted his rippling stomach and winked. “No, thank you. You’ve made me a very happy woman.”
He blushed and hastily covered himself up with one of Jimmy’s t-shirts Lizzy had given him.
“But that’s definitely not brambles. That was caused by something sharp,” said Lizzy, packing away her first aid kit.
“Like a knife?” said Freya.
“Most likely. Seems this village isn’t done with you.”
“What do you mean?” frowned Craig.
“You know this place has a special sort of enchantment about it,” replied Lizzy. “Perhaps enchantment is the wrong word, that makes it sound benign. Think back over the village’s history to Black Blair who built the castle five hundred years ago. It’s well known he dabbled in witchcraft. What if he brought something through from the other side?”
“Lizzy, I don’t think…,” began Craig.
“He unleashed an evil on us, one that has existed for centuries, seeping into the land,” she continued. “Haven’t you noticed when trouble’s brewing the weather goes wild, the wind starts up and the storms rage? Look outside right now,” she said, gesturing to the window.
It was almost dark, difficult to see anything, but they could all hear the wind howling around Lizzy’s steadfast little cottage.
“It’s here,” whispered Lizzy, crossing herself.
Craig and Freya glanced at each other uncertainly. “Right, we’ll be off,” said Craig, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders and leadi
ng her to the door. “Thanks Lizzy.”
“You’re welcome and take care out there,” she called after them.
“Well that was…bizarre,” said Freya as they exited the house.
“Sort of the last thing you want to hear when you have to walk home in the dark,” he replied, having to shout over the wind.
“What is it?” she said when he hesitated.
“I wonder which cottage is Doggett’s?”
“Oh no Craig, leave it to Steve and Gary. Let’s just go back to our boat, lock the door and curl up in bed.”
“I can’t relax until I know they’ve nicked that bastard.”
“You don’t know it was him.”
“Who else could it be?”
“Mad Mandy.”
“The person I was chasing definitely wasn’t a woman.”
“But the person who stabbed you could have been.”
“Are you saying Mandy was lurking in the woods waiting to attack me?”
“Why not? We already think she’s here.”
They both looked about them into the gathering darkness, the roar of the wind as it rushed through the main street only increasing the shiver factor. Craig took her hand. “Let’s go back to the pub.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. It would be good to be somewhere with lots of lights and people.
Together they hurried down the deserted main street, Freya gripping onto Craig’s hand for dear life. Bill’s wife Brenda had been attacked here by Martin Lynch, just metres from her oblivious best friend, the monstrous act hidden by the ferocity of the storm. She’d managed to stagger to the pub where she’d died a few minutes later. The crying of the wind could be mistaken for Brenda’s own desperate cries.
Stop it, Freya told herself.
A shaft of light cut across their path, stopping them in their tracks. A figure emerged from the open cottage door, stepping into the pool of light.
“Mr Doggett, come back here,” called Hughes, bustling out of the house after him.
“Freya,” said Graeme, rushing towards her. He stopped when Craig put himself between them. “It wasn’t me up there. I went to the pub then came straight home.”
The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) Page 18
