Twice Upon a Soul

by Deborah R Stigall

  As the three of them turned back to stare at the picture, mouths agape in astonishment…the rattling frame grew increasingly louder as the canvas bounced harder against the table.

  “Taylor…quick…you must pick up the portrait. Calm him before he destroys the painting completely.” Mattie spoke in an eerie voice, her eyes wide…the irises frozen in a hypnotic stare.

  Taylor seemed unable to move, frightened and bewildered by the frenzied banging of the mysterious artwork against the table.

  “Taylor…quickly! Mattie knows what she’s talking about…she can sense his presence.” Drake eyed the portrait with concern, gently pushing Taylor in the direction of the table.

  Taylor finally shook herself free of the paralyzing shock, quickly crossing the few steps to the painting. “Please….stop it,” she hissed, staring into the icy blue eyes of Laird Quinlan Macleod. “I’ll take you with me…I won’t leave you here, I p-promise,” she stuttered, struggling to control the rising hysteria threatening to overtake her.

  As soon as Taylor had spoken these words, the canvas ceased its tantrum. Taylor gasped as she watched the proud head of Quinlan Macleod slowly bow as though thanking her…then the eyes raised once more to lock her within his gaze.

  Chapter Five

  Taylor moved the gearshift to park, setting the emergency brake firmly in place before she killed the engine. She briefly leaned her head back against the seat; eyes closed as she vainly attempted to sort through her emotions. After leaving Drake’s shop, she’d first dropped Mattie off at her house, reassuring her that she’d be fine…now all Taylor had to do was convince herself of the same. The enlightening visit with Drake had answered a few of her questions about the mysterious painting but what information they had gleaned had also created several more. It seemed as though the more Taylor found out about the canvas…the more she needed to know. The portrait was taking on a life of its own…and entangling her life with it in the process.

  And what about the maiden…the woman pictured on the yellowed pages of Drake’s book? Who had she been? Taylor could still feel the returning tingle of the rising hairs on the back of her neck as she had looked at the picture and seen the exact image of her own face upon the pages of the ancient book. Could this unknown woman have been one of Taylor’s ancestors? More importantly…what had happened to her? Had she been completely obliterated by the powerful lightening striking the judgement stone…or had she been swept away to who knows where in some sort of paranormal event?

  The more questions Taylor asked herself, the more confused and frustrated she became. Opening her eyes, she jerked open the car door…snorting in exasperation. Maybe she’d just been spending too much time with Mattie. All of her eccentricities must be wearing away her sanity; Mattie tended to have that effect on people. Taylor grimaced as she opened the back door of the car. Gingerly, she pulled the oil painting from its seat, as though it might come to life at any moment. She shook her head in silent amusement as scattered memories of Mattie’s various exploits flashed through her mind. Studiously avoiding any eye contact with the magnetic eyes of Laird Quinlan, she tucked the canvas securely under one arm as she headed for the house.

  Taylor paused on the front porch retrieving her mail from the metal box labeled “T. McKenna”. Her apartment was actually the second floor of a huge two-story home, recently renovated into two entirely separate living units. Living alone, Taylor didn’t want the responsibility of keeping up an entire house and surrounding yard. But her cozy apartment in the upgraded old house gave her the best of both worlds. She had the comfort and familiarity of a friendly old home, complete with an enclosed backyard…but none of the nagging responsibilities of mowing, painting or any of the other questionable fringe benefits of home ownership.

  Edging the canvas through the narrow entryway, Taylor finally managed to maneuver her keys into the lock, opening the door and winding her way up the staircase into her living room. Her apartment was open and airy; all of the walls having been removed except for the few sectioning off her bedroom and bath. Kitchen, dining area and den were one great room; white columns placed at strategic points replacing the supporting walls that had been knocked away. Skylights had been installed on either side of the slanting ceiling, filling the room with light during the day and displaying the constellations on clear nights.

  Crossing to the corner fireplace, Taylor placed the oil painting of the missing Laird in front of the logs as though it were a makeshift fire screen. Since it was currently the middle of September, Taylor wouldn’t be lighting the gas logs for some time; so, the portrait could rest there as long as she deemed necessary. Dropping her keys and purse to the top of the oblong trunk serving as an eclectic coffee table, Taylor leaned back wearily into the deep cushions of the couch. Grimacing with a heavy sigh, she methodically began sorting through the monstrous pile of mail that had accumulated over the past several days.

  After culling out several credit card offers, sales flyers and magazine sweepstakes opportunities, Taylor’s eyelids began growing heavy as she moved on to the pile of business letters neatly piled at her side. The more she struggled to continue wading through the mail, the more difficult it became for her to keep her eyes open. Finally, her hands slowly falling to rest against the seat of the couch, the unread letter gently floating to the floor, Taylor’s chin dropped to her chest as she lost the battle and drifted off to sleep.

  A cool breeze brushing against her cheek…the sound of waves gently lapping the shore…fog everywhere, gathering about her like a cloak, blinding her to everything around her. The air smelled of damp earth…fresh, clean and something else…perhaps the sharp slightly fishy tang of the waters of a nearby lake.

  Taylor pulled the woolen cloak closer around her shoulders, the damp air giving a chill to the breeze. She shivered as she moved across the spongy ground…searching her way through the fog. The sound of muffled footsteps reached her through the fog, the vaguely familiar tread of someone behind her. She turned to the direction of the sounds, waiting expectantly for him to appear.

  Finally, he was there…smiling down at her through the haze. He reached out to brush an escaped curl from her cheek, pausing to cradle her face in his warm inviting hand. She reached up to lightly trace her fingers across his jaw…the rasp of a day’s beard tickling her fingertips. Gently running her thumb in a light caress over his smiling lips, her breath caught in her throat as he captured her hand and placed a warm promising kiss in her palm. His eyes burned with longing…loneliness and anguish reflecting in their depths.

  “Come ta’ me, Taylor,” he whispered. “I’ve waited for ye for so verra long.” He gathered her gently into his arms, burying his face in the cloud of her loosened hair with a groan of yearning.

  Confusion and longing filled her heart…his arms felt so protecting around her. It was as though electricity coursed through her body, pulsing ever faster the longer she stayed within his embrace. The brush of his cheek against hers, his tortured voice murmuring in her ear…begging her to come to him.

  “How can I find you…tell me,” she whispered, eyes closed as she held him tightly. She could feel the thumping beat of his heart, steady as a promise against her breast. It felt so right to be in his arms. She’d been in this embrace before and hadn’t been able to find it’s match since.

  Gently pulling away from her, gazing sadly into her questioning eyes, “I canna tell ye…ye must find the way alone.” He shook his head regretfully, as he softly framed her face in his hands.

  “But why?” she asked, reaching up again to touch his face…her hand passing through him this time as he slowly began fading from her sight.

  “Wait!” Taylor cried. “Don’t go!” She tried moving closer to him as he turned away… the fog seeming to grow thicker between them as she struggled to catch his arm.

  “Quinlan…wait!” she cried again. Arms outstretched, she struggled to follow the disappearing figure…her feet suddenly heavy…leaden, unable to move. She fought to
move her legs, but the ground seemed to be swallowing them up. She was sinking…trapped in a murky hole…slowly being drawn deeper into the mire until the cold suffocating mud slowly closed over her face.

  Magazines, letters, and envelopes went flying, as Taylor struggled violently to consciousness, frantically gasping for air. She jumped up from the deep cushions of the couch, wiping the sweat from her clammy face with trembling hands. Slowly, Taylor made her way to the refrigerator, hugging herself tightly against the shaking caused by the eerie dream.

  As she reached for a bottle of water, she risked a glance over the refrigerator door. The painting of the compelling man was still there, resting against the fireplace where she’d left it. He was still watching her with those piercing eyes, his expression seeming to become more imploring with each passing day. She leaned weakly against the refrigerator, still shaken from the dream.

  Taylor took a sip of water, her nerves slowly recovering from the troubled napmare. She’d always been a bit claustrophobic, so the sensation of slowly suffocating at the end of her dream still weighed heavily on her chest. Breathing deeply to dispel the feeling, Taylor closed the refrigerator door and slowly began picking up the scattered mail. Mentally forcing herself to slow her breathing and calm her pounding heart, Taylor methodically reviewed the details of the dream while they were still fresh in her mind.

  Stacking the mail on the table beside the computer, Taylor sat in the chair at the desk; slowly spinning in the chair until she faced the troublesome portrait. Looking into the eyes of the blue-eyed Scot, her cheek warmed as she remembered the feel of Quinlan’s hand upon hers. She idly reached up with her own hand and slowly rubbed the side of her face, also remembering the strength and urgency of his arms when he’d pulled her to his chest.

  Spinning back around in the chair, she flipped on the power to the computer. Arms crossed over her chest, she stared blindly at the monitor while waiting through the startup gyrations. Impatiently drumming her fingers on the top of the desk, she clicked the mouse, completing the connection to the Internet.

  Before she began her search, she fired off an email to Avery Hines, updating him on the information she’d found about the portrait. She didn’t fill him in on all the details of the legend behind Sir Joshua Reynolds’ subject; Avery wouldn’t be interested in that…she simply told him of the Scottish Laird and thanked him for his assistance in nailing down the artist.

  Since discovering the name of the artist, Taylor realized the monetary value of the portrait warranted safekeeping in the museum or a special gallery. But after the reaction of the canvas in Drake’s tiny shop, she was afraid to lock it away…after all, what kind of problem would she have on her hands if the press were to get wind of the haunted portrait?

  Shaking her head abruptly in a vain attempt at organizing her scattered thoughts, Taylor began her Internet search by typing in Isle of Lewis. She was surprised by the amount of information she found…until she discovered that the Isle was quite the tourist attraction. With an eerie sense of foreboding, Taylor’s eyes widened with interest as she read about the numerous megalithic stones still silently standing guard over the moorland.

  As Taylor selected the site for the Stones of Callanish, a strange shiver of dim recognition ran up her spine as a photograph of Callanish II or Cnoc Ceann a’Gharaidh, as it was locally listed, downloaded onto the screen of her computer. Two fallen stones and five uprights formed an ellipse around a ruined cairn, which was barely visible on the photograph. Taylor scrolled down the screen to read the text below the photograph, noting the site of these stones was located quite close to Loch Roag…perhaps near where the ancient castle of Laird Quinlan had stood hundreds of years ago. The web site also explained that in October, if the sun is viewed from beside the monolith in the main circle of the five Callanish stone circles, that it seems to rise directly in line with the Stones of Callanish II.

  Taylor continued searching through the other stone circles but none of them seemed to move her as the picture of Callanish II. There was something about those stones…she could feel it…fear, anger, recollection of…what? She’d never been to Scotland. What could she know of this place? If it were just the details of the legend she was remembering, then why would only this site stir her emotions? The other circles were interesting enough; Taylor had always been vaguely interested in archaeological finds of this sort. However, it had always been more of a passing fancy…the art world capturing her full attention.

  She printed out the information on the site…bookmarking the location for future reference. Taylor continued selecting and pulling up information, soaking up every scrap of information she could find on the western isles of Scotland. Determined as she doggedly searched through the vast files of information, Taylor hoped to uncover some sort of clue showing her the way to Quinlan.

  ~*~

  The ringing phone jangled her awake from the depths of her drug induced sleep. When Taylor had finally shut down the computer and relinquished herself to her bed, she’d wanted to ensure herself a dreamless rest for what few hours remained of the night.

  Groping blindly for the rudely ringing intruder of her repose, Taylor finally found the receiver. Groaning as she rolled to her back, she reluctantly held the phone to her ear. “Uuh, hello?” she mumbled, her voice thick and husky with sleep. Rubbing her face with her free hand, she struggled to concentrate through the fog.

  “Taylor…Taylor are you there?” Mattie’s voice bubbled in her ear.

  Groaning again as she cracked on eyelid in the direction of the clock, Taylor replied with a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m here…I’m awake…sort of.”

  “Hey…hurry up and get dressed,” Mattie ordered. “Drake’s called and said he’s got some news for us. He’s going to meet us for lunch at Ranaud’s…can you be ready in about an hour?”

  Rolling over to her side, she propped herself up on one elbow. Taylor squinted blindly at the clock, as she rubbed the last shreds of sleep from her puffy eyes. “Well…which one are we meeting at…Riverfront Plaza or Georgetown Road?”

  “Riverfront Plaza, of course...” Mattie replied with exasperation. “Now, can you be ready in time or not?”

  “I’ll be there,” Taylor assured her, sliding her bare feet to the floor. “Do you need a ride?”

  “No,” Mattie giggled warmly. “Drake is coming by to pick me up.”

  Taylor smiled into the phone, Mattie’s giggle affirming the undercurrents of emotion she had sensed between Drake and Mattie in the shop. “I see,” she replied drolly, digging through her top dresser drawer for a pair of socks.

  “All right, Taylor…I know that tone of voice,” Mattie chirped, her voice rising as she attempted to defend herself. “Drake is a very sensitive, caring man…one of the few who doesn’t think I’m completely nuts, I might add.”

  Successfully locating a matching set of socks, Taylor perched on the edge of the bed, cradling the cordless phone against her shoulder as she struggled to put them on her feet. “What?” she asked, rising from putting on her sock and dropping to her knees to search beneath the bed for her sneakers. “I think it’s great that you and Drake get along,” her voice dropping to a serious note as she continued. “I’ve been worried about your being alone for so long.”

  “Well…” Mattie paused, swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat. “We’ll see how it works out in time…for now it’s positively wonderful!”

  Donning her shoes and searching in the closet for the sweatshirt to match her sweatpants, Taylor smiled again at her friend’s bubbling mood. “I’m glad it’s wonderful for you, Mattie. You absolutely deserve it.” Pulling the shirt from the coat hanger, Taylor continued as she struggled with the sleeves. “Now, let me get off this phone, so I can finish getting dressed…I’m only wearing warm-ups, by the way, so dress down for my sake…will you?”

  “Whatever you say, Taylor,” Mattie agreed. “We’ll see you at Ranaud’s in an hour.”

  Replacing the phone in the ch
arger, Taylor pulled the sweatshirt over her head, heading for the bathroom to run a brush through her tangled hair. As she was brushing out her waist length hair, she suddenly had the intense feeling that someone was watching her. Turning to look over her shoulder, a slight movement in the mirror caught her eye. Spinning quickly to spy the source of the movement, Taylor gasped in surprise at the figure standing behind her reflection in the mirror.

  Quickly turning again to face the individual standing behind her, Taylor instinctively knew that once she turned…she’d find that there was actually no one standing in the bathroom behind her at all. Inhaling deeply to calm her nerves, Taylor slowly faced the mirror once more, raising her eyes to meet the gaze of Quinlan Macleod…staring patiently over her shoulder.

  “Why are you here? Are you trying to drive me insane?” Taylor whispered, leaning forward to support her trembling body against the sink.

  Frowning at this question, Quinlan shook his head slowly, his dark brows arching in concern over his troubled eyes. “Ye’re not daft…dear Taylor…but ye must be verra careful of the one ye know as Drake.”

  Gathering her heavy blonde hair away from her face, Taylor glared at the man in the mirror. “Drake is trying to help me find you…surely you know I can’t do this alone.”

  Quinlan gently reached up, caressing the reflection of Taylor’s hair, as it framed her pale frightened face in the mirror. “Ye will find me…I’ve waited too long for it to be otherwise,” he replied, slightly raising his chin stubbornly. “I canna tell ye all that ye must know…the Auld Ones will take ye from me forever if I do.” He gently lifted her hair from her neck, rubbing the silky tresses against his cheek as he continued. “But I can tell ye this…Drake is descended from the ancient druids, whether he knows this I canna say. But they may seek to use him against ye…for they’ve never forgotten how I robbed them of one of their most precious gifts.”