by L. L. Muir
The problem would be enticing the lass to move on. What revenge could he entice her with? What injustice would he have the power to right? He was no witch. And Soni was far too busy to come to his aid.
Besides, heroes needed no aid. Else they would not be heroes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jamie looked toward the fountain and found Dawson watching him with interest.
“What do you think, Jamie?” he shouted. “Feel like doing a little ghost hunting?” Obviously, the fellow had been blind to Elspeth’s figure on the tower, even though he had a clear view of the parapet from where he stood.
Jamie took a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the fact that he could breathe in the familiar flavors of Kinkelding, at least for the time being. The only smell missing was that of baking bread—a smell that swirled around his head in the mornings and faded but never completely vanished at night.
“Sure,” he answered, even though he was positive he did not wish to rouse Elspeth’s spirit so soon after she’d returned to her rest.
~
They began in the front of the house. Dawson ran his hands over the stones and spoke of the manor as a living thing while speaking to the camera.
“One of the most haunted places in Scotland,” he said. It was all rubbish of course. The entire country of Scotland was filled with ghosts who refused to give up the fight for love, or revenge, or pride of country.
Culloden was another matter. There were easily more ghosties there, per inch, than anywhere other than the prisons. If those yanks would have gone hunting on the infamous moor instead, Jamie would have been free to speak with Elspeth’s spirit without a bloody audience.
“We’re going into the heart of the house now,” Dawson explained to the large camera lens being carried by another man who dogged his footsteps. The lens was held waist high and angled up at Dawson’s face. The light gave him the same eerie look Jamie had seen on the fountain’s figures outside.
It made him uncomfortable for an entirely different reason—he wondered if he could trust the camera operators not to drop those lenses so low the viewing audience would be looking up Jamie’s authentic kilt!
They escorted the cameras through the sitting room, the entrance hall, and into the kitchens.
Dawson’s eyes widened and his voice dropped. “This afternoon, when we first entered the kitchen area, we heard a woman scream. Of course we weren’t expecting any contact during the day, so we didn’t get it recorded. So…technically,” Dawson paused and tipped his head back and forth as if weighing his words. “I shouldn’t even tell you about it, but I guess it’s too late now, right?” He laughed lightly, then sobered. “I will admit I’m pretty freaked out right now. I mean, if this tortured woman comes back and screams again, like she did earlier, I’ll probably wet myself, you know?”
Hardly professional scientists, Jamie’s new friends. But perhaps their ghost hunting show was aimed for a younger crowd more interested in being frightened than discovering the truth behind a haunting. As for Jamie, he was fairly certain he knew why Kinkeld House was haunted by a woman in white. But was it him place to share her reasons with the rest of the world?
He thought better of it.
“This is Jamie Houston,” Dawson announced, and the camera followed his gesture.
Bright lights shone in his face, but after a few seconds of vigorous blinking, Jamie was able to see clearly in spite of them.
Dawson showed no regrets for surprising him as he had. “Jamie saw something just before we heard the scream, didn’t you Jamie? You called out a name, then ran a few steps and stopped. I never got the chance to ask you what happened, man. Can you tell us now?”
Jamie showed Dawson, with his look of disgust, just what he thought of being caught off guard while the camera was pointed in his face. But once again, he found it difficult not to tell the truth. He was free to walk away, he supposed, but he might lose his chance to roam the grounds—something he couldn’t risk with time ticking away as it was.
He would simply have to watch his tongue and not tell secrets that were not his to tell.
“I saw a woman in white,” he said, “standing about there.” He pointed to where Elspeth had stopped and screamed before melting away like so much froth.
“And you called out a name. You’re from around here, Jamie. Did you recognize her or something?”
Did he tell the truth?
Perhaps a heavy helping of honesty might satisfy Dawson and Jamie would be able to go about his business. Perhaps the man simply needed a good fright to clear him out of the way so he could do his noble deed for Elspeth before his time was done.
Prince Charles Edward Stuart might very well be waiting for him at that moment.
It was all the excuse he needed to get on with ridding the place of the yanks before he went about ridding it of its ghosts.
“Aye. I recognized the lass,” he said casually.
Dawson hid his smile. “And what is her name?”
Jamie bit his lip and said nothing while he plotted his strategy.
“Aw, come on, man. It won’t hurt to say her name. Sweet something? Wasn’t that what you said?”
He could just imagine the eejit walking around the house bellowing Sweet Something over and over again. But if he called the right ghost, maybe he’d get more than he bargained for.
“Her name is Elspeth.”
Dawson frowned. “Elspeth? Really?” He gave a light shrug. “And you grew up around here, so you know this ghost, right? That’s how you know her name?” In the background, Tuke grinned and raised his thumb, first at Dawson, then at Jamie.
“Nay. I didna ken the ghost, I kenned the woman.”
“But she’s been haunting this place since the mid 1700’s.” Dawson straightened, unhappy to think Jamie was meddling with him.
“That’s right,” he said with a smile. “I’m nay sure when the lass died. But I do know the last time I saw her was in the spring of 1745.”
“Cut!” Dawson waved a hand for the cameras to stop. He forced a smile. After all, Jamie was working for free. “Maybe we’d better get our lines straight after all, Jamie. I mean, our viewers can do math, you know?”
“Oh, aye.” He tried to keep his own smile under control.
“And we’re not going to try to convince them that you’re what, nearly three hundred years old?”
Jamie shook his head. “Nay. Two hundred and eighty-eight by my reckoning. I was just eighteen—”
“I hate to break it to you,” Tuke said, coming forward. “But you still look eighteen—”
“When I was killed at Culloden Moor.” He raised a brow at the dreadlocked man and waited for him to perform his calculations.
It sounded as if everyone in the house had ceased breathing except for Tuke. The man exhaled forcefully, and repeatedly, through his nose. His stick-like hair whipped back and forth each time he turned to pace in the opposite direction, which was often considering the small space at the back of the kitchen.
“We should have hired an actor,” he muttered. “Rented a kilt. Written a script.”
“But we don’t have time,” Dawson complained.
“I know.” Tuke closed his eyes and let his head fall back even though he continued to pace. “Just let me think a minute.”
Matt on the other hand, stood stock still with his jaw hanging wide. The device in his hand was about to slide through his fingertips.
Jamie pointed. “Ye may wish to catch that.”
The fellow looked at his hand, seemed to remember what he was supposed to be doing, then lifted the little silver box and pointed it at Jamie.
“That’s better,” he said and gave the poor kid a grin.
Matt recovered his jaw and returned a rather dazed smile. “So you’re the ghost you were talking about, right? When you said the ghost is here because I’m here.”
Jamie toyed with the idea of lying to him, just because he seemed so nervous. But perhaps the chain-rattling
should begin with the weakest member.
“Oh, aye. I’m a ghost. But there are two others here, if ye’ll remember. When Elspeth wakes again, I wouldn’t want to be ye, of course…”
“Me? Why?” He looked over each shoulder, then stepped closer to Jamie—until he remember that Jamie was a ghost too, which made him jump back again. The look in his eye nearly earned him sympathy. But Jamie wouldn’t worry about that. He had an appointment to keep, after all. And he wasn’t interested in waiting another two hundred and seventy years to reschedule.
Suddenly, the line from a horror movie came to mind. It took effort indeed to keep his expression sober while he delivered it.
“Because, laddie…she knows what scares ye.” Jamie’s breath caught when the lovely figure of Elspeth began to materialize next to his nervous friend.
“That’s not funny,” Matt said firmly, though his raised hand clearly shook. He jumped to the side and stared at the lass who, that time at least, was visible to all.
Tuke stopped muttering.
“Hello, Elspeth,” Jamie said, then gave her a formal bow like he would have done long ago.
“James Houston,” she said, and gave him a brief curtsy. “Dinna leave me in suspense, laddie. Where’s yer brother?” She glanced at the doorway three times before her smile fell away.
Suddenly, he was eighteen again and felt more invisible than all those years roaming the moor.
CHAPTER NINE
The lass wished to ken where his brother was. She had barely a greeting for him, and all the worry in the world for Ian.
He couldn’t help but be bitter about it. After all, he’d thought about her nearly every day for what must surely have been a hundred thousand days. And Ian had given her less than a minute’s consideration the day he left home. If his brother had thought kindly about Elspeth more than a hundred times the remainder of his life, Jamie would have been surprised.
But to say as much would be cruel, and he was not cruel.
“I am sorry, Elspeth,” he said. “He’s not with me this night.”
He dared not speak of ghosts, or the actual year, for he didn’t know if the lass was aware she’d died. Some on the battlefield were unable to comprehend what had truly happened to them and wandered about looking for a purpose. There was one sad fellow who couldn’t seem to get past the fact that the Jacobites had truly been defeated. And the word, defeated, was all he could ever bring himself to say, to mortals and ghosts alike.
Jamie knew of a few blokes working at Culloden’s Great Visitor’s Center who had the same difficulty believing the recent referendum had failed.
“Not with ye,” Elspeth repeated and glanced at the doorway again, still expecting Ian despite Jamie’s answer. “And why not? Where is he? I’ve been waiting so long.”
Jamie nodded. “I ken ye have, lassie. And I ken just how long it’s been. But as for me, it is good to see yer charming self again, I must say.”
Her head turned sharply to face him. “Aye. And thank ye.” She finally took notice of the mortal quivering next to them both. “And who are ye, laddie? What do ye want from a weary ghostie like meself?”
Ah, so she was aware, then. Jamie was relieved to hear it, for it would naturally be a simpler thing to get the lass to move on to…what came after…if she already knew her worldly life was done.
Matt gaped silently at Elspeth. A great brown trout, begging for water.
Jamie elbowed the lad. “Dinna fash, Matt. She willna harm ye.” He gave the lass a sly smile.
“Nay. I willna harm ye,” she said, “if ye run fast and far enough, aye?” She leaned close and regarded the poor laddie up and down, her nose coming close enough to touch his, though he obviously couldn’t feel it.
Jamie bit his lips to keep from laughing.
“R…run?” Matt stammered.
“Aye,” she whispered. “Fast. And far. Off ye go, then.” She waved toward the arched doorway with the back of her hand.
Matt nodded and bent down, laying his recording device on the ground, keeping his wide eyes upon her all the while. Then he shuffled quickly to the doorway, shoved one of the slack-jawed camera men out of his way, and ran. Jamie looked into Elspeth’s eyes while they listened to the young man’s footsteps sputtering out of the house. They heard the front door open, but it never closed.
Elspeth waved her hand toward the arch and the neglected door banged shut with a hearty boom.
“A neat trick, that,” Jamie said. “I never learned to move much. Of course, on the moor, there isn’t much that needs moving.”
She instantly sobered. “Ye died at Culloden then. Like they said?”
It warmed his heart to hear the concern in her voice. It gave him hope that she might remember the days when she had eyes only for him.
“Aye,” he said. “I’d have hurried home otherwise.” He gave her a look he hoped would clarify—that he would have hurried home to her if not for the small detail of his death.
She bit her lip, reached out and took his hand. He felt like she could actually see him for a change. Her sweet and tender face leaned close and her clear green eyes peered into his. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I am.”
If she’d have been a living, breathing woman at that moment, he would have taken her into his arms and kissed her whether or not she’d once belonged to his brother.
A furious whisper caught his attention. Tuke was urging Dawson forward, insisting he interrupt. And the moment was ruined before the man ever took a step.
“Uh, Jamie?” Dawson’s voice shook. “Could you, you know, introduce me to your friend?” He waved for a camera man to come forward, but none of them were willing.
Elspeth blinked rapidly and Jamie could tell whatever connection they’d had was broken.
She turned to look at Dawson. “Fast and far,” she whispered. Her form began to fade. Her eyes lost their focus.
“Wait,” Jamie shouted. “Elspeth, I’ve come to help ye!”
She blinked again, saw him again. Her nightdress grew more solid. “Jamie? Help me? Ye’re going to bring Ian to me?” Hope and confusion warred across her brow. “Ye can do that?”
He shook his head. “Nay. I cannot bring my brother back. But I can help ye…to let go. Ye must allow yerself to move on to what comes next, lass.”
It turned his stomach to hear such words march across his own tongue. Just the night before, on Culloden’s dark moors, the wee witch had said the same to all of Culloden’s 79. They’d been sorely disappointed in her, to spout the same gibberish that ghost chasers always spouted. But then Soncerae had proven herself different from the rest. She’d promised them the revenge for which they’d been waiting, if they’d only do her bidding.
He saw that same disappointment on Elspeth’s fading face. She’d heard such nonsense before.
“What if it isn’t nonsense,” he said, guessing her thoughts, desperate to hold her attention until he’d had a chance to convince her. “What if there truly is something better waiting for ye…on the other side?”
Elspeth sighed. Her imagined breath came out in a white cloud as if the air was cold enough to shatter into tiny ice crystals.
“Nay, Jamie. I’m content to wait for Ian. He’ll come back to me. He promised.”
“Oh?” He put his hands on his hips, hoping his defiance would keep her with him. “Did he now?” Jamie couldn’t believe the claim. Surely, she was lying to him, but she looked right convinced her words were true. “And what did he say, lass? When did he tell ye he’d come back for ye?”
As soon as the question left his lips, he wished it back. Of course his brother was capable of telling Elspeth anything she wished to hear. He’d lied to many a lass in order to win their…affection, and tried to instruct Jamie on just how to do it. But he’d never envied his brother that reputation of taking advantage of any pretty young woman he came upon. And though he never would have embarrassed his older brother by calling him dishonorable to his face, he’d wished he could have been brave en
ough to do it.
If he had, would Ian have changed?
Was it Jamie’s fault his brother went on toying with the lassies, because he was unchecked?
His father couldn’t have seen it for obvious reasons. Their mother wouldn’t have known much about it. But Jamie saw. And Jamie knew. And he’d done nothing.
The fault for Elspeth’s heartbreak might well have been laid at Jamie’s feet after all.
He pulled a hearty breath into his lungs and prepared himself to deal with that possibility.
Tears shimmered in Elspeth’s eyes and dripped down her cheeks, but they disappeared long before they ever reached the ground.
“When did he tell me? Why, the morning he left. He promised me…”
That couldn’t be true. He and Ian had slept in the same room the night before. They’d stayed awake longer than they should, unable to sleep for the fear and excitement stirring in their veins. Ian had left the room only a few moments before Jamie, and he’d been deep in conversation with their father when Jamie found him again. There’d been no time for Ian to make promises to Elspeth that morning.
His doubt must have been plain his face, for the lass gasped.
“Ye dinna believe me!” She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll have ye know he promised me with a kiss that morning. I was standing atop of the west tower, watching the pair of ye go…”
Jamie’s gut tightened in anticipation of a blow he saw coming.
“Ye both turned at the road and looked back. Only… After ye went on yer way, yer brother lingered. He blew me a kiss that said as plain as day that he would be back for me. He reached out…” Her arm lifted and her gaze focused on something far more distant that the kitchen wall. “He reached out, like he longed to touch me one last time…” Her arm dropped along with her voice. “And then he was gone.”
She closed her eyes as if the tenderness of her memory was simply too much to bear. When she opened them again, she leaned toward Jamie and put her own hands on her hips. “The least I can do for the man is wait for him, Jamie Houston. He’ll be sore if I give up on him, aye?”
