by L. L. Muir
“Aye. I noticed.”
“When I heard ye perished at Culloden, I took to the tower to mourn ye. I had no notion of the stones being loose, and I must have fallen against them in my misery. The side gave way. I remember feeling like I was flying. And then I remembered waking later and no one looked the same. They’d aged greatly. Time had passed, ye see?” She shook her head. “And ye thought I’d killed myself? And with child too?”
She gave him a very disappointed look that made him turn his head in shame, but she brought his attention back to her with a finger beneath his chin. The sense of touch startled both of them.
“How is it,” she began, but her attention was drawn to the edge of the graveyard.
He followed her gaze. The bright light was back, only this time it didn’t seem to hurt his eyes.
“I dinna ken, lass. But either ye’re becoming human, or I am turning back to spirit.” He took a tentative step toward the light. “Soni?” he whispered.
“Aye, Jamie?” The witch’s voice came dancing through the sodden leaves of the trees to his left, but there was no body to go with it.
“What about my appointment?” he asked. And he hoped, if the wee witch knew his heart so well, perhaps she’d understand that he’d had a change of it.”
“Rest easy, my friend,” said the voice he so cherished. “Someone else will keep it for ye, no doubt.”
He laughed. “No doubt.”
He reached behind him and Elspeth’s hand slipped quickly into his grasp. He pulled her forward, entwined their arms, and held tight.
He spoke toward the trees again. “Soni?”
“Let go of yer anger, the pair of ye. It will be well with ye if ye do.”
Jamie shrugged. “How can I hold on to anger when my arms are full of Elspeth?
The love of his life nodded against his arm. It was the finest feeling in the world. Or out of it.
“Get on with ye, laddie.” Soni’s voice began to fade. “And keep her close, aye?”
He looked down into Elspeth’s smiling eyes and silently thanked his wee witch, for she’d given him yet another order he was more than happy to follow.
As the white engulfed them, he held tightly to the lass, as he’d been instructed, but even as he did so, he felt so many things fall away, to be left behind. And all that was truly important…
…went with him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dawson let one of the locals of the crew drive the van back to the B&B. He was way too tired to be behind the wheel, let alone remember to drive on the wrong side of the road. He hoped, when they got there, that Matt would be waiting for them.
“Oy,” shouted the driver. “Isn’t that yer mate?” He quickly pulled to the side of the narrow road.
Dawson jumped out and hurried to the body nestled in the deep grass in the fetal position. The clothes were right. Brown painter pants, a wife-beater, and a denim shirt tied around his waist. And though his arms were bent and covering his head, they were the familiar, deep tan color that could only be Matt’s.
“Do ye think he was hit by a car?” Tuke worried next to him.
The body on the ground shook, snorted, then stretched. He’d only been sleeping!
Matt’s eyes flew open and he sat up quickly. He peeked past their legs, looking back down the road.
“Relax,” Dawson said, laughing with relief that his friend was alive. “The Houston ghost has moved on.”
Matt jumped to his feet and grinned. “And what about the other one? Jamie?”
“He’s went with her.”
“Aww. That’s cool.” They headed back toward the vehicle. “So, what do we do when we get home?”
Tuke paused with his hand on the van’s metal frame, a devious grin on his face. “We scrounge some money together…and high tail it to Culloden Moor!”
Matt reconsidered getting into the vehicle but eventually did. Dawson was just surprised that it took until they were half-way across the Atlantic before the guy turned in his notice.
THE END
Watch for GARETH next!
Links for the other ghost romances can be found on the book list page.
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About the Author
L.L. Muir lives on the Utah side of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and rocking sleepy children.
A disturbing number of cinnamon rolls were consumed while writing JAMIE.
If you like her books, be a sport and leave a review. You can reach her through her website— www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.
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