Ghosts of Culloden Moor 16 - Malcolm (Cathy MacRae)

by L. L. Muir

  She grabbed a long stick and returned to the bank, shoving barrels aside, scanning the water for signs of the Scotsman.

  Nearly invisible flames lapped at the shore and a river of burning whisky flowed in rivulets through the trees. The heat and stench of it was near to overwhelming.

  She spotted a dark lump sprawled on the shore. “There!” Dashing around the smoldering debris, she headed for the still form. A green glow backlit two upright figures, one in a long robe, the other in a kilt. Allison slowed her steps, advancing with caution. Malcolm turned at her approach, relief stamped on his face.

  “Soni told me ye were out of danger, but I am thankful to see ye. `Tis a sad night I’m leaving ye with, lass,” he said, his voice low and sympathetic. He grasped her upper arms, facing her away from the body on the bank. “`Tis yer cousin, Robert. In my day, `twould be a mercy to end his pain, but mayhap yer modern medicines can cure him.”

  She jerked around at his words. The robed figure knelt at Robert’s side then glanced up at Allison. The woman tilted her head.

  “He rests now, with a bit of my help. I draped a bit of wet fabric from my cloak over his back to keep his skin moist, and halted time for him. He needs medical attention quickly. His burns are life-threatening.”

  Allison flung herself to the ground next to Robert, trained hands and eyes cataloguing his wounds. She lifted the remains of his jacket, her gorge rising as she registered the extent of his burns. He did not rouse. “Oh, Robert! What have you done?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Malcolm clasped her shoulder gently. “Dinnae fash, lass. He isnae in pain. Soni has seen to that. I spoke to him before she set him beyond time. He told me he was desperate, thinking ye’d turn him in to the police for his actions at the springs earlier. Nothing had gone according to his and Sandy’s plans, and when he saw the burning whisky barrels coming down the hill, he thought to join one last chance to vent his spleen before being hauled away.”

  Allison shivered and Malcolm draped his jacket across her shoulders.

  “But then he saw ye standing next to the lake. He needed ye out of the way so he could get up the hill to help Sandy. He swore he hadn’t meant to hit ye so hard, nor send ye into the lake with the whisky burning the water.”

  Allison turned tear-filled eyes to him. “What happened? How did he get here, then?”

  “He doesnae like me much, either.” Malcolm rubbed a spot on his head. “He hit me with a large rock as I pulled ye from the lake, and I went under. The barrels rolled over the top of me, preventing me from reaching the surface. I thought I would drown—me, a ghost.” His harsh snort startled Allison. “But as I felt myself fading, yer cousin grabbed my arm and hauled me out. Unfortunately for him, I am a largish man, and he slipped and fell into the water.”

  “Why did he rescue you?” she wondered.

  “All he would say is he changed his mind.” Malcolm shrugged. “`Twas the pain talking, I am certain. I believe his hands were burned shoving the barrels aside, the rest when he struck a patch of flames.”

  Allison eyed Robert’s injuries in the dim, flickering light. His hair was burned away on one side of his head, leaving a large shiny white patch that might have been bone. His jacket hung in charred tatters and the one hand she could see was a dull matte black.

  “I am truly sorry for yer troubles,” a sweet, melodic voice interrupted. “There are still a few minutes before I must take Malcolm away. Is there aught else we can do to help?”

  Allison slid her gaze to the young woman next to her. The firelight cast her features in stark relief, emphasizing the bones of her face and casting unusually large shadows beneath her wide eyes. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name is Soncerae. I am here to collect Malcolm.”

  “You’re the witch?”

  At the woman’s nod, despair weighted Allison’s shoulders. “You can’t have him. I need him to help me rebuild the distillery.” She cast a look at Malcolm, emboldened by the intensity of his gaze. She rose and stepped to his side.

  “I need his wisdom and his strength.” She grasped his hand in one of hers, wrapping the other around his upper arm and leaning close. “And I need his heart.”

  Malcolm’s eyes closed as if in pain then reopened, the sorrow within tearing at her. “Lass, I must go. I am honored to have been of service this day, though devastated to leave ye in such straits.” He shuffled his feet and cupped her cheek in his palm. “If ever I was tempted to avoid my fate, it would be here with ye.” One corner of his lips tilted up. “Ye are bonnie for a Sutherland lass. And brave.” His voice lowered. “And beautiful.”

  A sob lodged in her throat and she buried her face in his chest. “Please don’t leave me. Who else will call me lass and give me sweet kisses when I need them?”

  Fergus leapt against her leg and she choked on a laugh as she ruffled his ears. “Not yours, Fergus. Malcolm’s.” She glanced up. “It doesn’t seem possible you interrupted my morning just today as a tourist. You are so much more.”

  She faced the witch. “I don’t know what it would take to change your mind, but I would plead with you. He did his heroic deed—and more.”

  Stepping toward Soncerae, she enumerated on her fingers. “He has PTSD—undiagnosed, but quite apparent, and Fergus has calmed him more than once. He deserves a life free of such painful memories, and I can help.” She held up her second finger. “He is loyal and has stuck by me from one trial to the next today. A weaker man would have given up hours ago.” She reached her third finger. “He faced his greatest fear when he jumped into this lake to save me. I’ve seen his memories come over him, paralyzing him, plunging him into grief and regret. But he did it anyway, for me, and I’ll never forget it.” With a jolt, she lifted her hand, four fingers splayed. “And he is kind, honest and brave.” She spread all five fingers. “And I love him.”

  At their feet, Robert moaned softly. Torn, Allison moved to his side, gently stroking the side of his face.

  “He is rousing. My spell will wear off soon and you must get him to a hospital,” Soncerae said, concern in her voice. “I am sorry, Allison, but I must take a spirit back with me. I cannot break the agreement.”

  “Me.” The word was a cracked whisper of sound.

  Allison leaned closer. “Robert? Don’t move. There will be an ambulance here soon. I am sure one or more is on its way, just behind the fire trucks.” She glanced up the hill where flames glowed with fierce intensity.

  Robert’s good hand shot out, capturing her wrist in an urgent grip. “I heard. I won’t make it. Feel it—here.” He coughed, his mouth twisting in a grimace. “Good man. Deserves better than I do.”

  “Dinnae say such things, lad,” Malcolm murmured, drawing near. “Yer medicines can cure ye, and ye should have yer second chance.”

  Robert’s eyes widened, ghoulish without lashes or brows, his skin slick and pink. “Let me—one good deed.” His breath rattled in his chest. “One. Good. Deed.”

  “You may not take another’s life to spare Malcolm’s,” a new voice intoned.

  A well-dressed man, white satin-lined black cape tossed over his shoulder, stood to one side of Soncerae. “That would break the agreement.”

  “I understand, Uncle,” she said. “Where is the line when his wishes are clear and intervention is already too late—supposing I had the gift of healing?”

  “His sacrifice could cloud any relationship between the pair.” He nodded to Allison and Malcolm. “Will their bond withstand it?”

  “Ye know I cannae see the future, Uncle,” Soncerae chided. “Nor can ye.”

  Her uncle sighed. “The woman loses a treacherous cousin and gains a loyal Scotsman who gives her sweet kisses.” The downturn of his lips emphasized his skepticism. He looked to Malcolm. “And ye intend to help her rebuild her life?”

  “Aye. If `tis granted me, I will help her rebuild whatever has been destroyed.” Malcolm glanced at Allison. “No matter the journey.”

  Lights flas
hed behind them, raking the hillside, and a white ambulance skidded to a halt next to them, wheels crunching on the crumbling asphalt. “Do you folks need help?” a man asked through the open window.

  “My cousin has second and third-degree burns over his hand, head and back. He requires immediate attention,” Allison stated, her nursing training taking over.

  Both cab doors flew open and a third man jumped from the rear of the ambulance, light from the compartment spilling out onto the ground. One EMT hurried to Robert’s side, in murmured conference with Allison who listed his symptoms with detached, professional calm.

  Suddenly, the EMT rolled Robert onto his back, giving his chest a resounding whack. His shoulders pumped up and down as he began CPR and within moments, the men had Robert’s body on the gurney and inside the ambulance. Doors thudded closed and the siren roared to life as they raced back down the road. A few minutes later, the lights vanished. Allison retraced her steps to Malcolm’s side.

  A shooting star arced overhead.

  “He is gone,” Soncerae murmured.

  With a silent prayer, Allison sagged against Malcolm. His arm circled her shoulders comfortingly and pulled her close.

  Soncerae and her uncle exchanged glances. “So be it,” the man intoned. “His life was used selfishly, but spent in honor trying to atone. I will grant his wish.”

  “Who is that, and what does he mean?” Allison murmured into Malcolm’s ear. She glanced about, startled to find the strange man gone. “And where did he go?”

  “That was my uncle,” Soncerae replied. “And he means your cousin’s last actions were an unselfish desire to see ye happy. Which meant exchanging his life for Malcolm’s.” She regarded them sternly.

  “That doesnae mean he died so Malcolm could live, but rather he offered his space on this earth, once he dinnae need it any more, for Malcolm, should he wish it.”

  Tears clouded Allison’s eyes and hope squeezed her chest. “Malcolm?”

  “I dinnae know what to think, lass,” he admitted, clearly stunned. “Can we alter the bargain?” he asked Soni.

  “Uncle has allowed it, but only because of yer love for each other and because yer cousin offered the exchange without coercion.” Soni tilted her head at Malcolm. “Would ye trade yer chance to speak with Tearlach for a life with this lass?”

  A grin split Malcolm’s face and laughter roared from his chest. “My meeting with the prince in exchange for a Sutherland lass?” He pulled Allison into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Aye.”

  “Then ye best travel up yon hill and see to saving the distillery,” Soni noted. The green glow surrounding her began to dim. “Farewell, my friend.” She gifted Allison a sweet smile. “Life with this one will be interesting, but he deserves all the joy yer life together has to offer.” Her look turned wistful. “I wish ye both many happy years.”

  She faded and was gone. “What do you suppose she meant?” Allison mused.

  “That we live long and happily,” Malcolm replied, a wondering note to his voice.

  “No, not her words, the way she looked at us. As though she was gifting us something she wished she could have.”

  Malcolm hugged her tight. “`Twas a trick of the light, lass. Our Soni is a bonnie lass who has bargained for the lives of 79 ghosts. She simply has her hands full.”

  He chucked her beneath her chin. “And we have ours full as well.”

  Allison eyed the burning path through the woods, the flaming river of whisky flowing through the trees drying to a mere trickle. A fire truck parked to one side, one hose pumping water from the lake, another spewing water over the fire, keeping it from spreading into the forest.

  Above the tree line, the wild dance of flames had diminished, the white glare of spotlights replacing the churn of orange and gold.

  “It looks as though we might be able to drive up to the ridge,” Allison said. “With luck, it was only the one warehouse and they’ve protected the others.”

  She and Malcolm climbed into the ATV. Malcolm thumped the bed behind him with a fist. “Fergus! Up!”

  With a scramble to the floorboard, over the seat and to the space behind, Fergus bounded into his appointed spot with an excited bark.

  Allison maneuvered the ATV to a spot indicated to her by the fire chief. She and Malcolm stepped to the ground with a firm command to Fergus to stay.

  The fire chief wiped a streak of smoke residue across his forehead. “I believe we have it contained to just the one warehouse,” he told her. “We don’t dare leave until it’s completely out, but, barring other incidents, this should be completely under control soon.”

  Allison grimaced. She knew exactly what ‘other incidents’ meant. “Have you seen Sandy?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.” The fire chief motioned for her to follow and led her behind the next warehouse where the sheriff’s SUV sat, lights bouncing off the metal siding. The chief gestured to the tall thin man in a khaki uniform, capturing his attention as he passed Allison and Malcolm over.

  “Talk to Will. I’ll see you later.” The fire chief turned back to the fire.

  The sheriff beckoned Allison closer, opening the rear door of the SUV. The cabin light came on, shining on Sandy. He glared at her, hands tucked behind his back. Will leaned against the open door, arms folded across his chest.

  “It’s a singularly odd thing to arrive at the scene of a fire and find a seemingly intelligent man hiding in a warehouse full of whisky next to one burning to the ground,” Will drawled. “Can’t say as I’ve ever seen anything like it.” He glanced at Allison. “He says he’s innocent, but my momma would tan my hide if I didn’t ask for your side of the story.”

  Allison’s temper boiled. “Your momma would be proud of you, Will, for capturing the man who tried to destroy my distillery.”

  “It wasn’t me! It was your stupid, greedy cousin, Robert!” Sandy squirmed beneath the weight of three speculative gazes.

  “Check the white truck behind warehouse F. You’ll likely find his fingerprints all over it and what’s left of the contents.” If there are any, Allison added silently, praying the truck hadn’t been consumed in the blaze, along with the proof.

  “He’d meant to start the fire with a timed explosion from the truck,” she added, “but Malcolm and I interrupted him and managed to move the truck before its fire spread. I couldn’t reach security on my cell phone up here in these blasted mountains, and lost my walkie-talkie sometime earlier today, so we headed back down the hill to get help.”

  She shuddered and Malcolm settled a calming hand on her shoulder.

  Will pushed away from the door and bent to peer at his prisoner. “Well, Sandy, looks like you’re going to stay seated all nice and tight-like in my car until I get you transferred to jail. Should have lit out when you had a chance.” He grinned as he straightened and faced Allison and Malcolm. “Sorry about that. No pun intended.”

  Allison closed her eyes briefly in pained response.

  “Get Robert!” Sandy shouted from inside the SUV. “He’s part of this!”

  Will slammed the door shut. “What’s this about Robert? Any truth to that?”

  Allison sagged and Malcolm wrapped an arm about her waist.

  “The lass is fair pegged, but I can tell ye what ye need to know.”

  “A Scot?” Will stood to his full height, a quizzical look on his face as he eyed Malcolm. “My granddaddy had a kilt like that one. Same color, though not nearly so worn.” His eyebrow quirked upward. “Not many men around here can wear something like that and not get laughed at.”

  Malcolm stared down his good-natured teasing and Will gave a soft laugh. “Be damned. You’re a Sinclair?” At Malcolm’s nod, he chuckled and extended his hand.

  “Wait a minute!” Allison protested. “You’re not a Sinclair, Will Marshal.”

  The sheriff grinned. “Nope. But my momma was, and I have the tartan to prove it.”

  Malcolm perked up. “Good to meet ye, Will. I am Malcolm Sinc
lair, lately of Scotland, and, if I dinnae anger my wee Sutherland lass, I’ll be making my home here.” He shook hands with the sheriff.

  Will nodded. “Tell me about her rascally cousin, then take her home. She looks like she’s about to collapse.”

  Ignoring Allison’s sputtered protest, Malcolm gave Will a brief summary of the day’s events—excluding his reason for being here beyond that of a besotted tourist, and omitting Soni and her uncle’s appearance. He slid a look to Allison as he gave Will the bad news about Robert. “I dinnae think he will make it.”

  Will shook his head. “I’ll check with the hospital on Robert’s condition, though you’re right—it doesn’t sound good.” He gave Malcolm a shrewd look. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Malcolm. You’ve got you a fine lass here—even if she is a Sutherland.”

  THE END

  A Note From the Author:

  I’d like to thank Allisa Henley, Master Distiller for George Dickel Distillery, for her help and enthusiasm when I approached her with my notes for this story. I assure you, any mistakes in the book are mine, and the descriptions of the Sutherland Distillery in my story are only loosely based on the Dickel Distillery.

  I also want to thank the tour guides at Dickel, in particular, Allison Alsup for being such a great friend and willing to share her notes with me. And a shout out to Angie who welcomed me back for another visit and caught me up on the changes in ‘The Hollow’. Thanks also to Julie who gave me a refresher course in making Tennessee Whisky.

  If you have a taste for whisky and enjoy tours, consider visiting George Dickel Distillery in Cascade Hollow, TN, for a step back in time. They still make whisky the old way and your time in The Hollow will be a day well spent. The whisky is the smoothest you’ll ever taste, and you will be welcomed with open arms.

  Tell them Cathy sent you.