by Diane Darcy
Table of Contents
Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
GARETH
The Ghosts of Culloden Moor (No. 5)
By Diane Darcy
www.DianeDarcy.com
DEDICATION
To Bree. Lover of ghost stories.
A NOTE ABOUT THE SERIES
Although the individual stories of Culloden’s 79 need not be read in strict order, The Gathering should definitely be read first to understand what’s going on between the Muir Witch and these Highland warriors from 1745. The Reckoning, Number 79’s story, will finish the series.
Book Description
They say revenge is sweet…
Lissa Stuart is thrilled to get a job researching for an upcoming movie in Scotland—supposedly the land of her ancestors. When she brags about possibly being related to Bonnie Prince Charlie, she captures the attention of an angry, embittered warrior.
Revenge is all that Gareth thought about for the last 270 years. According to a witch helping him and the other warriors stuck at Culloden Moor, it’s not his turn to come back to life---but that doesn’t matter to him in the least! When he gets a shot at a flesh and blood existence, if only for a few days, he seizes it!
If he has his way, this time the last word will not come from the living, but from the dead.
CHAPTER ONE
Just after the Summer Solstice
Lissa Stuart was thoroughly engrossed in the short film when her phone vibrated. It was Perry Fellner, her boss. She considered not answering, but knew if she didn’t, he’d go into a frenzy of repeat calls, texts, and long voice messages. She walked out of the visitors center Battle Immersion Theater and into the main lobby. “Hello?”
“Lissa. What’s going on? What are you doing?”
Seriously? What did Perry think she was doing? “Research, of course.” She didn’t bother to mention she’d only arrived in Scotland four hours ago and jumped right on it. He wouldn’t care.
“Where are you?”
She walked past a musket display and the Battle Table to stand beside a brightly colored wall where she could have some privacy. “I’m at the visitors center at Culloden Moor.”
“In Scotland?”
She suppressed a sigh. “Yes, in Scotland.”
“I hope you’re getting some good stuff. This movie needs the details to be authentic.”
She rolled her eyes. “And when have I ever let you down?”
He chuckled. “You haven’t. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
“That’s true. So why are you bothering me?”
“Sorry. Sorry. I know you don’t like to be micromanaged.”
“And yet…”
He chuckled again. “Have you got any photos to show me?”
“I’m pretty sure I already sent a batch.”
“Oh. Right. Right.”
“Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Okay, you do that. Get me the good stuff, kid. And if Clive Simpson calls, tell him to stuff it where the sun don’t shine.” He laughed. “You’re working for me now!”
She knew he wasn’t joking. Between Perry and Clive, they kept her busier than she cared to be. Both movie producers tried to reserve all her time and attention—and pouted if she was tied up working for the other. If she told them a third producer was now trying to romance her away, they’d both flip.
“Will do. I’ll talk to you later.”
So far, she absolutely loved Scotland with its gorgeous purple hues, moorlands, and glens. And as always, she adored historical research. What she didn’t love was working with demanding and slightly petulant movie producers. They were always a pain in her backside.
The phone vibrated, and she glanced at it, half expecting Perry again. Worse, it was Mason Baldwin, actor extraordinaire. In his own mind, anyway. The guy was a gorgeous psycho, bent on seducing his way onto the silver screen. Lately, he’d gotten it in his mind that since Perry listened to her, she could get him an acting job in Perry’s new film. Preferably a leading role, of course.
She turned off her phone. Before she’d gotten to really know him, the guy had hurt her feelings when she’d taken his interest seriously. Cara, best friend and all around party girl, wanted to maim the guy. Or at least get him in her makeup chair so she could make him appear hideous in his next role. Never mess with a make-up artist. They could stall out your career with some well-placed blusher if you got on their bad side.
“’Tis a lovely day, is it not?”
Lissa glanced down into the happy, somewhat mischievous face of a black-robed teen and couldn’t help but smile in return. The girl was breathtakingly beautiful. “Yes, it is.”
“I’ve heard the good weather is supposed to hold.”
She grinned at the young lady’s accent. Lissa didn’t doubt the girl was a little heartbreaker. “I hope so. I’ll be traipsing around in it.”
“Aye, ye will at that.”
Lissa’s brows rose as she looked at the girl in question.
“And I’d say ye ought to get started now. No time like the present, aye?” She tilted her head. “Out those doors adventure awaits ye.”
Lissa glanced toward the exit and to the flat fields of green grass and blue skies beyond, then back again.
The girl was gone.
She glanced about, turned an entire circle, but didn’t spot the young lady. That was weird. But there were plenty of places to disappear among the displays and hallways so, taking a breath, she shrugged it off. Jet lag was obviously starting to hit her. Wanting to clear her head, she headed out the doors the girl had indicated. When the cool air hit, she stood looking at the level fields of green, and the heather and gorse beyond. It was hard to believe so many young men had breathed their last in such a beautiful setting.
“Miss? Can I help ye?” She glanced up to see a security guard, mid-forties or so, with a thick head of brown hair, his hands securely fastened to his belt.
She returned his smile. “I’m just looking around.”
“Are ye here on vacation?”
“I’m here for both business and pleasure. This is lovely.” She gestured toward the field of green in front of them. “It’s hard to believe such a tragedy occurred here and that so many died.”
“That it is. Do ye enjoy history?”
“Yes, I love it. I’m especially interested in Culloden Moor. If my dad is to be believed, it’s possible we are directly descended from Bonnie Prince Charlie himself.”
“Shh.” The guard pressed a finger to his lips and glanced around. “Ye wouldn’t want the ghosts to overhear ye,” he said with a wink.
“Ghosts?”
“Yes. A lot of men died here because mistakes were made.”
“And there are ghosts?” Perry would love that aspect.
“Some say they’ve seen them.”
“And what do you say?”
“I say, ’tis the same as a zoo. Dinnae feed the wild animals.” He tapped a finger to the side of his nose. “With talk of The Young Pretender, that is. If ye be a blood relation, best keep it to yerself around these parts.”
She smiled at him, enjoying his brogue and personality. “As I’m afraid of ghosts, I’ll heed your advice.”
“Now dinnae be heedin’ it too closely. I’m curious about yer ancestry.”
“My name is Lissa Stuart.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Is it now?”
She shrugged. “Apparently, Bonnie Prince Charlie did not
know his daughter Charlotte gave birth to three illegitimate children. So they disappeared into the mists of history until researchers in the 1950’s proved otherwise.”
She grinned. “Now, the American version of the story differs somewhat. Supposedly Charlotte’s son traveled to the Americas where he fathered an illegitimate son. My great-great-something-grandmother took his last name, and pretended to be a widow. She bought into his wild stories about being the true heir to Bonnie Prince Charlie, and ever since, our family has proudly claimed ties to the true royal family.”
The guard looked astonished. “Is that so?”
She winked at him. “Or, maybe Great Grandma simply had a vivid imagination.”
“So ye dinnae believe it yerself?”
She shrugged. “It makes for good conversation between strangers. Especially here in Scotland.”
He chuckled. “Well, as I said, Culloden Moor might not be the place to tell such tales, so we’ll just be keepin’ it between ourselves.”
She smiled. “From this moment on, my lips are sealed.” She made a locking motion against her mouth and pretended to throw away the key.
A sudden coldness slipped through the layers of her jacket and shirt and she shivered. “Did you feel that?”
“I did, indeed. I told ye to be careful of claiming certain relations around here, didn’t I? Now ye’ve roused the ghosts, haven’t ye?”
She chuckled, going along with the joke, but wondered if she’d actually roused them. “Well, I’d better be going. I missed half the film, so I’ll probably be back tomorrow.”
“Where are ye stayin’?”
“Just down the road at the Leanach Bed and Breakfast.”
“That’s a good place. Weel, perhaps I’ll see ye tomorrow. Good day to ye, miss.”
“Good day.” She waved at him and headed toward the tree-lined parking lot. The cold followed her and goosebumps broke out on her body. She knew she was imagining it, but a malevolence stirred the cool air, and she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder.
A man strode after her, lifted a claymore, and swung at her head.
She gasped, ducked, closed her eyes and yelped, all at the same time.
When nothing happened, she glanced up to clearly see the image of a man. See through him, anyway. He was tall, muscular, black-haired, and his face twisted with hatred. Breathing hard, he lifted the claymore once more and cut her in half.
Or tried to, anyway. She flinched, glanced up, and watched him fade to mist and disappear.
She straightened, still breathing hard, and glanced around in fright.
What had just happened? Did they have some sort of hologram in place? If they did, she wasn’t amused. They could give people heart attacks by springing such things on unsuspecting tourists.
Or could they really have ghosts?
She glanced around, but all she saw was the grass waving as the sun warmed her once more.
Had she imagined the entire thing?
She knew she was jet lagged. She’d dropped her things off at the bed and breakfast before heading straight here. It probably hadn’t been a great idea. Hadn’t she once heard jet lag was the equivalent of drunkenness?
She glanced around once more, shook her head, and headed to her rental car. She was driving straight to her bed and breakfast and hopping between the covers.
She glanced over her shoulder as she headed for her rental car, and chuckled, albeit a bit uneasily. Even in a place like this, there were no such things as ghosts.
Right?
~~~
It was a trick. Just like the eerie green light swirling about the girl.
He paced behind the others as they gathered around Soncerae, and he tried to remember.
He was number 26. It wasn’t his name, he knew that, but it had been his moniker for far longer than the one his parents bestowed.
He’d died at age twenty and seven. Or, rather, had been led like a lamb to the slaughter and left to die. He knew that, too.
He lost himself occasionally, faded away, but tended to waken when the strength of his anger renewed, or when Soncerae neared.
He couldn’t seem to stop the rages, and even his brothers avoided him now. As well they might, as he was the one who’d talked them into this misery.
The others avoided him as well—his brothers in arms. Faithful men who’d stood at his side, followed him, marched with him, starved with him…and finally died with him.
Soncerae, or rather Soni as they called her, the wee little witch was back, and as the hours went by, his mind muddled. Number 18 had gone first. She claimed she could give them all a chance at revenge. When she’d first spoken of it, he’d not wanted to hurt her feelings and pretended to believe. He’d a soft spot for the young lassie—they all did—she’d strengthened their interest from the moment she’d come, a wee babe pushed in a pram. They’d watched her grow into a beautiful young woman and something stirred within, a spark, whenever she approached.
How could such a young lass provide a chance at revenge?
When she spoke so casually of Charles Stuart, or rather, Bonnie Prince Charlie, his anger simmered, but not his belief in any chance at revenge. She was playacting, and he’d a mind to indulge her, though she knew not what emotions she pricked by making such promises.
When 18 disappeared, it was troubling, but not surprising. He’d probably done so to please the wee witch and, even now, was doubtless lying twisted in a mass grave, awaiting a chance to rejoin them, to confirm her story and play to her vanity.
He’d not fault the girl. All girls were vain at sixteen. Lately, he’d remembered his sister again. At that age she’d been flirting, teasing, causing Mum and Da all sorts of trouble.
But then number 64 had left, and 48 as well.
And now Soni had called forth his middle brother, number 75.
What if it wasn’t playacting? What if it wasn’t a trick? He could feel his ire rising, his formless body wavering. Not a new sensation by any means, but new when directed toward Soni. He’d had enough of lies and deceptions. What did she want of this? Perhaps she’d been sent by Charles Stuart himself to send them all to the very devil.
It was his job to protect the others—most especially his brothers—whether they wanted it or not.
“Aiden MacGregor? Number 75?”
He could see his brother debating, hovering, before drifting slowly forward.
Gareth soared faster, pushing against the mass of wraiths, plowing through them to reach her first. “Take me instead, lass.”
Soni’s head shot up, her beautiful eyes wary. “Gareth, I know a great wrong was done ye, but it was done to all and ’tis not yer turn.”
Gareth. That was aright. He was Gareth Alexander Sutherland MacGregor, son of John and Mary MacGregor, in command of infantry under Lord George Murray. He didn’t care about that now. He cared what happened to his younger brother. “I’ve said I’m to go next, and I meant what I said. I’ll not be naysayed by a young chit such as yerself.” His tone was as hard as the Mixed Clan gravestone lying atop his bones.
“Dinnae speak to her in such a way!”
“Haud yer wheesht, mon!”
“Shut yer geggy or I’ll close it for ye!”
The murmurs behind him turned into roars of protest, but he’d not budge. “If ye be serious about lettin’ us face the prince, I’ll be the one what speaks with him next.” Bitterness chilled his voice.
Soni gazed at him, her beautiful eyes filling with sadness. “I’m sorry, Gareth. As I said, ’tis not yer turn.”
“Let him go!”
“Aye, let the haverin jobby leave!”
“We’d be better off without the sumph!”
“Let him go afore he ruins it for the rest of us!”
More murmurs of agreement from the wall of wraiths at his back.
He turned so as to yell back at them. “Ye want me to calm, d’ye, ya Jacobite jabbers! Are ye forgettin’ the way ye bled out on this field, empty-bellied and hal
f-dead, while yer precious pretender left us to die in the mud and muck as he ran, his tail firmly tucked between his legs! And now we’ve his kin showin’ up and tourin’ the place at their fancy!” He roared the last.
“His kin?”
“What does he mean?”
“Who’s he goin’ on about?”
He turned his back on the murmurs behind him. He ignored them all to stare at Soni. “Weel, lass?”
“I dinnae believe ye’re ready to do a good deed,” Soni said gently. “Without it, ye’ll not face the prince, so it’d be a waste of your turn.”
“Dinnae worry over me. I’ll do my good deed, right enough.” After the Stuart girl was dead, he’d find a deserving soul. He’d not miss his chance over a Stuart, that was for sure.
Soni sighed. “Ye need a chance to calm and accept what’s happenin’.”
They were arguing over something he still didn’t understand and wasn’t convinced was real. And why would he trust? Dead as dust was his reality. Had been for 270 years. This was most likely as he’d thought. A trick. He’d soon know one way or the other, and she could be sure he’d not fade away just to please her.
“Ye told 18 he must ensure a good turn so as to face the prince. Is there aught else to know?”
She sighed. “I thought ye’d want yer brothers to go before ye. I thought ye’d want to make sure they were all right. You’ve always protected them, why would ye want to change now?”
She tried to calm him, but it would do no good; not with a Stuart to contend with. He knew where she was now, and might not later. “I’ve my reasons lass, and ye willnae be swayin’ me.”
She sighed. “I hoped ye’d see sense, but I’m in charge here, and I’m lettin’ another go first. Aiden, number 75, come forward, laddie.” She sounded firm, decisive.
Aiden drifted closer, shooting his brother a searching look. “I’m willin’ to give up me place. I can wait well enough.”
Suddenly the witch looked cross enough to stamp a foot as she’d done once as a tot. “Do as I say.” Her hands rose and green mist swirled about her as she faced Aiden.
Gareth put his entire will behind his destination—Culloden Moor—and rushed into Aiden’s place.
