Bram--#35--Ghosts of Culloden Moor Read online

  BRAM

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Series (Book 35)

  By L.L. Muir

  KINDLE EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY

  Lesli Muir Lytle

  www.llmuir.weebly.com

  BRAM © 2018 L.Lytle

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Series © 2015 L.Lytle

  All rights reserved

  Amazon KDP Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Greg Muir~

  Bullshitter extraordinaire,

  generous to a fault,

  and the original alpha male.

  His real life was wilder than any work of fiction,

  which made it that much harder to get people to believe.

  But it was.

  And he did.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CURRENT BOOKS by L.L. Muir

  Note from the author…

  About the Author

  BRAM

  EPILOGUE

  (Yes, this time, the ending comes first.)

  “Once upon a time there was a certain handsome ghostie,” Bram told his son, “who grew terrible-weary of haunting the ground upon which he’d bled and died. So, when a young lass came along and claimed she could release him from his baneful state, he felt true hope stirring in his breast after nigh three centuries without it.

  “He had to promise, however, to perform a right noble deed first, before he’d be allowed to go along his way. An easy promise, to be sure. And once he’d made it, she took him from his haunting place with a commanding wind that picked him up, turned him head over heels, arse over teakettle…” He made a great whooshing noise that made the babe’s eyes widen, but instead of greetin’, his son smiled.

  Clearly, he found his father to be a grand storyteller, so Bram continued.

  “Our ghostie soon found himself in an enchanted place called Inverbrae, on the Isle of Skye…” With all the memories conjured by the mere mention of the place, his voice caught, though the laddie didn’t seem to notice. “And that…is where I met yer mother.”

  Sophie leaned over the back of the chair and spoke softly in his ear. “You know, once he starts talking, you won’t be able to tell him that story anymore.”

  “And why not?”

  She came ‘round to face him. “Because other children will make fun of him. They certainly won’t believe his father was once a ghost.” She landed a kiss on his forehead where he was least likely to appreciate it. “And you’d never be invited to Career Day, that’s for sure.” Her musical laughter followed her from the room.

  “Fine.” He looked down into his son’s trusting eyes. “Once upon a time, there was a witch named Auntie Soncerae—”

  “Nope. Not that one either,” Sophie called from the kitchen.

  Bram growled gently at the ceiling, then even more gently at his wee bairn. “Wheesht, woman! I’ll tell my son any story I like. Ye only said I must cease telling it once he begins speaking.” He cocked his head and waited for a witty reply to come from the next room, but his wife only giggled again.

  With round blue eyes, Bram mac Bram blinked and waited, the very soul of patience and attention. Though, to be fair, most babes of three months were a patient lot.

  “Where were we?” He ran a finger along the bairn’s cheek. “Auch, aye. I was just about to tell ye what transpired at that dreadful, forsaken, wonderous place called Inverbrae.” He cleared his throat and thought for a moment. “Or perhaps, I should begin at the end and tell the tale backward? What do ye think?”

  The lad had no opinion on the matter, though he did seize the opportunity to latch onto his father’s smallest finger. A captive audience, a captive storyteller.

  “Very well. Once upon a time, there lived a noble warrior and mason called Bram Ogilvy. He passed his life quite happily ever after with the most perfectly lovely and aggravating woman God allowed to set foot on His earth, for, although she bore him a son that showed all the signs of becoming as dashing and handsome—”

  “And brave,” his wife called.

  “Aye, and brave… She never allowed him the use of his sword.”

  “So your daddy won’t end up in prison!”

  “Aye. There is that.” He shouted toward the doorway. “The bairn will never fall asleep with ye bellerin’ and interruptin’ the story, lass. So please. I beg ye.”

  Sophie hurried back into the room. “My bad.” She bestowed a lingering kiss on his lips just to torture him—knowing he had a duty to perform before he could repay her in kind—and disappeared down the hall.

  “Be a good laddie and be satisfied with a verra brief tale this time, aye?” He searched his son’s eyes to judge how sleepy he might be.

  Young Bram stopped sucking on his pacifier as he often did when his father spoke directly to him. A wee smile broke out on each side of the plastic contraption and instantly turned Bram’s heart to molten gold.

  Only the burning in his chest hurt not at all.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A year before…

  A wise woman once advised Sophie not to name her business after herself. If the shop took off, and she decided to sell, the woman promised it would be much easier to give it up if she could distance herself from it emotionally.

  As it turned out, she was glad she’d followed that advice because her specialty bakery had quickly turned into a franchise that dotted the coastal map of Oregon. And selling half a dozen stores was emotional enough without her name attached to them. The corporation of Aw, Sugar Sugar sold for 1.2 million dollars, which accounted for the happy tears, but it had still been tough to walk away from a routine she’d been perfecting since high school.

  What she hadn’t been prepared for were the reactions of her family and friends. And putting some distance between them and herself was suddenly
essential. They all seemed to think that selling a business was like winning the lottery—free money. And thanks to her mom, who had a hard time keeping secrets, everyone Sophie knew learned how much money she had in the bank.

  The phone calls and drop-bys started out exciting, since it brought her actual joy to be able to help the people she loved without needing to worry whether or not she could afford to. Then it turned to disappointment when the same faces kept coming around with new and worsening problems.

  Can’t pay the power bill?

  I can help you with that.

  Need an airline ticket so you can get back home from a last-minute concert in Vegas?

  Are you kidding me?

  She really couldn’t blame them. Her family had never really had money, so it was new and exciting for all of them, including Sophie. They no longer had to worry that a little bit of bad luck could devastate their paycheck-to-paycheck lives. Now, there was a backup plan. A get out of jail free card, so to speak.

  But cashing in that card, week after week, made for hard feelings. And she just couldn’t stand how it was making her feel about the people closest to her. If she didn’t do something drastic, they’d all end up as bitter strangers.

  She was left with no choice but to lie to her mother—which was as good as announcing to the world—that she had invested all her money, holding out only enough to take a solo vacation to Europe.

  So long. See you in a couple of months. Don’t hold your breath for postcards.

  And before anyone could volunteer to go along, she’d hired a house-sitter she could trust to keep her friends and family out of her home office, and headed to the airport. No phone. No computer. And a pre-paid Visa even her credit-bureau cousin couldn’t track.

  She hadn’t felt that free since she’d first opened her doors of her business—a business that started as a school project. Back in 2011, everyone rolled their eyes at the simple idea of selling cupcakes—until they saw how steadily the money came in.

  No one was laughing at her now.

  ~ ~ ~

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  Her first impression: Scotland is a sandwich.

  Compared to the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, the Edinburgh airport was long and low and squashed in between the dark strip of tarmac and a thick, solid blanket of metal-gray clouds. They hovered overhead like the lid of a hamburger bun while Sophie’s plane slipped into the thin slice of clear airspace.

  Man, she was hungry.

  As she descended to the blacktop, she felt like she ought to stoop a little, as if she’d climbed out of a helicopter and not the 50-passenger Airbus. After her two-day layover in New York, where the buildings held the sky at bay with threatening spikes, she felt like the clouds were taking advantage of Scotland’s lack of defense—and might drop on her head any second.

  The urge to stoop disappeared, thankfully, the second she walked inside the customs building and looked up at the high ceilings. Everything was normal. She was going to be fine.

  While she waited in line, she pulled a folded three-by-five card out of the left front pocket of her jeans, totally out of habit. Every night before she went to sleep, she made a list of things she needed to remember to do the next day, then tucked it into the pants she would wear. It was how she cleared her mind so she could relax and sleep all night. If it wasn’t important enough to make the list, it wasn’t worth losing sleep over.

  She took a deep breath, hoping it would help her relax, and unfolded the paper square.

  Get on the plane.

  Get off the plane.

  Stop making lists.

  Sophie laughed at herself. After making packing lists, lists of contact numbers, photo copies of her driver’s license and passport, and lists for the house-sitter, she’d started making lists of every step she needed to take until she met up with the tour guide. Now, she vaguely remembered tearing up the last one and replacing it with the simple one in her hand.

  She hadn’t come to Scotland to follow instructions and tick boxes. She’d come to amuse herself, to see if a little “unplugged” time might help her figure out the next move in her life.

  The man ahead of her picked up his bag and shuffled away from the counter. It was her turn. She smiled at the sober officer on the other side of the glass. “Hello.”

  He stared her down for a second, then held out his hand for her passport, glanced at it, then stared her down again. “State the nature of yer visit.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t know what to say, so she flushed with embarrassment. Did she have to give him details?

  His nostrils flared like he wasn’t pleased to have to explain, but he was far too disciplined to roll his eyes. “Business or pleasure?”

  She inhaled sharply. “Oh! Business—no! I mean pleasure. Sorry. Just a habit. I never do anything for pleasure…”

  He coughed and ran a hand down his face. When his hand dropped away, his expression was perfectly sober, but she suspected he’d been laughing at her. “And where will ye be stayin’ tonight?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, really.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Ye don’t know?”

  “I booked a tour. They’re picking me up. I think we’re staying somewhere in the Highlands, then on to Skye in the morning.” She took another deep breath. She didn’t like sounding like an idiot. And she didn’t appreciate the guy trying to make her nervous. “No one told me I had to memorize my itinerary—”

  He stopped listening, set a big stamp on top of her open passport, and slammed it down. He gestured for her to come around to the side of the desk where he handed her the passport and gave her a stiff smile. “Enjoy Scotland, Miss.” It was an order, not an invitation.

  She felt like she’d narrowly escaped a jail sentence, and his final words and slight brogue did little to erase the feeling. She bit her tongue and moved along, suspecting that any smart remark would get her into real trouble. And suddenly, the TSA agents in New York seemed downright friendly.

  Another officer glanced at the passport in her hand, gave her the same cold stare-down, then pointed his arm toward a doorway to his right.

  Boy. If the Scottish man-on-the-street doesn’t turn out to be any friendlier, I might just take my vacation somewhere else.

  With her wounded ego clutched to her chest along with her stamped passport, Sophie headed for the baggage claim, allowing herself to mope only until she found her luggage. After that, she was going to paste one smile on her face and another one on her heart and try to find a sign with her name on it.

  As it turned out, Sofie didn’t need to go looking for her ride after all. When she pulled the last strap over her shoulder, a young Scottish kid, far too young to drive, came up to her wearing a white t-shirt and jeans.

  “Ye wouldn’t happen to be Sophie Pennel, would ye?” He bit his lip and waited hopefully.

  “That depends. Who are you?”

  He brightened, obviously taking her words as a yes. “I be Percy Ross, at yer service. I’ve been sent to collect ye and take ye to the car.” He reached for her last bag, but she shook her head.

  “And? Who sent you?”

  He grinned, realizing she was testing him. “That would be The Enchanted Tea Cup, or rather, the two old women who run the place.” He suddenly glanced to the left, then the right, then lowered his voice. “They’ll no’ appreciate me calling them old.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell them.”

  “Ye won’t need to,” he muttered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The car was a small red clunker waiting at the pick-up curb. The guy behind the wheel, Ian, didn’t look all that much older than Percy, and she couldn’t help wonder if she might be safer inside a cab, especially after they took off.

  She assumed after a few minutes, she’d get used to the cars driving on the wrong side of the road, but she’d assumed wrong. All she could do was hang on and pray.

  After driving through a maze of city streets, the car fin
ally stopped on a narrow road lined on both sides with tall, colorful buildings all smashed up against each other. Just like the end of a roller coaster ride, she was dying to get out the second it was safe.

  Percy was quick to open her door, then told her to leave her luggage in the car while she went inside the tea shop to get checked in. “Ye won’t be staying in the city tonight, Miss. When ye’re done here, we’re to take ye on to Dalwhinnie.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Oh, aye. A good two hours, into the Highlands. Ye’ll stay the night there before moving on again.”

  She nodded, stalling while she looked around, trying to take in a little bit of the city now that she was standing still. But she couldn’t see much beyond the rooftops and the curve of the street, so she opened the painted green door and stepped inside The Enchanted Tea Shop.

  The ads for her “unplugged” vacation package had been plastered all over the internet, so she’d expected to be joining a good-sized crowd. But inside the shop, she seemed to be the only customer.

  A woman in her fifties looked up from the sales counter and smiled. “Welcome! Welcome.” She held out both arms to urge Sophie closer, then she gave her a big hug. “You’ll be Sophie Pennel. And I’m Loretta.”

  “Um. Yes, I’m Sophie. Am I late or something?”

  The woman shook her head, led her to a chair, and nodded for her to sit. Bouncy springs were covered with thin red velvet and threatened to bounce her right back onto her feet again if she moved too fast.

  “You’ll be our only guest this weekend.” Loretta returned to the counter and shuffled through a pile of papers.

  Sophie tried to hide her disappointment. She’d wanted quiet and a chance to relax, but not necessarily solitude.

  Loretta clicked her tongue while she searched for something. “Inverbrae is a bustling place, and though you’ll be the only guest from the Enchanted Tea Shop, there will be others, dear. Plenty of distractions. A handsome Highlander or two, I am sure of it.”