Ghosts of Culloden Moor 08 - Duncan Read online

  DUNCAN

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor (No.8)

  By Jo Jones

  AMAZON KDP EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY

  Jo Ann Jones

  www.jojonesauthor.weebly.com

  Duncan © 2015 J. Jones

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Series © 2015 L.Lytle

  All rights reserved

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  BOOKS IN THE SERIES

  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

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  DEDICATION

  For my daughters;

  Becky, Jennifer and Lonnie.

  You make it all matter

  BOOKS IN THE SERIES

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor

  1. The Gathering (L.L. Muir)

  2. Lachlan (L.L. Muir)

  3. Jamie (L.L. Muir)

  4. Payton (L.L. Muir)

  5. Gareth (Diane Darcy)

  6. Fraser(L.L. Muir)

  7. Rabby(L.L. Muir)

  8. Duncan (Jo Jones)

  9. Macbeth(L.L. Muir)

  A NOTE ABOUT THE SERIES

  Although the individual stories of Culloden’s 79 need not be read in strict order, The Gathering should be read first to understand what’s going on between the Muir Witch and these Highland warriors from 1746.

  The names of Culloden’s 79 are historically accurate in that we have used only the clan or surnames of those who actually died on that fateful day. The given names have been changed out of respect for those brave men and their descendants. If a ghost happens to share the entire name of a fallen warrior, it is purely accidental.

  Duncan

  CHAPTER ONE

  Auch! Was this it then?

  Duncan Macpherson took stock of the sudden burden of his own body weight and the effort it took to move it. By the stars, he’d forgotten what gravity felt like! Two hundred seventy years as a ghost had all but erased the memory.

  The strong kiss of the sun warmed him as a strangely scented breeze caressed his skin and teased the edge of his kilt.

  Hesitantly, he opened one eye, then the other, accepting the complexity of living, if only for the one or two days of the Muir Witch’s bargain. ‘Twas little enough trouble for the chance to face Bonny Prince Charlie and put his sizeable Macpherson strength behind the long awaited reckoning.

  Vengeance might well belong to the Lord, but a piece of Culloden’s retribution belonged to Duncan Macpherson!

  Soncerae’s sorcery had already helped a few of the 79 souls leave Culloden Moor, but if any of the rest of the lads didn’t make it, he’d do his best to stand for them and lay their grievances at Charlie’s feet.

  Duncan scanned the unfamiliar area, alert for trouble and a nice defensible position, should he need it. ‘Twas no knowing what manner of place Soni had dropped him into or what danger might await.

  A heroic deed, she’d stipulated, with her pretty smile and her mystic, knowing eyes. ‘Twould be a simple enough feat for a Highland warrior, he’d wagered, in exchange for the long awaited boon of facing Charlie, eye to eye, beating heart to beating heart.

  And here he was, seemingly alone, feasting his eyes on a vast expanse of gray-green stumpy brush and dry rocky soil. Sandy and desolate it was, nothing like the rich loam of Scotland, nor the cold muddy damp of the moor.

  Thick trees, covered the rolling hills on either side of the valley. He filled his lungs with the warm air, marveling at the feel of it expanding through the breadth of his chest. The air proved bonny and clean but ‘twas as if it sucked the very moisture from him, both inside and out.

  And him without a drop of drink in his flask. Had Soni not foreseen the need, or was even findin’ a drink in this strange place to be a heroic act?

  “Well, Soncerae—” His own voice startled him. He’d not heard it in two hundred and seventy years. ‘Twas nice to use it again. “Shall we be about it then, lass? The bargain’s been struck, ye’ve brought me here, wherever ‘tis, so let’s get straight to it. I’m anxious to be finished and savor the taste of Charlie’s comeuppance, for myself and the whole of the 79.”

  He waited, turning slowly, taking a full appraisal of the area. “Where is it, then, Soni? This deed that needs doin’?”

  Two small brown birds flitted from one dusty bush to another. The corner of Duncan’s mouth twisted. “Apparently, they dinna ken which way to go, either.” More minutes passed. “Soncerae, ya pitiless witch, show yerself, or show the deed. Yer wastin’ my two days.”

  Nothing stirred. No’ even the aimless birds.

  Duncan sighed, taking note of the sun’s position. Past midday. He’d need water, heroic deed or no’. Which way, then? And would it have hurt Soni to drop a shard or two of dried meat into his sporran? Two hundred seventy years created a bit of a hunger in a man. Soni made a fine witch, for certain, but no’ a great planner of the necessitates of battle.

  “Let’s be off then.” He shooed the birds, deciding to go in whatever direction they flew.

  ~

  He’d hiked down the long valley for most of an hour, the sun and dust penetrating deep into his wool plaid, when he caught sight of a narrow dusty road, snaking through the trees. Auch! A boon. ‘Twould surely lead to a village or a cottage at least, where he might refresh himself and inquire about the lay of the land. Supposing, of course, these locals were friendly, since Soni hadn’t deemed it necessary to send his weapon along, any more than sustenance.

  What would it be, then? Left or right?

  A rumble came from his right, just beyond the rise, where a cloud of dust billowed into the air. He cocked an ear. ‘Twas not a sound from his own time, but somewhat near to the racket the modern-day automobiles made when driven to Culloden’s visitors center. Nay. Even those had not rattled and banged so grievously.

  Before he could respond, an old beat-up lorry barreled over the rise and hurled its noisy bulk directly at him.

  Duncan willed his legs to move even as he recognized how futile the effort would be. He’d die here, mortal a mere hour, no’ the two days promised, no’ having fulfilled his bargain. He’d lose his chance to face the foul prince, forever.

  With the sound of skidding rocks, the hurling rust-heap turned nearly a full circle right in front of him, ending tail first and encasing him in a choking cloud of dust.

  Music, loud and mournful, blared through the dust with someone singing about all his “exes living in Texas.”

  A door opened with a creak, the sound of metal popping, and the audible growl of an irate lassie.

  “Are you crazy?!” The words were hurled from within the dust cloud now settling in heavy layers atop him and the wreck-on-wheels.

  “What’s wrong with you, you idiot? You could have killed us all!” She emerged in a rage, punctuating her fury by stabbing both hands in the air.

  By the stars. She’s magnificent.

  ‘Twas the only word Duncan could conjure as he watched a swirl of long red curls whip around her head and shoulders while she issued a scathing verbal assault. Her green eyes snapped and he couldn’t pull his attention from her lips as they formed a torrent of accusations he paid no heed to.

  Now there’s a lass!

  Too many years has passed since he’d felt the pull of a beautiful lassie tighten the muscles d
eep in his gut and put a hitch in his breath. He didn’t know if ‘twas the lass herself or the outrageous span of time since he’d experienced anything remotely similar that made this moment stand still. He cared not. He wished only to savor the sight and sound of her and the sensations she wreaked within him. Many a bonny lass had visited Culloden in the last couple of hundred years, but none had captivated him as this shrewish she-devil was doing now.

  “Well?” She planted a clenched fist on either side of her shapely hips and cocked an expectant eyebrow as the music switched to something about mamas and trains.

  “Well…what?” He tried hard to focus on what her question might have been.

  “What are you doing out here? Especially like…that?” She waived her wrist to indicate the whole of him.

  Auch, he must be a sight. Dust coated his skin and dulled the rich hues of his plaid. He whipped off his cap and beat the powder from the areas he could reach. At least Soni had seen fit to send him without the mud and blood he’d worn when last he drew a breath.

  “Are you part of a reenactment group?” She looked around. “Where’s everyone else? They filmed a cavalry thing out here a few years back, but I’ll admit you’re the first Scotsman I’ve seen. Whatever made you choose Arizona? And why were you standing like a lunatic in the middle of the road?”

  “Arizona?”

  “Yeah. Where did you think you were?” She looked at him curiously. A light seemed to dawn in her eyes at the same time wariness set her pretty features in a hard line. She backed toward the lorry and reached inside, never taking her eyes from his face.

  He heard the hammer click as she pulled her hand back and pointed a pistol at his chest.

  By the stars, she’d called him a lunatic. Did she truly think him daft?

  “Who are you and what are you doing out here?” Both hands wrapped the grip of the pistol as she widened her stance for balance.

  For the life of him, temporary or no’, he couldna’ see how this tantalizing shrew needed saving, or any other form of heroic deed.

  The sorrowful sounding music suddenly stopped.

  “Mama?”

  Duncan felt the surprise of the child’s voice skitter through him.

  “Stay there, Molly.”

  Her name pulled him, heart and soul, back to the hearth-fires of home and the wee sister who still haunted his dreams.

  How was it that a spirit could haunt a spirit?

  The answer came clear – had always been clear.

  Because I’m responsible for her death.

  “I’ll give you one last chance,” the woman warned. “If you don’t give it to me straight I guarantee no one will ever find your remains.”

  Give her what straight - precisely?

  “I’m sorry, lass.” He took a step forward and she raised the gun higher. “Would ye mind posing the question once more?”

  “Who. Are. You?”

  He dipped his head in a respectful bow. “Duncan Macpherson, most recently of Culloden Moor, here to help ye.”

  The tip of the pistol dipped as her brows drew together. “Help me with what?”

  Admitting to any amount of confusion on his part, grated on his pride, but Soni had no’ taken the time to explain the details of the heroic deed he was to accomplish.

  “Do…ye nay know?” He finally asked trying to mask his frustration.

  By the stars, someone should know! Had Soni missed her mark and dumped him in the wrong place entirely?

  “Mamma?” The child’s voice came again, raising goose flesh despite the warmth of his tartan. “Maybe the man is thirsty.”

  “Aye!” He all but barked, surprising even himself, but it had been nearly three centuries since he’d felt the soothing coolness of liquid anything slide down his throat. He didn’t suppose the bairn’s ma would be packing a wee dram of spirits, so he’d be thanking her for whatever she had. Even water.

  Duncan could read the indecision in the mother’s emerald eyes and in every movement of her body. How could he blame her with the bairn to protect? She couldn’t know the character of a Macpherson. And he dinna have the luxury of time to show her.

  It was clear enough from the gun in her hand that she wasn’t much interested in talking anyway.

  For the first time, he felt a thread of regret for agreeing to a mere two days of mortality.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Hand me a water bottle from the ice chest, Molly.”

  Lainey Saunders had no idea what to do with the most peculiar stranger she’d ever come across. If she didn’t know better, she’d take him for the real deal. Every detail of his costume looked aged and authentic. Right down to the steel of his gaze and the length of his wavy auburn hair. He was all power and strength. Almost too good looking, she mused. It was too bad she couldn’t see his character. She wondered if it would be as compelling.

  It didn’t matter. She couldn’t possibly trust him, nor, unfortunately could she leave him out here, forty miles from town. Another rancher might possibly run onto him-eventually. But this was far from a well-traveled road. It could be days, maybe longer, before anyone found him.

  But how could she risk Molly’s safety? Or her own? If something happened to her, there’d be no one to care for Molly.

  “Here’s the water.” Molly said, starting to walk past her.

  Lainey’s mouth pinched in exasperation. She hadn’t even heard her get out of the truck. “Molly!” she warned, “I told you to hand me the bottle.”

  “Both of your hands are wrapped around your gun, Mama.” She raised her gaze to Lainey’s and her mop of cinnamon curls fell softly away from her sweet face. “You won’t really shoot him, will you? I think we should take him home,” Molly stated decisively. “He’s probably lost and we’re supposed to take care of lost and helpless critters. Isn’t that what you always say?”

  Lainey sighed, tucked the pistol in her back pocket and took the water bottle. Why was parenting so hard, even after five years? Why did the positive lessons she tried to teach Molly always came back to bite her?

  Maybe because you’re doing it all alone! And probably all wrong.

  Sometimes her situation really angered her. She took all the risks. Endured all the hardships—

  Molly wrapped her arms as far as she could reach around Lainey in a tight hug, and as always, Lainey’s heart melted.

  —and I get all the blessings.

  Lainey rested a hand on Molly’s shoulder, keeping her eyes on the stranger. What was his name? Duncan…something? He stood tall and broad shouldered and beneath that period costume, he looked to have the kind of build and strength one didn’t create inside a gym.

  She wondered what his story was. Too bad he wasn’t the cowboy type. She’d tried desperately to find someone she could hire to help out on the place, but since their divorce, Mark had put the word out.

  Lainey knew Mark couldn’t wait for her to go under so she’d be forced to sell. Exactly why, she wasn’t sure. His small investment in her family’s ranch was less than the child support he owed.

  But to hurry things along, Mark had made sure everyone knew working for her would bring a lot more trouble than a measly paycheck could cover.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t regret their miserable marriage and the constant pain in her backside Mark had turned out to be. He’d given her Molly and she was worth far more than the price of her disastrous misjudgment in a husband.

  “Aren’t you going to give him the water, Mama?” Molly prompted.

  “Oh. Sure.” Lainey walked the few feet to the stranger and held out the bottle. He didn’t take it right away. His gaze was fixed on Molly and the expression on his face took Lainey’s breath away. A look of pain etched lines too deep for it to be about Molly and with it, tenderness and sorrow so intense she almost felt the need to look away.

  She shoved the cold bottle into his hands. “Your water, Mr…? I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten, already.”

  He flinched slightly and took the bot
tle, shifting his attention to Lainey. “‘Tis Macpherson. Duncan Macpherson, of The Clan Macpherson, but the lads call me Thirty-three.”

  This guy had to be a real die-hard reenactor. He certainly

  stayed in character.

  He nodded at the bottle as a slow, dazzling smile curved his lips and he tossed her a wink. “My thanks to ye, lass.”

  Lainey sucked in a breath. Had he actually winked at her? Before she could decide how she felt about that, she realized he was studying the bottle as if he didn’t know how to open it.

  “Here, let me.” She reached out to twist the cap.

  He nodded as if finally understanding. “I’ve seen these flasks at the visitor’s center, but I’ve no’ opened one myself.”

  While Lainey puzzled over his statement, he guzzled half the bottle as if he’d not had a drink in decades, moaning his delight as he swallowed. She wondered how long he’d been out here without water. Maybe dehydration was to blame for his peculiar behavior.

  “‘Tis bonny cold and tasty!” he beamed. “Like a highland stream.” He emptied the rest of the bottle and handed it back to her. “Thank ye. ‘Twas even better than I remembered.”

  Maybe even a touch of sun stroke?

  “And what would your name be?” he asked suddenly. “I ken the wee lass is Molly.” He gave Molly a huge smile and a playful wink of her own that put a light in her eyes Lainey hadn’t seen in a long while.

  “Mama’s name is Lainey,” Molly offered.

  Duncan dipped his head. “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Mistress.”

  Lainey gave him a quick nod, but focused her attention on her daughter who moved steadily closer to the Highlander, trying desperately to take even steps on the bumpy, potholed road. There was no hiding the nearly two inch platform on Molly’s right shoe, nor her pronounced limp.

  If the stranger did or said anything that hurt Molly, she’d leave his body to rot, right here in the middle of the road.