Ghosts of Culloden Moor 22 - Murdoch (Diane Darcy) Read online

  Murdoch

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor

  (No. 22 )

  By Diane Darcy

  www.DianeDarcy.com

  Table of Contents

  Books in the Series

  Prologue:

  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

  Epilogue

  ALSO BY DIANE DARCY

  Scottish Proverb—

  Be happy while you’re living, for you’re a long time dead.

  Books in the Series

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor

  1. The Gathering

  2. Lachlan

  3. Jamie

  4. Payton

  5. Gareth

  6. Fraser

  7. Rabby

  8. Duncan

  9. Aiden

  10. Macbeth

  11. Adam

  12. Dougal

  13. Kennedy

  14. Liam

  15. Gerard

  16. Malcolm

  17. Cade

  18. Watson

  19. Iain

  20. Connor

  21. MacLeod

  22. Murdoch

  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 1746. The Reckoning, Number 79’s story, will finish the series.

  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.

  BRODRICK IS NEXT!

  Prologue

  “Number 69? Are ye there, laddie?”

  Murdoch Stirling didn’t respond. Why should he? He wasn’t interested in what the young witch offered. This grave was his; all that was left to him. If he wished to keep himself here, he would.

  “Let me put it a different way. Get yer arse out of that grave and get up here right now!”

  He winced. It sounded as if Soncerae yelled directly into his ear, though, of course, that particular appendage had gone the way of brownies, sprites, and silkies — vanished and barely remembered.

  “Captain!”

  Murdoch sighed, or he would have if he’d the breath for it. Surely, she’d go away if he lay there amid his bones, the only possession left to him. Unless she went for a shovel, he’d not have to face her, would he?

  As he couldn’t get absolution, what was the point in shouldering an assigned task? He didn’t desire any more responsibility. Wouldn’t accept any.

  He was going straight to Hell. That was a given.

  These last centuries had simply been a reprieve. As the others finally started to move on with Soni’s help he’d known his end wouldn’t be a pleasant one, so he might as well go last. If the other seventy-eight Highlanders couldn’t forgive Bonnie Prince Charlie after all this time, he wouldn’t be forgiven his part either, would he?

  While Culloden Moor was like his own private prison, it was better than what awaited.

  Hell in a hand basket.

  So, thanks, but no thanks, little witch.

  He felt himself float past dirt and grass and grave marker and fought to remain.

  Was she to make him go? Did she ken the fate awaiting him? Mayhap the lass didn’t care or she even believed he deserved his fate. Or mayhap she was simply doing the task assigned to her: scraping Culloden Moor clean of haunts.

  Out of the lot of them he, Murdoch Stirling, spy extraordinaire, should have recognized Dudley Bradstreet.

  Didn’t like call to like?

  On Dudley’s word, the entire Jacobite army had turned back from their march to London to replace the king. And Murdoch hadn’t caught that the man was a spy. It still stung after centuries.

  He was responsible, not Bonnie Prince Charlie. The man was simply a figurehead they’d gotten behind, many for their own reasons.

  They all had their parts to play, didn’t they?

  Just because he hadn’t done his well didn’t mean others would fail at their own assigned tasks.

  He felt himself lighten, fought harder to stay put, strained to resist the witch’s pull. Much good it did him. He quickly appeared before the young lass who lowered her arms and smiled cheerily at him. “Ah, there ye are.”

  He glared at Soni and at the wraiths gathered about. “I’m not interested in what ye’ve got on offer, and I doonae carry a whit for young Prince Charlie.”

  Gasps from the other ghosts had his eyes rolling. “Oh, come now. Stop actin’ like a flock of old hens. From what I remember of the man, he was pathetic and not worth our time in the end. The point being, I barely remember him.”

  That was a lie, of course, but he truly didn’t care anymore and wouldn’t pretend he did.

  “But Captain, we’ve been stuck here and whose fault, if not his? Do ye not care about that?”

  He managed not to flinch. “How do ye know he was the one what stranded us here in the first place? Eh? Mayhap ’twas a witch!” He threw the words and a glare at young Soni even as guilt over his past actions bit into him.

  More gasps, low mumbles, and grousing met his words.

  He wasn’t hero material no matter what the men believed. In actuality, he was a fraud, and if the men didn’t blame him for his failure, it was only because they didn’t ken his part. Or rather, the part he’d failed to play.

  He was the reason every last man of them died and the guilt of it was a sharp pain in his soul. “Quit your bellyachin’. I’m not saying I’ll not pummel the man if given the chance. I will, same as the lot of ye. I ken ’tis the principle of the matter. But remember, ’tis not like I wasnae there, drinking to the health of the Pretender’s son, same as the rest of ye. I dipped deep and gave my last coins when called upon. I showed my support through sword and cunning and it didnae work out in the end, did it now?” And whose fault was that? Another spike of guilt surged through him.

  He shrugged, more of a ghostly wavering than anything else. “Weel, that’s war, isnae it, lads. We weren’t the first nor the last to lose our lives to a senseless battle fought for reasons that probably didnae even matter.”

  “At the time you was asking the rest of us to give our all, as I remember it.” Fenton grumbled.

  Murmers of agreement echoed.

  “If ye didnae believe in the cause, ye shouldnae have followed me and ye certainly shouldnae have followed young Charles.”

  “None of that matters now.” McBean glanced around at the others. “If he’s willing to do his part, that’s what’s important. Arguing it is a pointless affair.”

  “That’s true. The Captain was always a fair man.” McGillicuddy agreed.

  Soni’s gaze was concerned as she stood still and seemed to see so deeply within him. He couldn’t look away once she’d captured his gaze. “Do ye not wish to move on with the others? Do ye wish to be alone here, by yourself, depressed and moldering?”

  He winced, then inwardly cursed himself for his reaction. Why should he let a young chit of a girl get under his skin? Aye, he was depressed and moldering. But in truth naught seemed to matter anymore, did it? He c
ould molder here as well as anywhere. It was better than the fiery pits, wasn’t it? Who knew what awaited him there.

  The witch watched him carefully. “Surely ‘twill be more fun than this. Doonae ye wish for more?”

  Once upon a time he’d wished for more. He used to want to move on; had wondered endlessly why he hadn’t. He used to be alive, too, didn’t he? He’d spied on the English and had his fun, turning the tide of public opinion and stirring the masses. His fellow Jacobites had loved him for it. That had been fun aplenty. A grand adventure, until his capture and escape. Once marked, he’d been unable to move freely among the English and do his part. He’d been promoted to Captain and marched and fought with the rest. That hadn’t been nearly as much fun.

  Not that any of it mattered anymore. Naught did. He knew where he was headed. “Just send someone else, will ye?”

  The men looked worriedly at each other, as if they cared for him. No one had blamed him or ever said a word about his incompetence, but he knew. He knew he’d denied his brethren victory, stolen their lives from them, and cursed them to dwell in this prison of death and yearning.

  If he’d done his job, the massacre at Culloden Moor would never have occurred.

  “But Murdoch,” Soni’s voice wheedled. “This could be yer grandest adventure ever. Will ye miss it before ye arrive at yer final destination?”

  He shot the witch a sharp glance. Did she pluck his thoughts from the air? Did she know what he’d been thinking?

  She stared implacably back. “Weel?”

  What exactly did the witch think to offer him? He truly didn’t wish revenge against Bonnie Prince Charlie. He knew well enough who lay at fault for the outcome of the battle that trapped them here. So what would entice him? Naught he could think of. “Just send someone else and leave me be.”

  Soni’s chin lifted. “’Tis yer turn, and ye will be going.” She slid him a sly smile. “What if I promised ye’ll be fair glad ye went? Ye’ll see things ye’ve naught seen before. In life.” She stressed. “Are ye fearful?”

  A sick kind of anger burned through him and he fought against any reaction. He simply snorted, as did many of the ghosts around him. Fearful? He wasn’t afraid, and all that knew him knew it well. Soni knew too. She was trying to tweak him and it was working, just a bit. If he’d any pride left to him, she’d just trod upon it.

  “Think of the fun, gettin’ away from here.”

  Fun had not entered into his reality in many a year.

  “The chance of adventure,” her voice was smooth, enticing.

  The ghosts watched carefully, hopefully. What they thought to gain out of his going, he’d no idea.

  He willed himself to sink again, but it was no use. It was as if a barrier had been placed between him and his bones.

  He glared at the witch.

  “There is a lass. A lady needin’ rescue.” She arched a brow and smiled.

  He scoffed and indicated his wispy body. “What care I for a lass?” Scorn filled his voice.

  Soni shrugged. “Apparently naught.” Her voice sharpened. “But she’s yours to help regardless.”

  “He’s to have a lass? Like a lady of his own?”

  He could hear the jealousy in the other man’s tone.

  “Mine?”

  “For a short while.”

  Possessiveness swamped him along with indecision. His? If only for a short while?

  No one, not one person had ever mourned him, much less a lass. His parents died long before his youth ended. Twas one reason he’d been recruited from the monastery. He’d a few distant relatives, but no one close. The ones he’d been jealous of were those who had sweethearts to come in the beginning. Their tears, a balm to some, but acid to Murdoch who’d no one to do the same. Remembered resentment welled within.

  “Mayhap I’ll send another in your place to help her.”

  Murdoch wrestled with his thoughts, with all the reasons he shouldn’t go. But there was a lass and she was his?

  “He’ll have a lady to win?” someone muttered.

  “And how am I to do that, pray tell?” Murdoch snapped.

  “Be a gentleman to her,” one ghost offered.

  “Make sure you open doors for her,” another advised. “’Tis important.”

  Soon they were all talking. “Aye. In the movies they always open doors for the ladies.”

  “In the parking lot, I’ve seen men who dinnae open doors and they’re right worthless.

  “Ye could sing to her.”

  “Have ye heard his voice? Nae, Captain, doonae sing. But a bit of praise never comes amiss.”

  Soni sighed and turned away. “Alright. Kenrick?” The witch called out to a clansman.

  Murdoch surged forward to block her path. “The lass is mine and mine alone?”

  Soni eyed him between lashes and bit back a smile. He saw she’d never intended to send Kenrick at all. “For a short while. I’m rarely wrong about these things.”

  His brows drew together as resentment stirred. He knew he was swayed, but even so, why not surrender? What was the use of all this anyway? The witch was to send him; that was clear enough. He straightened to the best of his ability. He might be a fool, but he was no coward.

  He might as well go straight to Hell, as he’d already been in one of his own making. He hadn’t a choice in anything in a long while. “A grand adventure, ye say? For how long?”

  The ghosts around wilted with relief.

  Soni’s lips curved. “A couple of days? Mayhap a bit longer? ’Tis to be yer grandest adventure yet.”

  “It had best be a good one.”

  She smiled widely, all charm and deviltry. “I have such an adventure planned for ye. ’Tis unlike anything ye’ve seen before.”

  “And then I’m to move on?” A bolt of unease shot through him.

  “Just so.”

  Straight to Hell and his punishment, no doubt.

  Mayhap it would be a welcome relief after all. Instead of dread, he could simply get on with it. Go to his just reward. Besides, according to what he’d heard, he’d have a couple of days first. Something different had to be good. The endless days, years, decades, and centuries ran together. He’d experience what he could of life in the time allotted and it would have to be enough.

  “Alright. I’ll be glad to sock the man in the nose, if not for myself, for the others.”

  A cheer rose in the air.

  Soni smiled, and he had to admit he liked the sight of her sweet, cheerful face, lighting as it did from within. It made him glad he’d pleased her, but that didn’t mean she’d have her way in everything.

  “I’ll be wanting my dagger and claymore.”

  She shook her head, but looked upon him kindly. “The claymore will stand out and you’ll be considered a danger.”

  He grimaced, but finally nodded. “My dagger then. The one lost to me.”

  For some reason she looked amused. “Ye’re a possessive man, Captain.”

  “Aye.”

  He felt a spark of something within him, a feeling long forgotten. He was to have a lady that was his and his alone? If only for a short while?

  Aye, he’d go, and to the devil with the consequences.

  Chapter One

  “Hey.”

  Sarah Davis glanced up from where she sat at her desk to see Principal Winslow poking his head in her doorway. His big smile immediately made her cringe.

  She tried to hide her reaction with a quick curve of her lips. “Hello, Principal Winslow.”

  That was all the encouragement he needed. He came the rest of the way into the room and chuckled. “Sarah, how many times do I need to tell you that when it’s just the two of us, you can call me Brad.”

  She responded with a barely-there smile, hopefully polite and off-putting at the same time as he continued.

  “I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re settling in.”

  She glanced around the classroom, determined to keep her answer short and to the po
int. She didn’t want to encourage the man. “I’m doing great. I’ve finished decorating the walls and have a few more projects to work through before school starts next week.”

  He grinned again. “I’m not sure I’m going to like the year-round schedule. What was the Boston School District thinking?”

  Hadn’t they already discussed this? “I guess we’ll get used to it.”

  He leaned back against the wall of white cupboards she’d recently organized. “School in July. It’s just not right.”

  What wasn’t right was the way he kept coming in here. Elementary school principals shouldn’t be so creepy. She just knew she was going to have to turn the guy down for a date, and that wasn’t fair was it? He was putting her in an awkward position. June Chan, best friend and coworker, thought she should just go out with him once. If once was it, she’d do it just to get rid of him. Since she doubted that was the case, it would be easier to just turn him down to start with. She didn’t want him calling her his ex-girlfriend or something weird like that. In a way she wished he’d ask already and get it over with. “I can’t disagree.”

  He lifted a small, brown, wrapped package she hadn’t noticed before. “I have something for you.”

  Dread had her sinking back in her chair. A gift? She didn’t want to take it but didn’t see a way around it. When he continued to hold out the package, she reluctantly raised her hand.

  At the last second, he held it out of reach and chuckled.

  She settled against her chair and looked at him. Really?

  “Just kidding.” He held it out again.

  When she reached for the package, he lifted it out of reach and laughed.

  Was this guy for real?

  “How about we make an exchange? You go out to The Beantown Pub with me tonight, and I’ll give you this.”

  Since she didn’t want it in the first place, the offer was a no go. She placed her hands neatly on top of the desk. “I don’t think so.”

  “My treat, of course. Have you been there? It’s on the Freedom Trail, so we might have to deal with a few tourists, but we could walk afterwards.” He looked supremely confident, as if a positive answer was a foregone conclusion.