Jamie Page 3

  His confusion would have to wait, however, because a certain old man was having a difficult time keeping his feet beneath him…

  CHAPTER SIX

  Glaring up at Jamie from where he’d fallen on the floor, Huey demanded to know who he was.

  “A direct descendant, obviously, of James Houston, who was killed in the Battle of Culloden Moor.” It grated on his soul to lie, even a little, but he had no choice. Telling the old man the truth might prove to be too much of a shock and he couldn’t take the risk.

  “I knew I recognized ye in the drive.” The man’s frown suddenly changed to a hopeful smile. “For a nominal fee, I’ll be happy to give ye a guided tour of the grounds later tonight…”

  Jamie shook his head and he helped the man to his feet. The only thing that would remove himself from Kinkelding that night would be Soni, come to tell him the prince was ready to see him. Otherwise, he’d roam the place as he pleased and ferret out whatever ghosts lingered on the property.

  “He’s with us, remember?” Dawson gave the old man a stern stare. “And we’ve booked the place until tomorrow morning. Jamie will be touring the graveyard with us.” He turned to glare at Tuke. “And the cameras and equipment will be recording. Now let’s make sure that happens.”

  Tuke and the old man left the room and Dawson put a hand on Jamie’s chest to hold him back.

  “Look man,” he said quietly. “I’ll pay you for your time, and I’ll pay you well if everything works out tonight. I mean, if we get some good stuff on film—”

  “Nay.” Jamie shook his head. “No need to pay me. I’ll stay as long as I am able, but I cannot tell how long that may be.”

  The man’s face lightened a bit. “That’s great. As long as you can, that’s all I ask.” And with that, he all but danced from the room.

  Jamie turned again to face his likeness. There were aspects that reminded him of his father so much he could hear the rumble of the man’s voice still in his head. And in spite of the fact that he also resembled his brother, Ian, the painting was clearly meant to be of himself.

  He didn’t recognize the name of the painter, but his heart stuttered again and actual tears filled his frail mortal eyes when he read the brass plate at the base of the ornate frame.

  James Archibald Houston. Our Jamie, lost at Culloden, found in our hearts.

  But what about Ian?

  When Jamie had risen from the dead the morning after the battle, he’d looked for his brother and not found him. His spirit was not among Culloden’s 79, so he’d hoped with all his might that Ian had survived. But there had been so very many who had fallen.

  So many bodies that might have been Ian’s. But instead of look for him, he’d clung to the hope that his brother had been able to flee.

  After some time, news trickled back, conversations were overheard and passed on. The Butcher had sent his murderers into the Highlands, to finish off all those who had dared to fight for Charles Edward Stuart. So if his brother had survived the battle itself, he might not have survived the horror of what followed.

  There came a point when the anguish of not knowing was simply too much to bear. And from that moment on, he’d had no choice but to put the fate of his family aside, to stop wondering. To stop feeling.

  It had been far too easy a task.

  And until Soni showed up at Culloden, blinking at them all between folds of blankets, he’d probably gone right on, not feeling, forever.

  Now, thanks to the wee witch, he was feeling again. Not just the movements and reactions of his body, but the fears and worries that had lain dormant in his heart. The moors in his chest had begun to thaw, and minute by minute, he became more alive with emotion.

  Heaven help him, if he didn’t get his wild thoughts under control, he might find himself on the ground, drowning in a pool of his own tears!

  Ian. He must at least learn what happened to Ian!

  If there was a portrait commissioned for himself, then a portrait of his brother might tell him if and where he brother might have fallen. Perhaps somewhere in the house… If the owners kept his, it would stand to reason they would keep Ian’s.

  Jamie stomped out into the hallway and began his search, but after scouring every room, he found nothing of his brother. He began to marvel that he’d seen anything at all of his own family when so many Houstons and others had lived and died in Kinkeld House.

  His only hope was that Huey might know something. A glance out the window showed the old man climbing back into his blue car, and Jamie ran as fast as his recently animated legs could take him, to catch up with the man.

  Just as the car rounded the fountain, Jamie knocked on the glass on the passenger side. The car stopped. Huey rolled down the window and the hope on his face might have been for an extra coin. But Jamie had nothing for him.

  “Please. Can ye tell me,” Jamie said breathlessly, “if ye remember anything more about James Houston? Or more importantly, do ye ken what happened to the brother who also fought at Culloden? Or,” dare he ask, “what happened to the rest of the family?”

  The man sighed, realizing he was being offered nothing as compensation for his contributions. “Aye. The brother, Ian, fought at Culloden as well. But he surrendered. He was tried and transported to the colonies. It is the ghost of their sister who haunts the house and tower. I believe she jumped to her death.”

  Jamie nodded and let the man leave.

  No. Suisan would never have done such a thing. Suisan, with her hearty laughter and teasing ways. He missed her more than he ever would have imagined in his youth. He only hoped the lass didn’t greet too much when he was unable to come home again.

  He already knew the female ghost was not his sister, so that meant it was Elspeth who had jumped from the tower. A massive weight descended upon him at the news, as if it was his fault the lass had killed herself. He’d obviously made little difference on the battlefield, but he might have made a difference at Kinkelding.

  Poor Elspeth. No wonder she haunts the place.

  Had she found it too horrible a prospect that Ian had been sent to the colonies? Had she been distraught at the idea of raising his child without him? Surely, Jamie’s parents would have taken her in and cared for her and the bairn, whether or not Ian had married her. So why?

  His sorrow for Elspeth warred with his joy that Ian had survived, not only Culloden, but the slaughter that came afterward. His brother had ever had good fortune. After all, he’d won Elspeth’s heart… Unfortunately, she hadn’t been quite so dear to Ian.

  He stopped suddenly, understanding dawning like the sun rising over Dunain Hill.

  His noble deed. A damsel in honest distress was Elspeth! He must have been sent to help her move on to the next world. If she still waited for Ian to come home, she waited in vain. All Jamie needed to do was help her understand, get her to cross over, and he will have proven himself. His long awaited revenge would be at hand!

  As soon as the sun was down, he’d do something he never would have imagined.

  One of Culloden’s 79 was going ghost hunting.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Matt and Tuke ordered about their small film crew and filled the house with equipment. They were diligent in their planning, keeping the gadgets and cables well to one side of a given room, hanging microphones out of view of the cameras. They’d done the same with the vans outside, parking well away from the house so wide shots could be filmed of a lonely, deserted house fronted by an equally lonely fountain.

  They filmed his knoll for a bit, then climbed to the top and filmed down upon the house from that height. They filmed Jamie standing just outside the door. They filmed him wandering the rather modern gardens with his hands behind his back like the laird of the manor surveying his domain.

  If he truly had been laird of the manor, however, he would have seen to it that most of the flowers in the garden were replaced by useful food stuffs.

  Dawson and the rest kept him away from the family graveyard and asked him n
ot to go inside the house until after dark. If he was going to arouse the ghosts, they wanted to be there to witness it. And if it was dark, they hoped to be better able to capture it on film.

  Jamie was simply grateful they didn’t expect him to wander about the place moaning, pretending to be the ghost of himself, since he was already dressed for the part.

  In the afternoon, a woman delivered supper. She assembled a table and covered it with a crisp white cloth and all manner of delights. Only then did Jamie realize the sharpest ache in his gut was not for Elspeth and his long lost family, but for food.

  When Dawson insisted Jamie join the rest of the crew and eat his fill, he could have wept for joy.

  “Believe me,” his new friend said, “it’s going to be a long night and you won’t last on an empty stomach.”

  He especially enjoyed the crisps covered in salt, and with Dawson’s permission, he tucked a small bag of them into his sporran for a later snack. He recognized tablet as something the tourists purchased in the Culloden shop and tried it. But it was far too rich for his palette and he spit it out for fear of tossing up the rest of what he’d eaten.

  To taste again! Thank ye, Soncerae!

  The food-woman left behind the uneaten things in a sack, packed up her table and baskets and left. There was nothing more to do but wait for nightfall, so the men wandered off in search of a place to relax for a bit. Jamie returned to his knoll, but instead of stretching out and sleeping away any more of his precious mortal time, he thought back to the day he’d left his beloved Kinkeld House.

  He’d stumbled out of the front door in the wee hours and looked for Ian. When he reached the corner, he heard his father and brother speaking low. With his sight all but gone, Archie Houston’s hearing was keen indeed. No doubt he’d heard them stirring and came outside to bid them farewell. But his next words kept Jamie from showing himself.

  “No son of mine could be so cruel,” his father said. “Marry the lass today, Ian. Join Lord Lovat’s regiment tomorrow.”

  “Nay, da. I am needed now, and so is Jamie.”

  “Ye’re needed here. Give us an hour or two to summon the priest and wake yer mither.”

  “No need to wake Mither. I…” His brother paused, but he couldn’t have been distracted by Jamie, tucked well around the corner of the house as he was.

  “What is it, son?”

  Ian let go a gusty sigh. “I doona mean to marry the lass.”

  There was a longer pause while Jamie’s brain caught up with what had been said. It came as no surprise that his brother didn’t mean to marry Elspeth. Nor did it shock him that his brother had likely gotten the lass with child. What amazed him was that Ian would admit such a thing to their father—a man to whom honor meant all.

  “No son of mine—”

  “I’m a son of Scotland now,” Ian hissed. Then he stomped out of the yard and onto the drive. “Tell Jamie to hurry or I’ll go without ‘im!”

  His father found Jamie then. His head cocked to the side, likely drawn to the sound of his son’s breathing. They were both too embarrassed by Ian’s actions to face each other directly.

  “Go wi’ God, Jamie my boy. And watch yer back…for I fear Ian cannot be trusted to do it for ye.” The tall man pulled him tight in his embrace and choked the air out of him, then walked away, his thin cane tapping its way half-heartedly toward the front door.

  Jamie wiped his eyes and bore down to keep from weeping like a lass. After all, he was on his way to join the Jacobite army, to represent the family in his father’s stead. With his and Ian’s help, God’s chosen prince would be back on the throne where he belonged.

  And Ian wouldn’t wait for him to wipe his nose and bid the womenfolk farewell.

  His brother was half way to the road by the time Jamie caught up with him. Ian slapped him on the back and gave him a shove like he’d often done. Jamie shoved him back, proving he was his brother’s equal in all things. They tussled to the end of the drive, then sobered. Just before they took that first step into soldierly adventure, they turned to look back at Kinkeld House. A farewell glance at a place they knew, deep inside, they might not ever see again.

  The eastern sky was changing from palest blue to pale yellow. The corner of the house lightened with it. The top of the west tower shone like a torch held just above the rooftop.

  “Do ye think we’ll live long enough to see home again,” Jamie whispered. He needed just a little encouragement to help him turn away.

  “Perhaps not,” his brother said, denying him that reassurance. “It’s a wide, wide world with much to offer a willing soldier.” Ian turned and stepped onto the road.

  “But at least ye’ll be laird of the manor one day. Surely ye mean to come back if we survive the war.”

  “Nay, Jamie. I’ll not return to Kinkelding.” He slapped Jamie on the shoulder again. “It’s all yers. All of it.”

  He remembered the harsh words his brother had exchanged with their father. “But da didn’t mean what he said—”

  Ian’s brow lowered like a dark storm. “He meant it, Jamie. And I’ll not return just to see if he’ll take it back again.” He glared toward the house. “I hope it haunts him until the day he dies, and beyond.”

  His attention caught on something and his eyes narrowed, but then he turned and stomped away just as purposefully as before.

  Jamie turned to see if perhaps their mother had come out to bid them farewell after all. But the figure in white, standing on the tower, was not Mother.

  Elspeth stood forward on the battlements with one arm held out to him. Or rather, to his brother. But Ian was already beyond the trees. He had no parting gesture for her, even though Jamie was sure his brother had seen her.

  For the sparest moment, he entertained the possibility of returning to the house, of allowing his brother to go and fight without him. He wondered if it would even be possible to get the lass to see him clearly, to realize that one of the Houston lads truly loved her, just not the one she had supposed.

  But he couldn’t do that. He’d given his word to his father. He would join Lord Lovat in his father’s stead. And he vowed, privately, that he would never let his father down as Ian had done.

  Archibald Houston’s familiar words echoed in his ears. “Why else would God have made us all different, even from our brothers?”

  No. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t make things right for Elspeth, but he could give her something. And give himself a bit of comfort in the meantime.

  He could pretend, for another moment, that Elspeth really saw him, that she was reaching out to him, and not to Ian. It was something he was forced to do, at times, to convince himself that he was a man like any other—not just a second son, a second choice.

  He put his hand to his mouth, then raised it and blew the kiss her way. From the distance, he couldn’t be sure, but thought she pretended to catch it. Then once again, she extended her hand. He reached toward her, in turn, as if they might touch fingers if they simply stretched far enough. Then, after a nod, he turned away.

  He never told Ian about that kiss. He kept that experience to himself through marches and long nights, standing guard and drilling with other Highlanders. He doubted Ian would have been moved by it in any case. His brother had seen the vision in white for himself and not bothered to acknowledge it. So if Jamie mentioned the gesture he and the lass had exchanged, Ian might have mocked him for being soft.

  But deep within, there was a small part of Jamie that feared his feelings for Elspeth made him an imperfect brother. Perhaps he hadn’t dishonored his father, but had he dishonored his own blood just the same?

  Sitting on the knoll, he glanced up at the tower. In the strange light of the gloaming, he could almost imagine her there…

  But he wasn’t imagining! Elspeth was standing there once again! Had she been there the night before and he’d wasted an entire day because he’d not believed she was real? An ironic turn, for a ghost not to believe.

  Jamie dar
ed not climb to his feet, trying not to draw attention, hoping the others couldn’t see her as he could.

  Still in her white nightdress, Elspeth reached toward the road. The pale cloth had an unearthly glow about it and Jamie knew without a doubt that the lassie’s spirit lingered there, roused by the same memory he’d just been recalling in his own mind.

  He turned to look at the road, almost expecting to see an eager version of himself and Ian turning back at the drive for one last glimpse.

  But there was no one.

  He looked again to Elspeth and watched as she caught another kiss, the same as she’d done that night long ago. Only, how sad it was that there was no one blowing it to her.

  And as he continued to watch, the lass’s form began to fade.

  Fading to sleep. Just as he had hundreds of times. But where would she go? Had she truly taken her own life?

  The answer was clear enough a moment later when her form appeared on the ground below the tower—where she would have landed if she’d jumped from the parapet.

  Poor lassie.

  The light faded into the pavement there and was gone.

  Jamie was caught off guard by the swell of anger he suddenly felt toward his brother. What was wrong with him? After all, he’d worried about Ian for far too long to harbor a grudge against him now. Besides, he couldn’t have known what Elspeth would do.

  Perhaps, if Jamie had been a little braver himself, a little less keen to impress his father and a little more keen on helping the lass, he would have turned back that morning. He might have found a way to make Elspeth happy. He might have helped her see that she was well and truly loved. Her life might not have ended as it had.

  Ashamed, he said a little prayer that his heroic deed would involve something other than rousing Elspeth from her light slumber. But even as he made the wish, he knew it was in vain. He could not collect his boon if he left the lass to suffer the same fate from which Soni had saved him. He simply had to help her. It would prove best for them both.