Ghosts of Culloden Moor 11 - Adam Read online

  A deserter? The thought hadnae crossed my mind. It surprised me Mairi had thought of it. Could that have been what Soni meant when she said Mairi would think poorly of me? I hadnae been especially eager to go to war, but I believed in giving Prince Charlie his chance, and when I left home in March, 1746, things had looked good for the Jacobite army. But no matter the circumstances, I wouldnae have deserted, and Mairi knew it as God’s own truth.

  “I am not a deserter,” I said, just to clear the air.

  She nodded briskly. “Of course, ye arenae. No one would ever think it of ye. I know ye worry about me and the bairn, but `tis not worth yer good name to come fix a simple hole in the barn that has been there—”

  “Mairi.” I interrupted her tirade, my voice slightly raised to be heard. “Mairi, can we just forget this?” I worried about her, about the harm to the bairn if I told her I died a few days from now on Drummossie moor. Not for all Soni’s warning would I willingly bring harm to my sweet wife.

  She opened her mouth, but a shout from the yard cut her short.

  “I’m here, Auntie Mairi! What do ye need me to do this day?”

  She turned stricken eyes on me. “William is here! Quick—hide in the bedroom.”

  I wasnae sure he could see me—I hadnae thought to ask Soni if I would only be visible to Mairi and Pol—and Mairi obviously dinnae want to involve our nephew in my supposedly questionable activities, so I slid from my seat and slipped behind the bedroom door, viewing the room from the crack between door and frame.

  Mairi cast a worried look my way and I sighed. She turned to the cottage door, opening it to William’s ruddy face.

  “Hello, Auntie! Ma said to give ye these.” He handed Mairi a small basket covered with a piece of cloth. She accepted it and patted William’s head.

  “Tell yer ma thank ye for me, ye hear?” She placed the basket on the table behind her and made shooing motions with her hands. “I dinnae need anything today. Ye were a big help to me yesterday, and I cannae think of a thing for ye to do now. Head back home, lad. I am sure ye could be a help to yer ma.”

  William scowled and scuffed his boots on the doorstep. “Ma can always find work for me. I like it here with ye and Pol.” He craned his neck, looking into the house past Mairi. “Where is Pol?”

  Pol had followed me from her spot beneath the table and now crouched near my feet, watching me warily. I couldnae explain the dog’s sudden distrust of me. Had she caught the whiff of death? I dinnae know the exact day, but it was likely no more than a few days before Culloden, judging by Mairi’s size and the feel of the air. It dinnae have the frozen bite of March any more, but the softness of April and spring. My ‘death’ was mayhap only two or three days away, and `tis said dogs are sensitive about such things.

  “There ye are, lass,” William cried triumphantly as he scooted past Mairi into the house. “Come on, Pol—what are ye doing?” He reached out to the dog but froze as his gaze met mine.

  Could there be a slight chance he dinnae remember me? After 270 years, it seemed possible. But nae, it had only been three weeks or so for him, and recognition dawned bright in his eyes. “Uncle Adam? What are ye doing here—and hiding behind the door?”

  CHAPTER 7

  His face reddened and his look turned doubtful. “Does yer captain know ye are here?”

  I gave him a stern look. “Aye. I dinnae desert.” In truth, my captain was many years dead, and dinnae care where I was at the moment. I tossed Mairi a firm gaze as well, but she remained skeptical. I turned back to William. “I knew of a few chores I hadnae finished before I left, and this was a good day to get them done.” I motioned him away and strolled into the main room.

  “Och, Uncle! I am glad to see ye!” He grinned now, relieved and much easier to convince than Mairi that I was here on honorable terms. But then, he hadn’t heard the whole story. Come to think of it, neither had Mairi.

  “Wait until I tell Ma!” William fairly danced with excitement. “How long will ye be here? Can we have a ceilidh, Auntie? I’m learning the pipes!”

  I winced and decided this had gone far enough. I hated to share my only day with Mairi with an excitable nine-year-old, but if I let him go home, he would spread the news all over the area and we would be visited by every branch of the family for miles around. And it pained me to think most would believe I had deserted—even if only for the day.

  “Come, William,” I said. “Ye can help me mend the hole in the barn.”

  “What about yer breakfast?” Mairi interjected, pointing to the food rapidly going to waste on her table. “Ye cannae start work on an empty stomach.”

  “It will keep for lunch.” I couldnae bring myself to tell Mairi I was a ghost, and I certainly did not wish to involve William in this.

  Mairi fisted her hands on her hips and gave me a stubborn look. “Adam Gordon, I dinnae fix this for ye to let it go to ruin. Ye are a large man and need the food.” She turned to William who was looking hopefully at the platter. “Sit down, lad, and I will get ye a few bannocks. I know yer ma dinnae let ye leave this morning without yer breakfast.”

  William accepted in a trice, nipping up to the table and scooting his chair in place before I had a chance to protest. I eyed the dog. What were the chances I could pass the food to Pol? With Mairi watching? Slim to none.

  I pulled my chair out and sat. I toyed with the knife for a moment, then picked up a bannock and twirled it in my fingers.

  “And what is wrong with my cooking?” Mairi demanded. “Ye ate it just fine last night.”

  Pol whined and Mairi whipped her head around, bringing her gaze back to me with narrowing eyes. “Ye fed it to Pol, aye? That is why she is begging for more.” She folded her arms across her belly, a pained look on her face. “Do ye not like my cooking anymore?”

  CHAPTER 8

  The look of betrayal in her eyes finished me. I am only a man and where Mairi is concerned, I have no will of my own. From the day I met her I vowed she’d never know a day of sorrow because of me. Now, because of this war, she would have much sorrow, even though I would give her a chance to raise our bairn. I had no wish to cut short her happiness at seeing me, but it looked as though my plan was going downhill verra rapidly, and there was little I could do to stop it. Except try the truth.

  I glanced down at my plate. “I cannae eat.”

  “What do ye mean, ye cannae eat. Are ye ill?” Her puzzled look made it clear she dinnae understand.

  “I cannae eat food.”

  “It isnae allowed?” She shook her head. “Speak plainly, Adam. Why can ye not eat?”

  William’s head swiveled from me to Mairi and back again, like a wee owl. Apparently `twas my turn to speak. My mouth felt dry. “I am a ghost.”

  Her face scrunched with doubt. William’s eyes widened. “A ghost?” he whispered. Apparently ye could convince a child of anything with scarcely trying.

  “Aye. A ghost.” I moved my focus to Mairi. “Mo chridhe, come sit with me.” I dinnae wish her to faint and fall, but she took a step backward, away from me.

  “Nae. I believe I can listen to what ye have to say from here,” she whispered.

  I sighed, not liking the sudden paleness of her cheeks. “Ye willnae like this.”

  Mairi blinked. “Nae. I dinnae think I will.” Her voice was small, and her distance from me loomed in more than mere steps. The peat sputtered on the hearth, loud in the tension-filled silence as I sought the right words to say.

  “In the next day or so, Prince Charlie will launch a plan to catch the English unawares. But everything will go wrong and many lives will be lost.”

  Her eyes were huge, her face pale, and her breathing sounded shallow and fast as she struggled with the consequence of my words. “Nae.”

  “Mairi, I died on the battlefield that day, but have been given one last day with ye.”

  “`Tis not possible,” she murmured, crossing herself. She wobbled and I leapt to my feet and caught her, but she pushed me away. “I cannae be
lieve ye.”

  “Would I make this up?” I thought it a good question.

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. She knew me an honest man. “I think ye need a good rest—and mayhap a healer,” she retorted crisply. “William, would ye—”

  I broke in, somewhat testily. “I am not touched in the head, nor ill.”

  Both William and Mairi stared at me in disbelief.

  I stared back at them. “I am dead.”

  Mairi gave me a sweet smile. “Dinnae fash, Adam. I will look after ye.”

  “Ye dinnae understand,” I protested. “Ye cannae care for me. I was given this day to help ye, but as I told ye afore, I must leave by nightfall. My time will be up.”

  “Are ye a restless ghost, Uncle?” William asked, full of morbid curiosity.

  “William!” Mairi scolded. “Dinnae encourage him.”

  “The lad is partly right, Mairi. There are many of us who never left the battlefield. Never found our rest because of things in our past, things we wished we had done.”

  “But, Auntie, he doesnae look like a ghost,” William chimed in. He gave me the skeptical look only a lad can affect. “Prove it,” he demanded.

  I tossed his glare back at him, but he dinnae back down. This was the entire point, aye? To convince them I wasnae the best guest at a party, and then to convince Mairi to take the bairn and flee to America. A widow and bairn of a known Jacobite would be an easy target for the Duke of Cumberland’s men, and I wouldnae save her life now only for her to lose it weeks later at the hands of angry soldiers who hated the fact her husband had fought and died for Bonnie Prince Charlie.

  I returned to my seat at the table and picked up an oatcake. I inhaled its rich, familiar scent, and the tiny bit of cinnamon Mairi used when she could get it. My mouth watered. I wanted that oatcake, knew how it would fill my mouth and senses as I chewed. It was one of my most distinct memories of home. And now I was a ghost and the eating of it was lost to me.

  I took a bite. Chewing it brought me no pleasure. There was no rush of saliva to my mouth to mingle with the once-familiar flavors of the cake. And I couldnae swallow it. After a few moments more, I turned away and spat the whole of it into my hand.

  “Wee Annie does that with her vegetables,” William hissed to Mairi. I had to agree with him. He had no way of knowing I dinnae choose not to eat the bannock, but that my body simply dinnae work that way anymore. As a ghost, I had no need for sustenance.

  I harrumphed. “I cannae eat, William. Ye know how good a cook yer auntie is. Would ye turn one of her bannocks down?”

  “Not unless I was dead,” he declared. Realizing what he’d said, he clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide.

  “Exactly,” I murmured. But not eating Mairi’s good cooking wasnae the proof they needed. I would have to think of something else.

  “If ye are a ghost,” William began, a sly edge to his voice. “How did ye die?”

  “William!” Mairi gasped, her hand at her throat.

  I grabbed the wee loun by his shoulder and marched him out the door. “We’re going to fix the hole in the barn, Mairi. We will be back in a wee bit.” I grabbed my coat from the peg by the door and clapped a hat on William’s head.

  William twisted in my grip, but I turned him firmly toward the barn. “There is a spot the sheep can get out,” I growled. “Fetch some wood from the stack a bit shorter than ye, and meet me next to the barn.”

  Shrugging off my hand, William slouched to the stack of wood next to the blocks of peat he was required to keep for Mairi, kicking at the snowdrifts as he went. I watched as he sorted through the pile, then stepped inside the barn for a few tools. We met at the corner of the barn a few minutes later. A sulky look in his eyes, he handed me a length of wood about as big around as my forearm. I took it from him with a nod of approval and set it upright on the remains of an old stump. With one clean blow of the axe, I split the wood down the middle and placed it against the side of the barn.

  “Nice fit,” I commented. William nodded, his sulky look disappearing. Knees in the muddy mix of melting snow and earth, he braced the wood whilst I nailed it in place. He was a good lad, and I had been relieved when my brother suggested William help Mairi out a bit each day with some of the chores whilst I was gone. I dinnae know why I never thought to have him patch the barn. Except I’d had every intention of returning home and doing it myself.

  * * *

  Mairi stared at them from the doorway of the cottage, her finger pleating her heavy wool skirt over and over again as she pondered Adam’s sudden appearance. She had longed for his return every day since he’d left—since he first mentioned joining Glenbucket’s Brigade, if truth be known. And though he’d never intentionally walk away from his obligation to the war and Prince Charles, his obligation to her ran just as deep.

  The warmth of pure longing spread outward from her heart. Even from the first time she’d met him, she’d never wanted to be parted from him. They shared everything, from the delight in the new lambs to the special appreciation they found in each other, and these weeks apart had been especially difficult with the bairn on the way.

  Ye were so thrilled when I told ye about the bairn, Adam. Mairi’s lips softened into a smile of remembrance. And ye have been ever so attentive to me these months. Ye are such a good husband—more than I could ever have hoped for.

  But it troubled her to think he considered himself dead. A coldness struck the center of her being and she crossed herself to ward off the growing fear. I willnae think on this. It is too outrageous, too unbelievable. Ye have seen too much of battle, would be my guess. Yer gentle soul had no idea what to expect. I willnae even consider it a premonition. I couldnae survive without ye, Adam, and I will believe ye will walk back down that lane to me again soon.

  She drank in one last glimpse of Adam, instructing William as he repaired the hole in the barn wall. His red-gold hair gleamed in the sunlight and his shoulders stretched the fabric of his well-worn coat. I will make him a new one. I can save a few pence and purchase what I need later this summer.

  She laid a hand across her swollen belly as the bairn kicked and gently stroked the mound. I will be glad when ye decide to come into this world, little one. `Tis tiresome toting ye around like this. She glanced down. And my ankles are swollen like sausages.

  Turning from the door, she cleared the food and dishes from the table, rubbing her back absently at the dull, persistent ache. A frown returned to furrow her brow. I cannae believe him. I willnae believe him. She stared at the table where she would soon lay out a frugal noon meal for the three of them. Slowly, she set a wooden plate in front of one chair. Then another. Her hand hesitated over a third plate, but she drew it back with a sense of dread.

  Two. There would only be places set for two.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Uncle, are ye really a ghost?” William’s question jerked me from my thoughts. “Ye dinnae look like one.”

  I sighed. “Aye, William, but `tis not something ye can tell anyone.”

  His look was solemn, yet I could tell he struggled with the restraint. “If it is difficult for me to tell ye, or prove it to ye, do ye really think anyone else will believe ye?” I widened my eyes dramatically. “Or do ye think they will put ye to bed and dose ye with all manner of nasty herbs and concoctions?”

  He made a gagging face then grinned. “I dinnae think they would believe me.”

  I nodded. “Good lad.”

  “But, are ye a ghost?” he persisted.

  “Aye, I am a ghost. I died on the battlefield and have been restless ever since. But a wee witch gave me a chance to come back and fix things for yer auntie before I finally earn my rest.” I ruffled his tousled hair. “I dinnae have to convince ye I am a ghost, just remind ye that ye cannae tell anyone ye saw me here today.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are ye sure ye dinnae desert?”

  It was then I realized the problem wasnae he dinnae believe in ghosts, but he dinnae know how to think of me as de
ad a few days from now. At this time in his life, I was still alive. In my time, I was dead 270 years—now somehow back a couple of days before the battle of Culloden.

  I glanced around the yard and finally spied Pol snugged beneath the low branch overhang of a nearby tree. Muzzle on her forepaws, she eyed me warily. She was the only one who sensed something was wrong.

  “Do ye see Pol over there?” I asked William. He followed the sweep of my arm as I pointed to the black and white form lying motionless in the shadow of the tree. He nodded. “She was my friend, aye? Ye always found us together.”

  William turned his puzzled look on me. “Does she not like ye anymore?”

  “As far as I can tell, William, she senses I will be gone tonight, and she is grieving.” I remembered her soft growl earlier. “Something isnae right to her. Mayhap she realizes I am a ghost, mayhap she doesnae. But something is changing, and she knows it.”

  He held up another piece of wood and I swung the hammer. The nail bent. Damn. I dinnae have time to keep trying to get things right. I dug my sgian dubh from my belt and used the tip to pry the nail from the wood. The blade winked at me an instant before it slid sideways across the back of my hand.

  William gasped. Then he cried out and pointed. “La!”

  I already knew what he saw—or more correctly, what he dinnae see. The sgian dubh had plowed a furrow through my skin, but there was nary a drop of blood. The red, life-sustaining liquid flowed warmly through my veins, but none spilled from the wound.

  “Ye are a ghost!” he whispered, eyes wide and a bit fearful.

  “I bled my last on the battlefield, lad,” I told him. “I willnae bleed again.”

  He was silent as I finished hammering the wooden spikes over the hole. There was no time to pull the bad wood and plane new planks to fit the space. William and I did the best we could. It wasnae overly pretty, but the sheep were now secure and I breathed a sigh of relief. No sudden escape of the precious ewes would draw Mairi from the house at night and cause her to slip on the ice. My job was finished.