Haunted Warrior (18 page)

She sensed a presence, too. The spirit’s anger and resentment felt steeped in the walls, as if the ghost and the cottage were inseparable.

Glancing around, she expected the spirit to appear any moment. But the only thing that moved was the large DO NOT TRESPASS—­PROJECT PENNARD sign taped to
the door. One corner of the sign had come loose, the edges lifting in the brisk morning wind.

Nothing else stirred.

And she was going inside. As a quasi–­Scotland’s Past employee, she surely wasn’t bending the rules too badly by ignoring the no-­entry sign. Besides, if the preservation society was so bent on keeping out intruders, they’d have locked the door. A quick jiggle of the latch proved anyone who wished could enter.

So she did.

And stepping inside the house felt like pushing through a thick cloud of negative energy, the antagonism almost a palpable force in the cottage’s empty front room. Dim light was beginning to filter through the windows, revealing the mold growing up the walls. And the stone-­flagged floor was cracked and dirty, giving the house an air of resentful reproach. Only a hint of residual menace remained, confirming her guess that the lesser entity she’d felt here on arrival had left.
The spirit she’d sensed on approaching the house also seemed to have vanished, leaving only an echo of his or her anger.

Kendra frowned and moved deeper into the house, edging around a pile of empty buckets, broken boards, and tarpaulin. The ghost and the lesser energy might have fled, but her gift’s heightened awareness warned her that something else was here, or approaching.

And it felt strong, very intense.

Its sense of positive force was also more than a little familiar.

Kendra took a deep breath, readying herself to deal with the powerful entity she knew would manifest any moment. She seldom reached out to him. The fact that he now showed proved the severity of Pennard’s problems.

“Raziel.” She turned to face a whirling vortex forming in a darkened corner. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t need your help.”

“So appreciative?” A tall man stepped out of the shimmering light column, his flowing blue robe and long, silvery hair shining with the same brilliance as his vortex. “You offend my heart, though I applaud your courage. No, you do not need me. Instinct will guide you, as always. Even so”—­he came forward on a swirl of energy—­“you should know the danger here comes from above and below.”

“Gee, thanks.” Kendra tucked her hair behind an ear, doing her best not to flinch beneath her main spirit guide’s piercing gaze. “I suppose you mean this village is troubled by hellish and heavenly beings?”

Raziel folded his arms, saying no more.

He did lift a brow, letting her know she’d given the wrong answer.

“Must you always be so cryptic?”

“Stretching your mind to find the answers deepens your wisdom.”

“You’re my spirit guide. That means you’re supposed to guide, not confuse me.”

“I watch over you.” His deep voice filled the little room. “
Spirit guide
is your term. I never called myself anything but my name. I am Raziel.”

Kendra drew a breath, knowing the pointlessness of arguing with him.

Striking in a strange, otherworldly way, Raziel had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. They reminded her of living sapphires, at turns looking like frosted chips of Arctic ice, and other times snapping with such blue fire she’d swear he could scorch with a glance.

Just now the glimmer of a smile lurked in his eyes, showing he knew he’d gotten the best of her.

“Okay, I’ll think on your message.” She let a slow smile spread across her own face. “Anything else you might want to relate?”

Raziel turned his head, sending a meaningful look at the darkened entry to a hallway. “You might ask her about books,” he said, the energy around him turning brighter.

Kendra blinked—­his aura could be blinding at times—­and then he was gone, nothing but a few dazzling sparkles remaining. Then they vanished, as well, fizzing slowly from sight. But a movement caught her attention and she turned, not surprised to see Saami watching her from the shadowed corridor.

Her only female spirit guide, Saami stood right where Raziel had just cast his glance. Dressed as flamboyantly sixtyish as always in a colorful gypsy skirt and low-­cut peasant blouse, Saami wore her curling dark hair hidden beneath an intricately knotted red scarf and had hooked large golden rings in her ears. Though short and plump in stature, the style suited her, matching her pretty face and flashing black eyes. She also smelled strongly of patch­ouli.

Kendra angled her head, studying her.

Saami favored citrus scents. She switched between orange blossom and lemon, depending on her mood.

As Kendra stared, the spirit guide set her hands on her hips. “You can see me.”

Kendra stopped short. The voice wasn’t Saami’s. The entity wasn’t Saami, she saw now, though the resemblance was startling.

“Yes, I can.” Kendra stepped closer to the ghost and found herself looking into a face pinched with distrust. Now she knew the source of the house’s anger. Its stones were saturated by this woman’s spleen. “And I understand why you’re upset.” Kendra looked around, letting
her gaze flit over the workmen’s clutter. “It’s hard to see other people move into a place you love.”

“I hate this house.” The ghost’s sharp tone belied her words.

The brightness of her eyes said more.

“They’re tearing down the walls.” The spirit shimmered, whooshing into the room. “Every day they come, scraping and hammering, ripping away my shelves”—­she glanced at the broken boards on the floor—­“just like he always threatened to do, the two-­timing bastard.”

“Your husband?” Kendra knew she’d tipped right when the ghost’s hands curled into fists.

“Who else?” The ghost leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “He hated my books, threatened to toss them into the sea if I didn’t stop reading so much. But”—­she straightened, her aura red with her grievances—­“what was I supposed to do when he aye ignored me, going off to Aberdeen to carry on with the girls there?

“When he
ruined
one, he left me to marry her!” She spoke in a rush, the air around her crackling, ripping with the strength of her fury. “When I found out, I…” She clamped her lips, the unspoken words darkening her aura.

“She drove off in a rage.” A soft voice whispered the explanation in Kendra’s ear. She didn’t need to catch the whiff of orange blossom to know the real Saami stood at her shoulder, shielding herself so the spirit wouldn’t see her. “She had an accident, her car flipping when she swerved to avoid a deer. Her name is Lora Finney.

“She was a great beauty before bitterness marked her.” An increase in the scent of orange blossoms showed Saami’s empathy. “This village celebrated her as a hobby baker. She often won local scone-­baking competitions. Now”—­Saami lowered her voice—­“she’s spending her time terrorizing the work crews. Yesterday she sent a ladder
dancing across the floor, and she’s planning to toss that tarpaulin over their heads when they return this afternoon. Several of the men have quit, refusing to come back again.”

“Lora, the men here are cleaning mold off your walls.” Kendra used her gentlest voice and the best logic she could think to employ. “They aren’t here to tear down your home. They’re fixing it.”

It wasn’t the whole truth. But soothing the spirit’s upset mattered more.

“Fixing it for whom?” Lora Finney jammed her hands against her hips again. “The rat”—­Kendra assumed she meant her husband—­“married his Australian student lover and moved halfway around the world.”

“I’m not sure.” Kendra didn’t lie. But she did cast a glance over her shoulder, hoping Saami would volunteer a suggestion.

Unfortunately, the citrus-­free air greeting her indicated her friend had gone.

But inspiration struck as she turned back to the angry ghost. “Did you know it’s said that success is the best revenge? What would you say if I can arrange for your house to be made into a library? A special place where locals can read the books you loved? And”—­she hoped she could swing this—­“perhaps there could even be a few corner tables so tea and scones made to your recipes could be served each afternoon. It could be called after you, Lora’s Literary Café.”

Lora Finney stared at her.

Kendra felt a bead of sweat trickle between her breasts. She’d never made such an outrageous, difficult-­to-­keep promise to a ghost before.

But Lora’s fate touched her.

“You do have a special recipe book somewhere here, don’t you?” Kendra’s instinct urged her to ask. When
she caught a glimpse of Raziel and Saami watching her from across the room, each spirit guide nodding approval, she knew she was on the right track.

“I do.” Lora’s chin came up, the pride in her voice proving Kendra’s guess. “It’s in an old box in the kitchen. The workmen have buried the box under empty pails and tarpaulin, but it’s clearly marked BOOKS. My recipe book has a red leather cover and my name on the inside.”

“Then I’ll see it’s found—­I promise.” Kendra wasn’t worried about locating the book. She did fret about her assurance that the house would be transformed into a reading and scone-­serving refuge.

“You will do that?” Lora blinked, her stance relaxing as the last of her belligerence faded. “And see my bookshelves rebuilt? Do everything you’ve promised?”

“I will, and gladly.” Kendra hoped she could. Her influence with Scotland’s Past wasn’t great enough to work miracles.

But she meant to try.

The lightening of the atmosphere in the empty house encouraged her. And the barely there “thank you” that Lora Finney gave her as she faded back into the shadows made her determined to succeed.

A short while later, Kendra sat again at the corner table by the window in the pub restaurant of the Laughing Gull Inn and decided that a “full Scottish breakfast” ranked almost as high as a Scottish accent on her fast-­growing list of everything to love about Scotland.

A person could get by all day on such a feast.

Everything tasted so good.

It was just a shame that her visit to Lora Finney’s house and her wish to enjoy the Laughing Gull’s delicious breakfast offerings meant rising at an ungodly
hour when she usually slept her deepest. Of course, her nine o’clock date with Graeme also came at a time she preferred burrowing beneath the covers.

Not that she’d minded crawling out of bed to help a needy ghost. The chance to spend the day with Graeme was also worth getting up early.

She’d done so gladly.

She just couldn’t deny the powerful attraction she felt for him.

Now that her work had gone so well, her mind snapped back to the dream she’d had of Graeme in the night. Too bad the heated dream had been so brief, ending almost before it’d started. She could still see him in the shadows of her room, his dark gaze locked on hers as he started toward her. She’d sat up in bed, the covers slipping down to reveal her naked breasts. He noticed at once, lowering his gaze, his expression turning darker, so charged with desire, as he looked at her.

In the dream, she knew he was going to reach for her, pulling her into his arms, and then…

It was over.

Her heart began to race, a whirl of emotion flaring inside her.

Even if it was a dream, no man had ever looked at her so hungrily. Graeme wasn’t just devastatingly attractive, able to captivate a woman with one look from his compelling gaze; he also loved dogs.

That meant something to her.

She toyed with her napkin, biting back a smile. It would surely strain her face muscles if she attempted levity before she’d had her second cup of coffee. And taking another sip of the weak instant brew reminded her to try the Scottish Breakfast tea the next morning.

Apparently, Scots couldn’t make good coffee.

Grimacing, she set down her cup.

An older couple—­West Highlanders on a touring holiday, from their conversation—­had claimed the table next to hers, and just listening to their soft, lilting accents made suffering bad coffee as insignificant as a dust mote. A country that spoke so beautifully could be allowed the minor failing of less-­than-­palatable java.

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Kendra pretended to study the breakfast menu.



Porridge

Cereal

Homemade muesli with fresh fruit and yogurt

*

Grilled kippers

Smoked salmon with poached or scrambled eggs

Sausage, bacon, and eggs

Haggis and eggs

Grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and pan-­fried potatoes

*

Toast, scones, soda farls, and homemade preserves
Tea, coffee, and fruit juice



Setting aside the tartan-­edged menu card, she eyed her almost-­empty plate. She’d chosen a large soda farl, which she’d learned was a huge and thick home-­baked scone served toasted and filled with lots of crispy bacon and a poached egg. Rarely had she eaten anything more delicious.

She could get used to breakfast in Scotland.

And she was about to fork her last bit of bacon when a shadow fell across her table. Looking up, she met Graeme’s smiling eyes, and her heart nearly threatened to burst from her chest.

“Iain serves up the best breakfast on the coast.” His deep, buttery-­rich burr quickened her pulse, pouring over her like molten honey.

The look in his eyes made her prickle with awareness.

She blinked, sure her face was heating. “Yes, he does.” It was all she could think to say. He looked so good in his jeans and cream-­colored, cable-­knit Aran sweater. “I’ve never had a better breakfast.”

That was true.

Her words deepened his smile. The attractive way his eyes crinkled did dangerous things to her emotions. She could so easily fall in love with this man. She feared she was already halfway there.

“It is a lot of food….” She put down her fork, hoping to hide her feelings by looking at her plate. “I’m not sure I can finish.”

“You’ll hurt Iain’s feelings if you don’t.” He set a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. His touch sent delicious shivers along her nerves. “Dinnae worry yourself. Even if you’re feeling full now, you’ll be glad for the energy when we’re out on the open water. A good Scottish breakfast will keep you warm.”