Haunted Warrior (26 page)

“Then they’ll regret they didn’t leave when they had the chance.” His hand went to the dagger at his hip—­a Scottish dirk that now looked more wicked than earlier.

She’d asked him why he’d worn it and believed him when he’d said he always carried a knife when on the boat, not knowing if one would be needed.

Now she suspected his reasons went deeper.

She swallowed, pushed her hair back off her face. “You wouldn’t use that on Ramsay, would you?”

“The blade’s for cutting tangled lines and whatnot.” He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “If I wanted to harm Ramsay, my fists will serve well enough.”

Kendra wasn’t sure she believed him.

She did cast another glance at the cliff. The steps winding up from the broken arch looked more treacherous than ever. One falsely placed foot or a wrong handgrip and they’d plummet onto the rocks.

Ordo might make the climb right behind her, but if she slipped and caused them to fall, they’d plunge right through him. Ordo might have a big heart, but he wasn’t very substantial.

She knew Graeme would protect her. But she worried her feet might have a mind of their own.

Turning back to him, she drew a breath.

“Are you really up to the climb?” She still didn’t like the idea, even knowing how sure-­footed he was. “You did take a nasty bash. That path is steep, the steps old and slippery.” She lifted a hand, lightly touching the bump at his temple. “Maybe we should just leave? Go back to Pennard and—­”

“Everything around here is old, slippery”—­he nudged a bit of seaweed—­“or crumbling. Long may it be so. I’ll not allow Ramsay, Scotland’s Past, or anyone to destroy what makes this coast unique.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed with Ramsay.” Kendra couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.

“I am.” He didn’t blink. “I can’t think of the bastard without catching the reek of sulfur or tasting cold, rancid ash at the back of my throat. I still bear the scars from when he tried to bring Grath into his clutches. Now with Pennard and after this today,”—­he tossed back his hair, his gaze not leaving hers—­“he’ll be the wounded one.”

Kendra shot a quick glance to the dirk at his hip. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“I said my fists would serve.”

Kendra frowned. “Violence never helped any—­”

“A few inches, and that rock would’ve hit you.” Graeme’s voice hardened, his glance flashing to the cliff top. “I can’t ignore such a threat. Whoe’er was responsible went too far. A few benches and a compressor in the water is one thing. Hurtling rocks at innocent tourists is something else entirely and needs addressing.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“For the same reasons most scoundrels do things: money, greed, and power.” He made the words sound dirty, distaste all over him. “Ramsay’s behind the trouble in the village and he’s playing it both ways. He’s hoping the locals will take a fright and sell their houses cheap, to him, of course. If that fails and they sell out to Scotland’s Past, he’s betting on the historians growing tired of all the upset and making a deal with him. He’d drive a shrewd bargain, aiming to get the whole village for nothing.”

“He didn’t get Lora Finney’s cottage.” Kendra seized
the chance to help the unhappy spirit. “I noticed the house is under renovation and asked Iain about it. He said Scotland’s Past bought it from the Finney estate.”

Graeme’s face darkened. “They snapped it up from Lora’s ex-­husband’s sister in Inverness. She didn’t want it because the place is said to be haunted. Scotland’s Past outbid Ramsay’s offer. He was livid.”

“Maybe he’d be even angrier if something really special was done with the house?” Kendra gave him a quick smile, feeling bold. She ignored his comment about the cottage having a ghost. “It’s said the best revenge is success. Iain told me Lora Finney loved books and had quite a collection. I also heard she often won scone-­baking competitions. Perhaps”—­she glance at the seals, then back to Graeme—­“her house could be turned into a lending library for Pennard’s locals. I can picture a cozy place, full of bookshelves, driftwood, and watercolors of the sea. A few corner tables where people could enjoy tea and scones.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” The glimmer of a smile flickered in Graeme’s eyes. “Lora would’ve loved that,” he said, but then the warmth faded from his face. “It’s just a shame Scotland’s Past plans to keep the cottage gutted, using it for storage only.”

“Maybe someone can change their mind?” Kendra meant to try.

Graeme snorted. “If so, it’ll only be Ramsay coming up with a scheme to get his hands on the house. I’m sure he’s behind the cottage’s ‘haunting.’ It wouldn’t surprise me if he cooks up even more mischief there, even something that would injure a workman.”

Kendra drew a long breath, considering. “All that to search unhindered for your family’s Shadow Wand?”

“Mainly, though he’d no doubt also try to parcel off the village online in one-­foot-­square lots to unsuspecting
Scotland lovers, as he’d once hoped to do with Grath.” Graeme sounded sure of it. “That bastard is all about whatever lines his pockets and fuels his power.”

“It sure sounds like it, put that way.” Kendra bit her lip to keep from saying she still didn’t think Ramsay had anything to do with the rock.

Her thoughts kept returning to the green-­black haze she’d seen on the cliffs and which she still believed bode ill.

So she tried one last time to dissuade Graeme. If she could keep him talking long enough, he might give up wanting to scale the cliff. Shading her eyes, she glanced above them, letting her gaze scan the bluff’s edge. “It looks pretty quiet up there now. I agree that if someone did push the rock, they’re surely gone by now.”

“I still want to look around up there.” He took her arm, leading her toward the half arch. “Whoever it was, their presence will have soured the air, leaving traces. In another age, I’d be sharpening a boar spear.” He glanced at her, deadly serious. “Such an end would suit the swine responsible. As is, he’ll meet my fists if he’s still up there.

“If not…” He didn’t finish, but the frown between his brows and the tight line of his jaw warned that he wouldn’t let the matter go.

“You do look ready to grab a boar spear.” Kendra had to repress a shiver.

“I am.” His tone held pride. “My hand itches to wield one right now. And it wouldn’t be a four-­legged pig who’d feel the stabbing spearhead.”

“You sound like you’ve used such a weapon.”

“Perhaps I have.” He didn’t elaborate, stopping instead beside the
Sea Wyfe
to retrieve the pail of herring he’d mentioned.

Kendra didn’t tell him that there were beings who could snap a medieval boar spear with a glance. Something
told her such knowledge wouldn’t bother him. His face was grim now, hard-­set and fierce. His stride was more than purposeful. And his grip on the handle of the herring pail was so firm, his knuckles shone white.

He didn’t look like a man who’d be deterred.

But the tautness left his face when they neared the half arch and Bart stretched his great head, his whiskered nose twitching as his huge eyes focused on the fish-­filled pail in Graeme’s hand.

“I don’t want him to sense my anger.” Graeme’s features relaxed further as he tossed a herring to the seal and then tipped out a trail of the remaining fish from the bucket. He smiled, nodding encouragement when Bart slid off the ledge and went for the herring. “If a bull seal becomes agitated, every other seal in the cove will react, especially the females. They’re safe here. If something unnerved them, they’d flee elsewhere.”

There was a flurry of movement and barking as the other seals on the beach hurried forward, each one hoping to nab a herring. Kendra looked at Graeme, for a moment forgetting everything else. His expression as he watched the seals said so much more than words.

“You really care about them, don’t you?” She could tell he did.

“I always have.” He caught her arm and drew her aside when one of the seals would’ve bumped into her.

“They’re no’ as important to me as Jock, but they’re right special, aye.” Their eyes met, his dark gaze holding hers in a way that made her forget to breathe. “Seals are remarkable creatures. I’ve been looking after this herd for a while now, more years than I can count.”

“Something tells me they watch out for you, too.”

“Who knows?” He rubbed the back of his neck, not looking at her. “Legend gives them enough ties to mankind and even more supernatural affinities. They’re said
to offer men aid and sympathy, just as they’re believed to wreak terrible vengeance when wronged. Some older folk will tell you they can divine the future by listening to the seals’ cry or watching which direction they swim in the sea. In parts such as these, the tales don’t fade easily.”

“That’s one of the things I find so fascinating here.”

“Dinnae be too fascinated.”

“How can anyone not be?” Kendra looked out across the narrow cove to the rolling sea beyond, the long, white-­crested rollers once more glittering in the morning sun.

“No one can remain unaffected.” Wind tossed Graeme’s hair, making him look untamed and so compelling. “My Hebridean cousins would argue the point, but northeast Scotland also holds magic. The veil separating the supernatural realm and the modern-­day world is thin here. In some places or at certain times”—­he looked at her, his eyes unreadable—­“there’s no distinction at all.”

“Why do I think you believe that?” Kendra tried not to squirm.

“Because I do.” He smiled, dimple flashing.

“I’ve always heard there’s a storyteller inside each Scotsman.”

“And so there is. Just dinnae forget that behind every tall tale is a grain of truth.”

“Agreed.” Kendra glanced at the now-­empty ledge beneath the half arch. Bart had claimed the rock shelf so purposely. Yet Graeme had said the seal always went to the
Sea Wyfe
, waiting there for herring.

Today he’d gone straight to the half arch, pulling himself up onto the rock shelf and then making a ruckus until Graeme hastened toward him, missing the worst impact of the hurtling boulder.

Many would say the big seal had saved Graeme’s life.

Kendra believed so.

Bart was only doing what she was sure Graeme did every day for the bull seal and his herd: protecting a friend.

She just wished…

Uncomfortable truths played out across her mind.

She might’ve prevented the rock from clipping Graeme if she’d paid more attention to her own instincts. Maybe said something when she’d spotted the ghostly herring fleet out near the horizon.

They’d been there just an eye blink, flashes on the horizon and a shimmer of mist only she could see. As spirits of local fishermen, the boats’ crews could’ve appeared as a warning to Graeme, a son of this coast. It was possible they had nothing to do with the recent troubles in Pennard and simply sought to protect one of their own.

They’d be aware of his long-­running feud with Ramsay.

Ghosts often seemed to know what would transpire before it happened.

“Are you ready?” Graeme stepped onto the rock ledge vacated by Bart. He extended his hand. “We shouldn’t wait any longer. I don’t want the wind to blow away any signs of the trespassers.”

“I know….” Kendra glanced at the huge bluff rising above them. A sheer rock face, it seemed to go up forever. From the top, it would plunge right down to the sea. The cliff path—­what little remained of Castle Grath’s sea-­gate stair—­bore scant resemblance to the carved steps that once would’ve been safely ensconced within the walls of a stout stone tower.

The contours of the half arch were more than visible to her experienced eye, but its crumbling shell no longer
held watchful guardsmen. Each crevice and ledge now housed seabirds who didn’t appear eager for company.

There weren’t any birdless handholds.

And the more she tipped back her head, the steeper the way looked. One wrong step, and she could work for Zack from the Other Side.

It was an intriguing notion, but not one she was ready to take on.

Not anytime soon, anyway.

She liked living.

And she lived to visit ancient places, so why was she letting a sheer cliff make her feel as if she’d rather be anywhere but here? Deep inside—­even despite the daunting prospect of the climb and the dangers of the hurtling-­rock incident—­she was burning to get a look at the ruins of Castle Grath.

In fact,
burning
was an understatement.

Visiting such a site with Graeme was the chance of a lifetime. A memory she could wrap around her heart and enjoy time and again once she’d returned home to Bucks County. She could relive the day at will. Recounting the adventure the next time an assignment saw her winging it over the Atlantic—­most likely back to England—­in a dreaded middle seat in coach and with the passenger in front of her reclining his seat into her lap. The memories would soothe her annoyance when the little kid behind her repeatedly kicked her seat back and serenaded her with hours of wailing.

She’d cling to her moments with Graeme at the ruin when her future work stints ended and she had to make nice as she bid farewell to her British-­based colleagues. It wasn’t easy to paste on a smile then, pretending she didn’t resent them being able to stay on what she secretly considered the right side of the Big Pond.

Braving the cliff stair would give her all those bonuses.

And it’d be a rare treat to explore such a ruin with a man whose ancestors actually walked the site when it was whole and thriving.

Her pulse leapt at the very idea.

And, she couldn’t forget, Ordo would be so pleased when she scrambled over the cliff edge, believing he’d seen her safely to the top.

She could feel the spirit guide’s presence, a shimmer in the air behind her.

So she took a deep breath and stepped forward, joining Graeme on the rock ledge.

“I’m ready.” She put her hand in his, suddenly more exhilarated than frightened.

“That’s my lass.” He looked at her deeply, his gaze warming. “We’ll be up there before you have a chance to be afraid.”

“I’m okay, really.” She didn’t hesitate when he led her up the first few steps, the broadest and most intact of the old cliff stair.