Haunted Warrior (27 page)

But her heart beat hard in her throat as they climbed higher, the wind picking up and the crashing of the waves on the rocks seeming to increase, filling the salt air with the roar of the sea.

It
was
exciting.

But she wasn’t about to look down.

Then, just when she thought the track couldn’t get any steeper, Graeme vaulted easily over the edge, pulling her up with him onto solid ground. Tumbled walls and rubble were everywhere, the dark, echoing ruins of some buildings almost intact. In the spaces between, knee-­high grasses blew in the wind.

Kendra’s heart swelled, wonder filling her.

“Oh, man…” She put a hand to her breast, breathing
deep. The air smelled of sea and cloud; old stone; and dark, rich earth washed by the rains of millennia. It was an elixir, heady and intoxicating.

“See? We made it.” Graeme slid his arm around her, pulling her close. He guided her away from the drop-­off, using his body to shield her from the buffeting wind. “What do you think?”

“I’m speechless.” She was.

They’d really reached the top, and faster than she would’ve believed, just like he’d promised. And now that they were here, she wouldn’t have missed Grath for anything. The harrowing climb was well worth the sweeping view of the sea and, stretching behind them on the broad slope of the promontory, the secluded remains of Graeme’s ancestral home.

Castle Grath in all its ruined glory.

Kendra lifted a hand, pushing the hair from her face. “I don’t know what to say. It’s even more spectacular than I imagined.”

It was.

“I’m glad you think so.” Graeme sounded distracted, his attention more on the shadows and seeming solitude of the place than on her.

His narrowed gaze warned he expected to see more than weathered stone and grass-­grown rubble. That he was searching for any telltale hints of who might’ve been up here, lurking about the ruin.

She didn’t sense a trace of badness.

Whatever evil had been in the green-­black haze was gone now. The remnants of the tower stood to their left, silhouetted against the sea. Little more than a half circle of age-­darkened stone, it still held a dignity that squeezed her heart. Three tall windows, set vertically, proved the tower had once commanded at least four floors, as traces of a winding stair were still visible near
the top window, the narrow steps leading up into empty air.

“There’s so much more than I’d expected.” She slipped out of Graeme’s grasp, picking her way across welts of weed-­covered rubble and past mounds of tumbled and lichen-­encrusted stone. “It’s very much like
the photograph Iain showed me at the Laughing Gull, but…”

She didn’t have words.

Graeme followed her, his gaze still moving about, reminding her of their reason for being here. “Just have a care where you step. I don’t want you turning an ankle in a rabbit hole or puffin burrow.

“It would appear our rock-­pushing friends have indeed left, but the site is dangerous as is.” He stopped beside a half-­standing wall that held the outline of a long-­disused fireplace. The wall was one of two that stretched away from either side of the gutted tower, showing—­as Kendra had guessed from Iain’s photograph—­that Castle Grath had once been a huge and daunting stronghold.

“The well was just there.” Graeme stepped beside her, pointing to a rise in the ground covered with bits of rusted iron and nettles.

“Yonder were the outbuildings.” He indicated other walls, all in varying states of decay, tufts of grass springing from between the cracked stones. “Kitchens, storerooms, a doocot whose stone nesting boxes are still intact, though the seabirds have chased away the pigeons that once roosted there. And”—­he frowned—­“if you look close, between the fallen masonry and weeds, you’ll also see the scars Ramsay and his goons left in the ground.

“They even tore into the clan graves.” His gaze went to the far side of the bluff, where pillared archways adorned a length of fairly sturdy walling.
“The chapel was there, though little is left except the walkway that connected it to the keep. Ramsay should’ve known that even if my family had hidden the Shadow Wand at Grath, they wouldn’t have put such an ill-­wished relic into holy ground.

“For that matter, all of Grath was sacred to us.” His voice held passion, his gaze drifting over the long rows of tombstones near the pillared arches. “It still is, though I’m the only one left.”

“You don’t have any family?” Kendra closed her fingers around the edges of her jacket, suddenly cold.

Graeme didn’t answer, his gaze still on the ruined burial site.

Kendra looked there, not wanting to press him.

Besides, she was drinking in every detail, tucking it all away to remember later. The graves were fodder for lots of future reminiscing.

The headstones were tall, though some were broken and tilting. Kendra’s pulse quickened to see that many were covered with beautiful carvings. Her eyes widened as she studied the fanciful reliefs. One-­masted medieval galleys in full sail appeared to dominate, but there was at least one hunting scene of horsed men, stags, and dogs. Intricate foliage and mysterious runic symbols were also well represented, competing for attention among centuries of moss and lichen. The darkness of age made it hard to discern much, but enough detail remained to set her lover-­of-­old-­things heart to pounding.

“I can understand your pride in this place.” She stepped closer to Graeme, the world around them quiet but for the roar of sea and wind, the cries of seabirds.

Enchanted, she pressed both hands to her breast. “It’s just—­”

“Grath is the lifeblood of my heart.” He looked away from her, toward the shells of outbuildings. “I’m as much
a part of this place as it is of me. My father, his before him, and every MacGrath back to the days when Scotland was young, have walked this ground, calling it our own. Every bit of earth, each stone, be it whole or crumbling, even the cold wet of the air, lives inside me, just as—­”

He stopped, his brows lowering. Following his gaze, Kendra saw what caught his eye. A slight, black-­jacketed youth with spiky hair was creeping along one of the higher walls. Shoulders hunched and head low, he kept to the shadows, trying to escape undetected.

“Oh, no…” Kendra stared at him, the dark vibes rolling off him making her breath catch.

“Shhh…” Graeme shot her a warning glance.

Spike Hair slunk on, nearing the end of the wall. With his gaze on the ground before him, he didn’t appear aware that he’d been seen.

Kendra’s chest tightened just watching him. The day turned colder, a familiar current rippling the air. Behind the fleeing youth, the sea and sky began to shimmer, subtly shifting, blending into one.

Graeme’s frown deepened, unaware.

Kendra tried not to sway as the day’s light altered, turning unnaturally bright, almost crystalline in its clarity. She knew the phenomena well, so she braced herself, waiting for what would follow.

“That’s Ritchie Watt, one of Ramsay’s followers.” Graeme leaned close, speaking low. “He fancies himself a street tough, but he’s only an impressionable fool. He’ll no’ have pushed the rock. He isn’t that strong or brave. But he’ll know who did.” He started forward, then whirled back around to grip Kendra’s arm. “You stay here while I go after him.”

“Don’t worry.” She didn’t argue. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She couldn’t if she wanted to.

The ghostly herring fleet was back. And this time the boats were closer, vying for position along the base of the cliffs and pouring through the narrow opening in the rocks to crowd the sheltered cove.

But the fleet wasn’t what held her in place.

It was the big, weathered fisherman in rain gear and rubber boots standing in front of her.

Kendra nodded a calm greeting, the professional in her rising to take charge, giving her the composure she had to struggle so hard to keep in Graeme’s presence. But Graeme was a flesh-­and-­blood man. Not just that; he was someone she wanted desperately.

This man was a ghost.

He looked as solid and real as she did, his large, work-­toughened hands scrunching what appeared to be a thick, blue knitted cap. A heavy cable-­knit sweater peeked from beneath his oilskin, and his ruddy, wind-­carved face wore an expression of deep responsibility.

You can see us.
His words rang clear in her mind.

“I can, yes.” She didn’t hesitate.

She did inhale a long breath, using the exhale to strengthen her shields. It was important to allow only good energy near her, barring any lingering negativity that might still be on the bluff. Such energies could be drawn by the brightness of her aura. They were also lured to the vulnerability of a manifested spirit, hoping to drain energy reserves.

“I can see and hear you.” Kendra opened herself, letting her aura shine even brighter. So brilliant that a protective wall of white-­light energy rose and curved around her and the discarnate, sealing them in a sacred circle. It was a protective field, full of glittering mist and swirling shadow that no one else saw and that ensured any glances tossed her way viewed her alone.

She appreciated giving spirits such privacy.

And—­she couldn’t deny—­the
shielding
also saved her from answering questions she’d rather not.

Except, of course, for the once-­in-­a-­blue-­moon occasions when something went wrong and the circle of light blazed like a beacon, drawing the attention of everyone around for miles. Even those who’d normally never see anything even remotely tinged with the paranormal.

Once, someone had called the fire department, certain they’d seen a fiery conflagration erupt just outside the visitor center of Valley Forge.

Thankfully, such gaffes were seldom.

“You can talk freely to me, if you wish.” Kendra mentally reached out to the ghost, showing her willingness to do what she could for him.

She also looked quickly about, scanning the space around her for Ordo or Raziel and Saami. Her guides didn’t usually sit in on her encounters with ghosts, but sometimes they did. And Ordo had been around earlier, on the beach and behind her as she’d climbed the cliff stair. As a man of the sea himself, he might’ve been drawn to this spirit.

But the Viking was gone.

His energy imprint wasn’t anywhere near. Nor did she detect any hint that Raziel or Saami hovered close by. She was alone with the fisherman.

So she cleared her throat and stood straighter, meeting his gaze full on.

As it harms none
—­she let the words of power whisper in her mind, ensuring that communication with the spirit would endanger no one
—­by your free will, let us speak.

I am Jock MacAllister, herring fisher and cooper.
The ghost’s introduction filled her mind, his rich Highland voice soft and musical.

“Jock.” Kendra smiled at the name. “I’m Kendra Chase of Bucks County, Pennsylvania.”

Pen-­seal…​
He tried to pronounce the name and then shook his head as if it were too difficult. He did look at her with his piercing blue eyes, his curly reddish-­gray hair lifting in the wind.
You’ll help us?

“That’s why I’m here.” Kendra flicked a glance to where Graeme stood near a large pile of weedy rocks. If she was lucky, the
shielding
would function properly and he wouldn’t notice her seeming to talk to herself.

If he did, so be it.

Speaking with Pennard’s ghosts was her business, after all.

And she could tell something of magnitude bothered Jock MacAllister.

But her breath snagged in the throat when the ghost bent a long look on Graeme. A slow smile spread across his face as he did, and when he turned back to Kendra, his clear blue eyes were misted.

Thon man is a good one—­always has been.
Something in his tone made Kendra feel as if a cube of ice had just slipped down her spine.
I like to think he named his dog after me, but I ken that wasn’t the way of it. His Jock had the name first, after all.

“I don’t understand.” She didn’t, but she was trying. “Did you seek me out to speak about Graeme’s dog?”

Stranger encounters had happened.

Dog-­loving spirits sensed her sympathy and often came to her, worried about pets still on the earthly plane. Most recently, the spirit of a widow in her apartment building back home had appeared to her, upset because her dachshund’s new owners, the woman’s niece and nephew, weren’t giving the dog his favorite treats.

So she waited, keeping herself open, prepared for anything.

Och, nae, though I am fond of his Jock.
The ghost
tipped back his head and closed his eyes, as if reminiscing.
Tell him that, aye. And that I’m pleased he keeps my salt barrels and cares for them as he does.

“Is that all?” The icy dread in Kendra’s chest—­a feeling not coming from Jock MacAllister—­warned that the ghost had more on his mind than Graeme’s dog and the ancient barrels in his back garden shed.

I wish it was. We all do.
The ghost was hovering now, his feet and lower legs fading fast, the rubber boots no longer squared firmly on the ground, but totally gone. His gaze went past her to light on the countless fishing vessels down in the cove and crowding the shoreline.

When he looked back at her, his blue eyes shone with earnestness.
We have one more message for the MacGrath
. He drifted nearer, beginning to lose substance, so that Kendra could now see through him.

“What is it?” She kept her tone steady.

She’d worry later how to relay the message to Graeme.

You must tell him, lass.
Jock MacAllister proved how perceptive spirits can be.
He will want to know the crack is wider than it looks. The opening comes from within; that is why he can’t see it.

“The crack?” Kendra blinked.

In that instant, Jock MacAllister was gone.

A quick glance at the sea showed that his fellow herring fishers and their boats had vanished with him, likely returning to whatever fishing grounds they’d enjoyed frequenting in their earthly lives.

And she was now bound to pass on a message from the Otherworld to a man she wasn’t just falling in love with, but who also thought she was simply a burned-­out landscape historian enjoying a bit of R & R.