Haunted Warrior (35 page)

But first he had to get rid of Ramsay.

“You’re a dead man, MacGrath.” Ramsay rushed him, swinging Battle Lover in a furious, arcing stroke as soon as they rounded the tower and reached the narrow strip of cliff behind the ruins.

Graeme drove him back with equally vicious swipes, lunging with lightning-­quick moves that cut the air and pressed his foe closer to the cliff edge. “I’m no’ afraid to die, even if you could kill me.”

“The wand is mine!” Ramsay flashed a look at the leather-­wrapped bundle, luminous in the moon glow.

“It should be no one’s.” Graeme’s blade glanced off Ramsay’s shoulder, drawing first blood. “Jump, bastard, or my next swing will take off your head.”

“Like hell it will,” Ramsay snarled, parrying furiously, crashing Battle Lover into Graeme’s sword. But his foot slipped on the slick grass and he fell to one knee, breathing hard as he kept hold of the sword and scrambled to his feet. “It’s your head that will roll. I’m not leaving here without the Shadow Wand.”

Graeme whirled and snatched the leather bundle, tossing it as near to the lip of the cliff as he could. “Fetch it and it’s yours.”

“You’re mad.” Ramsay took another arcing slash at him, aiming for Graeme’s middle.

“Mad enough not to kill you, that’s true.” Graeme launched into a savage attack, driving Ramsay farther along the cliff edge, away from the tower and toward the area where great chunks of sod and grass thrust out over empty air with nothing beneath.

“You’ll end yourself on your own.” Graeme swung again, letting Bone Slicer’s blade whistle just a hair past Ramsay’s neck.

“Snake!” Ramsay slew Battle Lover around, holding the blade point first as he ran at Graeme, screaming in rage as he tried to ram the sword into Graeme’s belly.

It was in that instant that Jock bolted between them, barking madly. Kendra came running, too, following hard on the dog’s heels.

“Jock, no!” Graeme yelled the command, whipping Bone Slicer into the air, away from the excited dog. “Kendra, stay back!”

She stumbled to a halt, bending over to brace her
hands on her knees, breathing hard. “What’s going on here?”

Jock barked, running circles around the three of them.

“Jock, come here!” Graeme roared, tossing aside his sword to chase after his dog.

Ramsay laughed, bringing his own blade whistling down for a killing blow that would’ve cut Jock in two if Ramsay’s foot hadn’t sunk into a rabbit hole. Or—­no one would ever know—­perhaps landed on one of the cantilevered protrusions of sod. Either way, the ground collapsed beneath him, sending him hurtling to certain death on the stony beach four hundred feet below.

“Dear God!” Kendra sank to her knees, wrapping her arms around Jock as she stared, wide-­eyed and openmouthed at the empty space where Ramsay had stood only moments before.

His cry still echoed from the cliffs, and his discarded sword, a magic-­wrought replica of the real Battle Lover, was already disintegrating, turning to dust on the grass only a few yards from where Kendra knelt with Jock.

Graeme hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Unfortunately, she did.

And her eyes grew even more round as the conjured sword vanished completely. “Oh no.” She looked up at Graeme, shaking her head. “What happened here? I guessed you’d be fighting Ramsay—­that’s why I came. But his sword—­”

“It wasn’t his.” Graeme went over to her, kneeling beside her and taking her into his arms. “It was a replica of my father’s sword, Battle Lover. Just like”—­he glanced at the leather-­wrapped bundle still on its rock near the cliff edge—­“that pouch over there holds a busted chair
leg from one of my kitchen chairs and not the Shadow Wand, as Ramsay thought was in the bag.”

“But…” Kendra blinked, the color leaving her face. “The pouch is still visible. The sword, and I know I saw it, is gone.”

“Aye, so it is.” Graeme pushed to his feet, shoved a hand through his hair.

The moment he’d dreaded was here.

He hadn’t actually killed Ramsay, though he’d more than skirted the strictures of law, however justifiable the man’s demise.

Kendra might understand that, having learned of Ramsay’s true nature.

But he could’ve done without her seeing the mirror sword return to the Otherworld, from whence he’d conjured it.

Now he’d have to tell her everything.

And he didn’t think he’d ever faced anything more difficult in all his overlong life.

“How did you get here?”

Graeme’s voice snapped Kendra’s attention off the bit of moon-­washed grass where, moments before, a huge medieval sword had lain on the ground.

It was gone now, vanished before her eyes.

And that only lent credence to the suspicions that had been building ever since Wee Hughie had dropped her off at the Laughing Gull and she’d headed right back down Harbour Street to the Keel as soon as she’d been sure the author had driven out of the village.

She’d heard Jock’s howling from three cottages away. She’d found the front door unlocked, so she’d let herself in. The dog, apparently hungry, had led her into the kitchen, straight to his stash of dog food and his empty, waiting bowl. That’s when she’d noticed the uneven floorboard.

Curiosity was one of her dominant traits, so she hadn’t been able to resist examining it.

Everyone knew old houses had secret hiding places.

Graeme’s contained a Grimoire.

An ancient book of magic, filled with spells and conjurations, many pages illustrated with secret signs, circles, and characters. She’d recognized some of the symbols, thanks to her work and her great-­grandmother’s collection of such tomes.

It’d also been obvious that Graeme studied the book—­he’d left notes tucked inside some of the pages. Jottings that made clear there really was a Shadow Wand and that he was trying to learn how to destroy it. And that led her to the conclusion that Wee Hughie’s tale about MacGrath guardians, men that were immortal, just might be true.

Given her career and life experience, nothing supernatural surprised her.

Still…

“Kendra.” Graeme took her by the arm, pulled her to her feet. “What are you doing here?” He smoothed back her hair, his gaze trained on her. “I didn’t want you here tonight. You could’ve been hurt. I told you to stay at the inn. Then I saw you with a man at the cave and—­”

“He’s an author and”—­she took a deep breath, stealing herself—­“he works for Scotland’s Past. He came to the Laughing Gull to speak with me because…​because I came to Pennard to work for them.”

“You what?” Graeme’s brows lifted. “You’re part of the Pennard Project?”

“Yes, but no…” She felt her face heating, and she started pacing along the tower wall. “I work for an organization called Ghostcatchers International and—­”

“You chase ghosts?” His brows hadn’t yet come down.

“No, not like you mean, not like on television.” She was making a muddle of it. “I was born with an unusual ability, a gift, really. It allows me to see spirits and, if they are amenable, to speak with them. I’m also a landscape historian, as I’ve told you. My main employment is to visit historical sites. Along with reading archaeological remains, I deal with any discarnates that might be troubled by restoration work or similar activity.”

Graeme’s brows finally lowered. “Scotland’s Past called you in because of the troubles in Pennard?”

“Yes.” She wouldn’t hide her work from him any longer.

“That’s why you saw the ghostly fleet from the window at the Laughing Gull, isn’t it?” Graeme reached down to rub Jock’s ears when the dog leaned against his legs.

“You could say that, yes. And”—­she took a breath—­“one of the herring fishermen came to me here, when you ran after Ritchie Watt.

“He said his name was Jock MacAllister, and he wanted me to give you a message. He—­”

“Jock MacAllister?” Graeme’s brows shot up again.

Kendra nodded. “He sounded as if he knew you. Personally, although I can’t imagine how that’s possible. He wanted me to tell you that the crack is widening from within.”

“He said that?” Graeme frowned. “Did he say anything else?”

Kendra touched a hand to her lips, trying to remember. She glanced to where Graeme and Ramsay had fought, still seeing Ramsay topple over the cliff edge. Her stomach twisted, a wave of queasiness washing through her. “It’s hard to think with a dead man down on the rocks.”

“Ramsay brought his death on himself, though I wish
it hadn’t happened here.” Graeme shoved a hand through his hair, blew out a breath. “He’ll have caused the crack your ghost mentioned. His dark magic was growing more powerful by the day. It was only a matter of
when
he’d get his hands on the Shadow Wand.”

“Then there is such a relic?”

“Aye. It’s been hidden inside the cliff behind my cottage for centuries.” He paused, watching Jock, who moved a few feet away and flopped down on the grass. “My family has the hereditary duty to safeguard the wand. Ramsay’s ancestor, Morcant, a dark druid, was the man who crafted it and infused the wand with such evil.”

“You’ve been trying to destroy it.” Kendra didn’t make it a question.

“It must be destroyed, lass.” He set his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her much as he had that first night at Balmedie. “I would’ve gotten rid of it years ago if I’d known how.”

“And now you do?” The notes she’d seen in his Grimoire flashed across her mind.

“I believe so.” He slid his hands down her arms and grasped her hands, linking their fingers. “When Ramsay’s ancestor crafted the wand, he used dark spells to conjure the evil sealed in the relic. I believe he did so by writing the spells in his own blood on magical parchment and then eating them, taking the power into himself as well as letting it flow into the wand.

“One theory is that it is Morcant’s tainted blood that gives his descendants their magical strength. And that if the line is ended, the flow of that evil blood is stemmed, and then the wand can be shattered, releasing the numberless souls believed trapped inside the wand.”

“But how can you shatter it if it’s somewhere inside a cliff?” Kendra doubted he’d want to dynamite the bluff.

Graeme glanced aside, out toward the sea. “I’ve been researching—­”

“In your Grimoire?” Kendra decided to come clean. “I found it when I went to the Keel tonight.”

He didn’t look at her, but she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. “So that’s why you came here?”

“Not really.” She was going to get squeaky clean. “I went to the cottage because I knew you’d seen me with Wee Hughie MacSporran, the author. I wanted to explain. I also planned to tell you why I really came here and that”—­she rushed on, hurrying the words before she lost courage—­“I’d told MacSporran I couldn’t support Scotland’s Past’s plans for Pennard and mean to do everything I can to keep the village as it is. But as I neared the Keel, I heard Jock howling, and when I got there, I tried the door.

“It wasn’t locked, so I went inside.” She glanced at the dog, not surprised to find him staring at them as if he knew exactly what she was saying. “Jock took me back into the kitchen, and I noticed the disturbed floorboard. I found the book of spells then. But it was Jock’s howls that made me come here. I love dogs and know they only wail like that when their master is in trouble.”

“You were worried about me?” He turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

“Of course I was.” She shivered, remembering how sick she’d felt when she’d realized where he was and that he’d likely be fighting Ramsay. “Jock was frantic. Dogs sense such things. So I knew it was bad.”

“You still haven’t told me how you got here.” He lifted a brow. “It’s too far to walk in the dark, even on a moonlit night like this.”

Kendra straightened her shoulders. “I drove.”

“You drove?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yes, I did.” And she’d practically sweat blood and tears doing so.

Tackling Cliff Road in the dark had been terrifying, even though driving up the horrid road wasn’t as bad as driving down.

“Once we were up the cliff and out of Pennard, I followed the coastal road, watching for the signpost to Castle Grath.” She smiled at Jock, warmed by how much his presence in the passenger’s seat had comforted her. “Then, when we saw the turnoff and drove out here, we—­”

“Jock led you up the cliff path.”

“He did.” Kendra blinked, her eyes beginning to sting. “But he tore away from me when we reached the top of the bluff and heard you and Ramsay—­”

“Hush, lass.” He pulled her close, stroking her back. “We’ll speak of him tomorrow. Tonight is all about you. I took a chance fighting Ramsay on the cliff edge. Both of us could’ve broken through the cantilevered places. If you and Jock hadn’t arrived when you did, who knows if we’d be standing here talking right now?”

“Then you aren’t immortal?” She had to ask.

She’d been wondering ever since Wee Hughie told her the legend about MacGraths.

“I’ll die same as everyone, when my time comes.” He caught her face between his hands, leaned down to kiss her brow. “So I can’t be immortal, what?”

“You’re something.” She was sure of it.

“Aye, I am.” His eyes lit, teasing. “I’m the man who has a brilliant plan to save Pennard.”

“You do?” Kendra brightened. She was also glad when he slid an arm around her and led her around the wall to the more solid side of the bluff.

He stopped before the ruined tower where they’d
made love, something that seemed like it had happened an eternity ago. Setting his hands on her shoulders, he looked down at her again, smiling now.

“I’m going to make a deal with Scotland’s Past.” He shook his head, touching a finger to her lips when she started to protest. “I’m going to offer them Castle Grath if they’ll drop their plans for Pennard.”

“Oh no!” Kendra shook her head, horrified. “You can’t do that.”

“Och, sure I can.” He smiled, reaching to pull her back into his arms. “The place is falling down around itself. A heritage organization like Scotland’s Past will take good care of the site. I’ve no doubt they’ll jump at the chance to get the castle. Grath deserves to be visited and appreciated. I owe that much to these walls.”

“But you can’t stand Scotland’s Past.” Kendra couldn’t wrap her mind around his idea.