Scent of Scotland Page 13

  "Not for me, my dear laird," she spoke up. She looked at the bottle and wrinkled her nose. "If you would recall I could never handle the stuff."

  "Ah. My apologies," Moray replied.

  "Nor any for me, I'm afraid," Father Carmichael added. "At least, not until my work here is finished. Is there any more you can tell me of these recent appearances?"

  "Nothing more than was mentioned in the letter," Moray told him as he took a seat beside me. "She has been seen over most of the house, and her last visitation was only last night."

  Lady Stewart gasped. "Again?"

  Moray nodded. "Aye. My lady saw her in our-my room."

  The father turned his attention to me. "And in all these visitations has she made no noise?" he wondered.

  I shook my head. "Never, though she has beckoned to me these last two times."

  "Indeed? She hardly sounds like a spirit that is in need of exorcism," Father Carmichael commented.

  "But she nearly frightened me out of my wits!" Lady Stewart protested.

  "I am sure you wouldn't have been the worse off," the father teased.

  Lady Stewart glared at him. "You may find jest in these events, Dal, but I assure you they are no laughing matter. We may all be murdered in our sleep, or worse, taken to some horrible room and frightened to death by this woman."

  "I assure you the worst rooms in this house are merely drafty," Moray spoke up. He turned to the father. "But what do you suggest we do, if not exorcism?"

  "I would like to sit with your lady for a night to see if we cannot learn why she gestures," Father Carmichael suggested.

  Moray frowned. "Only you?" he questioned him.

  Father Carmichael bowed his head. "Only me. From your letter I believe we may assume she is a shy ghost, and only wishes for assistance from the lady of the house. My hope is she will make me an exception."

  "And if she does not?" Moray wondered.

  "Then we will try another method, but perhaps we should change the subject. There is really no need for my visit to be entirely one of business," the father suggested.

  "But the ghost! She may appear at any moment!" Lady Stewart insisted.

  "She has not been seen before dusk, and so long as we remain together I am sure we will see nothing of her," Moray pointed out.

  We idled the time away with inane chatter, much of it from Lady Stewart, until the supper hour called us to our rooms. Mrs. Greer assisted me into an elegant dress and escorted me downstairs. We met the rest of the company on the stairs. Lady Stewart had on a shimmering red dress and her husband was suited. Moray, too, wore fineries, and Father Carmichael wore his full regalia including rosary. A slight bulge in his robes told me he had the Good Book on hand for what was to come after the meal.

  "My, what a splendid company we make!" Lady Stewart complimented us.

  "I feel very under-dressed," Father Carmichael quipped.

  We took our seats in the dining hall and talked over the meal. The three old friends regaled Lord Stewart and myself with tales of their youth, and I saw an opening to make inquiries of the statue.

  "Can you tell me anything of the small statue in the maze?" I asked Moray.

  He raised an eyebrow. "How did you come upon that?"

  "The children, Heather and Adam, showed me it just this morning," I explained.

  He took a sip of his drink and shrugged. "I can tell you very little. I was told by my father that the stone and the grounds on which it stands was a place of worship for my ancestors," he explained.

  "How strange to think of our ancestors worshiping something that almost looks like an angel," Lady Stewart spoke up. She turned to the good father who sat across from her and beside me. "As a father what do you make of these pagans of old?"

  "God has watched over all His children since time began, and I would not think less of them because His light hadn't yet been brought to them," the father replied. "Or perhaps the stone in the Gardens is a representation of God without their knowing it," he suggested.

  She turned up her nose at his suggestion. "I hardly think the heathens would know God's light."

  "Whatever they knew, all that remains of them is the stone," Moray commented.

  His words finished the conversation, and we soon broke apart. The lord and lady Stewart left to their chambers, but Moray and Father Carmichael remained in the room. Moray looked to the father.

  "You're sure you can keep her safe?" he wondered.

  Father Carmichael pressed a palm against his robes. "I have my courage and the Lord's Book here," he assured him.

  Moray studied his friend's physique and frowned. "But you have less strength than I. I might perhaps be-" Father Carmichael shook his head.

  "I know what you mean to say, old friend, but we cannot allow you to be in attendance, at least not tonight," the good father insisted. "The White Lady has already shown her shyness around your person once. I believe she would do so again."

  Moray pursed his lips, but grudgingly nodded. "Very well, but keep her safe."

  Father Carmichael bowed. "If it would cost me my own life."

  Moray turned to me and grasped my hands as he stared into my eyes. "And will you swear to me not to do anything reckless?" he insisted.

  I smiled and squeezed his hands. "I will be no more reckless than is-"

  "Swear it," he persisted. I started back, and he sighed. "Please," he pleaded. I blinked at him, but managed a nod. He dropped my hands and stepped back. "Then I will bid you good night, but if you have any need of me I will be in the parlor."

  Father Carmichael bowed his head. "We will remember your offer."

  "Good," Moray replied.

  He turned away, but paused and glanced over his shoulder at me. His eyes were wide and flickered with conflicting emotions. Fear, anger, frustration. I don't know how I was able to see so many, but there they were for me to read. He swung away from me and strode from the room.

  CHAPTER 26

  I jumped when Father Carmichael set a hand on my shoulder, and turned to him.

  "He cares for you a great deal," he commented.

  I shrugged. "I'm his mate," I reminded him.

  The father's smile widened. "Aye, but not all mate relationships are as deep as yours."

  I frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "In all the years I have known him I have never seen Moray lose his temper," the father explained. He studied me with soft, kind eyes. "But during my stay here I have witnessed two outbursts from him."

  I looked away and glared at the doors. "Perhaps he's being too possessive," I suggested.

  The father shook his head. "A possessive mate would never allow another man, even a human, to be left alone with his mate." He leaned forward and studied my face. "What bothers you, Abby?"

  I shook my head and sighed. "It's nothing. I believe I'm a little nervous."

  He smiled. "I am sure the spirit will do us no harm. As for your concerns about the laird, they are as likely to happen as I am to forsake my cloak and take up a life of leisure among my library."

  I turned to him and furrowed my brow. "Are you wealthy?" I guessed.

  "In a way. My father owns extensive land to the northeast," he told me. "But come. The minutes march on and we wouldn't wish to keep the lady waiting." Father Carmichael followed at my side as we walked to my room.

  "Do you believe anything will happen?" I asked him as we tread the hallway.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. "It is difficult to say. In my experience spirits are very fickle." He looked to me and smiled. "That, or the White Lady may find my company more distasteful than you do."

  I returned his smile. "Or perhaps she isn't fond of men. One may have killed her."

  He looked ahead and sighed. "That is often the case with wandering spirits. A servant is killed by her master, or a wife is murdered by her husband." I started and came to a stop. He walked a few steps before he turned to me with a raised eyebrow. "Is something the matter?"

  I shuddered and
pressed one of my fists against my chest. "I. . .I can't say. A chill suddenly swept over me."

  He hurried back to me and grasped my shoulders. "Perhaps it is the spirit making her appearance," he suggested. His words forced him to breathe out and his breath came out as a white puff of air. I opened my mouth, but he shook his head. "I know," he whispered to me. "Remain calm and whatever you do do not make any noise or quick movements."

  One chill breeze extinguished all the candles in the passage and plunged us into darkness. My body shook, but Father Carmichael's strong hands steadied me.

  Our wait was not long.

  The ghostly figure of the White Lady appeared between the door to my room and where we stood. Her sad eyes fell on me.

  "My God. . ." I heard Father Carmichael whisper.

  The White Lady seemed not to hear, nor even notice, the father. She floated towards us, but paused two yards from where we stood.

  "We are being rude," he whispered as he pulled me to the side. The White Lady brushed past us and down the hall. She paused some five yards from us and turned to beckon. "Let us not keep her waiting," the father told me.

  We followed the White Lady down the dark passage and back to the stairs. The lights in the entrance hall were likewise extinguished, as though her very presence stole the light from the rooms. No one, neither servant nor Moray, disturbed us as we walked down the stairs and into the west wing. It was as though we were the last two people left in the whole of the world, and this spirit was our guide to show us our future roles in such a world.

  We spoke not a word as we followed our spirit guide down the hall and around the corner to the far west passage. She did not stop at the end, but turned and disappeared through the door of the room to our right. It was the room that abutted the stairwell that led to the dungeon.

  "Wait a moment," the father whispered to me.

  Father Carmichael stepped ahead of me and swung open the door. The door swung into the room and revealed a bare, cold space. The White Lady floated near the wall to our far left. She raised her hand and pointed at the wall of stone.

  Father Carmichael and I stepped inside, and it was as though we had plunged into a river of ice. I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself, but the cold sank into my bones. The good father grasped my shoulders and guided me closer to our guide.

  "See if she might speak to you," he suggested.

  I cleared my dry throat, but I couldn't keep the tremble from my words. "W-what do you wish of us?" I asked her. She continued to point at the wall. Her eyes stared straight into mine. I glanced between the wall and her piercing gaze. "Is there something in the wall?" She slowly nodded her head. A sudden, terrifying thought struck me. "Is. . .is that where you are?" I asked her. She gave a nod in return. "Do you wish for a proper burial?" Again, I received a nod in answer.

  "Then know that you will receive a proper burial," Father Carmichael spoke up.

  For the first time she acknowledged his presence by looking to him. A bright smile slipped onto her lips, and it was then that I noticed a change in her appearance. The light from her form dimmed and she faded into the darkness of the damp room. I reached out a hand to her.

  "Wait! We don't even know your name!" I called to her.

  "Abigail," came a small, light voice.

  The sound was like a breeze in summertime. It brushed over my face and chilled my chest, but in a moment the worst of the cold faded. I wondered if I had dreamed it.

  "Abigail. . ." Father Carmichael repeated.

  I swung around and blinked at him. "You also heard it?" I asked him.

  He smiled and bowed his head. "I did, and it explains much why she was able to bond with you so well."

  "Because we have the same name?" I guessed.

  "Aye. Spirits are attracted to like spirits. She must have been much like you in her past life," he commented. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and turned us towards the entrance. "But let's away or we'll catch our death of cold."

  I stopped and glanced over my shoulder at the wall. "But what of her body?" I reminded him.

  "We will inform Moray what we found and I am sure he will have the wall demolished come tomorrow morning," he assured me.

  The good father led me from the damp room and towards the entrance hall. We rounded the corner and faced the hall when we noticed a shadow at the end of the hall. I jerked to a stop and my heart quickened as thoughts of an intruder slipped into my mind. Father Carmichael squeezed my shoulder and chuckled.

  "It's nothing to fear. Moray has rarely felt the need to use a candle in the dark," he told me. "He always made it a game to try to frighten the wits of out me when we were boys."

  I clutched my heart and looked to him with a shaky smile. "Did it work?"

  "More often than I care to admit," he replied.

  Moray strode up to us and the dim light of the candle couldn't diminish the yellow hue of the lord's eyes. "Why were you not in her room?" he snapped at him.

  "The spirit thought we were in need of exercise," Father Carmichael explained.

  "She led us to her body," I spoke up.

  "Perhaps," the father added. "We would need for you to order your men to break open the wall."

  Moray raised an eyebrow. "Where is this wall? Show it to me," he insisted.

  The father nodded at me. "We should first put your lady to bed. The adventure was very chilling and a warm bed would be wise. I myself would not refuse an offer of whiskey."

  Moray's eyes fell on me and softened. He slipped beside me and gently grasped my shoulders. It was then I realized how badly I shook, but not from fear. The cold from the ghost had left me chilled to my marrow.

  "I recently stoked the fire in the parlor. You both can warm yourselves there while you tell me the full tale," Moray suggested.

  Father Carmichael smiled and nodded. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

  Moray helped me to the parlor. The walk was long, but with his strong arms around me I was less weary than I would have been without their support. He set me on the couch with the father by my side and strode over to a cabinet where he retrieved the whiskey. I wasn't surprised when he also produced a bottle of bourbon.

  "Pick your poison," he offered us as he set the bottles on the table in front of us.

  "Always whiskey for me," Father Carmichael accepted as he reached for one of the three glasses beside the bottles.

  I looked at the offered drinks, cringed and shook my head.

  "It will warm you," Moray pointed out.

  "I don't quite feel up to the task," I replied.

  He pursed his lips. "Then can I offer you some soup or perhaps some tea?" he insisted.

  Father Carmichael lowered his full glass and studied me with a soft smile. "Perhaps it would be better to start the tale and retire."

  Moray seated himself in a nearby chair and nodded. "Very well."

  The good father recounted our guest and our journey down the dark passages of the castle to the small room. Moray listened through the tale without comment, and Father Carmichael finished after a few minutes.

  "And that is all there is to tell. We believe she is buried behind that wall, a victim of some foul deed," the father finished.

  "But that is not all there is to tell. If she is indeed in the wall then she must have been murdered, and we still do not know who murdered her," I pointed out.

  "Unfortunately, that mystery will remain unsolved," Moray told me.

  I hung my head and frowned. "But there must be a way. . ." I murmured.

  "Unless you have the ability to travel through time as Merlin or we see some careless bit of information on her person, then it will remain a mystery," he argued.

  I whipped my head up and glared at him. "Don't you care that she was murdered and walled up in that horrible place? Don't you-"

  "She was my ancestor," he interrupted. His voice was so firm that I recoiled from the tone. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I do care, but justice is not always granted
to those who deserve its mercy. In the case of the White Lady-"

  "Abigail," I reminded him.

  A small smile slipped onto his lips. "In the case of Abigail the most we can do is give her a proper burial."

  "If this world cannot give her justice than God will grant her a fair trial," Father Carmichael agreed.

  I sighed and nodded. "I suppose you both are right."

  "Have we been wrong?" the father teased.

  I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest. "No, but you may be some day," I warned him.

  Father Carmichael smiled and bowed his head to me. "Then we will accept the consequences with dignity and grace."

  "Should that time come," Moray added. "At the present we must prepare for a burial in my family's crypt."

  I furrowed my brow. "Crypt? I haven't seen a crypt."

  "It's on the far side of the Gardens near the fields," he told me. "But first the demolition."

  CHAPTER 27

  The next morning the wall was duly opened, and inside we found the skeleton of a young woman. The enclosed space had saved her beautiful dress from rot, and some wisps of her hair stuck to her skull. A single cut through the front of her clothes over her heart told us all we needed to know about her end except who was the culprit.

  It was also on that day that Castle Moray lost two of its occupants.

  "You are sure you won't stay longer?" Dal asked Lady Stewart as he escorted her across the entrance hall to the doors. The entrance was open and revealed their two carriages at the ready.

  She smiled and shook her head. "Not even your presence could induce me to remain here even one night until the poor woman is buried."

  "I believe our promise has already put her at peace," he insisted.

  She paused before the open door of her carriage and shook her head. "No, dear Dal, you cannot convince me to stay for another hour."

  Moray walked side-by-side with Lord Stewart, and behind them came me. Behind me came the luggage brought by the couple. The servants carried the two heavy trunks of the lady and easily set them on the top and at the rear.

  "Then I wish you a quick journey," the father replied before he kissed the back of her hand.

  "And you, as well," she returned. "For I chance a guess you're not long here yourself."

  "I must first see to the proper burial of the young woman, and then I may stay for a fortnight," the father told her.

  "If I will have you," Moray spoke up.