Page 9 of Enchantment of a Highlander

A somber light filtered through broken windows in the distance, but did little to brighten the entryway shrouded in darkness. The steady leaking drip of rain echoed from an unseen source.

“Do ye think there’s really a ghost here?” Duncan came up beside Alec and cast a nervous glance around them.

Alec caught the tip of the boy’s blade with his thumb and forefinger and tilted it upward. “Mind yer weapon, lad. I dinna teach ye to hold it like that.”

Duncan gave an eager nod and corrected his grip. “Are daggers good against ghosts?”

“I can promise ye, the only ghosts here are ones that bleed.” Alec stalked forward cautiously. Debris and dirt crunched beneath the soles of his boots.

The narrow hall was empty, starkly so. Vacant sconces scorched black from years of fires lined the walls and a cold, musty dankness hung in the air.

They stepped into the great hall and stopped. The room had been something to marvel at when Alec was a boy. Now the walls that had once been draped with gold- and silver-threaded tapestries stood naked. The benches and tables were gone—even the massive sword that had once hung impossibly high over the fireplace was gone.

Where opulence had resided, now gray rushes rotted on the floor with things moving within their depths.

A raindrop splashed against the top of Alec’s head.

He jerked his head upright to see the gray sky visible overhead in a hole no bigger than a man’s fist.

Repairing the high ceiling of the great hall would not be an easy feat.

“Do ye think they were right?” Duncan asked. “Is it unlivable?”

Truth be told, it wasn’t as bad as Alec had anticipated. Aye, some of the stone had been smuggled away, most likely by villagers needing to repair their own homes, but most of it remained, and completely intact.

Most likely he wouldn’t even need to seek the aid of a master builder to complete the tasks he’d seen thus far.

“We’ve no seen all of it yet,” Alec said in a low mutter. There was an edge to his voice he knew even Duncan would not counter.

They passed through an empty archway where two great wooden doors used to close off the entrance to the kitchens. A fat black rat darted in front of them, scuttling away from the yawning doorway.

An uneasy feeling crawled over the skin on the back of Alec’s neck. There was a shift in the still air, a scent, a slight grind of dirt against stone, something he could not quite name.

But he knew exactly what it meant.

They were not alone.

• • •

No matter how much the villagers tried to hide it, Celia knew they stared. Their gazes bored into her like needle pricks.

A flicker of red fur showed through the thick brush on the outskirts of the village. Ruadh was near. He always was. Even in the populated areas he hated, he lingered on the edge, waiting for her to emerge.

She tightened her grip on the basket and approached the home set off from the others.

A voice sang from the other side of the door, sweet and gentle. Celia rapped her knuckles against the splintering wood and the song abruptly stopped.

Bessie’s face appeared in the doorway, lit with a smile that made her nose wrinkle and her eyes crease. Freckles spattered her cheeks, making her appear younger than her eighteen years.

No evidence from the attack was apparent on the woman’s face, thankfully.

“I’m sorry.” Celia thrust out the parcel of bundled herbs she’d prepared only minutes before. “You forgot the rest of your tea.”

Bessie glanced down at the linen-wrapped items and stepped back for Celia to enter. There was little more to the small cottage than the bed, a table with a couple of chairs, and a cradle in the corner, but it all appeared tidy and in good repair.

The spicy sweet aroma of brewing herbs wafted from a pot on the fire, a scent Celia recognized as the very tea she held in her hand.

“I thought I’d gotten it all,” Bessie said. “I appreciate ye making it for me. This sickness is getting worse as the babe grows.”