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“Stay strong, Declan. Bye.” Tess flopped on the bed and groaned out loud. Deep down, she trusted Declan, but what if she was wrong? She couldn’t afford a single mistake.
A few minutes later, Mark returned from his stroll. “The wind coming off the River Ness is bone-chilling. How’re you doing? Ready to go?”
“Give me a minute. Declan phoned, pissed I didn’t disclose everything at breakfast today. If he can cool his heels overnight, I’ll have useful information to share.”
“Understandable.” He glanced at his stainless-steel watch. “We’d better leave for Culloden. What’s your plan?”
“I’m assuming we meet someone and give them the USB drive. This morning, I uploaded pictures of the letters to the cloud for safekeeping.” Tess slipped the slim plastic case into a leather satchel before grabbing her crutches.
“I’ll be ready in a moment.” Mark left his mobile phone next to the whiskey carafe and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Noticing his phone light up, Tess strolled over and checked the screen, which displayed the last caller’s photo. Elena Rabinowitz again, with her perfect red tresses and radiant complexion.
—Call time: twenty-three minutes.—
She clenched her stomach and scowled to release her frustration before Mark returned. None of my business. Ignoring her growing uneasiness, she pulled on a trench coat and gloves, smoothed her hair, and resolved not to act grumpy.
Mark reappeared, drying his hands with a white towel and smelling like lemony soap. “Shall we?”
“Let’s get this done.” Tess geared up to tackle another round. Imagining the Raven’s appearance, she envisioned an overweight, bald, loner guy with a penchant for illegal firearms. An empty ache filled her chest, and she wanted to text Sophie and vent about everything.
The road to Culloden meandered through gentle hills for several miles east of Inverness. Menacing, dark clouds blocked direct sunlight, reducing visibility to about one hundred yards. Mark lifted the windshield visor and leaned forward to assess the sky. “Looks like nature’s funeral outside.”
“Perfect.” Irritated, Tess tried to judge whether his mood changed after his Elena phone call, but his peaceful demeanor revealed nothing amiss. Dr. Calm, indeed.
Mark exited onto the A9 motorway, which joined Culloden Road, then entered the car park by the battlefield’s visitor center. He hopped out, circled the car to open Tess’s door, and extracted the crutches from the back seat. “I’ll grab us a map.”
Tess buttoned her trench coat against the whipping wind and crossed the lot to read a historical marker about the battle. They’d arrived at the 1746 site of Scotland’s Jacobite Rising, a vast, flat field with few trees. Clusters of heather and small shrubs grew near the short, well-tended grass, but the overall effect was haunting. Aside from a tall memorial cairn that towered in the distance, the immense field was empty and barren.
Mark returned, carrying a glossy, colorful tourist map. “Here’s a brochure about the Culloden Walk and information describing the battle’s history.”
“We’re meeting the Raven on the final resting place for 1,500 Highlanders. It’s spooky how many men died here.” Tess shielded her face with an arm as another gusty wind cut across the open land.
“War is death. Don’t dwell on it for long, because the darkness can destroy you.” He leaned over and touched her cheek.
“At least, we’ll see anyone approaching on the moor, so they can’t ambush us.” Channeling her father, Tess scanned the field in all directions and committed the few landmarks to memory. “The message referenced MacTavish, Kyle’s last name, but I don’t understand the connection.”
“Was he a big war history buff?” Mark opened a gate to the pathway.
“Not particularly. Kyle’s family never mentioned Culloden or talked much about their Highlander ancestors. Let’s check out the memorial cairn.”
She and Mark traversed the gravel path of Culloden Walk, which was empty of visitors. When the twenty-foot-tall stone monument came into view, she read the inscription at its base. “The graves of the gallant Highlanders who fought for Scotland and Prince Charlie are marked by the names of their clans. Let’s check all the stones.”
Clusters of stones marked the walking trail, and each one documented a family’s battle losses. Clan Fraser. Clans MacGillivray, MacLean, and MacLachlan. Clan Campbell. Clan Cameron. A small ancient stone covered with green moss read Mixed Clans, designating a mass grave. A long stretch passed without any markers before a collection of newer engraved stones appeared built into the path.
Several yards ahead, Mark stood bent over, examining the path. “Hey, I found something.”
Tess ambled over the uneven ground and joined him to study the engraved text on the marker: In Remembrance of Our Fallen, Clan MacTavish. “This must be it, but it’s past three o’clock, and no one’s here.”
“Well, we couldn’t be easier to find, given the gale winds scared away all the tourists.” Mark fastened the top button of his coat and turned up the collar.
The sky darkened by shades of gray toward the charcoal tones of night. Total darkness would descend over the moor in minutes, and the gravesite grew more macabre the longer the wait stretched. No one approached. Fifteen minutes passed, along with Tess’s patience. “An empty cemetery’s safe, right? This better not be a trap.” The howling wind kicked up again, chilling her exposed skin. She wrapped another layer of cashmere scarf around her head as wind barreled across the open field. More fog rolled across the moor, so thick she couldn’t see her feet.
“Someone’s over there.” Mark gestured toward a dark shadow emerging from the fog.
Shivering from the chafing wind, Tess stood close by his side, waiting to determine whether the figure was headed their way. A man dressed in solid black advanced. Thin verging on gaunt, he wore jeans, a woolen coat, and a knitted beanie. His white skin, smooth as polished alabaster, contrasted with his dyed-black hair and deep-set brown eyes. On his neck, the outline of a black raven stood out against his pale skin.
As the man approached, he inspected them from head to toe and turned to her first. “Tess Bennett.”
