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by Unknown

Mc­Cormicks Prayer Mc­Cormick's Prayer

Wait, Mary Beth said.  One last thing.  She moved to stand be­tween them and looked up at Drake with a most win­some smile on her face.  I have to know, or I’ll go crazy with cu­rios­ity and I won’t get an­oth­er chance.

He cocked his head at her.  Know what?

This.  She popped up on her toes, cupped his face be­tween her hands, and pressed her lips firm­ly against his.

Drake hes­itat­ed for a mo­ment, so shocked he dare not move, then quick­ly wrapped his arms around her and ex­plored her mouth with the ut­most de­tail.  With Col­lie watch­ing, how­ev­er, he dare not let his hands do the same, but he could feel her—all of her—pressed against him.  She moaned, low and sweet, bare­ly a whis­per of a breath, but he heard her and vowed to take that sound, the taste and feel of her in­to eter­ni­ty with him, for there had nev­er been a more cur­va­ceous, delectable wom­an in his arms be­fore.

Slow­ly, painful­ly, the kiss came to an end, and she stepped back, a pleas­ing blush up­on her beau­ti­ful face.

She looked away and cleared her throat as she ad­just­ed her cloth­ing, al­though noth­ing was out of sorts.

Well, now I know, she said.

Aye, and so do I.  He loved her, sole­ly and com­plete­ly, but would nev­er again look up­on her face, nor would they share in the many plea­sures be­tween a man and a wom­an.

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mc­Cormick’s Prayer

 

by

 

Jo Bar­rett

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

This is a work of fic­tion.  Names, char­ac­ters, places, and in­ci­dents are ei­ther the prod­uct of the au­thor’s imag­ina­tion or are used fic­ti­tious­ly, and any re­sem­blance to ac­tu­al per­sons liv­ing or dead, busi­ness es­tab­lish­ments, events, or lo­cales, is en­tire­ly co­in­ci­den­tal.

 

Mc­Cormick’s Prayer

 

COPY­RIGHT

Ó

2010 by Jo Bar­rett

 

All rights re­served.  No part of this book may be used or re­pro­duced in any man­ner what­so­ev­er with­out writ­ten per­mis­sion of the au­thor or The Wild Rose Press ex­cept in the case of brief quo­ta­tions em­bod­ied in crit­ical ar­ti­cles or re­views.

Con­tact In­for­ma­tion: in­fo@thewil­drose­press.com

 

Cov­er Art by

RJ­Mor­ris

 

The Wild Rose Press

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

Vis­it us at www.thewil­drose­press.com

 

Pub­lish­ing His­to­ry

First Faery Edi­tion, 2010

 

 

Pub­lished in the Unit­ed States of Amer­ica

 

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Chapter One

 

Mary Beth couldn’t shake the feel­ing she was be­ing watched.  Odd, since she knew for a fact she was alone.  There wasn’t a soul for miles, and she could see for miles too, all over the Scot­tish High­lands, but it was still there, rais­ing the hairs on the back of her neck.

Glanc­ing back over her shoul­der, she stud­ied the shad­ows amid the cas­tle ru­ins.  Ei­ther her eyes were play­ing tricks on her or there was some­one—or some­thing—there.

Hel­lo?

Hmm, no re­sponse

.

She moved clos­er, care­ful­ly cross­ing what would’ve once been a thresh­old, her hand flat against the rough stone wall to bal­ance her.  Mr.  Mc­Fad­den warned her to be very care­ful around the ru­ins.  The fire that had claimed the small cas­tle cen­turies be­fore had left lit­tle be­hind but de­cay­ing stone, none of it fit for a tourist to tromp up­on.

She glanced at the warn­ing sign, not­ed the roped off ar­eas, and eased through the main hall.  The ground seemed sta­ble enough, but she couldn’t be sure that some green­ery wasn’t cov­er­ing up a pit of some kind.  Still, some­thing con­tin­ued to pull her in­side.

Her foot caught on a vine and she stum­bled, and a star­tled scream es­caped her lips.

Stupid, stupid, she groused.  Did she have a death wish or some­thing?

With a huff, she glared at the shad­owy area she’d been head­ed to­ward.  It was stupid, ridicu­lous, ab­so­lute­ly in­sane, there was no one there.  And yet the sen­sa­tion of be­ing watched hadn’t wa­vered one io­ta.  Al­though re­al­iz­ing she was be­hav­ing like a lu­natic as it was, she de­cid­ed she may as well go the rest of the way and speak to the noth­ing.

You do know this is pri­vate prop­er­ty, she said flat­ly, plac­ing her hands on her hips.

Mr.  Mc­Fad­den on­ly leased the lit­tle cot­tage at the base of the hill be­low the cas­tle to spe­cial clients.  A per­spec­tive renter had to go through sev­er­al in­ter­views through the mail and by phone, and if he didn’t like you on sight, it was a no-​go.  The en­tire area was off lim­its to tourists.  It had tak­en her a year to get the cot­tage and she wasn’t about to share it.

Look, who­ev­er you are, she said, de­ter­mined to com­plete her nose­dive in­to id­io­cy since there couldn’t pos­si­bly be any­one there, I planned this trip for too long to have some gate­crash­er spoil it for me.  So get lost or I’ll call the au­thor­ities.  With that she spun on her heels and trod across the main hall back to the gap­ing hole of a door.

As she stepped over the thresh­old, a breeze tick­led the back of her neck, and on it was the faint sound of deep male laugh­ter.  She paused and looked over her shoul­der with a frown.

I re­al­ly am los­ing it, she mum­bled, then hur­ried down the hill to the cot­tage, un­able to shake the odd sen­sa­tion of not be­ing alone.

****

The lass has spir­it, Drake said, more to him­self than to his ghost­ly com­pan­ion, Col­lie.

Aye, and she be pret­ty, the lad said with a crooked grin.

Cen­turies of wan­der­ing the keep had not aged his small friend.  He re­mained all of ten years old, still in­no­cent of life—and death.  But there were times, Drake no­ticed, that the lad was not so naive.

When a child came with whomev­er old Mc­Fad­den al­lowed on the land, the lad’s eyes would lift to his with such sor­row and re­gret.  He could not run and play with oth­ers his age, nor would he ev­er grow up.  They could not even leave the cas­tle, lest they be lost for­ev­er.  Drake hoped, prayed the lad would as­cend to Heav­en, while he had no doubt of the di­rec­tion he would take, but the boy re­fused to leave him.  Per­haps it was best that the lad stayed, not know­ing if the boy would suf­fer the same fate as he for eter­ni­ty.

Drake clenched his jaw and turned away from the bon­ny lass strolling down the hill to­ward the cot­tage.

’Twas his fault and none oth­er the lad had died.  The fool­ish scamp had tried to save his self­ish, greedy, bloody hide.  He’d re­turned to the burn­ing keep for his damned gold and the lad re­fused to let him go alone.  The boy died in his arms short­ly be­fore he took his own last breath.

Now they were both doomed to walk the earth as shad­ows, whis­pers on the breeze, mists in the night.  Their on­ly sal­va­tion lay in the chance that Drake would learn to love an­oth­er more than he loved his gold, and to have that love re­turned.  The words had been whis­pered in his ear up­on his death, al­though no one but the lad’s life­less body ly­ing in his burned arms was present.  An an­gel, a de­mon, he knew not which, but he had no doubts as to the truth of it.

’Tis an im­pos­si­ble task, he groused, gaz­ing at the churn­ing wa­ters of the loch.

Love was noth­ing but a myth, a fan­ta­sy, and even if he were wrong about such a thing, who could love him as he was? A ghost, a specter, noth­ing but a for­got­ten laird from a for­got­ten time, as trans­par­ent as the mist up­on the loch.  Nay, he would not pray for such a thing as love, on­ly sleep, eter­nal rest.

Do ye think she’ll come back?  Col­lie asked, lean­ing against the fall­en wall.  Do ye think she’ll search the keep for the gold like the oth­ers once she hears the tale?

He would nev­er for­give him­self for bring­ing about Col­lie’s death, and as to his gold, he cared not a whit about it any longer.  What use was gold to him now? When alive, it had brought him noth­ing but pain and death, but he would not let the wom­an or any oth­er liv­ing per­son touch the vile box he had hid­den away in his crum­bling hall.  It re­mind­ed him of all the things he’d done wrong in his life, of all the things he would nev­er be able to change.  He alone would bear the bur­den.

I doona know.  Let us hope she has some sense, Drake said.

Aye, the box be hid­den in the most dan­ger­ous of places.  The lad cocked his head and looked up at him.  Why do ye sup­pose she’s here? She doesn’t seem like the oth­ers.

The lad had a point.  She didn’t wan­der the grounds chant­ing like a mad­wom­an, or stick odd blink­ing ma­chines in the dark cor­ners of his hall.  This one seemed con­tent to mere­ly look out o’er the loch and paint her pret­ty pic­tures.

Drake leaned his shoul­der against the wall and crossed his arms as he looked down at the cot­tage.  A lantern came to life in the win­dow.

I doona know, lad, but we shall keep an eye on her.  That he would def­inite­ly do, for she was in­deed dif­fer­ent from the oth­ers.

Her gold­en hair, shorn at her shoul­ders, caught the late sum­mer sun.  He won­dered what col­or her eyes were, then shoved the thought aside.  What did it mat­ter? She would not, could not see him or Col­lie, al­though she was aware of their pres­ence.  It wasn’t the first time some­one felt them watch­ing.  Even the odd ones with their strange tools some­times sensed them.  And yet none had ev­er ad­mon­ished them for be­ing there.

He grinned at the mem­ory of her stand­ing in her mod­ern clothes, her hands on her hips, glar­ing at him, with just a hint of un­ease.  He’d tak­en her in from top to bot­tom, her de­li­cious curves tempt­ed him, teased him, and re­mind­ed him of the things he could nev­er have again.

Ah, but the sight was well worth the pain.

****

Mary Beth put­tered around the cot­tage that af­ter­noon, en­joy­ing the free­dom to be lazy and do what­ev­er she want­ed, al­though her in­ten­tion had been to paint.  And she would, but a lit­tle bit of lazi­ness nev­er hurt any­one.  Still, her time was lim­it­ed.  She would on­ly make it to Septem­ber at the lat­est be­fore she’d have to move in­to town and get a job or, if luck was with her, she’d ac­tu­al­ly sell some of her work.  She’d al­ready start­ed scop­ing out the area for a place to live, but she loved the cot­tage so much, she was go­ing to hate to leave when the time came.

She saved for two years to move to the High­lands.  For some rea­son it was the on­ly place she’d ev­er want­ed to live, al­though she’d nev­er vis­it­ed be­fore.  It called to her, and now she was here.  Paint­ing, read­ing, doz­ing...pure heav­en.

She hugged her­self and smiled as she stepped to the win­dow and looked out over the loch.  This was her dream.  It was a shame she had to move in­to town in a few months, but for now, she’d in­dulge her­self with the best view on the plan­et.

Her gaze strayed up the hill to the ru­ins, where a tiny ray of sun­light still touched the up­per­most floor leav­ing the rest in dark shad­ow.

What a shame, she whis­pered, try­ing to see it as it might have been.  A small but grand cas­tle.  She won­dered about the in­hab­itants, what they did, how they lived.  She didn’t dwell on the fire that had con­sumed the struc­ture so many cen­turies ago, de­ter­mined to be­lieve that ev­ery­one had got­ten out safe­ly.  Per­haps she’d paint it as she imag­ined it was in its day.

Some­thing moved past a win­dow in the main hall and she frowned.  Her in­ter­lop­ers were still around, ap­par­ent­ly.  With a de­ter­mined growl, she jerked on her jack­et, grabbed her flash­light, and stomped up the hill.  It nev­er oc­curred to her that it could be dan­ger­ous to con­front strangers in the dark ru­in.  At least not un­til she’d reached the en­trance to the keep.

I am an id­iot, she grum­bled soft­ly.  But she was here, and they had to know it, she hadn’t been qui­et tromp­ing up the hill with a megawatt flash­light in her hand.

She chewed her lip a mo­ment then de­cid­ed to get it over with.  Okay look, who­ev­er you are, I re­al­ly don’t want to call the au­thor­ities.  I un­der­stand that the cas­tle is in­ter­est­ing and all, that the en­tire area is dif­fi­cult to re­sist it’s so beau­ti­ful here, but this is pri­vate prop­er­ty.  You have to leave.

There was no re­sponse.  She waved her light around the in­side of the keep, but saw no one.  And yet she hadn’t imag­ined that move­ment.  Maybe, she thought, it was noth­ing but an an­imal of some kind.

She lift­ed her foot over the thresh­old, her gaze down for just a mo­ment to watch her step.  Once in­side she lift­ed her head and a soft gasp slipped from her throat as her flash­light fell to the ground.

Ev­ery­thing had changed.

It was as if the cas­tle was in­tact, and not a sin­gle day had passed.  She blinked, then rubbed her eyes, then blinked some more.

This can’t be hap­pen­ing.

Flam­ing torch­es lit the large hall, the ground, no longer weeds, but wood and stone.  The mas­sive hearth held a bright crack­ling fire, and above it weapons were hung with hon­or.  She crossed the room to­ward the steps to the up­per floor, her mouth agape.

Stop!  Doona move!

She froze with a star­tled shriek, her eyes wide and search­ing, but felt cer­tain who­ev­er had yelled was right be­hind her.  O-​okay.  Stopped.  Not mov­ing.

Drake sucked in a breath.  He’d yelled out a warn­ing on in­stinct.  The lass was about to step through one of the gap­ing maws in the floor that led to what once would have been his dun­geons.  It was one of many holes about the cas­tle, but no one had ev­er heard him be­fore.

Step back, slow­ly, he said, forc­ing a calm to his voice he did not feel.

Um, why?

Ye are about ta step in­ta a pit.  Can ye no’ see it?

The lass looked down and shook her head faint­ly.  Ac­tu­al­ly, I’m see­ing noth­ing like I’ve ev­er seen be­fore, she said, and swal­lowed hard.

Trust me, lass.  Ye need ta step back, away from the edge, he said.

She took a breath and did as he said.  Can I turn around?

Aye, ye are safe for the mo­ment.

The lass slow­ly piv­ot­ed on her heels, and her eyes widened with a small whim­per.  Who are you?

Drake’s mouth fell agape.  Ye see me?

Her eyes shot to the left then to the right then pinned him in place.  A most bril­liant blue, they were.

I see you, like I see ev­ery­thing else, she said, wav­ing her arms around.  Is this a dream? I’ve had dil­lies be­fore, but this one takes the cake.

Nay, no’ a dream.

Uh-​huh.  No dream.  How about prac­ti­cal joke? Or bad beef at din­ner, or—hell I don’t know!  This can—not—be—hap­pen­ing! She spun around, her arms wav­ing, and moved once again too close to dan­ger.

With­out a thought, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist.

Hey!

He ig­nored her protests and hauled her to the safer side of the hall.  Once there, his brain caught up with his ac­tions.

By the saints, I touched her!

Let me go, she fussed, try­ing to pry his arm from around her waist.

He swal­lowed hard and took a deep breath.  Her scent, sweet and soft, teased his nos­trils.  He’d not smelled any­thing more de­li­cious in hun­dreds of years.

But alas, he could not hold her for­ev­er, al­though the thought was tempt­ing.  I’ll no’ let ye go un­til ye promise ta stand still.

She turned her face, her nose near­ly touch­ing his.  I—um—you—

Her lips were damp and lus­cious and ready, but he could not taste her.  What­ev­er this heav­en­ly gift that had been giv­en him, to touch, to be seen, to be heard, he would not ru­in it with his sin­ful de­sires.

Promise me, ye’ll no’ move.  ’Tis for yer safe­ty, lass.

She swal­lowed and seemed to re­gain her com­po­sure.  I promise.

He gen­tly let her go, hat­ing the aching ab­sence of her warmth.

Now, how about an­swer­ing my ques­tion? Who are you?  she de­mand­ed.

Drake Mc­Cormick.

She cocked her head to the side and flat­ly said, You’re tres­pass­ing, Mr.  Mc­Cormick.

He threw back his head and laughed hard­er than he had in an age.

This isn’t fun­ny, she fussed.

Och, lass, but it ’tis.  It ’tis in­deed.

Drake, what’er ye laugh­in’...at...  young Col­lie asked, bound­ing around the cor­ner, his voice trail­ing off at the sight of the wom­an be­fore him.

And just who are you?  she asked, but Drake no­ticed her soft­er tone as she ad­dressed Col­lie.

Ye see me?  he squeaked.

There’s a bro­ken record in here, she mut­tered.

Aye, she sees and hears ye lad.  I can­na un­der­stand how or why, but I’ll no’ ques­tion it.

Look, fel­las.  You’ve had your fun, but— She fell silent as her gaze searched the main hall again.  But some­one needs to tell me why I’m see­ing all this and just what is go­ing on.

What is it ye see, lass?

You mean you don’t see—this?  she asked, her lips pinched as she waved about the hall.

I see my hall in ru­ins as I’ve seen it for many a year.

Your hall.

He grinned, un­able to con­tain the sheer plea­sure of speak­ing with an­oth­er soul oth­er than Col­lie for so many years.  Aye, my hall.

She fold­ed her arms be­neath her breasts and gave him such a look, he want­ed to pull her back in­to his arms and kiss her sense­less.

We’ll get back to the own­er­ship thing lat­er, she said with a smirk.  But you’re telling me you don’t see this hall, this cas­tle in per­fect con­di­tion, wall torch­es, weapons, and all?

Drake looked at Col­lie who on­ly shrugged.  Ye mean ta say—ye are say­ing that above yon hearth hangs a clay­more and a tar­tan?

Yep, she said with a nod.  So, like I said, bad joke, dream, or am I ready for the fun­ny farm?

Drake scowled, and she took a cau­tious step back.  I’ll no’ hurt ye, lass.  But I can­na un­der­stand what’s go­ing on any­more than ye do.

Then how do you know there’s a tar­tan over the hearth?  she asked.

Be­cause ’tis my hall, as I said.

We be ghosts, ye see, Col­lie added.

She took a long deep breath.  Oh, right.  Sure.  I get it.  I’m dream­ing, def­inite­ly, she mut­tered.  Well, it’s been fun, guys.

She turned and made her way across the hall to the door, thank­ful­ly far away from the holes in the floor, snatch­ing up her fan­cy torch as she walked.  She paused at the door and looked back at Drake and Col­lie, then the rest of the keep, be­fore step­ping over the thresh­old.

As she took that last step, Drake felt a strange sense of loss, as if some­one had stolen the warmth from his body, a body he no longer had.

Did ye feel that?  Col­lie asked, rub­bing his chest.

Aye.

They both looked to the wom­an, who stood out­side the cas­tle, her face awash with won­der.  She cast her light in­to the ru­ins, search­ing from side to side.

Hey, where’d you go?

Drake called to her, but she did not hear.  Col­lie and he looked at one an­oth­er, ut­ter­ly con­fused.

I knew I was dream­ing, she said, and went down the hill to the cot­tage shak­ing her head.

****

Mary Beth thought about her dream.  Ac­tu­al­ly, she thought about it as she climbed in­to bed, still not sure what had hap­pened.  How could she be dream­ing if she was just now get­ting in­to bed? But then the stuff she’d seen and those two Scots were pret­ty odd.

Forc­ing the event from her mind, tak­ing long deep breaths, she fi­nal­ly fell asleep, on­ly to have the en­tire thing re­play in her thoughts the fol­low­ing morn­ing.

This is crazy, she grum­bled.  She yanked on her jeans and sweater, shoved her feet in­to her ten­nis shoes, and trod back up the hill in the bright light of day, de­ter­mined to see if she could find any ev­idence of the pre­vi­ous night.

Out of breath af­ter jog­ging up the hill, she war­ily eyed the thresh­old be­fore step­ping across.  Slow­ly, she moved in­to the hall then paused, wait­ing for some­thing to hap­pen.

I knew it, noth­ing, she said with a firm nod.  I was dream­ing last night, or maybe sleep walk­ing.  Yeah, she said, cross­ing the hall.  Dream­ing about what this place would’ve looked like in its prime, the peo­ple that would’ve lived here.

Her brow fur­rowed with that thought.  If she’d been dream­ing, imag­in­ing how it would look with peo­ple and all, then why on­ly the gor­geous Scot and a lit­tle boy? Why not a full en­tourage of peo­ple from the past?

Eas­ing to­ward the edge of the large hole in the cen­ter of the room, she peered in­to the dark depths.

Maybe the Scot was my sub­con­scious’ way of self-​preser­va­tion?  Af­ter all, if he hadn’t told her to stop, she would’ve fall­en in­to the hole.  In her dream, that is.

She moved to the side near the wall where she’d stood last night talk­ing with the ghosts.  Noth­ing was there, no sign of any­one, but once again she felt watched, just as she had the day be­fore.

Ghosts, she mur­mured.  Could it be pos­si­ble?  Nah, I’m just let­ting the sur­round­ings, the mys­tery of the land and lore get to me.  That’s all.

But as she made her way back to the cot­tage, she couldn’t help feel­ing she was ly­ing to her­self.

****

She did­na see us, that time, Col­lie said.

Nay, she did­na.

Do ye think it has some­thing ta do with the night? I can­na re­call ev­er hav­ing some­one here at night afore.  No’ some­one like her.  She—feels us here more than the oth­ers, I’m thinkin’.

Drake grinned down at the boy and laid his hand on his shoul­der.

Col­lie, yer a bright lad.  I think ye may have hit on just the an­swer.  But the ques­tion re­mains, he said, re­mov­ing his hand to stroke his chin, will the lass come again this eve and see for her­self?

He hoped she would.  Re­mem­ber­ing how she felt, smelled, the sense of be­ing alive once again ached deeply in his chest.  The fact she was such a come­ly wom­an didn’t hurt mat­ters any ei­ther.

May­hap we can get her ta come again, Col­lie said.

What did ye have in mind?

Well,—he moved to sit on the re­mains of a wall over­look­ing the cot­tage—she came ta see who was aboot the keep last eve, ye said.  She must have seen some­thing, and came ta scare it off with her fan­cy torch.  Just like yes­ter­day when she told us ta leave.

Aye, that she did.  He smiled down at the boy.  Then let us hope she’s as cu­ri­ous and brave tonight when we make a show­ing in this win­dow.

The lad grinned then looked to the cot­tage.  Why do ye sup­pose she sees things as they were?

Drake stroked his chin and leaned his back against the wall.  ’Tis a strange thing, that.  She has the sight un­like any I’ve ev­er known.

May­hap ’tis so she would­na’ be afraid of us.

Per­haps.  Turn­ing, he looked back down the hill to the lit­tle cot­tage.  With her unique gift of sight, dare he hope that through her eyes he could be a man once more? Could she be the one to end his tor­ment?

****

Pac­ing, glanc­ing at the moon­light shin­ing on the ru­ins, Mary Beth sucked in a deep calm­ing breath, but knew it was use­less.  She had to go back and see for her­self.  She was wide awake, def­inite­ly not dream­ing, and not sleep­walk­ing.  Grab­bing the flash­light, she cast one last glance at the clock.  It was on­ly nine-​thir­ty.  Did ghosts come out this ear­ly?

Shak­ing off the ridicu­lous ques­tion but still de­ter­mined to in­ves­ti­gate, she closed the cot­tage door be­hind her and climbed the hill.  Min­utes lat­er she was at the thresh­old to the main hall.  Ev­ery­thing looked as it should, she not­ed amid the quiv­er­ing beam of light.

There’s noth­ing to be afraid of, she told her­self.  Ex­cept for the dan­ger­ous gaps in the floor.  She men­tal­ly marked out the safe ar­eas to walk just in case they dis­ap­peared af­ter she en­tered.

Well, here goes, she said and took a deep breath and a pair of steps.

And her sur­round­ings com­plete­ly changed.

Oh—my—God.

Do ye see things as be­fore?  the boy asked, ap­pear­ing be­side her, hop­ping on his toes.  Can ye see me?

Mary Beth swal­lowed and nod­ded.  I see you and all this.

His bright smile had her smil­ing in re­turn.  Then his face be­came se­ri­ous as he eased his hand out to­ward her.  Can I—can I touch ye?

Why this seemed so im­por­tant to him, she couldn’t guess, but shrugged and held out her hand.

Sure.

His bot­tom lip pulled tight be­tween his teeth, he gen­tly placed his dirt-​smudged hand atop hers.

Ye’er warm, he said, his eyes wide.

And you’re cold.

He snatched his hand back.  I’m sor­ry.  ’Tis be­cause of me be­ing a ghost, I sup­pose.

If you’re a ghost, then why can I see you, hear you, and touch you?

We fig­ure ’tis the night and yer gift.

Gift?

Aye, lass, the big Scot said strolling to­ward her.  Ye have the gift of sight—in a way.  Ye sensed us here dur­ing the day, did ye no’?

Gift of sight.  Uh-​huh.

The big hand­some man let out a rich laugh.  Tell me ye’ve ne’er had feel­ings aboot things, places, or peo­ple.  Ye said yer­self, sit­ting on yon­der wall, that this placed called ta ye.

You heard me talk­ing to my­self?

Aye, lass.  And al­though yer singing is a bit off-​key, sad ta say, yer a bon­ny lass, ta be sure.  His gaze raked her from top to bot­tom, heat­ing ev­ery inch of her.  I en­joy watch­ing ye.

I think I need to sit down, she said shak­ily.

The lit­tle boy took one arm and the Scot the oth­er, to­geth­er they guid­ed her safe­ly across the treach­er­ous hall to a win­dow ledge.  Perched on the edge she looked at both of them then at her sur­round­ings.

This is a lot to take in.

’Tis a lot for young Col­lie and I too.

She smiled down at the boy.  Col­lie? Is that your name?

His dark head bobbed.  Col­in, aye, but ev­ery­one— His face fell.  Drake calls me Col­lie.

There aren’t any oth­ers, are there?  she asked, know­ing it was true by the lone­ly lost look on the boy’s face.

Nay.  ’Tis on­ly us, Drake bit out and turned his at­ten­tion out the win­dow.

Lone­li­ness.  It cloud­ed around them like a smoth­er­ing fog.  A man and a boy, lost and alone for what had to be cen­turies.  The man, she wasn’t so sure she could help, but the boy was a pos­si­bil­ity.  Strange that she thought that, and yet some­how it seemed right, it seemed…the rea­son she had come here.  Maybe she did have a gift, or maybe she was just meant to find them, but what­ev­er the cat­alyst, she would do what she could.

She smiled down at Col­lie’s sweet sullen face and pat­ted a spot be­side her.  Well, Col­lie, you can call me Mary Beth.  Now, why don’t you hop up here and tell me your sto­ry?

His eyes widened and a grin eased over his lips as he scram­bled up be­side her.  She eased her arm around him, re­al­iz­ing now that the touch of an­oth­er hu­man be­ing, some­one alive, warm, and maybe fe­male, moth­er­ly per­haps, was some­thing he craved, and she glad­ly gave it to him.

Does the cold no’ both­er ye?  he asked.

Of course not.  She gave him a squeeze.  Now, tell me all about your­self.

She felt Drake’s gaze on her and glanced at him from the cor­ner of her eye.  He gave a grate­ful nod, then re­turned his at­ten­tion to the loch.

Col­lie went on for quite a spell about his life then his af­ter­life.  She learned more about his­to­ry than she ev­er want­ed to know and from a bird’s-​eye view at that.

That’s quite a bit of in­for­ma­tion, sweet­ie, she said, push­ing his hair from his eyes.

Aye, well, we’ve been here a while, Drake said.

Her gaze trav­eled across the room and she shook her head.  I wish I could un­der­stand why I’m see­ing how you lived, what it looked like then.

I think ’tis so ye won’t be afraid, Col­lie said.

I sup­pose, but it still seems odd to me.  I mean, it’s nev­er hap­pened be­fore when I’ve been oth­er places.  So why here and why now?

Drake with­held his opin­ion on the mat­ter, hop­ing be­yond hope that per­haps it did in­deed have to do with his penance.

He watched as the lass sti­fled a yawn.  ’Tis late.  Ye need yer rest.

The boy’s face fell.  Aye.  I for­got we doona need sleep like ye do.  He re­luc­tant­ly pulled from her touch and hopped down off the stone.  With a back­ward glance, he paused.  Will ye be comin’ again, Mary Beth?

Of course I will.

With a small but true smile, the lad went off, leav­ing Drake alone with the wom­an.  A wom­an who’s scent had tor­ment­ed his sens­es from the mo­ment she ar­rived.  He’d spent much of the night try­ing not to stare at her plump lips as she smiled and spoke to Col­lie.

She turned to look at him, a frown on her face as she climbed down from her perch.  I’m see­ing all this be­cause of you, aren’t I?

Per­cep­tive, she was, but he didn’t wish to fright­en her by re­veal­ing his thoughts that they were con­nect­ed in some way.  It was as if the pow­ers-​that-​be want­ed her to see him in his true sur­round­ings, to know what and who he’d been be­fore, but he mere­ly gave her a faint nod in re­sponse.  He didn’t wish to voice his sus­pi­cions that she was the one to free him from his hell.

Close­mouthed, I see, she said with a huff, and fold­ed her arms be­neath her full breasts.  Okay then, how about this one? Why are you here? Col­lie was a bit vague on that sub­ject.

He cast a glance to the loch be­fore re­turn­ing her steady gaze.  We are cursed ta roam the keep for eter­ni­ty.

Her lips part­ed with a soft gasp.  Why would any­one curse that sweet lit­tle boy?

He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath then told her of his and Col­lie’s death.  Of how his lust for gold brought them to this nev­er-​end­ing lim­bo.

But that still doesn’t ex­plain why Col­lie’s here, she said.  If any­thing, he should’ve been re­ward­ed for try­ing to save you.

He got his re­ward for be­ing fool­ish enough ta fol­low me, he ground out.

She plant­ed her slim hands up­on her hips and glared at him.  You know darn well that kid wor­ships the ground you walk on.  He was there be­cause he want­ed to help you.  And yes, save you, if need be, she said, pok­ing her fin­ger in­to his chest.

He snatched her wrist with a jerk, and she fell against him, their faces—their lips—mere inch­es apart.  The feel of her rac­ing pulse be­neath his fin­gers sang in har­mo­ny with the beat­ing of his ghost­ly heart.  Lord, how he want­ed to taste her.

I was be­yond sav­ing, lass.

And now?  Her voice but a whis­per, her soft breath fanned his lips.

He had to re­sist temp­ta­tion, for her vis­its were a bless­ing and he would not foul them with his sin­ful yearn­ings, for no one could ev­er tru­ly love him.

Eas­ing her from his grasp, he took a de­ter­mined step back.  Now, I think ’tis past time for ye ta re­turn ta yon cot­tage and rest.

Her brow fur­rowed as she stud­ied him.  Then she gave a slight nod and turned away.  I’ll be back to­mor­row.

And we will be here, he said to her re­treat­ing form, hat­ing that he could not fol­low her be­yond the walls of the keep to see the world as it was now.

Or per­haps he would stroll no fur­ther than the lit­tle cot­tage at the base of the hill, he thought sev­er­al min­utes lat­er as the light in the win­dow winked out.

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Chapter Two

 

The sweet lass made many vis­its to the cas­tle, day and night for near­ly a month.  Drake watched her with young Col­lie and was more than pleased in her moth­er­ing.  The lad had not had such for more years than he could re­call, even when they were alive, as he’d come to the cas­tle af­ter his moth­er’s death when he was bare­ly six.

Mary Beth of­ten brought the lad toys of a sort that he could play with while she vis­it­ed at night, since it was the on­ly time in which they were cor­po­re­al enough to in­ter­act with their sur­round­ings.  And what a joy it was to hear laugh­ter ring through his hall again, but he knew her stay was on­ly tem­po­rary, that she would leave come the au­tumn.  It would break the lad’s heart to see her go, nor would it do his own much good as she had be­come—im­por­tant to him.

Aye, he still want­ed to taste her sweet­est most se­cret places, to bury him­self in the depth of her heat, but there was more to it—more to her—than that.  She brought light in­to his world where there had been on­ly dark­ness.

He would watch her on clear, crisp days when she set­tled along the edge of the loch and paint­ed.  He mar­veled at how she saw the world around her.  The col­ors, the tex­tures, her art took his breath away—she took his breath away and if he were a de­serv­ing man, one not full of so many sins, he would have her as his own.  Aye, even his heart yearned for her.

He sus­pect­ed she knew of his thoughts, at least on some lev­el, for he caught her watch­ing him many times, a se­cre­tive look up­on her love­ly face.  But it was Col­lie who need­ed her most.  The lad had meant to save him, how­ev­er mis­guid­ed the no­tion.  He didn’t de­serve this non-​ex­is­tence, and Drake would do all that he could to ease the boy’s un­just penance.

He strolled to their side where they sat play­ing a game of cards, Col­lie’s face bright with joy.

Mary Beth, a word with ye, if ye please, Drake said.

Her del­icate brows fur­rowed briefly then dis­ap­peared as she looked to the lad.  You shuf­fle while the old folks have a chat.  I want a re­match, she said, and mussed the boy’s hair as she rose.

She fol­lowed Drake to the far side of the hall and shared his view of the loch.

I’ve watched the lad with ye for many nights and can­na al­low it ta con­tin­ue.

Her head snapped to the side, her glare a por­tent of her fire about to be re­leased.

He held up his hand to fore­stall it.  Hear me out.  I doona find fault in yer vis­its or how ye treat the lad, but ye will leave soon and he will once again be left with on­ly me.  He looked to the loch and knew his de­ci­sion was what would be best for all of them.  We must leave the cas­tle.

She pressed against his side and clutched his arm.  Drake, no.  You can’t, she whis­pered on a hoarse breath.

He grit his teeth against the se­duc­tive feel of her body against his.  ’Tis best for all, lass.

But you said—

Aye, he said, stop­ping her from say­ing what they both knew.  He’d told her weeks ago while Col­lie played with one of the toys she’d brought, hap­pi­ly dis­tract­ed, what would hap­pen if they left the cas­tle.

Press­ing his hand over hers where she still held fast to his arm, he looked in­to her up­turned face, so sweet and filled with such ten­der­ness it near­ly brought him to his knees.  ’Tis what’s right, lass.  He should na’ suf­fer, as I have al­lowed him ta these many years.  ’Tis my sins that keep him here.

A tear slid from the cor­ner of her eye.  But you’ll— She snif­fled and closed her eyes.

He brushed the tear from her cheek, rev­el­ing in its soft­ness while curs­ing the rea­son for her tears.  He didn’t de­serve such friend­ship, such kind­ness.

She looked up at him and forced a smile to her trem­bling lips.  Tak­ing his hand in hers, she linked her fin­gers with his.  Then we’ll step over the thresh­old to­geth­er.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her hand, lin­ger­ing against her skin.  Ye are ta good, lass.  Ta good at heart, and I thank the Heav­ens for bring­ing ye ta us.

We be leav­in’ then?  Col­lie asked, his voice heavy with sad­ness.

Drake looked in­to her eyes one last time be­fore turn­ing to the lad.  Aye.  ’Tis time.

Col­lie’s low­er lip trem­bled, but he kept his tears from falling.  His gaze shift­ed to Mary Beth, and she re­leased Drake to open her arms to the boy.  Col­lie ran in­to them and stayed there for sev­er­al long mo­ments.

I’ll miss you so much, she said, tears trick­ling down her cheeks.

Slow­ly, Col­lie pulled from her grasp and looked to Drake.  I be ready.

He clasped the lad on the shoul­der and gave a nod.  Ye be a brave lad, and I’ve been blessed ta have ye as my com­pan­ion these long years.

The boy’s chest puffed out even as a tear man­aged to slip from the cor­ner of his eye.

To­geth­er, the three of them moved to the thresh­old.

Wait, Mary Beth said.  One last thing.  She moved to stand be­tween them and looked up at Drake with a most win­some smile on her face.  I have to know, or I’ll go crazy with cu­rios­ity and I won’t get an­oth­er chance.

He cocked his head at her.  Know what?

This.  She popped up on her toes, cupped his face be­tween her hands, and pressed her lips firm­ly against his.

Drake hes­itat­ed for a mo­ment, so shocked he dare not move, then quick­ly wrapped his arms around her and ex­plored her mouth with the ut­most de­tail.  With Col­lie watch­ing, how­ev­er, he dare not let his hands do the same, but he could feel her—all of her—pressed against him.  She moaned, low and sweet, bare­ly a whis­per of a breath, but he heard her and vowed to take that sound, the taste and feel of her in­to eter­ni­ty with him, for there had nev­er been a more cur­va­ceous, delectable wom­an in his arms be­fore.

Slow­ly, painful­ly, the kiss came to an end, and she stepped back, a pleas­ing blush up­on her beau­ti­ful face.

She looked away and cleared her throat as she ad­just­ed her cloth­ing, al­though noth­ing was out of sorts.

Well, now I know, she said.

Aye, and so do I.  He loved her, sole­ly and com­plete­ly, but would nev­er again look up­on her face, nor would they share in the many plea­sures be­tween a man and a wom­an.

She glanced at him, a heart­break­ing smile up­on her face, then held out her hand.  He took it, and sa­vored her warmth, then watched as Col­lie clasped her oth­er.  To­geth­er they took a deep breath, then stepped from the great hall in­to the cool night air float­ing in from the loch.

A swirling vor­tex of col­ors and shapes, not all good, if Mary Beth was any judge, sur­round­ed them, but she re­fused to let go of Col­lie or Drake’s hand.  A flash of fear that she would go with them to Heav­en or Hell, raced through her thoughts, but she on­ly held tighter to them.  If that was how it would end, then so be it.  She wouldn’t aban­don her friends, not now, it was why she was here, why she’d al­ways known that Scot­land was where she was sup­posed to be.

Let go, lass!

She bare­ly heard Drake’s shout above the din.

No! she shout­ed, al­though she knew she couldn’t hold on much longer, her vi­sion was blur­ring and the dizzi­ness was grow­ing worse, but she had to try.  For them and for her.

You have ta, Mary Beth!  ’Tis the on­ly way, ’tis what has ta be!

No, I won’t let you go, she said, her voice a stran­gled plea, re­al­iz­ing there was more to her need to hold on to him, to both of them, than just friend­ship.

But her mind whirled and spun and her strength was fail­ing.  She silent­ly said a prayer for her friends, a prayer from her heart, as dark­ness swept around her and she lost con­scious­ness.

****

Drake opened his eyes to mere slits, the light was so bright.  Where was he? Sure­ly he couldn’t be in Heav­en.  ’Twould be the last place he would go.  He took a men­tal in­ven­to­ry, not­ing that all seemed to still be in­tact al­though he had a mighty pain in his head.  He moved to feel for a lump, but dis­cov­ered his hand wasn’t emp­ty.  Mary Beth’s fin­gers were still linked with his.

Ig­nor­ing the pain and the light, he turned his head to the side and looked at her sweet face ly­ing next to his up­on dew-​kissed grass.

Drake?

He looked over her still form to Col­lie, who was gin­ger­ly sit­ting up and rub­bing his head.

What hap­pened?  the lad asked.

Drake eased up on­to his el­bow, nev­er let­ting go of Mary Beth’s hand while he took in their sur­round­ings.

The sun was up.  ’Twas a late sum­mer morn, and as he looked to the side, he spied the small cot­tage just be­low.  Noth­ing had changed, on­ly they were ly­ing on the hill over­look­ing the loch out­side of the cas­tle walls and dur­ing the day.

We’re...are we alive?  Col­lie asked.

Could be we are as be­fore, he said, un­able to ac­cept the idea that they could very well be alive.  And yet, he looked at his hand still en­cas­ing Mary Beth’s.  Or...  His voice failed him a mo­ment.  We are alive.

With a shout of glee, Col­lie jumped to his feet and bound­ed around him where he and Mary Beth lay, his hands thrown to the air.

Drake chuck­led at the lad’s dis­play, then rolled to his side.  He brushed the hair from Mary Beth’s cheek, but she made not a move.

Is she—

Nay, lad, she’s alive, but I fear the event has no’ been easy for her.

As he traced the con­tours of her cheek, he said, Wake, lass.  ’Tis time ta open yer eyes.  Still, there was no move­ment oth­er than the faint sign of her breath­ing.

Col­lie fell to his knees be­side him, his face con­tort­ed with wor­ry.  Will she be all right, do ye think?

We’ll see ta her care, and she will be fine.

Drake gen­tly lift­ed her in­to his arms then start­ed down the hill to­ward the cot­tage.

She had been the bridge be­tween their worlds.  It was why she saw his hall as it once was and was able to take him and Col­lie by the hand and guide them over the thresh­old in­to the new world, in­to a new life.  He would not fail her.  She would wake and she would be well, even if he had to barter with the demons of Hell them­selves, he would not let her die be­cause of him.

****

What do ye sup­pose this is?

The ques­tion came from far away, but Mary Beth rec­og­nized Col­lie’s voice.

I doona know, lad, but best ye be leav­in’ her things be.  We’ve no’ ex­pe­ri­ence with much in this time, so we’d best be care­ful.

Things? In this time? Where was she, where were they? And what was that won­der­ful warm feel­ing along her side? It was like a heat­ed blan­ket on­ly bet­ter.

May­hap it goes on her head?  Col­lie asked, his voice a bit clear­er and clos­er.

The blan­ket chuck­led and sent a shaft of pure heat over her aching body.

Drake.

I doona think so, lad.  My guess would be for un­der her clothes, ’tis shaped in a spe­cial way.

Un­der? Ya mean—oh, Col­lie drawled, and her blan­ket chuck­led hard­er.

So many things, so many pieces of the shat­tered puz­zled that was her brain fell in­to place with a click.  She was in her bed, in the cot­tage, and Col­lie and Drake were with her—not in Heav­en or Hell, but freed from the cas­tle.

Forc­ing her eyes to open, she looked up at the strong chis­eled jaw of the man who lay be­side her, cradling her in his arms as if she were pre­cious.  Men had been a part of her life be­fore, but no one seemed to touch her—in­side—quite the way Drake did.  And that was be­fore their good­bye kiss.

He was chuck­ling at Col­lie’s ques­tions, un­aware that she watched him.  She’d nev­er seen him like this, with the weight he’d car­ried for cen­turies lift­ed from his shoul­ders, al­most care­free, and yet there was still an air of re­gret about him.  Oh, how she’d love to be the wom­an to take away his pain, ease his mind, and hold his heart, but he was a ghost and...warm.

My God, you’re— she rasped.

His gaze jerked to hers.  Aye, lass.  Alive and well and ’tis all thanks ta ye.

She reached up and felt the stub­ble along his jaw and the warmth of his skin.  His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, and she heard his heart beat­ing where her head lay against his chest.

Col­lie let out a whoop.  She be all right!

She grinned be­neath her hap­py tears and held out her hand to Col­lie where he’d land­ed on the bed.  He was warm as well.

I’m fine, we’re all fine, she said, choked with tears.

Col­lie, lad, go fetch Mary Beth a cup of wa­ter, Drake said.

He dart­ed out of the room like a shot.

Tell me true, lass.  How do ye? Ye’ve been asleep for hours.

She snug­gled in tighter against him, sa­vor­ing the min­utes she had in his arms, be­cause she doubt­ed there would be many more once he got a look at the rest of the world.  Es­pe­cial­ly the wom­en of the day.  He was go­ing to draw them like flies to hon­ey, and sad­ly, she didn’t have the stami­na for the types that would ze­ro in on him kamikaze-​style.

But she had him now, for the mo­ment, and they were friends, so what was the harm in a lit­tle in­no­cent snug­gling?

Mary Beth?

Mmm, I’m fine.

He chuck­led soft­ly.  Ye sound like a con­tend­ed cat.

She cast him a teas­ing grin.  Well, you’re a very com­fort­able pil­low.

A pil­low, am I? ’Tis the thanks I get for car­ry­ing ye down the hill.

Sor­ry, she said, and start­ed to pull away.  I didn’t mean to—

He snatched her back in­to his arms and held her tight as he tilt­ed her chin up.  I’m teas­ing ye, lass.  I doona mind bein’ yer pil­low.  But have a care.  I’ve no’ had a maid in my arms for many a year, and can on­ly take so much.

His eyes were like a preda­tor’s, ready and wait­ing to snap up its meal, and oh how she want­ed to be that meal.

Yer wa­ter, Mary Beth, Col­lie said, ap­pear­ing be­side the bed.

She took the cup and downed it all, any­thing to cool the heat siz­zling through her blood.

Mary Beth, do ye think—can ye— Col­lie stam­mered and shuf­fled his feet.

She sat up the rest of the way, break­ing the con­nec­tion she had with Drake, know­ing it need­ed to be done, but hat­ing it just the same.

What is it, sweet­ie?

Drake chuck­led and rose from the bed.  The lad has some ques­tions for ye about yer clothes.

No, it isn’t that, Col­lie said.  I was won­der­ing if, maybe, ye knew how ta cook.  He rubbed his stom­ach with a gri­mace.  I think I’m hun­gry, but ’tis been so long, I’m no’ re­al­ly sure.

With a laugh, she climbed from the bed on­ly slight­ly dizzy.

Drake was by her side in a mo­ment, steady­ing her.  No’ so fast.

She pat­ted his hand where he held her arm.  I’ll be fine.  I think maybe we all could use some­thing to eat.

His eyes shone, but no longer with the same sort of heat.  This one was pure joy with the ex­pec­ta­tion of eat­ing again, it was be­yond ob­vi­ous.

They made their way to the lit­tle kitchen and she mo­tioned for them to take a seat at the ta­ble.  Their ex­pec­tant faces had her grin­ning.

I’ll start you off with some­thing sim­ple first.

She made a few large meat-​and-​cheese sand­wich­es, then poured them both some so­da.  They man­aged the sand­wich­es in sec­onds, but the drinks were a dif­fer­ent sto­ry.  They sniffed at their glass­es then hes­itant­ly took a taste.  It wasn’t long be­fore Col­lie start­ed guz­zling it.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you, she warned.  It has a ten­den­cy to make you—

The boy let out the loud­est most hor­ren­dous burp.

Burp, she said with a gig­gle.  But that isn’t done in po­lite com­pa­ny.  Twen­ty-​first cen­tu­ry rule.

As they slowed down on the so­da, she turned to mak­ing a large batch of spaghet­ti, it was fair­ly quick, some­thing she didn’t think ei­ther would have ev­er had, and she knew Col­lie would have fun slurp­ing noo­dles.

They talked as she cooked, and she an­swered the mil­lion and one ques­tions they had about the kitchen and the ap­pli­ances, and just about ev­ery­thing.  Once the meal was ready, they brave­ly dug in, and she was glad to see she’d cho­sen well.  They thor­ough­ly en­joyed the meal, al­though Col­lie seemed to be wear­ing a good bit of it on his face, but it was a hap­py, well-​sat­is­fied face.

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Chapter Three

 

They spent the day talk­ing, ex­plor­ing the cot­tage, look­ing at books, tele­vi­sion, her car—that one was the hard­est.  Drake had seen them and was dy­ing to get be­hind the wheel.  But she man­aged to hold him off on that one, at least for now.

What say we go for a swim, lad?  he asked Col­lie.

But that wa­ter is freez­ing, I know, I tried it my­self, she said with a shiv­er.

Drake cast her a leer­ing grin.  Aye, that ye did, lass.  That ye did.

She let out a pa­thet­ic squeak.  You watched me!

Ye were bathing out­side for all ta see.

But that was be­fore I knew you were there, she said, play­ful­ly push­ing against his broad chest.

Ye weren’t ex­act­ly naked, Mary Beth.  Weel, no’ en­tire­ly.

She felt the heat of her blush race up her throat.  I was wear­ing a per­fect­ly re­spectable bathing suit, I’ll have you know.

He tweaked the tip of her nose.  Re­spectable is­na’ the word I’d use, lass.

With a grin she couldn’t hide, she strolled away and went to the cot­tage to start a stew for din­ner.  En­joy your swim, she called back over her shoul­der.

In a mat­ter of min­utes she heard them splash­ing in the wa­ter, laugh­ing and hav­ing a grand time.  She peered out the win­dow from the kitchen and smiled, then near­ly dropped the bowl in her hands.

They were naked!

She clamped her lids closed and spun away from the win­dow.

Well, of course they are, you id­iot.  What did you ex­pect them to do? Break out a pair of swim trunks?  she grum­bled at her­self.

She stole an­oth­er glance at Drake’s body and near­ly swal­lowed her tongue.  The man was be­yond gor­geous, all that clay­more wield­ing and stuff kept him fit—fit enough to...

Shak­ing off her at­trac­tion, sort of, she fin­ished her work in the kitchen then snatched up some tow­els and took them out­side to the boys.

Nat­ural­ly, Drake strode right out of the wa­ter, not a care in the world, and she had to keep her eyes pinned on his face.  The last thing she need­ed to do was ogle the man’s sur­pris­ing stami­na in such frigid wa­ter.

Oh boy.

She hand­ed over the tow­els, and with some ef­fort, man­aged to avoid all that yum­my skin.

Din­ner will be ready in an hour or so, she said.

As they squig­gled back in­to their clothes, she mut­tered a curse.

What ails ye?  Drake asked.

Mr.  Mc­Fad­den had ap­peared from be­hind the cot­tage.  He of­ten walked over from his house on the oth­er side of the hill, near­ly a two mile trek, to check on her.  But the strange look on his face the minute he spied Col­lie and Drake, didn’t sit well with her.

How do I ex­plain you two? And your clothes, I’d for­got­ten about your clothes, she said low­ly, as the old man moved clos­er.

What’s wrong with our clothes? I’ve seen a kilt or two in this day.

Yes, but not quite as au­then­tic.  And they’re dirty, I should’ve washed them while you swam, but then you wouldn’t have had any­thing dry and up-​to-​date to wear any­way.

He slid his arm around her waist and squeezed.  No’ ta wor­ry, lass.  I’ve seen the man aboot for many a year.  He’s a good sort, so quit yer fret­tin’.  We be friends that have come ta vis­it ye, ’tis all. 

Some­how I don’t think he’s go­ing to buy that line, she mut­tered.

The old man stepped up be­fore them and cast a quick glance over at Col­lie be­fore look­ing dead-​on at Drake.  Who be yer friends, Mary Beth?

Um, well—this is—um—

Drake took his arm from around her waist and held his hand out to Mr.  Mc­Fad­den.  Drake Mc­Cormick.  ’Tis hap­py I am ta meet ye, Mc­Fad­den.

He looked at Drake’s hand a mo­ment, an un­usu­al gleam in his eye, then took hold of his fore­arm and gave a firm shake.  Glad I am ta meet ye, fi­nal­ly, he added, but so soft­ly Mary Beth wasn’t sure she heard him right.

But it had been a bit of a day, and she was feel­ing a lit­tle war weary from ev­ery­thing that had hap­pened.  First she sees ghosts, then she gets to know said ghosts, then those same ghosts come to life.  Okay, so not all her ad­ven­ture had hap­pened in one day, but still she was feel­ing a bit beat-​up by it all.

This is Col­lie, Drake said, mo­tion­ing to him to come meet Mr.  Mc­Fad­den.

The man’s eyes be­came a lit­tle glassy as he grinned down at the boy, Mary Beth no­ticed it in­stant­ly.  And the way he greet­ed Drake, she re­al­ized, was the old way, by clasp­ing his arm, not his hand, as Drake had at­tempt­ed to do.

Her gaze nar­rowed on the man.  What did you mean by fi­nal­ly?  she asked.

The old man’s bushy brows rose as he feigned and in­no­cent smile.  Did I say that? Sure­ly no’.

Drake let out a chor­tle.  Ye know who we are, ye old Scot.  Ye bloody well know!

Mr.  Mc­Fad­den threw back his head and joined in Drake’s laugh­ter, while Mary Beth crossed her arms and watched, her tem­per sim­mer­ing.

You set me up, didn’t you?  she ac­cused.

In a way, aye, he said, and wiped a hap­py tear from his eye.  I’ve tried for years ta find the right one ta set them free.  I had a feel­ing aboot ye, Mary Beth.  ’Twas some­thin’ in yer let­ter, I can’t say, but ’tis glad I am that what­ev­er it was it had me of a mind ta bring ye ta the cot­tage.

Drake pulled her in tight against his side.  And I am sore­ly grate­ful that ye did.  He pecked a kiss against her tem­ple.

You could’ve said some­thing, you know, she groused.  She wasn’t re­al­ly an­gry, but she felt sort of used.  And yet the way Drake had pulled her in­to his side and kissed her, as if he’d done it ev­ery day of his life, had a dis­tinct calm­ing ef­fect on her tem­per.

And would ye have been comin’ all this way if I told ye yon cas­tle was haunt­ed?  He shook his head.  No, lass, ye’d have made oth­er plans and no’ come ta my cot­tage at all.

But ye weren’t scared, were ye, Mary Beth?  Col­lie asked, then looked to Mr.  Mc­Fad­den.  She told us ta leave, she did.  Said we was—was—

Tres­pass­ing, Drake of­fered.

Aye, and she even came lookin’ for us at night!  No one’s e’er done that be­fore like she did.  They be all afraid of the cas­tle at night.

A brave lass, Mc­Fad­den said with a nod.  I knew it was on­ly a mat­ter of time be­fore the right one came ta the cot­tage.

She set­tled her hand on Col­lie’s shoul­der as he stepped up be­side her.  But how did you know about them? And why didn’t they know that you knew?

My gran­da’ told me of what he’d seen one night as he searched for a lost sheep.  Spir­its walked the cas­tle at night, he said, but he was afraid, ya see.  He had the gift, but nev­er used it.  I tried, many times ta see these two, but nev­er could.  I could feel them though, al­ways there, al­ways watch­ing—and wait­ing.

But how did you know who they were?

I did a great deal of re­search on the cas­tle, on the Mc­Cormick clan.  I learned most through tales hand­ed down through the fam­ilies in the area.  I was­na cer­tain how many spir­its were trapped, but the tale told of the laird and a boy who’d per­ished in the fire.

’Twas on­ly us, Drake said.

Mr.  Mc­Fad­den nod­ded.  Glad I am ta hear it.  Al­though a bit lone­ly over the years, I’d wa­ger.

Aye, but ’tis done now, Drake said, but there was a hes­itance in his voice.

She glanced at his face and saw wor­ry lac­ing his smile.

Col­lie shiv­ered be­neath her hand, and as she looked at him she found the same wor­ry shad­ow­ing his eyes.

I think ye best be get­tin’ in­side now, boyo, Mr.  Mc­Fad­den said.  We can­na have ye takin’ a chill now, can we?

Off with ye, lad, Drake said, with a wave, and the three of them fol­lowed him in­side.

But Mary Beth didn’t think the shiv­er was from the cold.

They set­tled in around the ta­ble with hot tea.

So what will ye be doin’ now?  Mr.  Mc­Fad­den asked.  The world is­na’ the same place it once was.

Drake pon­dered his tea, wish­ing for some­thing stronger, but made no men­tion of it.  At the old man’s ar­rival, and af­ter the sto­ry he’d told, stacks of guilt piled high­er around him.  ’Twas his fault Mary Beth was here, far away from her home­land, bur­dened with two souls who were as lost as new­born babes.  He was once laird of his clan, but the old ways were no more.

Mary Beth put her hand on his arm.  You’ll stay here un­til you fig­ure things out.

The cor­ner of his mouth tilt­ed up with her kind ges­ture, and yet added more guilt to the lot.  I doona know what we’ll do, but I’ll no’ be a bur­den ta ye, lass.

You’re not a bur­den, where’d you ev­er get a sil­ly idea like that? You’re my friends, and friends help one an­oth­er.

She squeezed his arm and he set­tled his hand over hers.

Mc­Fad­den chose well when he chose ye, lass, he said, and lift­ed her hand to his lips.

You’ll be need­in’ clothes, and more food.  I could maybe find a cot for ye, Mr.  Mc­Fad­den sug­gest­ed, and Mary Beth’s sweet smile fell.

She looked to the old man.  Oh, right, clothes.

She chewed her bot­tom lip, and he want­ed noth­ing more than to taste the very spot she nib­bled.  Then he un­der­stood the prob­lem.  She’d told him of how she’d saved for very long time to come to the High­lands, her pock­ets were not flush.

He brushed the backs of his fin­gers across her cheek.  I’ve plen­ty of gold ta pay for things, sweet­ing.

Her brow fur­rowed.  But how? I don’t un­der­stand, you’ve been—well, dead.

He chuck­led with a nod.  Aye, and ’tis the gold that brought me ta that end, but ’tis hid­den well, and no one has e’er found it.  They stopped lookin’ many years ago.

Aye, Mr.  Mc­Fad­den said.  ’Tis far too dan­ger­ous ta mill about the cas­tle.  ’Tis one of the rea­sons I kept it closed off.

Ye knew I’d need it one day, aye?

That I did.  He rose from his chair and made his way to the door.  I’ll be leav­in’ ye ta tend ta things, but if ye have a need ye know where I am.

Drake fol­lowed him to the door.  Thank you, Mc­Fad­den.  I can­na say it enough.

The old man gripped his shoul­der and squeezed.  Glad I am ta help ya find yer way.  And mind ye have a care with that, he said with a wink aimed in the di­rec­tion of Mary Beth.

He clenched his jaw and gave the old man a nod.

Sat­is­fied with his silent agree­ment, Mc­Fad­den slipped out the door.

Drake turned and took in the view around him, a hap­py lad play­ing with a bag of mar­bles at his feet, a wom­an put­ter­ing about the kitchen, the mouth­wa­ter­ing smell of stew sim­mer­ing on the stove.  His chest ached.

I’ll be back in a bit, he said, and tore out of the cot­tage be­fore the homey scene brought tears to his eyes.  All the things he’d craved these cen­turies were with­in his grasp, if on­ly he could have them, if on­ly he was wor­thy of them.

Now where do you sup­pose he’s gone?  Mary Beth mut­tered.

Col­lie popped up his head, and looked to the cas­tle through the win­dow.  Like­ly ta get the gold.

He rose to leave, and she stopped him.  You’re not go­ing any­where.  He can get it him­self.  I heard what Mr.  Mc­Fad­den said, and you’ve got no busi­ness traips­ing around those crum­bling walls.

But—

No, sir.  Huh-​uh, no way.  You’re alive now, you aren’t in­vin­ci­ble or in­vis­ible any­more.

With a grum­ble, he dropped back to the floor to play with his mar­bles, but she had the feel­ing he sort of liked that she’d put her moth­er­ly foot down.  Al­though boys at his age thought they could do any­thing and that noth­ing could ev­er hurt them, he’d learned how wrong that was cen­turies ago, and he knew she was right.  It wasn’t safe up there.  Not for him, and not for Drake.

Col­lie caught her look­ing out the win­dow and grinned.  He knows where ’tis safe and where ’tis no’.  Doona wor­ry, Mary Beth.

I’m not wor­ried.  I was just won­der­ing if he would be back in time for din­ner.

The lit­tle stinker gig­gled, and she swat­ted him with her dishrag, then went back to the stew.

But hours lat­er, din­ner long over, Drake hadn’t re­turned and a storm had moved in off the loch.

I should go look for him, Col­lie said.  He could be—

No.  No he’s fine.  You stay here.  I’ll get the flash­light and go up to the cas­tle.

I can­na let ye go alone, Mary Beth.  Drake would na’ like it.

She pulled on her coat and grabbed her flash­light.  He’ll have to get over it, she mut­tered, and moved to the door just as it swung open.

Soaked and splat­tered with mud, Drake stepped in­side with a small iron chest be­neath his arm.  Where do ye think ye be goin’? ’Tis a dev­il of a storm out­side.  He threw the door closed be­hind him and trod to the kitchen where he placed the chest atop the ta­ble.

I was go­ing to find you, she snarled, and jerked off her coat.  You had me wor­ried sick.

She grabbed one of the tow­els they’d used ear­li­er that day from where she hung it by the fire, and fol­lowed him to the kitchen.  The minute she got close enough to get a good look at him, she sucked in a breath at the cuts and scrapes on his arms and be­neath a large tear in his shirt.

Drake, what—

’Tis noth­ing, lass.  The chest was hid­den well, it took a bit of work ta get ta it.

Aye, ye have ta be half moun­tain goat ta reach it, Col­lie said with a laugh.

You could’ve been killed!

Ye car­ry on over­much.

Over­much, she snarled.  You risked your life for what, mon­ey? If I re­call, that is what got you in­to this mess in the first place!

He snatched the tow­el from her hands.  I’ll do what I like, when I like, and ye can mind yer own bloody busi­ness! With that, he stormed in­to the bath­room and slammed the door.

Stupid Scot.  Hasn’t got a lick of sense.  Growl­ing, she spun around and marched in­to the bed­room and slammed the door.

****

Af­ter he’d washed off the mud and soothed his anger, he came out of the bath to find her al­ready abed, so his apol­ogy would have to wait ’til morn­ing.  Al­though he’d not cared to have his past thrown in his face like that, she’d on­ly been wor­ried about him.  It was a new ex­pe­ri­ence hav­ing some­one around who cared.  He glanced at Col­lie snug­gled deep be­neath a blan­ket on a pal­let by the fire, and re­al­ized there had been one oth­er, and he grinned at the lad.

I take it, the lass is a mite peeved at me, he said.

Aye, he said with a large yawn.  She was comin’ ta find ye when ye showed up.

He nod­ded as his stom­ach clenched for the way he’d treat­ed her.  He owed her his very life, and he’d re­paid her by telling her to mind her own bloody busi­ness.

I’ll apol­ogize in the morn.

He stretched out atop the couch and let his mind wan­der and re­mem­ber as Col­lie’s soft snores echoed through the small cot­tage.  The look of Mary Beth’s love­ly face when she smiled, how she’d tried not to look at his man­hood as he rose from the loch, her gen­tle ways, her car­ing na­ture...she was a wom­an who should be trea­sured, and he won­dered how she’d man­aged to stay alone for so long.  Why did she not have a man in her life when she had so much to of­fer? Where the men of the day blind to what tru­ly mat­tered where wom­en were con­cerned or had his years of pur­ga­to­ry taught him such things? Had he been as blind as oth­ers to wom­en the likes of Mary Beth?

The bed­room door opened and as silent­ly as a cat the ob­ject of his thoughts stole across the room to the kitchen.  He watched her qui­et­ly rum­mage through the cup­boards un­til she found what she was seek­ing.

Ah, so the lass has a taste for scotch.

He grinned as she took a long sip of the dram she’d poured, and qui­et­ly stole up be­hind her.

Care ta share?  he whis­pered in her ear.

She near­ly jumped out of her skin, but he quick­ly sti­fled her shriek with a hand over her mouth.

With a soft growl, she sat the glass on the ta­ble and peeled his fin­gers away.

That wasn’t fun­ny, she whis­pered, and turned her head to glare at him.

He was mes­mer­ized.  The moon­light kissed her al­abaster skin and sparkled in her eyes.  His gaze dropped to her dewy lips, and he could re­sist no more.  He spun her around and feast­ed on her sweet lips like a man dy­ing of hunger.  She sighed and he slipped un­bid­den in­to her mouth and tast­ed not on­ly the scotch she’d sipped, but oh-​so-​much more.  He wor­shiped her mouth, sa­vor­ing ev­ery sec­ond, then slow­ly moved to her cheek, then to her ear.

Let me come ta yer bed, lass.

I—I—

I’ll beg ye, if that’s yer wish.

Mary Beth’s head spun, she want­ed him, but she knew he was on­ly in this for the mo­ment.  Not for­ev­er.  He’d said it him­self, he’d not had a maid in his arms for years, cen­turies!  But what if this was her on­ly chance?

She took his head in her hands and looked in­to his coal-​black eyes.  Make love to me, Drake, she rasped.

He grinned and swept her up in­to his arms then car­ried her to the bed­room, and qui­et­ly kicked the door closed be­hind them.

To­geth­er they fell to the soft bed­ding and be­gan a jour­ney of sweet ex­plo­ration.  But slow was not a part of Drake’s vo­cab­ulary at the mo­ment.

I can­na wait ta feel ye, lass, he said, strip­ping them both in sec­onds.  He’d been with­out fe­male com­pan­ion­ship for too long, and this was his wom­an, the one who held his heart, he had to have her.

She laughed as he strug­gled with her bra clasp.  I don’t won’t to wait ei­ther, but I think you’d bet­ter let me han­dle the mod­ern stuff for now.

He moved low­er and kissed her thighs as she di­vest­ed her­self of the pink con­trap­tion.  Slip­ping his fin­gers be­neath the edge of her un­der­clothes and pulling them down, he re­vealed the rest of her and glo­ried in the sight.

He lay be­tween her soft thighs and wrapped his arms around her waist as he laid his head against her bel­ly, want­ing to hold on­to the mo­ment, to the warmth, to this wom­an for as long as pos­si­ble, afraid that he would wake from this dream.  Her fin­gers sift­ed through his hair, and he felt emo­tion so great he could bare­ly breathe.

Drake, she whis­pered, her voice raw with need.

He gath­ered his sens­es and be­gan a slow jour­ney, wor­ship­ing her body as he made his way up to her lips.

My sweet Mary Beth, he said with a kiss, then en­tered her warm depths with one flu­id stroke.

The sup­ple­ness of her wom­an­hood em­braced him, wel­comed him, and near­ly brought tears to his eyes.  She arched her back, driv­ing the peb­bled peaks of her breasts in­to his chest.  Such sweet pain, such joy­ous tor­ment, he suck­led one tip then moved to the oth­er, all while keep­ing pace with the storm out­side, build­ing on their plea­sure with ev­ery thrust as the thun­der rum­bled over head.

She cried out his name on a hoarse whis­per, and with­in mo­ments they crest­ed the edge of their de­sire.

****

Drake awoke ear­ly the next morn, sat­ed and hap­py from hav­ing loved Mary Beth sev­er­al times dur­ing the night.  His hand sought her warmth, think­ing he would lose him­self in her once more be­fore they rose from the bed, but found her place be­side him cold.  Be­fore he could lift his lids, some­thing sweet and tan­ta­liz­ing drift­ed in­to the room, and he smiled with­out open­ing his eyes.  She’d come back.

Hear­ing her move about the room, he opened his eyes and spied her fum­bling for her clothes as she held a wee bit of tow­el­ing around her fair skin now glis­ten­ing with drops of wa­ter from her bath.  The sight drove his hunger over the edge.

He lunged and grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back to the bed.  She fussed at him, but with a smile on her face.

It’s late, we need to get up be­fore Col­lie does.  I don’t want him to think—

He si­lenced her with a kiss.  He didn’t care what the lad thought, all he cared about was how quick­ly he could di­vest her of the tow­el she re­fused to re­lease so he could make love to her again.

Ye taste like the sweet­est nec­tar, he mur­mured as he moved his mouth along her cheek, to her neck, and along her shoul­ders.

Mmm, but I have to get up.  I need to make break­fast.

Ye doona have ta do any­thing but let me taste ye—ev­ery­where.

On a moan, she melt­ed in his arms, and he did in­deed taste ev­ery inch of her lus­cious body.  It was an­oth­er hour at least be­fore they left the bed­room.

Col­lie, hav­ing been up for some time watch­ing tele­vi­sion, cast them a cheeky grin.

The blush that stole across his sweet love’s face as she hur­ried to the kitchen with an over­ly bright greet­ing to the lad, had Drake laugh­ing like he hadn’t laughed in an age.

Mary Beth shot him a glare, one he well de­served, al­though she had pret­ty much ca­pit­ulat­ed.  The man was just too damn sexy and far too tal­ent­ed to re­sist.  She just hoped that Col­lie was wise enough to leave it alone, and not take their poor ex­am­ple as a les­son.  Of course, she imag­ined his life in cen­turies past was filled with all sorts of things she’d rather not think about.

With a shake of her head, she pulled out the eggs and start­ed crack­ing them open while push­ing all the hor­ri­ble ideas of what that lit­tle boy’s life had re­al­ly been like from her mind.  He was loved now, and cared for, safe in this time.  She and Drake would just have to be more dis­creet.

Her hand stilled, eggshells drip­ping over the bowl.  But af­ter to­day there wouldn’t be any more mo­ments like last night or this morn­ing, she re­al­ized.  That morn­ing, they’d agreed to go in­to town and be­gin get­ting Drake’s af­fairs in or­der.  Once the wom­en saw him, the re­al­ly pret­ty ones, she’d be for­got­ten.  He didn’t know that she was just—or­di­nary.

’Tis a far­away look ye have, sweet­ness, Drake whis­pered in her ear as he stole up be­hind her.  Dare I think ’tis me ye be thinkin’ of?

She swal­lowed her re­gret, there was plen­ty of time for that lat­er, and rel­ished the feel of his arms around her as he nuz­zled her neck.

Some­one’s got a swelled head, she teased.

On a chuck­le, he pressed against her and she felt his arousal.

That’s not what I meant, she whis­pered, sti­fling her gig­gle.  Now get out of here so I can fix break­fast.

He nipped her ear with his teeth.  I can­na help what ye do ta me.  But I’ll leave ye ta yer cook­ing, for al­though I’m hun­gry for ye, my stom­ach is just as hun­gry for food.  He kissed her cheek then slipped out the door in­to the chilly morn­ing.

She watched him through the win­dow as the sun touched his skin and the wind whipped his hair around his face.  She knew how he loved the sim­ple plea­sure of feel­ing the el­ements around him, hav­ing been with­out them for so long, she on­ly wished he could love her as well.

 

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

 

 

 

 

 

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Mc­Cormick­sPrayer_w5898

Chapter Four

 

Drake’s head was spin­ning as they walked the city streets.  So much had changed, so many new rules to learn, so many new ways to live.

Stop tug­ging at your col­lar, sweet­ie, Mary Beth said to Col­lie.  We’ll get you a shirt that fits in a lit­tle while, I promise.

Old Mc­Fad­den had stopped by the cot­tage be­fore they left and gave him and Col­lie some prop­er clothes to wear un­til they could get some of their own.  The lad’s shirt and trews, how­ev­er, were a bit small and Drake wasn’t too sure he cared for the new­fan­gled way the bor­rowed kilt was made, but they both agreed that it was bet­ter than their old dirty clothes for the mo­ment.

First, we have to put Drake’s mon­ey where it will be safe, and easy to get, Mary Beth said, cut­ting her eyes at him.

He opened his mouth to ar­gue the point, but de­cid­ed to wait and see what she had in mind.  There was so much he didn’t know about this time, he had to tread care­ful­ly and with an open mind.

Once in­side the bank, as she called it, he was shown how his gold would be pro­tect­ed, and even he had to mar­vel at the thick steel door to the vault.  And the banker-​man seemed a good sort, looked him in the eye when he spoke, and had a firm hand­shake.  Al­though it took some con­vinc­ing, it was the best thing to do with his gold.

Now you can stop wor­ry­ing about it, she said, as they made their way down the street to vis­it a man who dealt in rare coins.

Aye, I’ll no’ wor­ry over­much, but what was that pa­per the peo­ple were hand­ing out?

Pa­per mon­ey.  It rep­re­sents the val­ue of gold so you don’t have to car­ry it around, but in your case it’s a lit­tle more com­pli­cat­ed.

Why so?

Your gold is old, which is why we’re go­ing in here to trade in­stead of at the bank.

He opened the door to the shop and fol­lowed her and Col­lie in­side.  Af­ter the fun­ny lit­tle man looked at one of his coins through a glass, he of­fered him some of that pa­per mon­ey in ex­change.  Mary Beth con­vinced Drake it was a good trade and so he hand­ed over a few of his coins in ex­change.

As they left the shop, he quick­ly re­al­ized how much sim­pler it was to car­ry in his spo­ran.  He al­so be­gan to un­der­stand, as he glanced in the win­dows and shops along the street, the val­ue of his gold in this time, and for the first time in cen­turies, he was grate­ful for his avarice.

What are you grin­ning at?  she asked.

He slipped his hand in hers and squeezed.  ’Tis a day for grins, I’m thinkin’.

I sup­pose it is, she said with a gig­gle.

Al­though the gold had cost him his life, in this time he was a very wealthy man, one who could pro­vide for his wom­an with lit­tle ef­fort.  That had wor­ried him some­what on their ride in­to town.  He want­ed to give her ev­ery­thing she ev­er want­ed, and that took mon­ey.

As they made down the street, he did his best not to gape over­much at the sights and sounds around them, but young Col­lie was alight with joy and won­der.

They en­tered a large store that sold cloth­ing.  He stopped to touch some of the lus­cious fab­rics, but Mary Beth prompt­ly pulled him deep­er in­to the racks of gar­ments.

These will be per­fect for you for now.  You can do suits or what­ev­er lat­er, she said, and pulled a pair of blue trews from a shelf and held them to his waist.  Close enough.  Take these and go through there and try them on, she said, point­ing to a small room in the back.

With a nod he did as she bade, and found he rather liked the feel of the fine­ly wo­ven cloth against his skin.

He stepped out of the room to find an­oth­er pair, as he was of a mind to buy more.

Hookay, Mary Beth said, her voice quiv­er­ing.

He looked to her, afraid some­thing was amiss then caught a fa­mil­iar glint in her eye, and quick­ly closed the space be­tween them.

Doona be lookin’ at me like that, sweet­ing, he whis­pered in her ear.  Or these bloody trews will no’ fit for long.

She choked back a gig­gle.  Maybe you should go up a size.

He turned and grabbed a few more then piled them in her arms.  We’ll take these.  Give me a minute ta fetch my kilt.  I’ve a mind ta be home as soon as can be, he said with a wink.

A wist­ful, al­most sad look passed over her eyes then was gone as fast as it came.

She cleared her throat and put the trews in­to a cart.  We still need to get Col­lie’s clothes.

He lift­ed his head and looked for the lad, a sink­ing feel­ing in the pit of his stom­ach.  Where is he? Has he been missin’ long? Why did ye no’ tell me he’d got­ten him­self lost?

Hey, she said, her hand set­tling on his arm as he con­tin­ued to search over the tops of the racks.  He’s okay.  She cupped his cheek, brin­ing his gaze back to her.  There’s a salesla­dy in chil­dren’s wear help­ing him.

Clasp­ing her wrist, he closed his eyes on an un­steady breath and pressed his lips to her palm.  I’m sor­ry, lass.  I’ve brought the lad so much pain, I dare no’ make an­oth­er mis­take now.

Ev­ery­thing will be fine, you’ll see.  Now, you go get your kilt, and then we’ll go see how he’s do­ing.

With a nod, he went back in­to the chang­ing room and col­lect­ed his things.

As they went to find Col­lie, he lift­ed one of the pack­ages she’d placed in the cart, strug­gling to un­der­stand the words.  What are these?

You, um, need some­thing to go un­der your jeans.

Why?

Well, I guess so they don’t, you know, rub you wrong.

He chuck­led at her bright red face, and tossed the un­der­gar­ments back in­to the bas­ket.

They met an ex­cit­ed Col­lie in the aisle, his arms laden with clothes.  The sink­ing feel­ing had re­ced­ed now that he’d laid eyes on the boy, but it was a feel­ing Drake didn’t care to re­peat.  It wasn’t like him to be so at­tached, but ev­er since Mary Beth had stepped in­to his cas­tle, noth­ing had been the same.  And af­ter all, he and Col­lie had shared the crum­bling keep for cen­turies, it was on­ly nat­ural to feel un­com­fort­able with­out the boy around.

Their next stop was for shoes and socks and shirts, all well with­in his means to pur­chase.  He even found a few things he want­ed Mary Beth to have, but she re­fused him, say­ing she didn’t want any­thing.  He let her have her way—this time—but she would have nice things even if he had to come back to town and buy them for her him­self.

Clad in their new clothes, they found a small pub and set­tled in for a late af­ter­noon lunch.  A young maid ap­peared be­side their ta­ble and smiled at him in that wel­com­ing way he’d known long ago, but he paid her lit­tle no­tice.  The menu was his cur­rent prob­lem, hav­ing no idea what was on the bleed­in’ thing.  The names of some of the foods made lit­tle sense to him.

Why do you no’ choose for us, Mary Beth?

She glanced at the menus, quick­ly re­al­iz­ing the prob­lem.  She knew he could read, but the dish­es were noth­ing like the fare in his day and he didn’t want to make a fool of him­self.

Mary Beth looked at the wait­ress and near­ly bit the tip of her tongue.  She couldn’t take her eyes—her beady lit­tle eyes off of Drake.

We’ll have the spe­cial.  All of us, she said.

The spe­cial, aye, the wom­an replied, still not look­ing at her, but at Drake.  And ta drink?

Drake smiled up at the wom­an, and Mary Beth’s heart dove to the floor.  I’ll have ale, lass.  A very large tankard of ale.

I know just the thing ta quench your thirst, she said with a not-​so-​sub­tle wink.

She knew it would be this way, the cloth­ing store hadn’t been much bet­ter, ev­ery salesla­dy in the place stopped to stare at him, not to men­tion the wom­en on the street.  But she hoped there would be a slight re­prieve from the drool­ing throng that want­ed to get their claws in him in the lit­tle pub.

I’ll have tea and Col­lie will have a so­da, she said, slap­ping the menus to the ta­ble.

Is there any­thing else?  the wait­ress asked, stand­ing as close to Drake as she could pos­si­bly get with­out it be­ing il­le­gal.

No, thank you, Mary Beth hissed.

The wom­an fi­nal­ly went away, but with the slow­est, most dis­gust­ing sway of her hips she’d ev­er seen.

Mary Beth, will ye— Col­lie dropped his voice to a whis­per and leaned close.  Will ye teach me ta read?

Her throat clamped closed and she slid her arm around him where he sat be­side her in the booth.  Of course I will, sweet­ie.

Drake cast her a warm grin.  I’m of a mind that I might be need­in’ a bit of a les­son as well.

Was that a sex­ual in­nu­en­do? She wasn’t ex­act­ly sure, so she de­cid­ed it would be safer at the mo­ment to play dumb or she might just say some­thing she’d re­gret.

You both prob­ably need some point­ers on the lan­guage of the day.  We’ll get some books af­ter we eat, she said.

Their food ar­rived and it was pret­ty good, but the wait­ress was start­ing to re­al­ly make a pest of her­self.  Ev­ery time she looked up, there she was.  And Drake, she couldn’t ig­nore how he took in ev­ery soul in the pub as they ate.  Was he look­ing for a type of wom­an in par­tic­ular? She shook off the ques­tion, since it didn’t do any­thing but tick her off more.

The guys hav­ing cleaned their plates, she said, I think we’re done here.  We should get go­ing.

Are ye no’ well?  Drake asked, tak­ing her arm as they left the pub.

I’m fine, just fine and dandy.

He knew her smile to be false, and had sensed her un­ease for some time now, but if she wouldn’t tell him what ailed her, then he couldn’t help her.

Hours lat­er, af­ter more shop­ping, and more of her un­usu­al be­hav­ior, they fi­nal­ly made their way home af­ter hav­ing a very nice meal in yet an­oth­er of the eater­ies in town.  He did love food that was pre­pared well and with a good stout drink be­side, but Mary Beth’s si­lence on their drive back to the cot­tage be­gan to nag at him.

The mo­ment they ar­rived at the cot­tage, she dropped the many bags they’d car­ried in­side by the couch, then marched in­to the bed­room and closed the door, not al­low­ing him a sin­gle mo­ment alone with her to find out what was wrong.

Did I do some­thin’ wrong?  Col­lie asked.

Nay, ’tis no’ you, lad.  Wom­en are fick­le crea­tures.  There’s ne’er a rea­son ta their fits.  Yer best plan is ta avoid them when they’re like this.

Drake turned out the light, banked the fire and shed his new shoes, then stretched out on the couch.  Ta bed, lad.  She’ll be more her­self come the morn.

With a shrug the boy turned down the cov­ers on the cot Mr.  Mc­Fad­den had ar­rived with that morn­ing, then re­moved his new clothes as if they were made of some­thing pre­cious.  Once set­tled be­neath the woolen blan­ket, he mur­mured good­night.

Drake grinned at the boy, glad he was that he’d been giv­en a sec­ond chance at life, but guilt surged to the sur­face.  He knew he could nev­er make it up to him, but he prayed that in this new life, he would be hap­py.  If they could stay.  He ob­vi­ous­ly wasn’t wel­come in Mary Beth’s bed at the mo­ment, but it was her heart that mat­tered.  With­out her love, they would be lost.

He fell asleep with wor­ry heavy on his chest.

****

For days, Mary Beth’s odd be­hav­ior con­tin­ued.  She avoid­ed Drake at ev­ery turn, and he was be­gin­ning to fear that she did not care for him as he’d hoped.

I need ta speak with ye, he said, catch­ing her by the arm as she start­ed to­ward the bed­room.

She’d fin­ished teach­ing Col­lie his let­ters for the night and was go­ing to bed as had been her way since they’d re­turned from town.

She re­fused to meet his gaze.  I’m tired, can’t it wait?

Ye said that last eve and the one be­fore.  He gripped her by the arms and pulled her close.  Tell me what ails ye?

Noth­ing ails me, I’m fine.  I’m just—

He tilt­ed up her chin with the tip of his fin­ger.  She was close, so very close, their lips al­most touch­ing.  He couldn’t tear his gaze from her mouth, and gave in to temp­ta­tion.  He pulled her in­to his arms and feast­ed on her lips.  But the mo­ment was too short.  She bolt­ed from his em­brace and wrapped her arms around her­self.

No, I can’t do this, she said, her voice tight.

He reached out and brushed his knuck­les down her cheek then dropped his hand with a sigh, his fears hav­ing come to true.  She want­ed noth­ing more to do with him, and he couldn’t blame her, for his sins were many.

I doona de­serve ta look up­on ye, much less touch ye.  He turned his back and stepped to­ward the door.

Drake, she choked out.

’Tis all right, Mary Beth.  I un­der­stand.  With that he left, but his heart stayed be­hind.

****

The next morn­ing, Mary Beth looked in the mir­ror at her puffy eyes, and made a de­ci­sion.

She had to leave.

She’d thought things would be okay, af­ter a day or two she thought she’d start to feel com­fort­able again, that Drake was all hers af­ter all, but then she’d over­heard him and Mr.  Mc­Fad­den talk­ing.  He had plans, lots of plans.  Plans to send Col­lie to school, to build a big house and fill it with chil­dren, so many things, but not once had he men­tioned her name.

It was stupid, she knew that.  A per­son nev­er learned any­thing good from eaves­drop­ping, but it was just as well.  She was his tem­po­rary bed­mate, some­one to pass the time with.  Any wom­an could’ve filled the bill.  And any­way, she was al­most out of mon­ey.  If she left now, she could get back to the states and start over.

Af­ter break­fast, Drake went to walk along the loch as was his way while she worked with Col­lie on his read­ing.  He was such a bright lit­tle boy, he learned so quick­ly.  Even he didn’t re­al­ly need her any longer.

Can I go out­side now, Mary Beth?  he asked, af­ter an hour of study.

She rose from the ta­ble and pulled her suit­case from the clos­et.  Sure, you go ahead, I’ve got some stuff to do.

He stopped at the door, frown­ing.  What is that?

My suit­case.  It’s time for me to leave.

She hauled it in­to the bed­room and opened it up on the bed.

But you can­na go, he said, rush­ing up be­side her.

I have to.  You and Drake will be fine now.  You don’t need me any­more.  She opened a draw­er and lift­ed a stack of shirts and placed them in the suit­case, wish­ing with all her might that Col­lie would leave her to her task.  She want­ed to cry so bad­ly, her throat was on fire, but she couldn’t do it in front of him.

’Tis be­cause of Drake.

Don’t be sil­ly, it’s just—time, she said with a sigh.

No.  ’Tis the curse’s doin’.  He does­na’ be­lieve ’tis o’er, and he’s driv­in’ ye away.

She looked at his solemn face.  What do you mean? Of course it’s over, you’re both alive and well.  Al­though I’ll ad­mit it wasn’t the out­come we ex­pect­ed.

Nay, there is more.  He thinks I doona know, but he has ta find his true love afore the day of the fire or he’ll go—we’ll be sent be­low.

Her gaze jerked to the win­dow where she spied Drake stand­ing on the hill over­look­ing the loch.

All the more rea­son for me to leave.  He can’t find her if I stay, she choked out.  She couldn’t bear to see him in the arms of an­oth­er wom­an, his one true love, it would kill her.

Col­lie rushed to her and threw his arms around her waist.  But I doona want ye ta go, he cried.

She hugged him to her.  She loved the boy as if he were her own.  We’ll see each oth­er again some­day.

Nay, with­out ye we’ll be sent away.

With­out—Col­lie, you can’t think that—it just isn’t pos­si­ble.  I’m not—I’m not his true love.

He lift­ed his tear-​stained face and looked at her.  He does­na show his feel­ins, but he does love ye.  I know he does.

She shook her head as she brushed his bangs from his eyes.  Oh, Col­lie.

All the years I was with him, I could tell he cared about me.  He treat­ed me dif­fer­ent­ly.  He treats ye dif­fer­ent­ly.

Oh, sweet­heart.  She kissed his brow and held him close.  He treats me dif­fer­ent­ly be­cause we’re friends.  Be­cause I helped him.  That’s all.

Nay, he said, and backed away, swip­ing his nose with his sleeve.  Ye be the one, I know it, he cried and ran out the bed­room door.

She sank to the edge of the bed try­ing to get that tear-​stained face out of her mind.

Hel­lo, the house, Mr.  Mc­Fad­den called from the front of the cot­tage.  I thought I’d drop by and see how ye were do­ing, the old man said as she stepped in­to the main room.

Oh we’re fine.  She moved in­to the liv­ing room.

Hmm, now that does­na look like a hap­py face ta me.

I’m fine.  Re­al­ly.  I was, well, I was pack­ing, ac­tu­al­ly.

The old man scratched his crag­gy chin.  Pack­ing? Are you leav­ing us, Mary Beth?

I—I can’t af­ford to stay any longer.  I’m—well, frankly, Mr.  Mc­Faden, I’m broke.  I’ve got just enough to get me back to the states and start over again.

I thought ye want­ed to start here, lass.

I do, but— She went to look out the win­dow at the cas­tle ru­ins.  It would hurt too much to stay now, she said soft­ly.

Col­lie qui­et­ly eased through the room from the kitchen and took off like a shot out of the door.

Now what’s that boy up ta?  the old man asked.

He’s pret­ty up­set that I’m leav­ing.

****

Drake!  Drake!

He heard the lad’s voice call­ing to him, and re­luc­tant­ly stepped out from the deep shade of the cas­tle wall over­look­ing the loch.

Drake, ye have ta stop her, Col­lie said, huff­ing and puff­ing.  She be leav­in’!

He swal­lowed hard at the news, but wasn’t over­ly sur­prised by it.  I can­na stop her.  ’Tis what she wants.  ’Tis what’s best.

But she does­na’ want ta go, he said be­tween deep breaths.

’Tis ye who be wantin’ her ta stay lad.  And me, he thought grim­ly.

The boy shook his head.  Nay, I heard her tell Mr.  Mc­Fad­den she did­na’ wish ta go.

Drake’s brow fur­rowed.  Then what rea­son did she give for leav­in’?

She has no mon­ey.  And she said ’twould hurt ta much ta stay.  Col­lie tilt­ed his plead­ing eyes up to him.  She be the one, Drake.  I know it.

What do ye mean, the one?  he asked, his gaze nar­rowed on the lad.

I know you have ta find yer love.  And I know that—that we’re here be­cause I prayed for it, he said, his head bowed.

Drake grabbed the boy’s shoul­ders and shook him.  Do ye know what you’ve done? You’ve con­demned us both!

He lift­ed his head, tears spilling from his eyes.  I had ta do it.  I couldn’t let ye go ta Hell alone, Da.  I couldn’t!

Drake’s mouth fell lax.  Da, he said rough­ly.  He’d won­dered for a long time, long be­fore the fire if Collin was a by-​blow of his younger years.  He looked so much like him.  Why do ye call me that?

He snif­fled and looked to the ground.  Me moth­er told me afore she died.  She sent me ta the keep, but she made me promise not ta tell any­one.  He lift­ed his wor­ried face.  Not even ye.

He nod­ded, tak­ing it in, ac­knowl­edg­ing what he’d known all along.  Yer moth­er was right ta tell ye ta keep qui­et.  She was a wise wom­an, a good wom­an, he said solemn­ly.

He’d cared for the lad’s moth­er, but left her with­out a thought when his time came to be laird.  But she’d been right to keep Col­in a se­cret.  He had many en­emies who would’ve not thought twice about us­ing the boy against him in some way.

My boy

.

Drake looked to his son stand­ing be­fore him.  There be no need ta keep the promise any longer, he said rough­ly and pat­ted the lad on the shoul­der.

Col­lie near­ly knocked him over as he threw his lit­tle arms around his waist and buried his cries against Drake’s stom­ach.  His own eyes burned as he wrapped his arms around his son.  They stood there for sev­er­al min­utes, hold­ing one an­oth­er, then Col­lie lift­ed his head with a snif­fle.

Da? Are ye gonna stop her? She be the one, I know it.  We’ll be a fam­ily just like I prayed we’d be.

As a tear threat­ened to es­cape his eye, he cupped the boy’s damp cheek and nod­ded.  Aye, son.  We will be if I have ta bar the doors ta keep her here.

He squeezed the lad’s shoul­der and spun away with a glim­mer of hope spark­ing to life in his chest.  She was the one.  She was the wom­an who held his heart, and his son’s.

His step fal­tered.

But if she was the one, then why did she pull away from his kiss? Was it pos­si­ble that his true penance was to love her and not be loved in re­turn?

Nay

.  He cast that thought aside, but it still didn’t an­swer the ques­tion as to why she was leav­ing.  He had mon­ey, she didn’t need to leave be­cause of that, and if she didn’t want his touch, then he would do his best to abide by her wish­es.

He stead­ied his stride and stormed to­ward the cot­tage.  He would get an­swers, by God.  An­oth­er minute would not pass with him won­der­ing.  He’d not chance eter­ni­ty alone if it ’twas no more than a sil­ly fe­male whim of hers to leave.

Fling­ing open the door, he shout­ed, Mary Beth!

She jumped and spun around from the win­dow.  He marched to­ward her and stopped mere inch­es away, aching to take her in­to his arms, but not un­til he knew the truth.

Why are ye leav­in? The truth, wom­an, all of it.

I—I can’t af­ford to stay, she said shak­ily.

Ye’ll have all the mon­ey ye need.  I’ll see ta it.  I’ll buy this bleed­in’ cot­tage fer ye if that’s what ye be wantin’.  He looked to Mc­Fad­den stand­ing to the side, and the old man nod­ded with a sil­ly grin on his face.

I don’t want your mon­ey, she hissed.

He clenched his hands at his sides and stared down at her red­den­ing cheeks.  Lord how he want­ed to touch her, kiss her.  ’Tis mon­ey ye need so ye can stay, then ’tis mon­ey ye shall have.

I—I can’t—you can’t—

He cocked his head at her stam­mer­ing.  ’Tis no’ the mon­ey, is it? The truth, Mary Beth.

She dropped her chin to her chest.  No.

Why are ye leav­in’, lass?

Col­lie told me—he told me that you have to find your true love.  You can’t do that with me around.  I’d just be in the way.

Gen­tly, he slipped a fin­ger be­neath her chin and tilt­ed up her beau­ti­ful face.  I have al­ready found her, love, he said soft­ly.

Her bright blue eyes widened.  N-​no.  That’s not pos­si­ble, she rasped.

Aye, ’tis the truth.  But I’ll no’ ask for ye ta love a man such as me’self, I doona de­serve it.  He re­leased her and stepped back.  But I ask—I beg ye ta stay even if we’re ta be no more than friends.  I can­na face eter­ni­ty with­out ye, love.

She blinked sev­er­al times, and Drake’s heart sank low in his chest as tears filled her eyes.  He dropped his head with a sigh.  Per­haps the an­gels would at least find some pity in their hearts and grant his son a boon, and see him to his moth­er’s side in Heav­en.  Per­haps they—Oomph!

Warm sup­ple fe­male sud­den­ly filled his arms.  A wet cheek met his while slen­der arms wrapped around his neck.  The rapid beat of a heart, not his own, pound­ed against his chest.  He pulled back slight­ly and looked down in­to bright blue eyes glow­ing up at him.

Ye be stay­ing?  he asked, hat­ing the boy­ish hope­ful tone of his voice.

She smiled at him and slipped her fin­gers in­to his hair and pulled him down for a kiss.  He hes­itat­ed, afraid to as­sume any­thing.  It could be noth­ing more than a friend­ly kiss, but as her tongue teased the edge of his lips, he had no doubt that friend­ship wasn’t on the wom­an’s mind.

With a silent thank­ful prayer, he opened to her gen­tle prob­ing and fell in­to sweet obliv­ion be­fore mov­ing his lips to a fa­vored spot be­hind her ear.

Are you sure, Drake?  she whis­pered against his neck.  Are you sure I’m the one you want? I’m not—I’m not pret­ty like that girl in the restau­rant.

He pulled back and looked at her wor­ried face.  Wom­an, ye’ve no idea how beau­ti­ful ye are.  I love ye, Mary Beth.  And as ta wantin’, I’ve ne’er want­ed any­thing or any­one as much as I be wantin’ ye.

Her bot­tom lip trem­bled as she smiled.  I love you, too.

Emo­tion choked him as he pulled her tighter against him, lift­ing her off the floor.  They were saved, his son and he could live out their lives and all thanks to this won­der­ful wom­an.  She laughed as he twirled her around the room, and he couldn’t re­mem­ber a more beau­ti­ful sound.

Col­lie, me lad.  I think I’d best be goin’ for a priest, Mr.  Mc­Fad­den said.

They lift­ed their heads smil­ing.  I think that ’twould be a fine idea, Mc­Fad­den.  I fine idea, in­deed, Drake said.

Col­lie ran across the room and they part­ed just far enough to in­clude him in their em­brace.

We be a fam­ily, Da!

Da?  She laughed.  I should’ve known, you’re both too much alike.

Aye, both ta stub­born ta let ye go, love.  For we are a fam­ily, he said, look­ing at the two of them in won­der.

He had the one thing he thought he did not need, the one thing he dare not whis­per the slight­est prayer for…love.  An now that he had it, he would nev­er take a sin­gle breath for grant­ed for as long as he lived.

 

 

 

 

 

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

About the au­thor…

 

Jo cur­rent­ly re­sides in North Car­oli­na with her pa­tient and sup­port­ive fam­ily while she jug­gles her writ­ing ca­reer and her po­si­tion as a pro­gram­mer an­alyst.  In her ear­ly years, she wrote folk songs, po­et­ry, and an oc­ca­sion­al short sto­ry or two, but nev­er dreamed of writ­ing a book.  She didn't even like to read!  But one fate­ful day, she picked up a ro­mance nov­el and found her­self hooked.  Not on­ly did she dis­cov­er the joy of read­ing, but the joy of writ­ing books.  These days, if she isn't tap­ping away at her com­put­er on a sto­ry of her own, she has her nose buried in the lat­est ro­mance nov­el hot off the press­es, and is en­joy­ing ev­ery minute of it.

 

 

Vis­it Jo’s web­site at www.jo­bar­rett.net

Mc­Cormick's Prayer

 

 

Thank you for pur­chas­ing this Wild Rose Press pub­li­ca­tion.  For oth­er won­der­ful sto­ries of ro­mance, please vis­it our on-​line book­store at www.thewil­drose­press.com.

 

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