That was what her book was about really. The mystery behind the end of the MacGregor clan. Gone from ruling half the highlands and favored by the king to nothing in a generation. A single war had scattered them all. How was that possible?
Her research had given her some answers but also led to more questions. Maybe she’d be able to find out the truth at MacCallister Castle itself. Could she explore it? Find the dungeon? Find the truth? Maybe lay a few ghosts of her own to rest and finish her book at the same time.
There was more to it than that. She shared a surname with the clan who’d wiped out the MacGregors. She didn’t know if she was descended from them directly but ever since she’d found out about what happened she wanted to know more.
The MacGregors had attempted to destroy the MacCallisters and it was only through dumb luck that they’d failed.
Sometimes she dreamed of meeting the laird of the MacGregors. She could picture him. A brute of a man with a sneer on his face, greasy hair, filthy nails. He’d not have a kind bone in his body. She’d ask him why he’d tried so hard to destroy theMacCallisters, attacking them out of the blue when they’d been nothing but kind to him.
It was academic of course. She would never meet him. She would also never be given the okay to rent the castle. Drayton hadn’t asked her on the phone about her job but when he found out, he’d presumably send her on her way.
Still, even if he did, she might get a chance to look around the place she’d dreamed about for as long as she could remember. Perhaps take a few photos to include in the book.
She refused to get her hopes up, but she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to actually live there. A cursed castle haunted by the ghosts of the past. Would she be welcome there? Only time would tell.
3
Wallace had no idea how long he’d been held in the dungeon. At first, he tried to count the days by the amount of meals that were brought to him but he soon lost count.
All he did know was that he’d lost his childhood in the depths of MacCallister Castle, the oath he’d sworn churning in his mind every single day.
He would get revenge on the MacCallisters, find the end of their line and ensure no heir was left to take over the lairdship. He would avenge and honor the death of his father that way. It was all that was left to him.
The years went by. At times Wallace thought he’d gone mad. Visions came to him of a worldvery different to his own, a world filled with noise and light and people in the oddest clothes. For a while he tried to ignore the images but after a while, he gave up fighting them, letting them enter his mind like dreams.
She was out there. He didn’t know where, but he knew it was a she. The last of the MacCallisters. Waiting. Not knowing that he was coming for her so that she would know the pain her clan had caused him.
He’d been forced to watch his father’s body slowly turn into the skeleton that remained his only company. She should know such pain.
The body lay just where it had fallen all those years ago. He tried many times to reach it, but the chains were cruelly short, holding him in place with a strength far beyond that of iron.
The curse kept him strong throughout his confinement, as if to mock him. As he grew so did his muscles. Despite the darkness his skin never turned pale, nor did his teeth rot. His hair grew but his nails remained short.
Whoever had cursed the chains had a cruel sense of humor, he reasoned. It was the only possible explanation for how healthy he remained, despite the years of darkness and mistreatment.
He grew up in the darkness, the chains expanding as his arms became those of a man, the metal forever chafing, digging into his skin, his constant companion. They had become a part of him, and he eventually found he could no longer remember a life outside the dungeon.
He didn’t know it but the day everything changed for him was his birthday. He turned thirty that day. His clothes were little more than rags, his skin coated in filth, his eyes looking out through long lank hair that hung down over his face. He lived in almost total darkness.
His food was brought in by guards who never looked at him. They came in through a door that had been replaced days after his initial incarceration. He spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. He got the feeling they were trying to forget him.
Many times, he begged them to kill him, to end the eternal torture that his life had become. He might as well have been talking to ghosts. They ignored him, dumping stale bread at his feet with the cup of water that served as his daily sustenance.
The first sign that something was different on his birthday was a noise far above him. He thought he was imagining it at first but the more he listened,the more distinct the sound became. It was the sound of a bell ringing. What could that mean?
His stomach growled with hunger. How long had it been since his last meal? No one had come to him for some time.
Were they finally going to let him starve? It would be a painful death but at least it would be over. Then his soul would be free.
Would God accept him into heaven? He hoped so but also part of him hoped he would be given time to carry out his vow, gain revenge on the MacCallisters before he ascended to paradise.
The bell rang for a long time. It was still ringing when he heard voices outside the cell. That in itself was unusual. He could count on the fingers of one filthy hand how often he had heard talking out there.
The voices grew louder, but he could not discern the words, muffled as they were behind the thick wood of the door. They stopped abruptly, replaced by the sound he knew so well, that of a key scraping in the lock.
The door swung inward, a draft blowing in with it. Wallace’s eyes automatically closed; the light of the candle too bright for him to take. “This isn’t thestores,” the voice said. “We must have taken a wrong turn.”
He looked up. Two men were standing there, both wearing armor. One was stouter than the other, his chainmail straining with the effort of containing his gut. “Should we take him with us?” the thin one said. He was fiddling with his gauntlet as he spoke. Both of them looked nervous. “He said bring everyone.”
