CHAPTER ONE
Alistair MacDonell gazed beyond the glow of Soncerae’s fire to the broad landscape of Culloden Moor, cloaked now by the thick shadows of a moonless night. In the nearly three centuries he’d been tethered here, he’d memorized every sound, every wisp of a scent or brush of a breeze. But tonight, try as he might, he couldna identify the source of the uneasy sensation churning in his ghostly gut. He couldna see the cairn, nor the clan stones in the sooty darkness, but he kenned the placement of each, and all the other subtilties of the moor that had become part of his unearthly existence.
“Och! ’Tis more afoot this night than Soni helpin’ another lad leave the Moor,” he observed. “Somethin’s behind this braw chill settlin’ in my bones.” Alistair turned to his longtime friend. “Doyefeel it, Gregor?”
“Ye dinna have bones, Number 2,” his friend scoffed, keeping his eyes on Soni as she built her fire into a leaping, living thing. “AndI’m feelin’ naught but the hope that Soncerae will choose me this night. I’ve an itch tae face the Bonny Prince and give him a taste of what he left us tae face wi’out so much as a‘die-well, lads’on his cowardly lips.”
“Aye, well, I ken some o’ the lads who’ve gone afore ye, may have already dispatched the traitor.”
“Mayhap,” Gregor nodded. “But I’ll see it for myself before I’m satisfied.” He turned to Alistair. “And ye? If Soncerae was tae choose ye this night, would ye seek out Prince Charlie?”
’Twas a weighty question, to be sure. Alistair searched his soul for the answer as he stared into the dark shadows beyond Soni’s fire. He’d railed against the errant Prince along with the other 78 ghosts, for the man’s crime had been grave, indeed.
Prince Charles had betrayed everyone who’d sacrificed for the Jacobite cause; the braw, brave lads who’d stood and fought at Culloden when the Prince himself would no’, who’d suffered and died there, and their families who’d borne the consequences long after. And most of all, Scotland itself.
Did Alistair desire revenge? Surely. Who wouldna? But did he desire to seek itabove all else? Nae. ’Twas an empty pursuit in the end, was it no’? ’Twas certainly no’ something a man could build a life on, nor ask someone to share.
’Twas a family he truly yearned for. He’d no’ had one as child nor man, save these brave lads he’d fought and died with. And while they held a solid place in his heart, they dinna fill the spot he’d reserved for a family of his own. And now, ’twas too late.
So, if he was gifted with but two days of mortality what exactly,wouldbe valuable enough to spend them on, when what he desired most was beyond his reach?
“ ’Tis an intriguing question, is it no’ Alistair?” The voice startled him, even though ’twas as soft as the sweetest tinkling bell.
Soncerae. How had she come upon him, without his notice? Had she read his thoughts? Was she asking him to answer those thoughts, or simply repeating Gregor’s question?
Soni smiled patiently. “When thoughts are wrought from such deep scrutiny of one’s soul, ’tis as if ye shout them aloud for all tae hear. I’m surprised Gregor dinna hear them, as well.”
She glanced at Gregor who gave her a puzzled look. “I dinna hear him say anything, lass. He hasna answered my question a’tall.”
“Nae.” Soni agreed. “He hasna.” She looked expectantly at Alistair. “Nor his own.”
“I dinna wish tae disappoint ye, lass, but I fear I’ve no answer tae give.” Alistair noticed that most of the lads who’d congregated around Soni’s fire, now watched their exchange. Many of them, over time, had sought him out for answers to their questions or concerns. Now he couldna even answer his own.
“I ken ye’ve none at the moment,” Soncerae smiled sweetly as she reached for his hand. “Let us pray ye find one.”
CHAPTER TWO
Drifting between slumber and awareness, Alistair grumbled, shifted and burrowed deeper into his sleeping hollow. When had it become so uncomfortable? Sticks, rocks and the cold, hard ground hadna been an issue for hundreds of years, so why suddenly, did they plague him, along with the damp chill surrounding him like a leaden cloak?
He couldna remember feeling anything this acutely in, well…centuries. Nor this unusual bit of impatience at the pesky irritations disturbing his sleep. He squeezed his eyelids tighter, determined to prevail, but even his thoughts wouldna cooperate.
Why dinna he remember leaving Soni’s fire and retiring to his hollow? No matter, he supposed, determined now that he was here, to make the best of it…if the bloody birds would but cooperate. ’Twas a strange and boisterous commotion they were wielding. No’ one he’d ever heard before. And come to think of it, even the scents assaulting him were unfamiliar. Forest scents. No’ the familiar fragrances of the moor.
Confused, he opened one eye to see the slow, rhythmic creeping of a worm making its way across a fallen bit of bark, mere inches from his face. Bark that dinna belong on the moor. His cheek rested on dark, damp soil, littered by fallen pine needles, sticks, and rocks.
This wasna his sleeping hollow!
He sat up, shocked by the weighty drag of muscle and bone, and the stiffness of his chest as it expanded with each breath.
Breath?
Swaying a little, he staggered noisily to his feet, scattering the raucous birds from the treetops. A forest of pine and other unknown trees spread before him as far as he could see, heavily littered with undergrowth and a spattering of dead, white-barked fallen trees. The air was sharp with the scents of pine and ripe, damp earth, lush green growth and languishing decay. It had rained recently, quite heavily, it appeared, providing fat droplets as prisms for the newly rising sun, leaving the ground spongy beneath the layers of debris.
Another breath expanded his lungs, coming a bit easier now, as he leaned against the ragged edge of a large boulder, savoring the feel of rough stone through both the thick folds of his plaid and the thinner fabric of his longshirt. He concentrated on reacquainting himself with the burden of a mortal body. The sensations, however tantalizing, seemed more intense than he remembered. Mayhap because he so keenly kenned the contrast from his recent ghostly state.
Soncerae had chosen him, after all. But for what? His question from last night came back to him as loudly as if he’d spoken it.If he was gifted with but two days of mortality, what exactly would be valuable enough to spend them on?
He still dinna ken the answer. So what purpose had Soni in mind when she sent him here? Did she work from a preconceived plan or just send each of The 79 haphazardly into the world to see what they made of themselves, by themselves?
