Chapter One
Reginald McColl stepped outside the barn Wickham Muir had converted to barracks for the ghosts afterThe Reckoning, and drew a breath of crisp, morning air. He held it, letting it expand his chest to bursting. Still in awe of Soncereae’s gift, Reginald vowed to never take his mortality for granted, or fail to remember her sacrifice.
Hugh MacCullich followed closely behind him, his booming voice ringing in Reginald’s ears. Resigned, Reginald folded his arms over his broad chest and waited for his friend to finish. After centuries with Hugh on the moor, Reginald kenned it wise to let him continue his tirade to the end, lest he begin anew.
“I dinnae ken why ye willnae see what a daft thing ye’re doin’! Can ye no’ ask Wickham tae send ye on some grand adventure like some o’ the other lads have done? ’Tis what I intend tae do.” Hugh’s brows bunched over his piercing gold eyes. That stare had intimidated many a man, but ’twould no’ shake Reginald’s resolve.
“Then ye should do it, Hugh. And luck tae ye. But I’ve already asked Wickham tae take me back tae Culloden. For two-hundred and seventy years I’ve longed tae stand at the moor’s boundary with the ability tae step beyond it. Being carried off here, tae Wickham’s, is no’ the same, grateful as I am tae both Soni and Wickham. Nae, Hugh. I’ve dreamed too long of walkin’ away from those bloody fields. Of walkin’ home, as I promised, all the way tae the glen. ’Tis set in my mind and I’ve a need tae carry it out, just as I imagined. ’Tis no other path for me. No’ yet. No’ until my vow is met.”
He stared into the distance, feeling the pull of home. Even though he kenned well enough, home, as he knew it, only existed in his mind. “I told myself, all those endless days and nights, that with every stride toward home, I could shed a wee bit ’o the anguish o’ the cries of the dyin’, that still ring out across the moor. I’ve visualized every step, every landmark, until the journey plays in my mind like the movies the lads are becomin’ so fond o’ watchin’. And, now that Soni has made that dream possible, I can think of naught else. I intend tae see it through.”
“Och!” Hugh snorted his impatience. “All those years tethered tae the moor have left ye daft, laddie. ’Twill do ye nae good tae drag yerself home tae a place that hasnae existed, at least as ye ken it, for nearly three centuries! Yer waistin’ yer time as well as yer energy, Number 30. We’ve been given a new life. A new beginnin’. Ye should live yer’s lookin’ tae the future, nae the past. Ye’re on a fool’s errand and ye well ken it!”
Reginald shrugged, unable to deny the truth of Hugh’s words. “Aye. I’ll grant ye that. I ken full well naught will be the same in the old place. I’ll certainly, no’ find the croft I knew. I suspect even the scents will be new and different. But the land my parents and ancestors walked is still there, and I’ve yearned too long tae touch what they touched, once again. I want tae breathe the air I breathed as a lad, no’ the wretched odor of death that still fills my nostrils. Even here, where Wickham has generously offered us a home, I still see the mud and blood of battle in my dreams. Still smell it. I want tae begin my new life where I was happiest in the last one. I cannae think of a better place tae start.”
He held up his hand to stop Hugh’s reply. “Dinnae tell me again ’tis nae longer there. I ken it. I do! But, I need tae say a proper farewell tae all I left behind when I joined the Jacobites and came tae Culloden.”
Reginald inhaled deeply and released the breath in a rush, as confirmation of his resolve. “I need tae reconcilewho I wasbefore I can hope tae discover who I will be. Somehow, I have tae find some…resolution, tae the tarnish on my family’s name. Once ’tis done, I promise tae go find that new beginnin’ ye keep talkin’ about. Mayhap even an adventure, like ye’re cravin’. I dinnae intend tae waste this second chance. Ye can be sure o’ that.”
Hugh’s derisive snort filled the air. “How the devil do ye expect tae solve a mystery several centuries old? If a whole company of yer clansmen, couldnae solve it back then, how do ye expect tae accomplish it on yer own, now? Let it go, Number 30. Nary a soul in this world remembers yer uncle’s crime. ’Tis no one alive who cares. And neither should ye.”
“How can I no’?” Reginald demanded. “Ye cannae ken the weight of it, Hugh. Ye’ve no blight on yer family’s honor. Dinnae ask me tae turn a blind eye tae the one on mine.”
He clapped a hand on Hugh’s shoulder, still unaccustomed to encountering warm skin and solid muscle. “ ’Tis time, 63. I dinnae ken how tae say a proper goodbye tae ye.”
“Then dinnae,” Hugh commanded. “God willin’, we’ll meet again someday, share a pint and brag about what we’ve made of our new lives.”
Reginald laughed and nodded. “I hope so. Both the pint and the braggin’ would be welcome, indeed. But most pleasurable of all, would be tae see ye, again.”
Hugh doubled his fist and tapped Reginald on the chest. “Dinnae lose what’s in here, laddie. It served ye well in yer last life, even if ye dinnae ken it, and through the bleak centuries on the moor. I ken ’tis still enough strength and honor left in there tae see ye through this next wee bit of mortality.”
“Luck tae ye, Hugh,” Reginald replied, surprised by the sudden surge of emotion. “Live well. I ken ye’ll make the MacCullich name as revered in this lifetime as ’twas in the last.” Reginald took a last wistful look at this friend, then beyond, to where Wickham waited by his truck. “Say goodbye tae the lads for me? Tell them I wish them well.”
Turning his back on Hugh was a difficulty he hadnae prepared for in his plan to leave Culloden, and the last several centuries behind. Resisting one more glance, Reginald hurried to Wickham’s truck, praying to God he would be a better man in this life than he’d been in the last. And once and for all, wipe the stain from his family’s name.
Few words were spoken on the drive to Culloden. Unnerved by the speed of Wickham’s truck, Reginald stared blindly at the blurred landscape and wondered what kind of world he’d encounter. Time had long since marched beyond ‘The 79’, and all they’d known. ’Twas impossible to comprehend what curiosities he’d face. All he kenned of the current world was what had made itself visible on Culloden.
Aye. The decision to walk home was wise, indeed. He’d use the time to acquaint himself wi’ some of the changes. Somehow, he’d need to build a bridge from his past to the present.
Wickham arched a dark brow as he pulled into the car park near Culloden’s Visitor’s Center. He turned off the truck and faced Reginald. “ ’Tis not too late to change yer mind, McColl. I’ll take ye back tae the ranch if ye’re the least bit unsure about this. Ye’ve time, yet, tae decide on the right path.”
“Thank ye, yer Lairdship, but I ken right enough, ’tis the journey I need tae take.”
Wickham sighed. “Just Wickham, if ye please.” He shook his head and sighed again, this one much weightier than the last. “At least let me drive ye there. I dinnae ken the wisdom in ye walking the whole way.”
A wry smile lifted the corner of Reginald’s mouth. “I fear I cannae put it intae words beyond sayin’ ’tis the promise I made tae myself for too many years tae break now.” He climbed out of the truck, shut the door, and stared into the distance toward home, as he’d done for centuries. Today, however, his dream would become a reality, thanks to a wee, spunky lass with the courage of a lion.
“I brought this in case I couldnae change yer mind.” Wickham held out a small cloth bag. “Just some water and a wee bit of nourishment for yer journey.”
Reginald leaned through the open window, accepted the offering and extended his hand to Wickham. “Thank ye, for yer kindness, and for sharing yer home. And…will ye tell Soncerae…tell her…”
“Aye,” Wickham nodded, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “I’ll tell her.”
Reginald blinked back the moisture gathering behind his eyes, released Wickham’s hand and backed away from the truck, thankful Wickham dinnae hesitate as he drove away.
’Twas strange to be standing on the moor wi’out the 79. Or at least some of them. He felt the old, bleak sensation of his long, ghostly tenure surround him. But when a man, hurrying toward a tour bus, bumped his arm, he flinched, drew a breath of chilly air and determinedly joined the twenty-first century.
Allowing himself one final look around, he swept his gaze from the cairn to the clan stones, past his sleeping hollow, undetected now, by his mortal eyes. So much had passed here. So many memories. So many lives and dreams forfeited.
