Page 13 of The Return of the Heir

Graeme, who was seated two seats down, stood. “The men and I shall support you in any endeavor you choose.”

Alastair strode through the great hall until he stopped before an arrangement of battle weapons upon the far wall. He reached up and drew a battle axe down, then hoisting it over his shoulder, he exited the chamber and headed for the main staircase. He flung open the castle door and moved quickly towards the doorway to the Fairy Tower with the rest of the castle at his heels, a cacophony of voices coming from the crowd.

“He’ll set the Grey Lady free,” someone called out.

“’Tis his mother. Why should she not be allowed to roam the castle as she would have while she was living?” a female voice countered.

“What if there are other spirits?” someone cried from the throng.

“Or fairies.”

Alastair stopped and turned to face the crowd. Everyone had now fallen silent. The residents of the castle looked at him with both expectation and fear. At the sight, guilt swamped him that he was only now returning as laird. There was an obvious need for leadership. A bigger need for reason, and for someone to wipe away the stain of his father’s ruthlessness. “Our dealings with fairies are in the past. And as for the Lady Janet, she was only ever gentle and kind during her life. Why would she be anything but the same in her afterlife?”

Determined to proceed, he turned back to the door and, raising his battle axe, swung it down once, then twice against the iron chains and the stout lock that barricaded the door. The screech of metal against metal filled the night air, followed by the clang of the iron as it fell to the ground, released from its duty of keeping the castle residents out of the tower. Seven years had passed since his father had placed the chains there in an effort to keep the ghost of his mother inside.

Tonight, she would be freed, along with any other spirits who had taken up residence in the castle. An excited chatter built behind him as the others waited for the doors to open. Gripping the wrought iron handles, Alastair forced the wooden doors to part. A thunderous boom reverberated through the emptiness as the doors hit the stone walls of the tower.

Still clutching the battle axe, Alastair drew a sharp breath and stepped into the darkened tower. Excitement wedded with hesitation made his breath catch. The harsh tenor of his breath echoed loudly all around him. Faint moonlight streamed through the open doorway, illuminating only a couple of feet in front of him. The scent of undisturbed air, heavy with dust, filled his senses.

Behind him, light flared. Alastair turned to see Graeme coming towards him with a torch in either hand. “Here, take this.” Graeme handed him one of them.

Flickering light splashed across the ground floor of the tower, revealing only an empty space. They waited as a silent group, peering into the dimness for the oft-seen flash of grey, to hear the low moan, to spy the edge of a not-quite-seen face marked by a silver tear, but no manifestation came.

“Sorry to disappoint all of you, but there are no ghosts here to greet us,” Alastair said for the benefit of the crowd behind him.

There were groans of disappointment and the sound of shuffling feet as many of those who had followed returned to the main keep until only he, Rowena, Callum, and Graeme remained.

“Mother’s not here?” Rowena’s voice filled with disappointment and a hint of fear.

“Not unless she has taken up residence in one of the upper chambers,” Alastair replied. “Shall we go and see?”

“I’m up for it,” Callum said with an eager smile.

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To prove that Gwendolyn is not here?” Rowena asked.

“Perhaps neither Mother nor Gwendolyn are here any longer. Perhaps Father’s death and my coming home set them free. Come.” He stepped towards the stone staircase that led to the first floor. “I’ll go first. Stay behind me, and Callum and Graeme will follow behind you.”

As they approached the spiral stairs, the torchlight twisted and danced upon the stone walls and created writhing spirits on the floor in front of them. Rowena grasped hold of the edge of her brother’s shirttail and followed.

Alastair used the torch to burn through the cobwebs that had formed over the years. He took the steps upwards as cold dampness seeped into his bones. On the first floor, he let the light splash across the chamber, only to reveal dust-laden furniture that had been long forgotten. The thick scent of undisturbed air came to his nostrils. “Empty as well.” He moved back towards the stairs when a strange sound, like a muted rustling of chains sounded from above.

“Someone or something is here,” Graeme whispered, holding his torch out in front of him.

A strong sense of premonition made Alastair’s skin tingle. The unusual sensation knocked him off-kilter, but he held tight to the torch in his hand. Suddenly, a flash of light as bright as lightning from the sky pulsed through the room. Alastair shielded his eyes from the unearthly brightness as a prickle of ice touched his cheek. Alastair shivered at the unexpected sensation and drew a breath and held it, centering himself and his emotions as he prepared for whatever came next.

The light softened. The chill vanished, replaced by a delicate caress that filled his body with an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility.

“You were right, Alastair. Mother’s here.” Rowena’s voice was no longer fearful. Instead, it held the same calmness he experienced.

A mist gathered in the corner of the chamber and grew denser until the image of a woman appeared. Her dark hair, soulful grey eyes, and ivory skin were as he remembered. It was not fear that filled him in that moment, but a deep yearning for the woman this apparition had once been. “Mother.”

She said nothing, and yet he felt words form in his mind.

I’ve missed you, Alastair, Callum, and Rowena. I’ve missed my children so much.

Rowena sobbed softly as she released the death-grip she’d had on his shirttail. “We’ve missed you too, Mother. We’re so sorry Father not only robbed you of your life, but also that he locked you away from us.”

At the sight of his mother, Alastair’s chest tightened. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he didn’t need to. That some part of his mother still remained in this world brought warmth to his chest. “Are you alone here in the tower?” he asked. “Is Gwendolyn somehow with you?”