Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (15 page)

20

The morning had brought more snow. Huge drifts of it lay on the shapes of hills, blew across glens and valleys, and piled against the walls of the keep.

Occasionally, a brilliant sun broke the cloud and made everything sparkle.              Isobel was glad she’d taken a cup of wine while sitting by the fire in her room. Now she was doubly warm in her fur-lined cloak and with Leith’s plaid wrapped around the two of them. They rode his black warhorse as the party of men with their tools set off toward the glen.

Isobel remained ever alert, looking at every tree, trying to remember some detail from her vision that would help her to find it.

They’d been traveling a good while and were almost on approach to the glen when Isobel spotted the man and horse off to her right. She gave a startled cry and Leith pulled his horse to a stop. “What is it, Isobel?”

She pointed to the man on the horse. “Who is that man?”

She sat in front of Leith on his warhorse, and Leith’s form, pressed intimately against her own, became tense. She turned to look back at him. His amber eyes scanned the hills and the blowing drifts of snow. “What man?”

The horse and rider thundered toward them then and Isobel shrank back against Leith’s broad chest. Horse and rider stopped only an arm’s length from her and she knew why Leith couldn’t see him.

Logan’s spirit smiled at her and glowed, and his looks were so similar to his brother’s that it could almost be Leith staring back at her.

“Does Logan’s horse yet live?” she asked quietly.

“Nay. His horse died a few days before he did, mysteriously, in the stables. He was quite distraught about it, for the horse was perfectly healthy, and that was why he wanted to be alone in the glen to hunt. He took my horse and it came back alone, blood-spattered. Had any of us known what awaited him there….”

“Was his horse black with a white diamond on its forehead and chest?”

“Yea.”

“Isobel, trust me?” Logan said.

“Aye, I will trust ye.”

“To whom do ye speak?” Leith asked.

“Follow me,” Logan said, “Leith will ken the tree where my arrows are buried. Tell him ‘tis the Weeping Tree.” He nudged his horse into a gallop, its hooves kicking up ghostly swirls of snow.

“Go now, to the Weeping Tree,” she said. Isobel pointed, watching the direction Logan had gone in. “There, Leith, where the trees start, see them? Where they’re so thick? Take the path that leads into the glen, then east, and hurry.”

“I ken where it is. How do ye ken the Weeping Tree?”

Isobel felt a lump of fear in her throat. Should she tell him?

“Hold nothing back from me,” Leith commanded, his voice rough.

“I saw Logan on his horse. ‘Tis his spirit guiding me. What is the Weeping Tree?”

“’Tis no’ far from the chapel.” He arm tightened about Isobel’s waist and he urged his horse on so fast and furiously that the icy wind stung Isobel’s cheeks and she had to catch her breath.

Soon they found themselves beside a tree that indeed looked as if it were weeping. It was thick and bent over in places. Leith and his men took wooden shovels and quickly cleared snow away from the base of it. They began the difficult part of breaking the hard ground with mattocks, and soon had dug a significant hole around the base of the tree. They did not look happy about it and several cast surreptitious glances her way, their faces pulled into doubtful frowns.

Isobel tried to be brave. Logan’s spirit had led her here, but he had not reappeared.

Ranulph was waist deep in the hole when he flung a shovelful of snow and dirt behind him, smacking Dugald square in the face.

“Och, man, watch where ye fling that shit, ye toothless bride of a troll!”

Ranulph turned around and saw Dugald holding his shovel and wiping clumps of snow and dirt from his eyelashes and beard, and he laughed. Dugald was not amused. “Get back to work. And a dog’s butt in yer face!”

“Shut up and dig, ye rump-fed bore!” Ranulph joked.

Leith put his shovel aside for a moment and joined Isobel. “Those two ne’er stop insulting each other. Ye’d think they were brothers.” He paused and became serious. “Do ye still see my brother’s spirit?”

“Nay. He guided me here, but I dunna see him now. What is this place and what is the Weeping Tree?”

“’Tis the glen where my mother was killed by drifters.” He pointed to some snow-covered brush. “That is where Maida hid us that day.”

“Maida was the young woman who kept ye safe in the brush that day?”

“Yea. She will always have a special place in our clan and will want for nothing. I have told her many times to delegate her tasks to others but she refuses. She likes to keep herself busy. She was a great friend to my mother and I think she may ha’e loved my father from afar. I think she still dreams of that horrible day. Her hands clamped o’er our mouths that day kept us quiet and saved our lives.”

Isobel remembered the strange look that had crossed Maida’s face when she’d mentioned her dream about a great, gnarled tree, and now she understood why Maida had looked that way. Maida had been there when Leith’s and Logan’s mother had been killed.

Leith looked out over the sloped valley to the frothy, wave-curled sea beyond. “When we were boys, ‘twas Logan who later referred to this tree as the Weeping Tree. It has such a strange shape, and the way it’s bent down and twisted in places, we used to think it was sad about that day and all those senseless deaths. A foolish fancy of two small boys who missed their mother horribly. She was a vera loving person.”

“’Tis no’ foolish Leith. Trees, rocks, water, grass…they all have things to say to us, if we listen.”

She studied his profile, sensitive to all the things he must be feeling now. He returned to digging with the men and soon Ranulph shouted. “I hit something!”

“Yer own foot?” Dugald said. “Ye canna miss it, for it is bigger than a Highland bull’s behind and smells as bad.”

Ranulph dug further, breathing heavily. “And what did ye find, Dugald, ye whey-faced pile of goat dung?”

Dugald grunted as Ranulph pulled something from the ground and held it high for all to see.

“No’ this!” Ranulph shouted.

Isobel heard Leith’s quick intake of breath.

The sun chose that moment to break the cloud and hit the arrow that Ranulph held in his hands. The wide, gold tip seemed to sparkle and glow with fire.

“Is it one of Logan’s arrows?” Isobel asked quietly.

“Yea,” Leith said.

Ranulph continued to dig. “There are more!” he shouted.

Leith looked at Isobel, wonder writ across his face. He brushed his knuckles softly across her cheek. Then he seemed to remember himself. “Is my brother here now?”

“Nay. The two times he appeared to me, his spirit did no’ linger.”

“Ye saw him before and didna tell me?”

“I awoke to find him sitting on the bed in his room, a black dog at his feet. At first, I thought it was ye sitting there, Leith. I didna tell ye because I wanted to see if Logan would appear to me again. I think his spirit is more powerful near the chapel where he is buried. He has yet to learn to manifest for longer periods of time when he appears at the Maclean keep.”

Ranulph brought a gold-tipped arrow to Leith for him to inspect. He held it, his brow furrowed. “There is no doubt. ’Tis definitely Logan’s arrow.”

“There are stories about such arrows,” Isobel said.

“Stories?” Leith said.

“It resembles an elf bolt. ‘Tis said an elf bolt is vera deadly and seldom misses its aim.”

“I ken nothing of elf bolts,” Leith said. “But Logan ne’er missed his aim.” His hand trembled slightly as he continued to study the arrow.

Errol inspected it, frowning. “’Tis a vera valuable set of arrows. I think it’s clear the motive was no’ robbery.”

“Unless the thief buried the arrows in haste, after the vile deed was done, and planned to retrieve them in the spring, when the snow is melted away,” Isobel said.

The men considered her words. “’Tis possible,” Leith said. “But I feel strongly the motive was no’ robbery. There was a wicked storm the day Logan was killed. It rained hard for hours. That would suggest that whoever took the time to dig that hole and bury the arrows was confident. He must ha’e felt assured no one would be coming to the glen that day except for Logan, and that no one would see what he did.”

A strong gust of wind in the trees knocked a lump of snow onto Dugald’s head. Ranulph laughed so hard he almost fell over.

“Enough!” Errol yelled, startling him back into a sober mood. “Do ye think this a funny matter?”

Ranulph shook his head.

“Isobel,” Errol continued, his silver eyes glittering with anger, “when ye see Logan’s spirit again, why no’ simply ask him who killed him?” He flexed his fingers and blew on them, trying to warm them. “It’d be a damn sight easier than digging for buried arrows in this icy hell of a glen guarded by mountains of rock.”

Isobel ran her fingers along the shaft of the well-made arrow. “I would no’ expect a battle-hardened man such as yerself to believe in what ye canna see or what canna be explained, Errol, but I did see his spirit briefly. He is no’ at rest and will no’ be at rest until the man who took his life is caught. And ‘tis no’ as easy as that, simply asking a spirit what happened. It is like…looking through a glass darkly. It is like being lost at sea with no sense of direction.”

“Then we’d best ferret him out soon,” Leith said, throwing one of the sharp-tipped arrows down so forcefully that it stabbed the snow at his feet.

“I will personally reserve one of these arrows to send his black soul back to hell,” Errol said.

21

It was not long after they’d returned to the keep that Isobel was summoned to Leith’s room.

She knocked on his door and he let her in, closing it behind her. He was clad only in trews and he seemed distracted as he searched for a shirt in an ornate chest at his feet. Isobel watched the powerful play of muscles rippling on his back and his arms, noting the battle scars.

He gave up on finding a shirt that suited him and stood by the fire, warming himself. He looked at her and frowned. “Isobel, ye ha’e no’ been telling me e’erything.”

“I dunna know what ye mean,” she said, trying not to stare at the broad expanse of his chest, the supple skin, the scars.

“Ye were brilliant today, leading us to the buried arrows. But ye dunna trust yer gift. Ye shouldna doubt it. Ye canna afford to doubt it. Isobel….” His voice was low and tender. “Tell me again about when you saw my brother’s spirit.” He was clearly agitated and rifled a hand through his dark hair.

“The first time I saw him he was sitting on the edge of my bed…his bed…and there was a black dog at his feet. The second time, he was on his horse and led me to the arrows.”

“Was he smiling or was he sad?”

“The first time I saw him he smiled just before he disappeared.”

“That is a relief….”

“But….”

“Yea?”

“He will no’ rest until his murderer his caught. He stays in this place, the in-between of life and death, at risk, I’m afraid.”

“Then we will catch his killer.”

Leith believed that someone in his own keep was a murderer. She thought of the robed figure in the plague mask. “I saw something else I didna understand.”

He opened a different wooden chest and this time found a saffron shirt. He slipped it on. “Tell me all. Ne’er hold back. I will no’ judge ye like others judge ye. Ye should ken that by now.”

He looked almost angry and she realized how much he must be hurting after having found Logan’s arrows in the glen, buried deep by a murdering coward. She realized how much he must be missing his brother and she wished she could comfort him. But she had no words. She knew that a person could lose everything in an instant, everything one held dear, all the things one thought would last forever.

“How can this be home if he’s no’ here?” Leith said quietly.

“He is here.”

Leith stared at the flames for a moment, lost in his grief.

“That day in the undercroft,” Isobel said, “I saw something I ha’e yet to understand. That is why I didna tell ye.”

“The day ye found the plague mask.”

Isobel nodded and shivered.

“Come here,” he commanded. “Stand by the fire and warm yerself.”

Tentatively, Isobel approached him. She was conscious of his height, his dark looks, and his masculinity, and she stared at the fire now as she spoke. “I saw a dark-robed figure gliding through the corridor. He turned and I saw that he wore a plague mask, exactly like the one I found. I could have sworn he entered the undercroft, and I followed him. But the door to the undercroft had no’ been opened in ages. It was swollen shut and I had to push it vera hard to open it. There’s no way a person could ha’e opened it only moments before I did.”