Duet (21 page)

“I promise you won’t regret it.”

Fourteen

Black hair fell in inky waves across a field of green and red plaid. A neatly trimmed beard and moustache framed a smile that lit a fire deep inside Billy’s heart and groin. Wrapped in tartan over a loose-fitting white shirt, the apparition appeared far more authentic than the kilted actors shown in movies, and Billy instinctively recognized everyday garb, worn well, instead of a costume.

A callused hand captured Billy’s fingers, leading him silently into a ring of trees and urging him down on sweetly scented grass. Passion-filled eyes gazed into his, and a sultry smile turned his insides to mush. This had to be a dream, for never in real life had anyone looked at Billy so intently, devouring him with a single glance, nor had he ever met a man who so completely captured his attention.
“
My little fox,
”
his dream lover said, in the lyrical tones of a Scottish Highlander, a far too familiar resonance for a man who’d never been to Scotland before.
“
How I’ve missed you.
”
Full lips descended, the specter breathing
“
My
Mael Caluim”
before taking possession of Billy’s mouth.

Billy came awake instantly, sweaty and breathless, the name clearly imprinted in his mind. Not Malcolm, but
Mael Caluim
. Where had he heard that before? In Edinburgh? The shopkeeper called him
Mael Caluim
. Was it simply the Scottish accent slurring his name? He’d always performed under the name of William Malcolm Byerly; it wasn’t like he kept “Malcolm” a secret. Yet most people called him William or Billy. Only his mother used Malcolm, and only when angry.

A wave of homesickness washed over him at the thought of his parents. He’d been too busy to check for messages from home. With little chance of going back to sleep soon, he pushed aside the remnants of the dream and climbed from bed. His laptop case rested by the desk in one corner of the room. A quick glance at the extra cable by the phone confirmed Internet access, if not wireless connection.

He placed the computer on the desk and powered it on, grabbing a drink from the mini-fridge while it booted. It took a few minutes to respond to all his e-mails, reading and answering personal ones and forwarding business matters to Neil.

Chore done and still wide awake, recollections of his and Neil’s earlier conversation left him curious. A search on “Laird Callaghan” brought up several pages of references, and he scrolled through the listings until an article caught his eye entitled,
Myths and Legends of the Highlands.
Clicking on the provided link, he began reading.

Castle Callaghan, located near Inverness in the Scottish Highlands, celebrates a long and illustrious past. Parts of the structure date back to the thirteenth century and many historic personages are reputed to have stayed there. The castle’s most famous occupant is the alleged presence of the Lost Laird. Aillil Callaghan held the title of laird of the Callaghan clan for a mere twenty-seven days in 1758. Due to the mystery and rumors surrounding his disappearance, he remains one of the most notorious members of the clan.

Born in 1733, he disappeared in 1758 following a scarlet fever epidemic that took the life of two brothers and his father, Eoghan Callaghan, leaving Aillil the chief of his clan at the age of twenty-five. Throughout the ordeal, he’s said to have stood side by side with the clan, tending the sick and burying the dead. Historians speculate that he merely died of the fever himself, though no grave has been identified. A more romantic explanation for his disappearance, handed down from generation to generation, is that when the fever took the life of his lover, Laird Callaghan died of a broken heart. His ghost is rumored to haunt Callaghan Castle to this day. The Druids, once respected leaders of the Scottish Highlands, believed in reincarnation, and legend states that when his lover is reborn, the laird’s ghost will play the violin, beckoning her to return to the castle, where they’ll be reunited for all eternity.

Unexplained violin music was reportedly heard by members of the Callaghan family in 1846 for a period of three days, and again in 1915, when it’s said to have occurred nightly for two weeks. Parts of the castle were used as a hospital at the time, and several staff members reported having been awakened by chilling refrains in the night. One resident declared the spectral music heartrending. No recent occurrences have been reported.

The article was dated the previous year. If there had been any more reports of paranormal activity, they were recent.

Billy stopped reading, scrolling down the page to skim the rest of the article, until a picture of Castle Callaghan came into view. He froze, staring at the image with disbelieving eyes. The full-color photograph depicted the front of the stately structure, but many more images flickered behind his eyelids—the great hall, dimly illuminated by firelight, the stairs winding up to the room at the top of the tower, the orchard behind the house, a skinny boy hanging upside down from one of the branches. Although logic told him he’d never been there before, his heart cried, “Home!”

Fifteen

T
HE
photos didn’t do justice. Huge and imposing, Castle Callaghan represented all a haunted dwelling should be, in Billy’s opinion. He craned his neck in the back of the car to get a better view, imagining the transparent faces of former occupants peering from its many windows. The place inspired a gut-wrenching sense of
déjà vu
, but something didn’t seem quite right.

“What happened to the east wing?” he blurted.

His driver half turned to look into the back seat. “Fire in the forties. How’d you learn about that? It’s not in the tour guides.”

To be honest, Billy didn’t know how he knew. He just did. Like he knew the little guest cottage they approached was new, regardless of how well its gray stone matched the original building.

The car slowed, and Billy spotted a group of men huddled together, various camera cases, lights, and other equipment strewn around them. The sunlight glinted off Neil’s glasses when he turned and waved. He ran up and opened the car door the moment the vehicle stopped, face lit with excitement. “Billy, you’ve got to see inside this place, it’s awesome!”

Grabbing Billy by the arm, Neil dragged him over to the assembled men who, to Billy’s great embarrassment, looked on with amused smiles. Okay, so much for not acting like awestruck tourists.

“Come over here and meet your new employers.” A proprietary arm landed around Billy’s shoulders and Neil whispered in his ear, “Pay particular attention to the big one, Luke. He’s a fan.” Acting more like an older brother bent on protecting Billy’s virtue than a manager set on rubbing elbows with the affluent, Neil growled, “He’d like to be more than a fan, if you get my meaning.” He scowled, brows beetling over his hawkish nose. “No hanky-panky. That would be unprofessional.”

Billy glared at his self-appointed protector, a “
You’re kidding, right?
” look on his face. Was he so hard up that Neil expected him to jump the first available male that swung his way? “What’s up with you?” he asked, studying Neil with a critical eye. “Normally you’d say, ‘Go for it.’ Why don’t you like Luke?”

The wariness in his friend’s eyes didn’t suggest that, after all these years, he’d suddenly decided to give up Lisa to find out how the other half lived. Billy breathed a relieved sigh. “I’ve got a bad feeling about him, okay?” Neil replied. His concern seemed genuine.

Hmm… interesting. Billy cut his eyes to where Luke waited with the others. A very attractive blue-eyed blond, a bit on the cuddly side, the man appeared harmless. However, Billy trusted his manager’s instincts; if Luke tripped the radar of Neil’s suspicion, Billy would heed his advice. “Your feelings are usually dead on the money and the reason I’m where I am today. Don’t worry so much. We’re not going to be here long, right? Besides, he’s not my type.”

Their conversation halted when Luke stepped from the group, offering a beefy hand and a friendly grin. More than casual assessment flared in his eyes. Billy had witnessed similar perusals often enough backstage after a concert to agree with Neil’s opinion that Luke’s interest might be less than professional. “It’s fabulous to meet you in person, Mr. Byerly. I’m one of your biggest fans. I had to buy your CD
Moonlight
twice because I left the first copy at home and missed it dearly while traveling. Might I add that your concert in Edinburgh was outstanding?”

“Please, call me Billy,” slipped out of Billy’s mouth before he’d a chance to form a more eloquent response. His face flushed hotly under the compliments as he shook the offered hand. Luke introduced the rest of the crew, and they began discussing the focal point of the meeting. Hearing a startled squeak, Billy turned to see Neil squeezing between him and Luke. Luke smiled sheepishly and stepped back. What was up with Neil? If Billy didn’t know his friend was 100 percent hetero and in a relationship with an amazing woman, he’d think the guy jealous. Since when did Neil feel the need to block admirers?

Neil grasped Billy by the arm, leading him away from the perceived predator. “I’m told the acoustics in the formal hall are amazing,” he said, opening the heavily carved front door to admit them. Three men could easily walk side by side through the entry, had Neil been inclined to test the theory by allowing Luke to come closer.

Billy found the entry foyer unnerving. It seemed out of place.

Luke waved the others past into the room beyond, to a chorus of “oohs,” “aahs,” and one loudly proclaimed, “Wicked!”

“Is something wrong?” Neil asked. He refused to follow the others and remained behind, arms folded across his chest and the eyebrow over one distrustful eye raised in Luke’s direction. His dark brown loafer tapped out an impatient beat against the stone floor.

Billy disregarded Neil’s abnormal behavior, trying his best to explain without sounding like a lunatic. “This foyer, it doesn’t seem quite right somehow.” He felt foolish for saying anything. Who was he to judge ancient Scottish castles?

Luke stepped forward, displaying a mouthful of gleaming teeth. “You share my fascination with Scottish history, do you?” he asked, inching closer.

From behind Luke’s back, Neil drew a finger across his throat, staring pointedly at Billy’s admirer.

Billy fought the impulse to roll his eyes, thinking it best to simply ignore Neil for a while. “What do you mean?”

Luke ran one hand down a section of wall, and Billy noticed the subtle differences in the stone. “This foyer isn’t a part of the original structure,” the filmmaker explained, sounding like the narrator of one of his documentaries. “Ancestral dwellings have a tendency to evolve over time, reflecting the tastes of the current owners. Prior to about 1850, the door opened on the hall itself.” He swept an arm toward the arched entryway the others had disappeared through. “Come, let’s see the rest of it, shall we?” The hand he’d used to caress the rough stone wall came to rest at the small of Billy’s back.

The temperature dropped twenty degrees. “
Come with me to the grove.
” Chills skittered along Billy’s spine. He gasped, breath fogging before his face. Eyes darting around the room, he searched for the source of that invitation. The voice sounded familiar.

“Th… th… these ancestral relics are so damned drafty.” Luke stuttered several times before managing to get the words out, eyes frantically sweeping the foyer. All color drained from his face. Ah, he’d felt it, too, and appeared equally unnerved. The hand at Billy’s back disappeared.

Neil, oddly enough, appeared unfazed, looking everywhere but at them.

What the hell was going on? Eyes shifting from Luke to Neil, Billy demanded, “What did you say about a grove?” unsure which of them had spoken, and privately fearing it had been neither. When he turned back to Luke, he expected to see a blond man with a ruddy complexion. He jumped back when, instead, a seductive smile, framed by dark facial hair, filled his vision. The image lasted but a moment. Billy stumbled, blindly groping for the wall.