The Deepest Cut (2 page)

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever,” he said, his hand dropping back to his side.

“I just have a headache.”

“You need an aspirin?”

I shook my head. “No, I just need a nap.”

“I’ll tell Shane to turn that racket down.”

“No, don’t. He’s already mad at me…and I don’t blame him.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Dad, I know I’m the reason we moved to Scotland. All the trouble I’ve—”

“Riley,” he said, lifting my chin with gentle fingers. His eyes were sad, and I know he missed the relationship we had once shared. “I accepted this job because it was an opportunity of a lifetime, and I felt this move would be good for all of us, your brother included. He wasn’t exactly hanging out with a good group of kids back home.”

When I didn’t respond, he sighed heavily.

“I just want us all to be happy, hon. I think we can be…if given the chance.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that being happy would require bringing Mom back.

“So, what do you think of your room?” He had a hopeful expression on his face. I’d noticed on the trip here that, like me, he had

lost weight, his pants now hanging off his thin frame. Even his face looked haggard, and his once sandy-blonde hair had turned gray at the temples. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was grieving just as much as I was.

“I like it, especially the bathroom.”

He grinned. “Nice, huh? Every bedroom has one. I suppose that’s one of the perks of buying an inn.” As an awkward silence followed, he checked his watch. “Well, I’ve got to get going. I called Miss Akin and she said she’d be here in about ten minutes.”

Miss Akin was the babysitter/housekeeper/cook Dad had hired to keep an eye on Shane and me while he was working fifteen hour days. “Dad, we’re old enough to take care of ourselves.”

His brows rose nearly to his hairline. “I’ll be working long hours and I don’t want the two of you to be alone. Plus, it’s Miss Akin’s

job to take care of the place. I want you focusing on being a kid.”

I had high hopes that Miss Akin, hence the
Miss
, would be a young, hip twenty-something punk rock Scottish chick who would breathe new life into this place, but with my luck, she’d be an old spinster who would make my life even more unbearable.

As he headed for the door, I asked,

“When will you be home?”

He checked his watch again. “Not too late.”

Not too late
meant we’d most likely see him tomorrow.

Miss Akin was about seventy years-old with gray hair held back in a tight bun, wide hazel eyes, and a high-pitched laugh that reminded me of a witch’s cackle. Nearly as round as she was tall, she wore a white apron over a floral dress, nylons and loafers. There was a grandma-like quality about her I liked, and at the moment she lingered in my bedroom doorway. “Is there anything I can get you, dear?” she asked, her “you” sounding more like “ye”––which seemed to be the norm in Scotland.

“No, I’m fine. In fact, I think I’ll take a walk and get some fresh air.”

Her lips curved into a wide smile. “Don’t wander off too far.”

“Miss Akin, I’m sixteen, not twelve.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Ah, sixteen. Such a brilliant age, full of wonder…and boys.”

I rolled my eyes and she giggled like a girl.

“Oh, and Riley dear––dinner will be at half-past five, so keep that in mind while you are out explorin’.”

She shut the door, and I took a few minutes to pull my blonde hair up into a sloppy ponytail, and change from sweats to jeans and a hoodie. The ghost hadn’t returned since my father’s abrupt entrance and I was relieved. I hoped he got the idea I couldn’t see him, and therefore, he was wast-ing his time haunting my new home.

Needing to clear my mind, I checked to make sure I had everything I needed and headed out the door.

Once outside, I started across the heather-strewn field, and headed straight for the castle.

I felt like I was living somebody else’s life.

Everything was so unfamiliar, so opposite of Portland, where I’d been born and raised. I

was unused to so much quiet. It was almost unsettling not to hear kids playing, horns honking, or just the sounds of the city. I wondered how long it would take before I went crazy.

I passed by an old cemetery surrounded by a rock wall. A flock of birds flew from a tree, nearly startling me out of my skin. They soared above the cemetery, and landed on top of an old mausoleum. Hundreds of tombstones of various shapes and sizes littered the graveyard, the majority being crosses and giant slabs, some of which were leaning over and crumbling. The place was old, and I wondered just how far back the dates on the tombstones would go. Not that I planned on investigating. I hated cemeteries. My mother had been cremated and her ashes were in a mahogany box that my dad kept in his bedroom. I know it sounds weird but I found it strangely comforting to know she wasn’t in the ground.

A car blew past me, missing me by inches, and pulling me abruptly back to the present.

The castle’s driveway was blocked by a large chain. Obviously the owners were only concerned about cars driving in, and not foot traffic. I inched under it easily enough.

I walked through the tall trees and looked up at the castle where the blue and white Scottish flag waved from the ramparts. The castle was more intimidating up close than from a distance, and I felt a strange compul-sion to run, mixed with an almost need to explore it, but I stayed rooted to the spot.

There were no cars around, and I wondered if it was a private residence or one of those castles owned by a trust. Though a part of me wanted to check it out, I didn’t dare. Honestly, I didn’t have the guts. Plus, I didn’t come here for a tour.

I pulled the small matchbox out of my pocket. My hand shook as I slid the box open

and unwrapped the gleaming new blade within. Sitting on a soft patch of grass beneath a giant oak tree, I looked around to make sure I was alone.

Seeing no one, I rolled up the leg of my jeans and slid my sock down. I took a deep, steadying breath, released it, and before I could talk myself out of it, I ran the blade slowly against my skin. I winced at the pain, and watched as blood beaded against the blade. I cut further, deeper, and the release came, taking with it the anxiety and frustration that had been building within me for weeks.

Blood streamed down my ankle, soaking into my white sock. I set the blade aside and mopped at the crimson stream with the tissue. Damn, I had cut deeper than intended.

Reaching into the matchbox, I pulled out the Band-Aid.

I closed my eyes and pushed away the guilt and disgust that always came with

cutting. I had “officially” quit self-mutilating two months ago, but the move had pushed me over the edge, I reasoned.

“Bloody hell, what are you doing, lass?”

I gasped, horrified to hear I was no longer alone. How could I possibly explain what I’d been up to?

Slowly I turned to find a guy watching me with disbelief in his piercing blue eyes. That disbelief quickly turned to bewilderment as our gazes locked and held.

Oh my God. It was the ghost from the inn…and he had followed me here.

“You
can
see me,” the ghost said in a thick Scottish accent. It wasn’t a question.

I looked away, but it was too late. He knew I had seen—and heard him. He was pumped. I could see the excitement in his eyes.

I was so screwed. What had I done? Why had I reacted? This was so not the way I wanted to start off in a new town. Now every spirit in Braemar would be on my doorstep wanting to talk to me.

Pissed at myself, I took the Band-Aid out of the wrapper and placed it over the cut, my mind racing. With a trembling hand, I put the blade back into the bloodied tissue and into the matchbox, and shoved it in my pocket.

Pulling up my sock, I felt the blood flow over and around the bandage, seeping into my sock and into my shoe. Only one person

had ever asked me about cutting, and that had been Becca, my best friend since third grade. During P.E. one day last year, Becca had seen the scab on my leg and asked what had happened. I saw the concern in her eyes, and when I told her I’d fallen and scraped myself, I could tell she didn’t buy it.

“What’s your name?” he asked, looking like he wanted to hug me.

I stood so fast, I got a head rush and had to grab onto the tree for support.

“Are you well?” he asked, sounding concerned.

The lightheadedness passed and I pushed away from the tree, wanting to get as far away as fast as I could. Why had I cut out in the open? What an idiot. I should have waited until tonight, after everyone was asleep. I’m sure there was a lock on my bathroom door.

Then again, it’s not like a lock would keep a ghost out.

“Say something.” The ghost followed beside me. “I know you see me. You looked right at me for feck’s sake. Speak to me, lass.

Say something.” He was starting to sound desperate.

As desperate as I was to get away from him.

I pulled the hoodie up over my head, hoping he would just go away.

He didn’t.

I rushed from the trees, onto the main road and nearly into the path of an oncoming car that had to swerve to avoid hitting me.

Jesus, what was wrong with drivers here?

“Watch where you are going, lass. You could get yourself killed.”

If only he knew how little I cared about living.

“What is your name?”

He was seriously getting on my nerves.

The ghost stayed with me, and even moved ahead, and then he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road.

I walked straight through him and smiled inwardly as he cussed under his breath. He was determined—I’d give him that. He was back beside me in seconds, staring at me.

My footsteps faltered as I came closer to the inn. As much as I’d like to escape to my room and crash out, I couldn’t face the in-quisitive Miss Akin, or my moody brother for that matter. Plus, I had a feeling mister annoying here wasn’t about to leave me alone. I left the main road and veered off, onto the grass and toward the river, hoping the ghost would get the hint I didn’t want his company.

“I have no intention of leaving, if that is what you are hoping I will do,” he whispered in my ear. “I shall stay with you every second until you acknowledge me.”

He was so close I felt his icy breath on my neck.

A small car, full of teenagers drove by and I quickly averted my gaze. The car slowed and I kept walking, away from the road, and over a small, grassy knoll. As promised, the ghost stayed with me.

I found a place on the river’s edge. I glanced over my shoulder to see the inn, which gave me some comfort. Not that I felt in danger of the ghost at my side.

He started whistling, and I knew he did it to get under my skin.

Sitting on a flat stone, I leaned over and picked up a few small rocks. I threw them in-to the river, one by one, and as promised, the ghost didn’t budge. In fact, he stared at me.

Honestly, I wanted to stare back. In that fleeting moment at the castle when I looked at him, I couldn’t believe how hot he was with his long dark hair and brilliant blue eyes.

I’d also noticed his bizarre clothing—snug, thigh-hugging black pants, and a pirate-looking shirt that opened in a V at the neck and showed part of his wide chest.

Knee-high boots finished off the outfit. Given the clothing, I wondered how long he’d been wandering the earth as a spirit.

“Talk to me, lass. I swear to you that I will not harm you.”

I liked his deep voice and sexy accent…even if he did speak like he was a Renn Faire regular.

“And if you do not speak to me, I will not leave your side…ever. I can chatter all hours of the day and night, if you like.”

My better judgment told me to keep my mouth closed, and yet a part of me was curious. I’d never met a ghost close to my age before. I ran a hand down my face in indecision.

“Or, I can continue to whistle, or perhaps you prefer singing…”

Before I could talk myself out of it, I turned and looked directly at him.

My heart skipped a beat.

He was movie star gorgeous, his eyes even more amazing than I remembered from that first glimpse. The brilliant blue orbs were framed by long, thick lashes any girl would kill to have, and he had high cheekbones and nice, full lips. Tall and broad shouldered, he made me feel all fluttery inside.

As I continued to stare at him, his blue eyes mirrored the same shock as when I’d first looked at him.

“My name’s Riley Williams, and yes—I see you.”

“Riley Williams,” he whispered, his lips curving into a grin that made my thighs tighten. “Do you know I have not conversed with anyone for over two-hundred years?”

I couldn’t even imagine going a day without talking to someone, but two-

hundred years? “That’s a long time,” I said, and he laughed under his breath.

“Yes, it is. By the way, my name is Ian MacKinnon.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ian.”

“And it’s a pleasure to meet you, lass.” He tilted his head slightly as he watched me, and I shifted under that intense stare, wondering exactly what he was thinking…especially since he knew my secret. “What is your age, Riley?”

“Sixteen. How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“So how did you die?” I blurted, before he could start drilling me about why I’d been cutting myself.

“I was poisoned.”

Talk about a miserable way to go. Suddenly, I remembered the way my throat and chest had burned earlier when he’d come in-to my room. The pain had been intense.

“So…why would someone poison you…or was it an accident?”

“My death was no accident. A servant who worked for my family is the one responsible.”

I heard of ghosts who had been murdered, hanging around because their souls were restless, and I wondered if that was the case with Ian. “So is that why you stay here?”

“No, I stay here because I am cursed to roam these lands for all eternity,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Cursed?” I laughed, wondering if he was trying to feed me a load of bullshit, but could tell by the look on his face that he was serious. I had no idea that curses were real. Then again, not so long ago I hadn’t believed ghosts were real either.