The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) (2 page)

“
Counselling.”

“
Very good.”

Freya knew they wouldn
’t think it was so good if they knew why she’d chosen that career.

“
You’ve really changed,” said Lizzy Clark, a portly redheaded woman with beefy arms and an enormous bosom. “You were this tiny wee blond bairn. What’s with all the black?” she said, picking up a section of Freya’s hair, causing her to jerk her head away.

“
I just like it,” she retorted sharply.

Lizzy let her hair drop, a little hurt.
“Sorry.”

They continued to interrogate her, Freya fending off all their probing questions with vague replies, giving nothing away but then again, she
’d had plenty of experience at interrogations. The intensity of the situation made her pine for a big glass of red wine and an even bigger tumbler of whisky.

“
It’s such a shame Craig isn’t here, he would have been so excited to see you,” enthused Catriona.

Finally Freya
’s interest was piqued. “Craig’s still in the village?” He’d been her best friend since they were babies, he’d even been her first kiss. Out of all the residents of Blair Dubh he was the only one who’d tried to help her, a little dark haired boy who’d grabbed her hands and tried to pull her away from the Social Services women, his grey eyes watery with tears. He’d put up such a fight his dad had come out and hauled him back into the house. Her last memory of him was kicking and struggling and yelling her name.

“
He’s been here for about six months now,” replied Catriona, pleased to finally have her full attention. “He moved to Inverness a few years ago but he came back to the village when his dad got sick.”

Freya recalled Pete Donaldson in great clarity, a red-faced bear of a man and a sergeant in the local police force. Freya had very fond memories of him, he
’d been a good man and kind to her. “Is Pete alright?”

“
Afraid not. He died a month ago. Stomach cancer.”

“
Oh God,” she replied, experiencing a pang of pain. “How’s Craig?”

“
Both he and Nora were devastated. He’s stayed on in the village to support her. We all thought he’d be itching to return north but he’s settled straight back in here. He made sergeant too and his dad was so proud.”

Freya swallowed hard. It had been her old friend
’s dream to become a police officer just like his dad but Freya didn’t get along with the police, not with her colourful history, as well as other reasons she shuddered to recall. It seemed her old friend had just become a new enemy.

Shortly after this revelation Freya managed to extricate herself from the welcome committee and hurried back to her cottage. She was surprised to realise she was exhausted, despite the horrifying prospect of what she was to face tomorrow and instantly fell asleep beneath the twee white duvet covered in flowers.

CHAPTER 2

Freya was up and dressed early the next morning. Now the village had acclimatised to her new look she wasn’t so hesitant about reapplying her heavy make-up. Her hand shook slightly as she applied the eyeliner, almost jabbing herself in the eye and she cursed. Today she intended to visit the churchyard and the prospect terrified her.

Even though the mere thought of breakfast made her queasy she forced down some toast. It was important she ate regularly to stay healthy. A strong cup of coffee helped fortify her nerves and, after donning her thick black jacket and boots, she stepped outside.

The sound of the waves breaking and seagulls calling overhead were the first things to greet her and she walked down to the shore, feeling the calm descend upon her. Every day when she was growing up she’d looked at this view and never appreciated it and she chided herself for the waste.

In summer the water was populated by fishing boats and pleasure crafts but now it was deserted, only the shadowy outline of the hulk of an oil tanker visible in the distance, moving out to open sea. To put out a small craft in this weather would be suicidal because the storm was close, she had a day at most before it took hold.

Looking back at the village she could see the road leading out, winding up into hills scored by centuries of wind and rain and wondered if she should make her escape while the going was still good. Instead she turned her back and walked along the shingle in the opposite direction, the ruin of Blair Dubh Castle projecting out into the water haughtily majestic. She walked towards it, however her goal wasn’t the castle but the churchyard beyond. She intended to face her fears as soon as possible so she could get the hell out of Blair Dubh but her feet were like lead as she walked past the cottages and up the hill. As the church appeared before her she saw the gravestones protruding from the earth, reminding her of crooked teeth and it felt like she was walking towards a living thing that waited to consume her.

A series of images ran through her head; her eleven year old self walking up the very same hill, the wind whipping her hair about her face. She called out for her mum but her voice was lost on the breeze. Although it had been the height of summer the wind had still been strong, the elements constantly throwing their weight around Blair Dubh. The figure in the churchyard straightened up and peered down at her, his black clothes flapping about in the gale, giving him the appearance of a giant bat. He
’d been digging, or to be more precise, shovelling earth on top of something…

“
Freya.”

She groaned inwardly, she didn
’t want an interruption now, not when she was so close to finally fulfilling her goal. Freya turned to look back down the road and her first instinct was to leg it when she saw a police officer approaching in the all-black uniform of the Strathclyde Police. Then she took in the dark hair and soft grey eyes and realised it was her old friend, Craig Donaldson. As he jogged up the road towards her she couldn’t help but back up a couple of steps.

“
Freya, it is you,” he smiled. “If Catriona hadn’t told me you were back I wouldn’t have recognised you.”

She had to own he
’d aged well, but he’d always been a good looking boy. He was tall and athletic, eyes clear and sharp, the picture of health, unlike herself. When he moved to hug her she went rigid and bristled against him. Sensing this he took a step back and lowered his arms, appearing just as embarrassed as Catriona had. “Sorry, I suppose we don’t know each other anymore.”

For a fleeting moment he looked so like the boy she used to know, but she couldn
’t get past the uniform. “Hello Sergeant Donaldson,” she said, careful to keep her voice moderate, giving nothing away.

“
Yeah, they were mad enough to give me stripes,” he grinned.

Freya
’s expression softened. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

His pain was still raw, she saw it in his eyes.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black combat trousers and staring at the ground. When he looked up he was once again in control. “So what brings you back here?”

“
Hasn’t Catriona already told you?”

“
She was a bit vague.”

“
I only want to see the old place again.”

Craig noted her accent had lost its Ayrshire gentleness, replaced by the harsher Glaswegian and her words came out hard. He looked up the hill towards the churchyard.
“Are you going up there?”

“
No,” she snapped.

“
I’d be happy to go with you, if you need some company?”

Freya tried to equate the uniformed officer standing before her with her old friend but she couldn
’t. All she wanted to do was follow what her instinct was screaming at her to do. Get away from him.

“
Or you could come back to Mum’s for a coffee?” he offered. “I know she’d love to catch up with you.”

“
No thanks, I’ve got plans,” she said before hurrying past him back down the hill to her cottage. She pulled the key out of her pocket, opened the front door and went inside.

Craig watched her go, no doubt in his mind that she was locking that door up tight against him and it pained him. When he
’d heard she was back he’d been so excited. Blair Dubh had never been the same after she’d gone, but it seemed the clothes he wore had thrown up a barrier between them. He surmised Freya Macalister had had plenty of dealings with the Police in the past. Craig was torn. He could easily do a background check and get all the details, but if she found out he’d only alienate her further. If he gave her a bit of time then hopefully she would open up to him.

His mother
’s house was one of the pretty whitewashed cottages just past Freya’s holiday let and he strolled back down the road towards it, the dampness in the air chilling him through to the bone.

“
Just me,” he called as he entered, pulling off his boots and leaving them in the porch.

His mother, a petite but robust woman with short dark hair and freckles, emerged from the sitting room.
“Well, what did Freya say?”

“
Nothing much.”

Nora frowned.
“After all these years I thought she’d be over the moon to see you.”

“
When I found her she was looking up at the churchyard, she seemed upset.”

She nodded sympathetically.
“Yes, of course she would be upset. Did she go up there?”

“
No, I think I interrupted before she plucked up the courage.”

“
You numpty, no wonder she was off with you.”

“
Probably.” But Craig knew there was more to it than that.

“
I can’t believe that woman used to be that beautiful little blond child. I don’t mean to be cruel but why those clothes and all that black make-up? What’s she done to her lovely hair?”

“
After what she went through it’s not surprising she likes the doom and gloom look.” Although he didn’t say it, Craig had found the effect of those dazzling green eyes surrounded by the dark make-up rather stunning. She’d cut quite the dramatic figure with her black hair blowing about her pale face and skin damp with sea spray, looking dark and tragic on a wind-blasted hilltop.

Nora appeared a little contrite.
“Yes, I suppose. None of us will ever get over what happened to poor Rose.”

He nodded in agreement.
“If you see her make an appearance, give me a shout.”

“
You’ve been on nights, you need to rest.”

“
I’ll cope.”

“
I hope she’s worth going to so much effort for.”

“
Course she is, she’s Freya.”

“
Don’t be daft, course she’s not Freya. That girl died the day her mother was murdered.”

“
Aye, maybe but she was my best friend once and I’ll never forget that.”

Freya’s fragile stability had been disturbed by her conversation with Craig so she hid away in her cottage for the rest of the day, pretending she wasn’t in when there was a knock at the door, or six knocks to be precise. She could see who was at the door through the reflection in the mirror hanging over the fireplace. Although none of them were Craig they were all faces from the past, faces she had no wish to see or speak to again because they had let her down.

She hadn
’t thought her homecoming would be like this. Since she’d started planning this trip she’d assumed no one would recognise her or they would be so freaked out by her appearance that they’d leave her alone, but she’d forgotten about the legendary Blair Dubh hospitality. Now she was trapped with people coming to the door non-stop, unable to find the courage to face the churchyard and she felt trapped. The thought of the pub just up the road with its enticing array of bottles was very appealing. Just one whisky would settle her nerves wonderfully and fill her with that warm, soothing confidence. She could face going up that hill with a nice dram inside her.

“
No,” she said to herself before walking into the kitchen and making a hot chocolate.

As she waited for the kettle to boil she took her counsellor
’s advice and made a decision that she was determined to stick to. She would stay until she’d face the past and hopefully it wouldn’t obliterate her completely.

“Craig. Craig you deaf numpty, she’s on the move.”

Craig
’s head snapped up and blearily he rubbed his eyes, wondering what his mum was talking about. “Who’s on the move?” Realisation struck and his eyes flew open. “Freya.”

Jumping out of bed he pulled on blue jeans and a thick jumper, nearly falling over as he hopped about the room in an attempt to pull on his socks while standing up. Finally he was fully clothed and he hurried downstairs and rushed to the window.
“Where is she?”

“
Away up the road, like I said. You can’t see her from here,” said Nora. “Why are you so worried anyway? You haven’t seen her since you were wee.”

“
Because I tried to help her and I couldn’t,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the window. “That fat horrible woman was dragging her away from her home and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. The guilt’s haunted me for years.”

Nora stared at her son as though he
’d sprouted a second head. “You should have mentioned this before. Fifteen years and not one word.”

“
No one wanted to talk about it. We all felt guilty for not intervening.”

“
Don’t start dragging all that up again, do you hear me? You’ll only reopen old wounds.”

“
I bet they were opened the moment Freya returned,” he replied grimly before disappearing out the door.

Freya fully intended to go to the churchyard but once again her courage failed and she found herself heading towards the castle instead. This monolith had given the village its name, named after Black Blair, the Lord who built it in the fifteenth century. It was said he dabbled in witchcraft and unleashed The Elemental, a dark demonic creature with the body of an animal and a human face, eyes nothing but black holes, the stench of rotting flesh announcing its presence. The castle had been a ruin since the last Earl was executed in the seventeenth century for treason and was a huge sprawling complex, large sections of the roof fallen through. The main keep was still intact, peppered with small square windows. It had a prison as well as an oubliette - a deep dark pit sunk into the earth, the only exit a hole in the ceiling too high for the prisoners to reach, rendering escape impossible. When she was a kid she and Craig had come up here to play, scampering about the ancient fallen stones, daring each other to summon The Elemental. Now scaffolding supported the most unstable sections of the building, barriers proclaiming
no access
blocking off some of her favourite hidey holes. Judging by the signs, it had been taken over by a charity who were maintaining it and charging for entry, a board erected by a white portakabin displaying a list of tariffs. This time of year it was closed to tourists and didn’t open again until March.

The mesh gates and padlocks proved no obstacle to Freya, who
’d broken into places with much tighter security. After easily vaulting over one of the barriers she strolled about inside, sheltering against the gathering wind. Gazing down at the water below she saw the waves smash against the shore, sending a spray of water several feet into the air. The inevitable storm was getting closer, so near it felt like a tangible thing that she could reach out and touch. Her mother always said she must have a bit of the witch in her. All her memories of her mother, even the warmest and most treasured, were tainted by pain and the sheer horror of her death.

“
You do know you’re trespassing?” called a voice.

Freya
’s head snapped up, eyes blazing with wrath at this intrusion. Craig was standing on the other side of the barrier looking through the mesh at her. Even though he wasn’t in uniform she still stared back at him defiantly.