Chapter One
Alyssa
I’m a fugitive, but no one is chasing me and I haven’t broken any laws. I’ve escaped from my life and committed the crime of giving a damn about a man who destroyed me, wasting everything I had—money, energy, love—on trying to ensure he didn’t suffer. What else could I do? Even a bad man shouldn’t languish in agony. Compassion was my downfall.
And now I have nothing.
Well, not quite nothing. I blew the last of my savings on the once-in-a-lifetime trip I’d dreamed of taking since I was a little girl. The movie Brigadoon had made me long for the romantic world the people in that movie lived in, minus the “sleeping for a hundred years” thing. Maybe I would like to sleep for that long, though. By the time I woke up, I might have forgotten all the bad stuff.
“Ma’am? Your key?”
The clerk behind the car rental counter shakes the key ring at me while politely smiling. I had kind of sunk into a trance. Must be jet lag. The young man’s accent reminds me that I am not hallucinating. I’ve actually landed in Scotland, in the Highlands—at the Inverness airport.
I accept the keys. “Thank you. Sorry I zoned out for a minute there.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve seen everything in my job.”
“Yeah, I imagine you have. Airports are windows to the world.”
“Enjoy your stay in Scotland. Do you need help finding your car?”
I hold up the rental company’s brochure. “Got this. It tells me where to go.”
“Aye, it does.”
The wheels on my suitcase rumble across the hard floor as I make my way out of the building and to the rental car lot. I have no trouble finding my vehicle, a small, four-door model. I toss my suitcase onto the passenger seat and open the maps app on my phone to figure out where I’m going. I made a reservation at a castle that was described as “part medieval fortress, part museum, part bed-and-breakfast.” That sounded intriguing, and the photos of the grounds and the interior sealed the deal. I had to go there.
Dùndubhan, here I come.
The maps app tells me my journey will take approximately three and a half hours. Along the way, I plan to stop at touristy places. Might as well make the most of my last hurrah. What comes after this…heaven only knows.
I make my first few stops before leaving town, visiting Inverness Castle and the Victorian Market, as well as getting some lunch at a Scottish pub that sells fish and chips. Okay, every pub here is Scottish. But I love the atmosphere and the way people talk, and I mean more than their accent. Every last person I meet is cheerful, which makes me feel like smiling too.
Naturally, as a gauche tourist, I stop at Loch Ness and wait for half an hour in the hopes I’ll glimpse Nessie even though I don’t believe in monsters. No luck, anyway. The only monster I see is the truck sort with four wheels and huge tires. Though I had planned to stop often along the main roads, I find myself just veering off into the countryside now and then to admire the stunning scenery. By the time I reach Ballachulish, I’ve lost interest in sightseeing, at least for today, and decide to get to the castle as soon as possible. After one more stop, at a petrol station where I gas up my car, I head out into the hinterlands.
Wow, the landscape is stunning. Tomorrow, I plan on exploring all the areas I bypassed today.
Just as the sun begins to set, I turn off the main road and go down a narrow two-track through a dense forest. The foliage forms a canopy above me, so I can’t see the first stars or the moon. Then I come to a metal gate. The woman I’d spoken to when I made my reservation had told me the gate would be open and that I should drive right through it. She didn’t lie. I continue through that gate where the driveway turns to gravel.
I emerge from the woods, and suddenly, I feel as if I’ve been transported back in time. Though the twilight makes it harder to see, I can tell the castle is enormous and boxy with a high wall surrounding it. The brilliant glow of what must be a huge floodlight spills out from the courtyard inside the massive wooden gates, which hang open. As I pass through the entrance, I spy turrets atop a tower.
But when I park inside the courtyard, I don’t see carriages or horses. No, I park right next to a sleek Jaguar convertible. It makes my little sedan seem like a clunker.
I’ve barely climbed out of my car when two people rush out of the castle to greet me.
A blonde woman pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek. “Welcome to Dùndubhan, Alyssa. We’re thrilled to have you staying with us for the next two weeks.”
“I’m excited to be here. This place is amazing.”
“You’ll love it here. I’m Emery, by the way.”
The muscular man beside her seems mildly amused by her behavior. “Take it easy with the lass, Em, she must have jet lag.” He offers me his hand. “I’m Rory MacTaggart. My wife and I own Dùndubhan.”
Emery wraps an arm around Rory’s waist. “We live in Ballachulish, but we wanted to be here to greet you. Our staff will take care of you during your stay, and you might see a few of my hubby’s relatives too.”
Rory sighs and smiles at his wife with gentle affection. “Our ‘staff’ consists of my relatives and their loved ones.”
“Mrs. Brody too. Oh, and her husband Tavish.” Emery’s expression mutates from excited to sheepish. “I have a confession to make, and I hope you won’t be upset about it. But you are our very first b&b guest.”
“Really? No, I don’t mind. I wanted to get away from it all.”
“This is the perfect place to do that.” Emery waves toward the door she and Rory had come out of a moment ago. “Let’s go inside. We’ll give you the grand tour of the interior, then tomorrow, you’ll get the whole shebang.”
“Sounds good.”
My hosts lead me into the vestibule and through a doorway that takes us into the main hall of the ground floor. They honestly do give me the grand tour. I get to see every room on every floor, except for Rory’s office. Every hallway features displays of antiques and ancient artifacts, all related to Scotland, accompanied by placards that explain each item’s origins and historical relevance.
On the second floor, which is the third level of the castle, we enter the long gallery. The walls here feature historic paintings as well as photographs of what Dùndubhan looked like at various times in the last two hundred years or so. The center of the gallery contains glass cases full of antiquities, everything from eighteenth century coins to Viking artifacts.
I’m too tired to absorb everything I see.
Rory and Emery seem to notice that since they usher me into a bedroom, the one they had selected for me.
“You can choose a different room if you don’t like this one,” Emery says. “But this room has the best view and the cushiest bed.”
“I’ll take this one. You’ve decorated it so beautifully.” I amble over to the four-poster bed and flop my bottom onto it. Wow, this is a wonderful mattress. I might sleep for days just because I’m so comfy. “Thank you both for the tour. I love this castle, and I can’t wait to explore it more. I’m also looking forward to seeing the rest of the Highlands.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for that.”
Rory clears his throat. “Em, why don’t we let Alyssa rest now? She’s had a long journey.”
My hosts graciously exit the room, shutting it behind them.
I change into my nightie and crawl under the covers, feeling more at ease than I have in a long time. The quiet atmosphere in this castle is like nothing I’ve experienced in ages. Decades of living in one city or another gave me a kind of amnesia about what life should really be like. Bumper-to-bumper traffic on freeways had become my normal. I’ve got one last chance to experience a new normal, here in another country.
Then what? I have no clue.
In the morning, I wake up having no idea when I fell asleep. Guess I was more exhausted than I realized. Now, I stretch and yawn and smile. A satisfied sigh rushes out of me. If this isn’t heaven, it must be the next best thing. I get dressed and amble down to the dining room, where the castle’s website had said I would find a buffet. Since I’m the first and only guest, I kind of doubt anybody will go to that much trouble.
But when I walk into the dining room, I see a genuine feast awaiting me.
A gray-haired woman smiles with her cheeks dimpled when she notices me. “Come, dearie, sit down. I’m Mrs. Brody.”
I shuffle over to the table and try to sit down, but Mrs. Brody shoos me away. “Not that one. Take the chair at the head of the table.”
“Are you sure?”
“You are our guest, Alyssa.”
She must know my name because Rory and Emery told her. Well, a good b&b host would want to make sure every guest is treated like royalty. So I take the seat at the head of the table, the one Mrs. Brody pulled out for me. I survey the large amount of food arrayed on the table.
“Um, this is an awful lot for one person,” I say. “Did you invite your friends to breakfast?”
“No, dearie. Eat whatever you like. The leftovers will feed the staff. And feel free to use the kitchen whenever you want, to have a piece or just to get something to drink.”
After breakfast, I go upstairs to the long gallery so I can examine the artifacts there. Last night, I’d been too tired to fully enjoy them. Fifteen minutes into my perusal, I come to one item that causes me to stop and study it in greater detail than I’d done with any of the other artifacts. The glass case houses a sword. Something about it transfixes me, though I can’t explain why. As far as swords go, this one is relatively plain. But when I lean in, I can see odd markings on it. The placard explains that this is the claymore that once belonged to Ciaran mac in tSagairt, the Gaelic version of the name Kieran MacTaggart. Not sure how that’s pronounced. The placard also states that the MacTaggart clan only recently discovered that their ancestor had once lived at Dùndubhan.
That’s interesting, but hardly earth-shattering. Why, then, do I seem incapable of tearing my gaze away from the sword? I slowly walk around the case to examine every angle.
It’s just a sword, dummy. Stop gawking.
Shaking off my bizarre stupor, I drag myself out of the castle and to my rental car. Time for some sightseeing. I bump into Mrs. Brody on my way out and let her know I’ll be gone for most of the day. Then, I jump into my car and head out. But instead of stopping at every touristy spot, I bypass all of that stuff and keep driving, not sure where I’m going or why I want to go to wherever my destination might be. Must still be jet lag.
Eventually, I wind up in a village called Loch Fairbairn. I don’t stop there either, though. Something compels me to drive past the village, down a narrow road that takes me to…a cemetery. A chill shimmies up my spine, raising goosebumps on my arms. I need to go into the burial ground. So I get out of the car and stare at the headstones that litter the graveyard. A small sign declares it to be “The MacTaggart Family Cemetery.”
That’s a bizarre coincidence. No, it’s not strange at all. There must be lots of MacTaggarts around here. I am in Scotland, after all.
I want to leave the cemetery. I should leave. But my feet won’t let me climb back into my car. Instead, I find myself wandering through the rows of headstones until I come upon the one that had drawn me here. Can’t catch my breath. Can’t comprehend what I see. The headstone in front of me belongs to… No, it can’t be. But it is. I snap a picture of it with my phone, though I still feel like I must be dreaming.
Because the gravestone reads, “Kieran Aulay MacTaggart. Died 1598.”
Chapter Two
Alyssa
I slump to my knees and stare at the gravestone without blinking. How could I have known where Kieran was buried? What is happening to me? There must be a rational explanation. The placard at Dùndubhan must have mentioned it, and I just forgot I saw that. Yeah, I’ve lost my ability to remember things I read an hour ago. Well, I’m probably jet-lagged. No mystery here. Just a tired mind in need of more sleep.
But I’d slept for ten hours last night. How many times can I reasonably claim I have jet lag?
Oh, this is ridiculous. The fact I happened to come here, to this cemetery and one specific grave, means nothing. I rise and dust off my jeans, then turn to leave.
I can’t do it. My feet refuse to budge. And as I stand here trying to move away, even one inch, a strange tingle sweeps over my skin from head to toe. I glance back at the headstone, and my heart begins to pound, making me feel lightheaded. I shuffle around to face the grave again. Suddenly, all the strange symptoms I’d experienced evaporate. It feels as if a giant weight has been lifted off my chest. I take several slow, deep breaths until my pulse returns to normal.
“Good morning.”
I jerk and spin around to see who just spoke to me.
A man and woman stand there watching me, seeming rather confused by the fact I’m hovering over the grave of a man who died hundreds of years ago. Yeah, I’m confused too.
“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”
“Aye, that was clear.” He holds out his hand to me. “I’m Munro MacTaggart. The man whose grave you’re studying was my ancestor.”
What am I doing? I lost my mind, at least temporarily, and I don’t care to tell these two strangers why I was staring at Kieran MacTaggart’s headstone. So instead, I move away from it. “I should go. This was a bad idea.”
“What was?” the woman asks, and she sounds American. “You seem fascinated by the inscription.”
“No, I—” Suddenly cold, I hug myself and rub my arms. “I have no idea why I came here. Had this crazy impulse to come to Scotland, and I dropped everything to do it. When I saw the sign that said this is the MacTaggart family cemetery, I couldn’t stop myself from having a look.”
“You must have seen every headstone in this cemetery. This one is in the oldest section which is furthest from the entrance.”
“I walked straight to this spot.” I gaze at the headstone, biting my lip. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”
Munro MacTaggart lifts his brows. “Why would you say that, lass?”
“Because I can’t explain anything I’ve done lately. I felt…drawn here.” I shake my head, trying like hell to forget what I experienced a few minutes earlier. “Sorry. I should go.”
I race past the couple and don’t stop running until I get back inside the safety of my rental car. My heart is pounding again, but only because I sprinted across the whole cemetery. Whatever took hold of me in that graveyard, I will never experience it again because I will never return to this place. Can’t even think about sightseeing. But I would look like such a moron if I returned to the castle before lunch. I need to waste time somehow.
I do up my seatbelt and clamp my hands around the steering wheel. Put the key in the ignition, dummy. Right, duh, that’s kind of required. I fumble with the key, dropping it three times before I finally manage to start the car. As I’m driving back through Loch Fairbairn, I force myself to stop in at a café. Though it’s only eleven o’clock, I suddenly feel ravenous, like I haven’t eaten in days. A sweet young woman escorts me to a table in the outdoor patio section of the café, and I order fish and chips like I had yesterday. That seems like more of a British thing than a Scottish thing, but I don’t care. I need to eat, if only to distract myself from the weird morning I’ve had so far.
The food is good, and I do feel better after eating. Then I order some warm homemade scones with raspberry jam for dessert. Mm, yum. I’ve almost returned to normal and shaken off those eerie sensations that overtook me back in the cemetery. Never again will I visit any kind of burial ground.
Luckily, when I arrive back at Dùndubhan, I don’t see anyone, though I can hear someone in the kitchen humming. I guess that must be Mrs. Brody baking or cleaning up or something. So I sneak back upstairs without bothering her. As I reach the second-floor landing, I veer away from the long gallery and all those artifacts without even glancing back. A moment later, I’m safely ensconced in my room.
By the next morning, I feel fine again. No strange urge to study a sword. No spooky need to look at a medieval grave. I am myself again, and that chick wants to do some real sightseeing today that does not involve moldering corpses or antique weapons.
For the next two days, I do just that.
On the third day, I have dinner with Rory and Emery as well as Evelyn and Tavish Brody. Yeah, I finally asked what Mrs. Brody’s first name was on the second day. The four of us have a great time, laughing and eating and enjoying a bottle of Cabernet. Rory and Emery tell me stories about their clan, all the crazy things they’ve done that aren’t secrets because they did them in public. Rory himself tried to strip naked on the village square in Loch Fairbairn simply to make his wife smile. Emery stopped him from going all the way.
I feel like I know the whole clan. That’s how good the stories are.
Rory and Emery leave after dinner, but Evelyn and Tavish are on duty tonight, which means they will sleep in one of the bedrooms in the ground-floor guest wing. I say goodnight to them in the vestibule.
But I don’t feel tired enough to go to sleep yet. Evelyn had mentioned that the sliver moon will be visible tonight, so I wander out into the courtyard and gaze up at the sky. Stars twinkle. An owl hoots. Crickets chirp. I scan the heavens until I spot the sliver of a moon, then tip my head back more. I’ve never seen a sky like this, so clear and free of light pollution. Every star in the galaxy must be on display tonight and probably quite a few from further away too.
A creaking noise draws my attention to the castle.
I trot over to the side of the building, where a doorway hangs open, creaking as it turns on its hinges as if a strong breeze has caught it. Getting out the flashlight on my phone, I shine it into the darkness below. A flight of stairs leads down to some kind of room. Is that the wine cellar? Maybe Rory forgot to shut the door. I creep down the steps until I reach the bottom. Now I can tell there’s a small window at the level of the stairs.
And yeah, I was right. This is the wine cellar.
Maybe I should grab a bottle just in case. Never know when I might need a little vino to put me to sleep. Besides, Rory and Emery said I should think of Dùndubhan as my home until the day I fly back to America. What the heck. I reach out to grasp the neck of a bottle.
And everything goes black. I can’t move, can’t scream, can’t do anything except listen to my pulse thundering in my ears. A force like a whirlwind seizes me, and I go tumbling into absolute darkness.
Then I thump down on a solid surface.
A flash of white light blinds me as my eyes struggle to recover from the shock, and goosebumps raise all over my body. Voices whisper. A glow flickers nearby. My ears are ringing, but as I sit here in shock, that fades away. Now I can see three figures who squat on stools near a small, round table. Three women. I blink several times rapidly. These women wear old-timey clothes—long dresses and ankle boots. But that’s not the weirdest thing.
They seem to be chattering in another language.
“Hello?” I say. But my throat is dry, and I need to swallow a few times before I can speak loud enough for the strangers to hear me. Then I try again. “Hello? Who are you?”
The trio stare at me blankly. One of them whispers something, and the other two nod their agreement.
A plump, gray-haired woman who seems older than her companions, based on her wrinkles, toddles over to me and drops a necklace down over my head. The pendant attached to the silver chain has a pattern I recognize. I think it’s called a Trinity Knot or maybe a triquetra. I’ve heard both terms. The complex design is a combination of two ovals and one circle, and it’s composed of silver like the chain.
The gray-haired woman pats my hand. “There, gràidh, can you understand me now?”
“Uh, yes, I think so.” My words came out haltingly, probably because I’m confused and slightly groggy. “Where am I?”
“Dùndubhan.”
“The castle? This must be some part of the building that I haven’t seen. But I was in the wine cellar when everything went wonky.”
The woman’s brows knit together over her nose. “Dùndubhan has no wine cellar, though I dearly wish it did. I do not understand ‘wonky,’ but I should explain how you came to be here.”
“Yeah, please do.”
“We summoned you.”
I might’ve actually done a double take. “You did what?”
“Summoned you. We invoked the spirits of our ancestors to bring you to this place. Please know that we wish you no harm.”
“Who are you people?”
“I am Efrica MacTaggart.” She gestures toward her two friends in turn, a slender woman with gray-streaked dark hair and another who has dark-blonde hair and a wide mouth. “These are my sisters, Lachina and Morna.”
“Tell the lass why we summoned her,” Lachina says. “You are confounding her, Efrica.”
“Oh, aye, of course.” Efrica rolls her shoulders back and looks straight at me. “You are to be the bride of our beloved nephew. He is a good man, and you will grow to love him, of that we are certain.”
“Uh-huh.” I must’ve inhaled some spores from a hallucinogenic mushroom when I was in the wine cellar. But I might as well roll with the wackadoodle daydream, for now. I touch the pendant Efrica had given me. “Does this make it so I can understand you?”
“Yes, dearie, it does. We speak Scots Gaelic, not to be confused with Irish Gaelic.”
“But you said a word I don’t recognize. Gràidh? That’s what it sounded like.”
“Gràidh is Gaelic. The occasional word in our native tongue may break through the translation enchantment, particularly if the word has emotion or fear attached to it in your mind. Conniving might also interfere.”
“Sure, whatever.”
A banging erupts from the closed doorway. “What are you three doing in there?”
“Oh dear,” Efrica says, rising from her chair. “Our nephew has found us a wee bit sooner than expected.” She shouts toward the door, “Dinnae fash, Kieran!”
More banging.
Efrica rushes to the door and swings it open.
A tall, muscular figure stands there with one fist raised as if to slam it into the door again. The man has fur pelts draped over his body to form a kind of patchwork coat that extends down his thighs but doesn’t quite conceal his kilt. He seems to be shirtless, though well-worn boots cover his feet. The thing that makes me recoil slightly is not his muscles or the fact that he seems enraged. No, I cringe because blood stains those fur pelts as well as his face and arms. The hand not raised to bang on the door grips a large knife while he has a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder.
Did I mention the dirt and blood and who knows what is also caked in his hair? The man seems like a beast straight out of the epic of Beowulf.
Efrica seems unfazed. “Before ye shout at us, at least meet the lass. We summoned her for you.”
“Summoned?” His eyes narrow, then his gaze veers to me. He glances down at the pendant that hangs over my chest. The man’s nostrils flare, and he glowers at his aunts. “I will deal with you later.”
“Kieran, please—”
He stomps up to me, leans in, and rips the pendant away. I can smell the blood now too. Tossing the necklace onto the floor, he throws me over his shoulder and storms out the door.