Celtic Spirit (Celtic Storm Series Book 4) Page 2

  Derek Campbell laughed at her audacity. What was she talking about and how dare she call him Lad? He was a grown man; one, in fact, feared by many.

  Morag’s old eyes looked upon him with compassion and she said, “Ye’ are done with the pain now.”

  What was she talking about? The old woman had probably gone daft with age. But as he looked into her eyes, he saw a clarity that did not show the confusion that sometimes happens with people who were on in years. He suddenly felt a chill course through him. What the hell was going on here? He looked down at the fallen man at her feet and noticed he wore the Campbell colors. Had she killed him after all? He would have been her enemy so it would stand to reason that she would have wanted the man dead.

  “Come closer, boy. Look and understand.”

  Derek Campbell had seen plenty of dead men in his 34 years on earth. Hell; he had been the cause of plenty of them, but something about this one lying at the Old One’s feet gave him pause. Derek didn’t want to look at him. He felt the uneasy chill of foreboding course over him as he stood rooted to the spot, unable to move closer.

  The Old One’s voice grew harsh. She said, “Derek Campbell, ye’ have sealed yer’ Fate long ago. The Guardians want to show you no mercy. It is time ye’ faced the Evil ye’ have wrought and make yer’ atonement.”

  Morag crept closer to Derek and saw he backed up with each step. Shaking his head, he suddenly felt afraid. He, who never felt afraid, not even when he was met with the most daunting of fights. He, who caused more fear in the hearts of men than many dared, inched further away from the hand of the crone. No! Something was not right. He had the sense to turn and flee. He knew when to back down from a fight. He needed to get away from the witch immediately.

  Only, his legs would not budge. He could not move. He felt the Old One’s hand grip his arm and he wanted to scream out at the touch. No sound came out as his mouth opened in terror.

  “The Ancients have heard my prayers, Derek Campbell, but it is not without price. Ye’ will be given a second chance, but it will be one that must be earned.”

  “Second chance, Woman, what are ye’ talking about? It is I who should be giving you a chance.”

  When Derek turned, he saw his Grandfather, Gavin Campbell, standing beside the old woman. Gavin Campbell had been long dead, and for years he lay in the still earth. Shaking his head, Derek said, “What sort of trickery is this, woman?”

  “This is not the trickery of the Woman.”

  Derek heard his grandfather speaking and he was still fixed to his spot. When he blinked he now saw the mother of his sister; his stepmother Arianne, hovering beside Gavin. Oh no! This was a dream. It had to be. He rubbed his eyes and cursed an oath. Opening his eyes again, he now was flanked by one more. Dear God, not her, dunna’ let it be her…no, it could not be. He would not look at her. It was Caitlyn McLeod, one who also had been long gone from the land of the living. Derek railed, “This is witchery, Old Woman. I want no part of it.”

  Gavin Campbell spoke again and he said, “Your sins are many. You have been a source of disgrace for the Campbell name. Only this One has bargained for your soul. Heed her….”

  “This is a conjuring of the unholy. I will not fall for your lying tricks, hag. I will see you burn for this.”

  Undaunted she drew him closer to the man lying on the ground. She said, “Yer’ body is quite broken. Ye’ need to see so ye’ can understand.”

  As the Old One stooped again before the broken man before her, and moved the hair out of the sightless eyes, Derek was finally able to scream. And scream he did; loud and long as he realized it was his own body that was bloodied and twisted at the hag’s feet.

  ******

  Bronwyn Brandham felt the shift in energy that sent a chill through her. Since she had embraced the Old Ways whole heartedly, it seemed that whenever there were The Ancients about, she could feel Them and sense Their presence. She peered out over the expanse of grass just outside of the keep and she spied her husband, Drew and her two children strolling toward her. She breathed a sigh of relief in seeing her precious family so close at hand. She wanted to gather them up in her arms, especially since she could still feel the Old Ones. Sometimes their Presence was a portent of danger, but in seeing the smiles on her loved ones’ faces, she brightened and waved to them.

  “The progress is going well, Bronnie. The wall of the outer bailey is nearly finished and the rooftops on the lesser buildings have been replaced. I surveyed the work and am pleased with the advancement,” Andrew Brandham said, upon greeting his beautiful wife. Just seeing Bronwyn made Drew happy. Long had their tempestuous beginnings ended and they had settled into wedded bliss. He loved being a family man, even though he had always thought that course was not meant for him. In greeting Bronwyn, Drew was reminded how much his life had changed for the better.

  Bronwyn smiled at her handsome husband. He wore the colors of her Clan as he was wont to do since they had married. She loved that he had completely accepted her Clan and their customs. She still felt a charge of heat every time she even looked at him. His knowing smile made her blush. Putting her arm in his, they each took a child by hand and made their way back into the keep. Bronwyn turned back one final time. She could still feel Them. There were forces at work and she was not certain just what that meant. Offering a prayer for peace and protection, Bronwyn focused her attention on her family, knowing that if The Old Ones wanted her to know, she would learn soon enough what was required of her.

  Chapter 2

  When the screaming stopped, there was a deafening quiet. Finally Morag said,

  “Ye’ have been given a chance that few gain. It is not easily given nor is it going to be easily won. Ye’ will be forced to reckon with the evil ye’ have wrought and then, maybe if ye’ truly atone for the deeds, ye’ will regain your life.”

  Derek felt his chest and ran his hands over his arms. He still felt like he was alive; like his body was whole and hale. Shaking his head mutely, he gestured that he just did not understand.

  Gavin Campbell spoke. When he did, terror filled Derek again. He was again aware that Gavin Campbell had been dead a long time.

  “The dishonor ye’ have caused is only minor to the hurt and harm ye’ have wrought. I am ashamed to call ye’ my own. If it were up to me, yer’ immortal soul would rot for all eternity in the fiery pits of hell.”

  “This canna’ be. I still feel….”

  “If ye’ were to truly feel, ye’ would be consumed with pain. Look upon your mortal body? Be grateful that ye’ do not feel.”

  Derek did not want to look upon the broken shell of his body. His eyes shied away. How was it that he could still have fear and disgust if he was dead? His instinct was to run. This had to be some sort of a very bad dream. He backed up slowly, and then he felt an icy hand close upon his wrist. It was Caitlyn McLeod. The feel of it made him want to start that unearthly screaming again, but he kept silent. The MacCollum hag spoke up as Caitlyn gripped him and said, “Go with her and believe. This is not a dream, Derek Campbell. Few get this chance.”

  Looking upon the McLeod wench, Derek thought she too did not look dead. Only the icy grip on his wrist filled him with revulsion. Still, it was better than gazing on his own battered corpse.

  The voice of his grandfather filled his ears as he was led away. He heard, “Your journey has begun.”

  What journey? I am dead. The wench was probably dragging him to the netherworld where he would spend all eternity in agony. Only, the hag had said he was being given some sort of chance. As the mist parted, he saw the clearing before him. While he could not see him, Derek knew his brother was crouched low in the brush waiting in ambush. He remembered that day well. Derek saw himself hiding as the riding party approached. An arrow zipped past him and he knew it had begun. With loud war cries, Derek was surrounded by the MacCollum. He felt the familiar hatred for his enemies surge through his veins like the very lifeblood that no longer offered him his mortality. He sprang fo
rth, knocking his bow. He would take out as many as he could. Aiming directly at the heart of the one called Rory, he let the arrow fly. He was already reveling in the victory of piercing the Laird’s son through his black heart.

  When Derek looked again, thinking to see the body of Rory MacCollum twitching in the throes of death, he saw his arrow had not quite hit the mark he had intended. Rory MacCollum had charged headlong into the fray, but there, pinned to the base of a tree, like a butterfly caught by its wing, sat a girl. His arrow had found a home, alright.

  Straight through the chest of the wee wench.

  She was stunned in the agony of it. She could not move. The arrow had passed clear through and anchored her to the trunk of that tree. Blood seeped from the wound into her garment; the flagrant stain growing beneath her shallow heaving breasts. As she gasped for breath, a trickle of blood dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. The lass was dying.

  Derek remembered that day, to be sure. He had put that out of his mind these many years and he rationalized that war was war. Sometimes innocents paid the price, but as he watched the dying moments of the young woman, he realized that she should have never had to pay that price. He wanted to run. He remembered he had run like he had never run before that day so long ago, only stopping when he heard the bay of the agonized yell of the girl’s betrothed; the one who was supposed to have stopped his arrow. He wanted to run again, but the hand of Caitlyn McLeod held him to his spot as sure as the arrow had pinned her to yon tree. He wanted to turn away, but Caitlyn forced him to look. How could such a wee lass hold him so strongly? Perhaps his spirit form was weak. Without his physical strength he could not resist her. She said, “Derek Campbell, it was by your arrow that I left my life. Too long ye’ blamed yer’ brother. See what yer’ folly did that day.”

  Derek saw the son of the MacCollum Laird snap off the end of the arrow, which caused unspeakable pain to wrack the tiny girl. He then slid her off of the skewer, causing the last of her life’s blood to shower them both. Derek watched as his enemy tried to comfort the girl only to cradle her in his arms as she dragged in her last breath. He looked from the scene before him to the ghostly yet solid vision gripping his wrist. He expected to see anger and vengeance in her unearthly gaze. He expected to see the gruesome visage left by death. Instead, he saw she was not gruesome, but beautiful. And he saw sadness. Tears streaked her face. Did ghosts cry? He guessed they did because she spoke through her tears saying, “Ye’ took my life away from me that day. Ye’ took the life of my unborn babe. I mourn no more for that now for I cannot. I have been called to a higher good. I mourn for what can never be.”

  “I think if I am that greater good of which you speak, girl, the gods have lied to ye’.”

  “It is not for me to question what I am called to do. That small thing set a chain of incidents that canna’ be undone. Look upon the man whose life you ruined that day? I only got to die once. He relives my death each day, still.”

  “But he married my sister. He has…”

  “Aye, he married yer sister and they have found love and peace with each other. He is whole again through the nurturing of that beautiful soul, but he relives the day I died still. He will until he lives no more and nothing I or Brielle can ever do will prevent it. Ye’ did that, Derek Campbell. Ye’ stole a piece of his soul and caused him torment for all his days.”

  “I dinna’ mean to kill ye’, Lass. Ye’ were in the wrong place. Rory MacCollum knows well the price of war. He has killed a fair share of men in his day.”

  “Aye. He is the fiercest of warriors but he is not without honor. When have ye’ ever fought with honor, Derek Campbell? Was there honor in the murder of a young woman and her unborn bairn? Is there honor in any of the frays ye’ have been a part of? What will ye’ fight for besides coin?”

  What, indeed….

  Chapter 3

  ~New York City, 2013~

  Kiera Callum packed the last box of books in her apartment. She ran extra packing tape across all seams of the box and she tried to budge it with her toe. Damn, it was heavy. The movers would be there first thing in the morning. Most of her things were going to a storage unit downtown. She sighed and looked around. The apartment she had shared with her fiancé, Jackson Samms, would be her home no longer come tomorrow. At least, he had the decency to leave while she packed. Decency, ha, that was a good one. The man didn’t have decent bone in his six foot body. She should have called Joey Greco, that king of that sleazy cheaters show, with her story. Hell, Jackson would have given him material for a month of shows. Kiera had suspected Jackson was seeing someone for months now. Her late hours at work kept her away more than she wanted to admit and when the cat was away that mouse sure played.

  Kiera was glad they had postponed the wedding months ago to allow for a mandatory trip abroad for historical research pertaining to Kiera’s job. Kiera was the assistant advisor on a documentary dealing with antiquities and the lure of the ancient world in modern day. The documentary was being compiled as a body of work for a senior historian connected with one of the major museums in the City. On paper, her job sounded quite intriguing. In reality, she was a glorified gal Friday, who ran and fetched when she was called to do so. Her trip abroad, while exciting to plan, was really nothing more than securing accommodations and setting up meetings for the documentary staff and crew. Her boss was a sadistic micromanaging idiot who hid behind his cerebral façade to cover up the fact that he was a socially inept misogynist who thought all women were beneath his lofty intellect.

  Kiera actually had dreaded the trip, knowing that all those weeks away would leave Jackson with too much time on his hands. Her suspicions had been growing when he had left his laptop on as she had returned home late one night. Jackson was nowhere to be found but his laptop winked the message that gave him away.

  “See you in a few…can’t wait. Don’t forget the toys.”

  Ugh. As Kiera’s heart fell, she closed the laptop and waited for him to get home that night with an explanation. She didn’t believe one word when he said that he had gone down to the local pub to throw back some brews with a friend and play a game of darts. He said the toys were his set of darts. He didn’t own a set of darts! Things deteriorated after that. Kiera watched and waited until he had enough rope to hang himself and she caught him red handed in their bed with some young tramp when she came home early with an impending migraine.

  Kiera couldn’t even cry. She was so filled with disgust she began packing her things that very night. Now at least, her trip abroad would be a welcome respite for her to run away and not have to think too much about her plans that had gone awry. She would be spending time with her best friend Jeannie for two weeks and then she would be off. After her trip, Kiera would be virtually homeless as the apartment belonged to Jackson Cheater the Pumpkin Eater. He would be back once all of her things had been removed so to not cause her more heartache.

  That was big of him. His cursory remorse was laughable. Kiera thought she had known him so well, but he had grown into someone she really did not know at all. In the months before their breakup things had started to change drastically. Her usually sweet and amiable fiancé had changed into an erratic, moody person that at times she did not recognize. Kiera suspected Jax was partaking of more than just cheap little sluts at the local bars. He had come from a “well-bred” family from the Hamptons of Long Island; the ones that fostered the “old money” values. Jackson did not have to struggle for the day-to-day existence. Besides an ample trust fund, he had garnered an executive position in a top stock trading firm in the City. In fact, he probably did not have to work at all, because his family fortune would eventually come to him. Kiera believed that sometimes when you are born under that sort of privilege, boredom is a specter which hovers waiting to claim the unsuspecting person. Kiera had started to think that Jax was no exception. When boredom claims its host, abuse of substances can set in. While she never saw Jax drunk or high, his growing sullenness and black moods were a
clear indication that something was definitely wrong. Jackson had become easily angered and on more than one occasion, he had been particularly nasty to Kiera. He was always remorseful, of course, and Kiera rationalized that he never hit her or anything, but deep down, she was starting to become a little bit afraid of Jax when he was in one of his moods. She tried to discount it to pre-wedding stress and she talked it into herself by telling herself that all couples go through it. It would pass. They loved each other; it would all be alright.

  Kiera gave an ironic little laugh to the silent room at that thought. It all came to a head when Kiera had caught Jackson in his little indiscretion. When Kiera had confronted Jax with her revelations, he had admitted to being with several girls over the past few months. He had offered the usual response; they meant nothing, he was just bored, blah…blah…blah. For Kiera, that was the last straw. She had worked and studied too hard to get where she was. She was not a stupid woman. She could not abide by this sort of thing at all. Now, the more she looked back at the situation, she was convinced that the women were only the tip of the iceberg. Kiera was pretty sure that there was drug abuse going on. She certainly could not stand for anything of that nature. She vehemently opposed substance abuse. Outside a few glasses of wine, Kiera was not prone to over indulge in anything that would alter any of her moods or feelings.

  Not only that, Jackson’s little trysts had put her health at risk. She had taken herself to be tested the minute she learned that slut girl wasn’t the only one Jackson played darts with. Bastard! He knew how much she hated needles and because of him she had to go through a series of blood tests to make sure she hadn’t contracted any diseases from his irresponsible liaisons. He swore he had used a condom, but the guy wouldn’t know the truth if it bitch-slapped him on the side of his face. Well, in two weeks Kiera would be on her way. Her doctor had cleared her health-wise, but he sure couldn’t give her emotional state the same bill of good health. She felt battered on so many fronts. She hated her job. She had no real home to speak of and now all her hopes and dreams had gone down the crapper. Her life was a shambled mess.