Page 11 of Highland Spirit

Suddenly everyone was quiet and busied themselves looking away from Ethan.

With his head still down, Ethan glanced up at Hawke and scowled. He wanted to muffle him right now, because he knew where this conversation was leading and he didn’t like it.

“I am guessin’ by the way the lass was cryin’ all night that ye didna find the doll,” said Brigham, walking around the fire and sitting down on a stump used as a stool.

“Nay, we didna,” said Hawke. “Of course, Oliver and I could have used a little more help.” He glared back at Ethan when he said it.

“I’m confused,” said Bridget, looking at Hawke and then over to Ethan. “Werena ye with them, Ethan? And how did ye get covered with horse manure?”

“Aye, I was there.” Ethan answered without making eye contact with the girl. Instead, he looked down at the food on his lap. Another minute and it would be cool enough to eat. He was already salivating, just thinking of the rich beef. “I was momentarily distracted when my hound took off chasin’ someone,” Ethan explained. “Of course, I had to follow Trapper to the castle to bring him back.”

“The castle?” asked Brigham with interest. “Do ye mean the one that is said to be haunted?”

“That’s right! Blackbriar Castle,” said Bridget with a nod. “We’ve heard in our travels that a ghost inhabits it. Supposedly, a woman was murdered there years ago and she can still be heard screamin’ as she is pushed from the tower over and over again.”

“Heard . . . or seen,” mumbled Ethan into his cup as he took a swig of Mountain Magic.

“Seen?” Bridget’s blue eyes grew wide and she leaned forward so as not to miss a single word. “Did ye really see the ghost of Blackbriar Castle while ye were there? How excitin’. Please tell us all about it.”

“He no’ only saw a ghost, but he thinks he saw Alana, too,” Hawke told them.

“Alana?” The chronicler looked up, confused.

“Faither, Alana was his betrothed who left him on their weddin’ day,” explained Bridget softly.

“She no’ only left him, but she made a fool out of him,” Caleb joined in.

“That’s right,” added Logan. “She never planned on marryin’ Ethan at all. It was only a ploy – a distraction. She worked with her thievin’ faither. While we were distracted with the preparations for the weddin’, they stole our livestock and tried to sell it to the MacDougals.”

“Really?” said Bridget looking over at her father. She took the Highland Chronicles from him and put the book on her lap. “So Ethan’s bride was really naught but a bandit?”

“Nay!” shouted Ethan, not wanting anyone to talk of this hurtful incident again. Part of him wanted to badmouth his past betrothed for what she did. It angered him and hurt him deeply. But somewhere in his heart, Ethan was still in love with Alana, and might always be. After seeing her at the castle, he tossed and turned all night going over scenarios in his head, wondering which of them was true. He was so confused and upset that just the mention of Alana’s name made him crazy.

Ethan grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself inwardly for ever going to the island in the first place. He didn’t know how to answer Bridget because he didn’t want any of this getting into the Highland Chronicles. Then again, it didn’t matter, because before he could say another word, Caleb’s pesky pine marten jumped atop Ethan’s lap. It stole the piece of meat, and slinked away into the shadows before he knew what happened.

“Och, nay!” shouted Ethan, jumping to his feet. “Get back here ye doitit bandit!” Just that word, bandit, made his heart ache again, thinking of what Bridget had just called the woman he once loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But that was a long time ago, and his relationship with Alana was over.

Trapper jumped up, his eyes interlocking with Ethan’s, waiting for his command. “All right. Go get him, boy,” said Ethan, giving his dog permission to hunt down the little thief. The hound took off at a run, chasing the little weasel through the camp, knocking things over along the way.

“Nay! Stop yer hound, Ethan,” shouted Caleb. “He’s goin’ to kill Slink.”

“Slink?” asked Ethan. “I thought yer pine marten’s name was Marty.”

“Well, it was, but I changed it to Slink. I like that better.” Caleb took off at a run after his pet.

“If ye’ll excuse me,” said Ethan, nodding to the chronicler and his daughter and chasing after his hound. Honestly, he was glad to get away from them. But now he had to stop his dog before it devoured Caleb’s stupid pet. As far as he was concerned, a pine marten was no good and no better than a skunk or a weasel. It certainly was not a good choice for a pet at all. What had Caleb been thinking? Caleb sometimes made addlepated decisions, and this one had to top them all.

“I’ve got him,” called out Oliver, hunkering down, and calling the dog to him. The wolfhound liked the boy and ran to him, lying down at his feet. Oliver held on to the dog’s neck while Caleb continued to chase Slink. Since his pet was new, Caleb did not yet have the skill of making it listen to him. Then again, Ethan’s dog had a mind of his own as well.

“Thank ye, Oliver,” said Ethan, crouching down next to the boy to pet the wolfhound. “I’m sorry that we werena able to find yer sister’s doll.”

“I want my dolly,” cried the boy’s sister, Sophie, running to them and hugging her brother. Ethan’s heart went out to the little girl. She seemed so sad.

“It must be a special doll,” Ethan told her. “Did your mathair make it for ye?”

“Aye, she did,” the girl answered, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her hand. “My mathair made it out of her own clothes. But now Isobel has it.”

“Why does Isobel have it?” asked Ethan, trying to calm the girl down by talking with her.