Page 60 of Highland Spirit

“I understand,” he answered, looking at the castle and then back at them sitting safely in the boat. “Ye’ll be watchin’. Right?” he asked, not wanting them to trick him and leave before he returned.

“Aye, of course we will,” Bram assured him. “How else will we ken that ye really did it?”

“All right,” said Ethan, taking a deep breath and heading up the hill. The night was so foggy that it was hard to even see the castle until he was upon it. He stopped just under the open gate, looking around. By the light of the moon, he saw the empty courtyard. There, across the baily stood the infamous tower that was the scene of the murder. No one even knew that man’s poor wife’s name.

“I can do this,” he said, feeling his body tremble. He’d heard the scream of the murdered woman just as everyone else in his clan had, the cry carrying on the wind all the way back to the mainland. All he had to do was to climb the spiral staircase and wave his torch out the window. Then his friends would see that he wasn’t a milksop and they’d stop teasing him about being frightened of a ghost.

Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, he ran to the keep and down the corridor, using the light of his torch to guide the way. Tall shadows moved on the walls as he got to the foot of the spiral staircase, making him feel as if he were being watched. Or perhaps followed.

With a shaking hand, he held his torch in front of him, climbing the crumbling spiral stairs, wondering how far it was to the top. He stopped in front of the door to the room, looking back over his shoulder once more before slowly reaching out. But before he even touched the door, it creaked open on its own.

He froze. Was it the ghost of the bride of Murdock? Or was it perhaps old Murdock himself who did that? Waving his torch back and forth, he called out to the empty room.

“I have fire,” he said, as if that made a difference. “And I have a dagger, too.” He reached down to his waist and plucked his dagger from his waist belt, holding that out in front of him with his other hand. “Did ye hear me?” he called out, hearing the echo of his own voice in the room. “Ye canna hurt me so dinna even try.”

As he took a step into the room, he saw a bed near the window but, other than that, the room was empty. Something squeaked from behind him and he spun around, stabbing his dagger in the air and waving his torch wildly. A mouse disappeared into a crack in the stone wall next to what looked like an empty old hearth. He walked closer, using the fire to light the wall. “Odd,” he said, not seeing a crack big enough for even a mouse where the rodent had disappeared. It must have gone into the hearth.

He turned back and headed for the window, his knees still quaking and his legs starting to feel as if they were going to give out. “Wave the torch,” he repeated the directions aloud, walking up to the open window to do it and leave. But just as he approached the window, a huge gust of cold air blew in, extinguishing the flame.

“Nay!” he cried, because now he’d never be able to signal to his friends that he truly was here. He turned around quickly, meaning to run, when a wispy form of a woman went right through him, taking his breath away. She floated out the window, and once again he heard that bloodcurdling scream. “Bid the devil!” he cried, running for the door. But when he got to the door, the dark image of a man in a cape stepped in front of him, holding up a halting hand.

“What are ye doin’ here?” growled the man. His hand was so close to Ethan’s face that Ethan could see the metal ring with etchings on it that the man wore. It looked to be some kind of cross on it. “Ye dinna belong here. What do ye want?”

“Get away from me,” shouted Ethan, stabbing at the man with his dagger, still clutching the wooden torch in his hand. With one mighty blow, the dark image knocked Ethan’s dagger from his hand and he heard his weapon sliding across the floor. Ethan used the torch to hit the man across the face.

“God’s eyes!” spat the man, his hand going to his face. When he looked up, a beam of moonlight spilled into the room at that moment, illuminating the man’s face as well as a section of the stone hearth behind him. “Ye drew bluid, lad. Ye’ll pay for this.”

Ethan saw the long gash above his eye. Blood trickled down his face. He drew his sword and Ethan realized it was time to run. He threw down the torch and darted out the door, nearly breaking his neck as he stumbled down the stairs in the dark. He ran as fast as he could back to the boat, where his friends were starting to row away without him.

“Wait!” he cried, sloshing through the cold water, throwing his body over the side of the boat. “Did ye hear the ghost?” he asked, his body shaking. “She floated right through me. And I saw a man who wanted to kill me. I think it was Mad Murdock. He was with me up in the tower room.”

Clyde and Bram exchanged glances, looking shaken if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Nay. Nay, we didna hear anythin’,” said Bram.

“That’s right,” said Clyde. “There is no ghost.”

“There is, I tell ye,” he tried to convince them. “And I was up in the tower and I saw it all.”

“Ye werena there,” said Clyde. “If ye were, we would have seen yer torch in the window.”

“That’s right,” added Bram. “Ye were too scared and turned around.”

“Nay, that’s no’ true. I was there I tell ye, but the wind blew the torch out. I saw the ghost and I saw Mad Murdock. I was lucky to escape with my life.”

“We dinna believe ye,” said Clyde, rowing back to shore.

“Ye’re just a whelp afraid of yer own shadow,” said Bram.

“I thought ye were my friends,” said Ethan. “Why dinna ye believe me?”

It was that day that Ethan realized he would never be free of his reputation. If his friends didn’t even believe him, no one would. And from this day forward, he would never be able to shake the image of the ghost from his mind.

Pushing his thoughts of the past aside, Ethan climbed the spiral staircase leading up to the tower, taking the steps two at a time. There were a few torches lit in the corridors that cast eerie shadows on the walls, but he tried not to think of them as he made his way to the door and stopped at the threshold.

He drew his sword with one hand and with the other, he reached out and pushed open the door. That same bed was still there. It was probably the wedding bed that was used by Mad Murdock before he killed his bride. Swallowing deeply, he stepped into the room, looking one way and then the other. He had no torch in here, and the only light came from outside, through the one window.

He knew that window well. A shiver went up his spine as he remembered it clearly. He had actually felt a light pressure and a cold chill push through him that day as the ghost passed right through him.