Page 37 of Cottage in the Mist
“As much as I can be, I suppose,” Lily replied, turning to smile at the older woman. “For a moment I let myself get carried away. I thought I saw a village.”
“There would have been one here,” Mrs. Abernathy assured them. “There was always such around a tower. People who depended on the laird for safety when danger came calling. In peaceful times they’d have built their wee stone cottages, and their lives would have sprawled out across fields such as these.”
“But there’s nothing here now.” Lily shook her head, turning back to the overgrown meadow, watching as it was obscured from view by a small forest.
“Aye, but you see with more than just your eyes.”
“You mean I’m crazy.” Lily couldn’t help herself. The words spilled out of her, even as her mind sought to recapture the image of the village.
“She means you have the sight,” Elaine said matter-of-factly. “And if I’d a pound for every time I wished for the same as a child, I’d be a rich woman today, and Duncreag would have the new roofing it’s so badly needing.” She reached out to pat Lily’s hand. “Almost there.”
They drove slowly, the road now shrouded in the trees, their ancient branches dropping overhead to form a canopy of dappled green. The track, what there was of it, rose sharply now, climbing up the side of the mountain, sharp protrusions of rock visible beneath the gnarled trunks of the trees.
Then suddenly they rounded a bend and broke free, the sunlight almost blinding after the gloom. Elaine pulled the car to a stop and Lily blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
And then there it was. Dunbrae. Bram’s home.
Or what was left of it.
What had clearly been a tower once was now not much more than a great pile of stone. Perhaps two stories remained, most of that dilapidated and clearly unstable. The center was filled with rubble from what had most likely been upper stories. Broom grew amidst the fallen stone. And a rhododendron’s waxy leaves and purple flowers hid what had once been stairs.
For a moment the world seemed to shift, the tower taking on clean lines and powerful proportions, a crisp banner waving from the parapet. Huge wooden doors at the top of the stairs marked the entrance. And inside, Lily knew there would be a welcoming fire. She could almost smell the smoke.
Again her heart swelled with joy. She reached for the car door handle, but before she could wrench it open, the image faded, the jumble of stone heartbreaking in its neglect. She pulled herself from the car, oblivious to her friends, and walked across the grass to the fallen tower. In the sunlight the fallen stones glittered silver and when she reached out to lay her hand across one, it was warm to the touch.
Like a living thing.
She shook her head, wondering when she’d become so fanciful.Probably when she’d slept with a man dead five hundred years, a little voice whispered. She shivered. Eyes closed, she listened for the heartbeat of the place, her mind searching again for images. Memories. But there was nothing except the whistling wind and a soul-deep feeling of loss.
She shifted, opening her eyes, and reached to touch another stone, this one long and thin, like a threshold or a window sill. It was also warm to the touch, worn smooth by time. And she smiled, a vivid feeling of peace descending. An image flashed. An intricately carved table. Wooden trenchers and jeweled goblets. A massive stone fireplace, the flames flickering and bright. Above the mantel, a crest of some kind. Weapons fanned in a semi-circle above it.
She’d known this place. Known it intimately. She’d lived here. Slept here. Loved here. She was as certain of the fact as she was of breathing. And yet it was impossible.
“Are you seeing anything?” Elaine asked, the words jerking Lily from her reverie.
“The great room, I think.” She blinked at the tower rubble. “I only saw it for a second. Like the village below. But it was beautiful. And as familiar to me as my house in Greenwich. But that’s impossible. There clearly hasn’t been a working tower here for a very long time. And even if there were, I’ve never been here before in my life.”
“This life at least,” Mrs. Abernathy said, hands on hips as she surveyed the ruin. “It almost looks to me as if there were two towers here. See?” She pointed to the place where Lily was standing. “That seems to be the main ruin. Or at least the one in the best shape. But over here—“ She walked across the fallen stones to another lower mound, this one almost completelycovered with broom. “—there’s clearly another building. Or at least there was one.”
“An outbuilding of some kind?” Elaine suggested, as she and Lily made their way over to Mrs. Abernathy.
“No telling. At least not without a little help.” She smiled, turning her attention to Lily.
“It’s not like I can just call it up,” Lily protested. Although even as she spoke the words, she leaned down to touch the pile of debris.
This time it was as if a hand had jerked her into the dark. One minute she was standing amidst the ruins of Dunbrae and the next she was surrounded by blackness.
She sucked in a breath, turning her head, straining into the dark. The smell of smoke was thick here. But where before, with the image of the great room, it had brought pleasure, here it was oppressive. Frightening even. Her eyes watered, and somewhere below her she could hear the clanking of metal against metal.
A candle flamed in the darkness.
“He comes.” The voice was low, grating. A shiver ran up her spine.
She turned toward the light and the sound, but nothing was visible except the flame, and the shadowy shape of a hand and an arm.
“Who?” she asked, the words a whisper. “Who comes?”
The clanking sounds drew closer. Swords, her mind whispered. Someone was fighting. She looked down, recognizing plank flooring. Between the gaps she could see flames flickering below. She jerked her head up, recognizing now that flames also wreathed the doorway and licked at the floorboards and walls.
