The Vampire Laird (A Ravynne Sisters Paranormal Mystery/Romance) (3 page)

“Okay. ‘Damn the torpedoes’, etcetera…etcetera”

They were both quiet after that. Charlie avoided the ruts as best she could, but it was a bone jarring drive. A stream followed them for a while and then veered off into the trees.

“Just like Allyn described,” Meg said pointedly

“Then we should be coming into the open soon,” Charlie replied. The words had scarcely left her mouth, when there it was…the broad sweep of heather covered uplands that stretched as far as they could see, which wasn’t all that far since a drift of fog still lingered on the higher elevations.

A white cottage surrounded by a deep green meadow rolled past and black-faced sheep grazed everywhere, mixing with a scattering of shaggy highland cattle. They pushed on past a few more farms and then the road turned sharply around a steep bank that hid the view ahead. “I’m betting that Allyn’s village is just on the other side,” Meg said, holding her breath and leaning forward in her seat.

And it was. The ancient stone church dominated the scene. “Looks Norman with that square tower. Maybe 12th century give or take,” Meg said.

“Give or take what?”

“A century…maybe more. I’m only guessing about the whole thing.”

They followed the road past the church and into the small village of white stone buildings. Many could have been used for anything. Only two were equipped with signs…the pub and a one pump petrol station. “We could probably use some gas. Let’s pull in and fill up. It looks like a good place to ask if anyone’s seen Allyn,” Charlie said.

A small wiry man was leaning in the door of the weathered stone building as they pulled up. He knocked his pipe against the doorframe and stuck it in his pocket before he ambled their way. His narrowed eyes were decidedly unfriendly, as he looked them over slowly. “Wat kin Ah do for ye lasses?” he asked as though he had just bitten into something sour.

Charlie smiled. There was something about the little Scotsman she didn’t like and it wasn’t just his attitude. “We need gas…petrol…and a bit of information,” she said as sweetly as she could manage. “And we need to report a tree across the road back at the turn off.”

“Ah’ll let them know aboot the tree. The petrol Ah kin help ye wi’. The ither Ah dinnae ken till ye be askin’.”

“We’re looking for a man named Allyn Ravynne. Twenty-three…tall…blond… blue eyes…good looking. An American. Have you seen him?” Charlie asked.

He seemed to ignore her question, while he opened the gas cap and stuck in the nozzle. He finished pumping the gas and came to the window. Pocketing the money Charlie gave him, he looked her straight in the eyes and said with a dry chuckle, “Big mon mor’en a wee bit full of heemself? He’s stayin’ at the manse last Ah heered. Good dae to ye lasses iffen Ah cannae be doin’ mair for ye.”

Charlie pasted on her best smile and replied. “Thank you for your help. And this manse is where exactly?”

“By the kirk, war else waddit be?”

“Where else indeed,” Charlie muttered as she started the engine and pulled away.

“You actually understood all that?” Meg asked.

“I got the gist. The manse where Allyn is staying is next to the church. Manse must be the Scottish version of a vicarage. Let’s go see if we can find Allyn.”

“You’ll be nice when we find him, won’t you? No yelling?” Meg asked.

“We’ll see what kind of mood I’m in when we get there.”

They pulled up in front of the stone church and got out, then opened the wrought iron gate. “I want to take a quick look inside before we find the manse. Isn’t it beautiful?” Meg asked in awe, as she looked up at the old ruin.

“And falling down. A place like this would require a fair amount of upkeep and from what we saw of the village there’s not much money here…or ever likely to be. In fact, it seems entirely cut off from the rest of the world.”

“Like a falling apart Brigadoon.”

Charlie laughed. “Good analogy. Okay. Quick peek and then we’re out of here.”

Opening the heavy weathered doors they stepped over the high lintel into the shadowy interior. Several pigeons roosting in the upper rafters took flight, making their way out through the broken stained glass windows that depicted saints and angels…or what was left of them. “Must have been Roman Catholic originally. It’s so beautiful…mysterious…otherworldly…like we stepped back centuries,” Meg whispered reverently.

Charlie grimaced and examined the sole of one sneaker. “And stepped into a lot of pigeon poop. But you’re right. It is beautiful…and sad…”

A raspy cough interrupted her, as a man rose from the wooden pews near the front of the nave and came towards them. He limped slightly and muttered under his breath as though each step pained him. Reaching them, he drew up to his full height, which wasn’t all that much. His hair was wispy and white and his blue eyes were lively with intelligence, but it was his smile that caught their attention. It was warm…friendly…disingenuous…and welcoming. “Ach! Wat kin ah do for ye? Ah’m the meenister hare aboot. Pastor Angus McFarland at yer sarvice.”

“Pleased to meet you. We’re the Ravynne sisters and we’re looking for our brother Allyn, who is supposed to be staying with you according to the man at the gas station,” Charlie told him.

“Aye. He war, but issnae any mair. Moved up to the manor house a week or sae ago. Would you lasses be needin’ a place ta stay by chance?”

Meg looked at Charlie and replied, “Yes…we would. My name’s Meg and this is Charlie. Could we please use your phone so we can at least give him a call and let him know we’re here?”

“Nae phones here. Nae towers fer them cell phones either,” he told them shaking his head for emphasis.

“Well, that settles that. We have our bags in the car if you can show us where to take them,” Charlie said with a shrug.

His smile deepened. “Wi’ all the pleasure in the world.”

***

“It seems your sisters are here, Allyn, though how they knew where to find you is beyond me. We were very careful about that.”

Fleetingly, he remembered the letter that he had stuck in the pouch with the outgoing mail, when no one was looking. His sisters must have read between the lines and known he was in trouble, though, at that time, he hadn’t begun to realize just how bad things could get. Now they had come to save him, but who would save them?

He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness that seemed a part of him now. “I don’t know….” he mumbled, as she slid her hands beneath his shirt and teased one nipple.

“You would tell me if you did something foolish, wouldn’t you Allyn?” she asked in a silken whisper, as she pushed him backward onto the bed. Straddling him, she leaned forward until her black eyes were inches from his own, then she swooped in for a kiss. Catching his lower lip between her sharp white teeth, she bit him hard enough to draw blood. Licking off the bright red drops, she smiled like a feral cat over its prey. “You know what happens when you don’t please me, Allyn,” she purred.

And he did. God help him…he did!

“When I’m quite finished with you, your sisters can have what’s left, but believe me when I say that won’t be much!”

Angus led the way through the tall grass that encroached on the granite headstones, “tsk-tsk-tsking” under his breath. “Ned needs tae mow the place or bring in the sheep and feed the wee beggars to boot. Ye kin call me Angus if ye’re not of the faith…Presbyterian tha’ is. Follow me. Tis quicker through the graveyard. Like auld friends thay ar’ to me. Christened them and buried them and everythin’ twixt and tween. Of course, thare’s many that cum afore me. Centuries auld thay ar’ like the mausoleum of the MacMorley’s over thare.”

Meg and Charlie looked at the mausoleum as they passed and each silently promised themselves they would return later for a closer look. The fog had cleared by then and Meg was the first to notice the castle. Pulling Charlie to a stop, she cried, “Look! A real Scottish castle! How romantic is that? I wonder who lives there.”

“Looks like a ruin even from here, Meg, unlike that gorgeous manor house below it. Maybe 18th Century?”

By that time, Angus realized he had lost his audience and retraced his steps. “Admirin’ the castle are ye? Norman built in the 12th Century or thare aboot. War the home of The McMorleys…the Lairds of Blackcreag. A bad lot thay war. The castle earned the name ‘Bluid Castle’ with guid reason.

Meg’s eyes rounded in excitement. “And what was that?”

Angus chuckled and smiled crookedly. “Thar’s a lang tale for anither dae.”

“Who lives in the manor house?” Charlie asked.

“Meester Marley bought the manor and most of the village. Even bought the title of Laird. Likes to be called his ‘lordship, he does. Yer brither is stayin’ with heem nau. Best be gettin’ inside. Tilda, can get ye settled and then we’ll have us a bite to eat.”

Meg turned to Charlie and asked, “I wonder who this Mr. Marley is? I mean…look at that house! It would take a lot of money to afford something like that. Some rich American, do you think?”

Angus looked at her and said wryly, “A lot mor’en ye be wonderin’ that verra thing. Aye…a lot more! Ah dinnae have the answer. Ye’d might try askin’ heem an’ see whar it gits ye.”

They had reached the manse by then, which seemed to lean into the side of the church like an old friend. The gray stone square building was covered with ivy. Chimneys sprouted from the roof and its windows were deeply set squares without embellishment of any kind. It seemed to seep age.

“It looks haunted,” Meg said with a sigh and a smile.

Angus stopped in his tracks and studied Meg intently, before he said, “Och, lass! Dinnae be sayin’ sech in front of Tilda or ye won’t be seein’ naught but the back side of her.”

“Sorry,” Meg told him. “Sometimes I get carried away.”

Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, he opened the front door and they stepped into the deeply shadowed entry hall, where the only adornment was a walnut tall-case clock. Their footsteps seemed unnaturally loud on the flag stoned floor, as he led them down the hall to the back of the house. It was austere, cheerless, but spotlessly clean. Opening the swing door into the kitchen, he called to the small woman in a brown print housedress, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “Tilda, these lasses will be stayin’ hare fer the nounce. Ah will give yer pot a stir or two if ye will take them to their room. The one with the lovely view.”

A flash of annoyance crossed her face, and she muttered something neither sister could quite hear. Wiping her hands on her apron, she looked them over slowly….sniffed once…and left the room with a “Comin’?” flung over her shoulder.

Angus chuckled dryly. “Pay her nae mind. She has the kind soul of an angel, when she kens ye.”

They weren’t so sure about that. She moved faster than she looked capable of doing and soon they were up the narrow stone steps leading from the kitchen and down the narrow hall with its threadbare runner. There was nothing on the walls to soften their grimness.

Flinging open a door near the end she gestured inside. “Lavey is doun at the end of the hall. Thare will be food for ye in half an haur.”

She waited till they squeezed past her and shut the door. They could hear the clomp of her hard soled shoes retracing their steps to the kitchen.

They looked around at the small room that was one shade of brown or another. The iron beds were narrow and Meg jumped up and down on the closest one. “Yep! Every bit as hard as it looks. But there’s a nice deep window seat… which could use a few colorful pillows by the way… overlooking the ‘lovely’ view Angus was talking about.”

They both crossed the room and looked out the square casement window. There was a clear view of the castle on the upland moor…the purple mountains behind it …and the manor with its road winding down to the village. Below them lay the churchyard with its sprawl of gray markers almost lost in the high weeds and grass. “Kind of funny, letting the churchyard go like that,” Meg said.

“Maybe their caretaker is sick. Angus isn’t in any shape to do much. What do you think so far?”

“Well, Angus is the only one who has been even remotely friendly and I think the sooner we get out of here the better. I can’t wait to get my hands on Allyn,” Meg replied.

Charlie looked at her sister. “That makes two of us, but we’ve committed ourselves to staying for lunch, which I’m hoping Tilda doesn’t poison or spit in. She would have struck us both dead on the spot if she could have!”

Meg crossed the room, opened the black armoire and poked her head inside. “I get the left side of this thing and the bed closest to the window. I really don’t understand it. We seem rather harmless and we’re paying guests, though Angus hasn’t mentioned that part yet. Seems they would be a little kinder to strangers around here, when they bring a few dollars with them.”

Charlie frowned thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like we can rely ‘on the kindness of strangers’ at least around here. We’ll drive to the manor after lunch. Maybe we can just grab Allyn and get the hell out of here.”

“Won’t that be fun!” Meg said wryly. “This Mr. Marley may shoot unwelcome visitors, you know.”

“Now why would we be unwelcome?” her sister asked sarcastically.

“Why indeed?” Meg replied. “I’m starving by the way. What do you think Tilda was brewing?”

“Whatever it was, it smelled good. Let’s head down.”

Lunch…or dinner as Angus called it… was a thick barley soup and plate of something neither sister could identify. Tilda enlightened them with a dark glower, “Thar bannocks.”

“And quite tasty we’re sure,” Meg chirped brightly. “I think I’ll save mine for later.” Which earned her another dark look. There didn’t seem to be any way of getting on Tilda’s ‘good’ side, she decided, should she even have one, which she seriously doubted. She didn’t get that dour face without earning it!

While they ate, they answered Angus’ questions, telling him they were tourists and were hoping to meet up with their brother so they could see the rest of Scotland together. He nodded and smiled as Meg spun out their tale, embellishing it as she went along until Charlie was quite fascinated. But Angus had gone from politely interested to sound asleep. A soft snore vibrated his lips and his head hovered dangerously near his soup.

“We’d better wake him before we leave or he could drown,” Meg whispered. “I think I detect a ‘wee’ burr even in his snores. What do we do now?”

“Get out of here before Tilda gets back. A little of her goes a long way. Give Angus a poke and we’ll head for the door.”

Meg poked him lightly and he blinked owlishly, then looked around. “See you later, Angus, ” she called as she hurried out the door after her sister.

As they walked to their car, Meg said thoughtfully, “Something is not right here. I know in a lot of places the locals are wary of strangers, but this is different.”

Charlie looked at Meg out of the corner of her eye. “Everyone but Angus”

“I wish you had your gun with you.”

Charlie grimaced wryly. “I never thought to hear that from your lips! If my old airline contact had come through in time, I would have it tucked in my holster right now, but his sudden heart attack made that impossible in time to catch our plane and any delay would have been unthinkable.”

Meg frowned thoughtfully. “You’re right. We needed to get here fast and I believe we are meant to be here or that tree wouldn’t have fallen across the road in that very spot.”

“You believe it’s destiny. I checked the tree out while you were looking for the turn off. It had been snapped off cleanly. Only a very strong wind could have done that…the kind they aren’t likely to get in these parts,” Charlie told her.

“So…we are supposed to be here, just as I thought, but what do we do next?”

“Good question, but I don’t have a good answer. So, onward and upward…literally!”

As they drove up the winding dirt road, Meg asked, “Just out of curiosity, how many kilts have you seen since we’ve been in Scotland?”

“Some at the airport…one or two in the tea shop…one last night at the B&B, but that’s about all.”

“I wonder why? I thought the place would be loaded with them.”

“I think they are mostly worn as formal attire now…for special occasions like weddings and funerals and such,” Charlie told her.

“And the Highland games. I watched them on television, while you were pecking away on your last novel and everyone was wearing one,” Meg added with a grin.

“That explains your disappointment. Are you still hoping a handsome Highlander sweeps you away?” Charlie asked with a laugh.

“Laugh all you want, Charlie. We’re still in Scotland and anything can happen. Especially to us!”

Charlie didn’t trust herself to answer that!

They slowed to let a ewe and her twin lambs cross the road and then continued up the road. A stonewall ran across the front of the estate bisected by iron gates, which stood open.

“Looks like we’re in luck,” Charlie said, though she felt a frisson of unease work its way up her spine. A sensation she was all too familiar with and it always meant there was danger ahead.

“So far,” Meg replied, feeling her own tingle of heightened awareness.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They drove through the gates and followed the circular drive to the portico and its double front doors. The house was imposing to say the least. Built of gray granite, it rose three stories with long wings added to either side. Dormers marched along the slate roof that sprouted chimneys like dark fingers pointing to the sky. Casement windows with small balconies jutted from the second floor. Ivy climbed along the sides and trailed from the copper downspouts that were shaped like gargoyles.

“Is that Scottish?” Meg asked pointing to the closest one.

“Ah dinnae ken,” Charlie told her with a smile, “but they do add a lot of ambience.”

Sliding out of the car they met at the bottom of the stone steps and climbed to the ornate double doors that looked original to the manor. They were just about to knock, when the door was opened, abruptly, by a very proper butler right out of a Victorian novel. “You are expected. This way, if you please,” he intoned in a slightly nasal voice.

“At least he speaks comprehensible English,” Meg whispered behind his back, as they followed him across the marble entry hall.

Charlie laughed, which stopped their guide in his tracks. Turning in their direction, he raised one brow quizzically, sniffed loudly, then continued to a pair of paneled pocket doors. Opening one, he announced. “Your visitors have arrived, your lordship.”

Charlie and Meg looked at each other. “Your lordship?” Meg whispered.

“So it would seem,” Charlie whispered back. “He bought the title, remember?”

Meg’s mouth dropped open as their host rose from a seat next to the window and crossed the elegantly furnished room decorated in period pieces from the 18th century. He was exactly the Highlander she had been wishing for from his dark red hair to his silver buckled shoes and everything in between. Charlie glanced quickly at her sister and grimaced. Meg looked like a guppy gasping for air. But even she had to admit he was impressive. His kilt was dark green and black with a purple thread running through it. It was pinned at his shoulder by a massive silver brooch set with a large amethyst. He was tall…quite tall…and broad shouldered. His hair was a dark mahogany color and worn a bit long, just touching the top of his billowy white shirt. He was strikingly handsome and Meg was completely mesmerized…something he quite obviously enjoyed.

She pinched Meg hard and was rewarded with a “yelp” that at least closed her mouth and refocused her attention, though he witnessed the entire scene with amusement. Waving an elegant hand that looked too well cared for to have worked much, he said somewhat condescendingly, “Please be seated, ladies. My name is Seth Marley…Laird of Blackcreag. As perhaps you can tell, I’ve been expecting you. Johns,” he told the butler who lingered in the doorway, “some refreshments for our visitors.”

“Without a phone in this place, how did you learn so quickly we were here? Jungle drums? This is not a social call, Mister Marley,” Charlie said, moving till she stood almost toe to toe with him. “We want to see our brother, Allyn. We were told that he is staying with you now.”

He smiled sardonically and looked down into her eyes. His were as green as spring grass and darkly guarded. That was the word, she thought…guarded. There were secrets in those eyes he wouldn’t let anyone ever discover. “Jungle drum. How droll. One of my men saw you in the village and drove up to tell me. I regret to say that your brother is not here at the moment,” he told her, smoothly.