A Highlander in Her Past (3 page)

The faint swish of a sweeping broom echoed with a hitching rhythm somewhere deeper in the darkness. Trish cocked her head and listened closer, smiling as the muffled sound of a child’s voice periodically interrupted the whooshing scrape of the broom. Nessa would tan the boy’s hide herself if she heard Ramsay using such colorful language.

Scooping the lantern off the chunk of stone, Trish held it even with the level of her knees and concentrated on placing each foot in a safe spot among the wreckage.
Geez, what a mess.
How in the world did they expect an eight-year-old boy to clean up all this by himself? A soft popping hiss echoed through the tunnel followed by the distinct smell of sulfur.

“Ramsay! I said ye were not to use your magic.” A deep voice shook through the walls of the tunnel, spilling stone dust down from the rafters.

A trembling young voice quickly squeaked out, “Sorry, Da.”

Trish couldn’t resist a smile. Apparently, Latharn didn’t have to return from Ireland to monitor his son’s progress with some sort of magical ward. Ramsay better tread lightly or Latharn would zap the boy’s mischievous little butt before returning from the emerald isle.

The beam of light shining out from the lantern finally reached the end of the tunnel, revealing a black metal door barely hanging from the archway by a single bent hinge. White oxidation, as though the door had survived an extreme blast of heat, framed the edges of the thick metal slab. The gray-white scorch marks trimmed the inky black square like a border of ragged lace.

Holy crap.
Trish traced a fingertip along the ancient curlicues and intertwined whorls forming the endless Celtic knot welded to the center of the door. The signet of the ancient magical seal. Blown right off its hinges. Trish shook her head. Nessa was right. They had to get Ramsay under control.

Trish inhaled a shaking breath. Ramsay was first born of Nessa and Latharn’s quadruplets. Not only had he always been the most stubborn, he was also the most gifted of the four in the ways of magic.

Trish squeezed her way around the partially opened door, holding her breath as she moved to keep from brushing against its edges. The way the thing teetered against the one remaining hinge, it could crash to the floor at any time.
Dammit, Ramsay.
Trish brushed crumbs of stone dust from her hands and clothes then raised the lantern higher in the air. The rascally eldest son of the MacKay brood had always held a little tighter hold on her heart than the rest of the entertaining bunch. But this time, with all this damage, Trish doubted that she’d be able to sweet talk Latharn and Nessa into an early parole for the boy. Poor Ramsay was doomed.

A blue-white glow from several strategically placed lanterns revealed the damage deeper in the room. Trish hooked the metal handle of her lantern on an iron rod extending from the first partition of the floor to ceiling bookcase creating one of the walls.

Leather-bound books and partially burned sheaves of parchment littered the stone slab flooring. Ceremonial daggers, scrying bowls, and iron candelabras peeped out from between fluttering piles of torn yellowed pages. A biting blast of frigid night air invaded the dimly lit room. Trish hugged her jacket tighter about her body as she peered closer at the night sky-filled gaping hole where a solid stone wall once stood.
Yep. Ramsay outdid himself this time
.

Speaking of Ramsay—Trish scanned what part of the room she could see from the weak light shining from the scattered lanterns. Where was the boy?

“I’m over here, Auntie Trish.”

“And how many times have you been told not to listen to other people’s thoughts?” Trish honed in on the sullen voice coming from behind an overturned work table.

A despondent sigh echoed up from the rubble as a dust-streaked face slowly rose above the edge of a broken board. “Sorry, Auntie.” Ruffling his hands through spiked tufts of burnt orange hair, Ramsay shook off bits of plaster and stone like a dog shaking off water.

“What happened, Ramsay?” Trish stepped over the broken spokes of a shattered stool and gingerly settled down onto an enormous chunk of displaced wall protruding from the hearth. “You know you’re not supposed to play with magic when your father’s not here to help you.”

“I was not
playing
.” Clear blue eyes flashed beneath a pair of reddish-blond brows as Ramsay threw his broom to the floor. “I had everything all figured out until stupid Catriona spoiled it all.”

Trish brushed bits of rubble from the spot beside her on the stone ledge. “Come. Sit down here.” Trish patted the stone and urged him forward. Maybe she could talk some sense into the frustrated little rascal. She and Ramsay had always been close, sort of kindred adventuring spirits. “You do realize what you did was wrong?”

Ramsay nodded while wiping the back of his hand underneath his dripping nose. “I know that next time, I won’t tell Catriona where me and the boys are gonna be doing our spells.”

“Ramsay!” Trish held her breath against the urge to laugh. This was serious. She admired the boy’s tenacity but he had to realize he could’ve killed them all. “You know good and well that’s not what I meant. Now, don’t you?”

“I know.” Ramsay’s chest deflated with a dejected sigh as he scooted up onto the stone beside her.

Trish curled her arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close against her side. Kissing the top of his filthy head, she rocked him back and forth like she’d done when he was just a tot. “You could’ve been killed, Ramsay. What would I have done without my favorite minion?” Leaning back a bit and brushing more of the grayish hunks of rock and plaster from his hair, Trish tapped once on the end of his nose. “What would I have done without another fiery redhead at the table to even out the odds against the less colorful folk?”

“Ye’ve cut your hair so short it doesna matter what color it is,” Ramsay glared at her with an accusing scowl as he edged out of Trish’s embrace. “And ’sides, ye’d be just fine either way ’cause yer never here anymore.”

Ahh.
So that explained Ramsay’s attitude toward her. Trish folded her hands in her lap and stared at Ramsay’s bowed head. She
had
been away longer this time. The dig on the Isle of Iona had kept her away from her favorite family in the Highlands longer than she’d anticipated.

“I’m sorry, Ramsay.” Reaching out to feather her fingers through his hair, Trish’s heart lurched as the boy shied away. “Aww…come on, Ramsay. You let me hug you just a minute ago. Now you’re going to pout and not even let me touch you?”

“Ye had a hold a me afore I knew what ye were doin’.” Ramsay thumped his heels against the stone as he sidled an angry glance in her direction.

“I see.” Trish folded her hands back into her lap. So it was going to be like that. He was going to force her to choose sides and act like the adult. “You know I have to go away at times and tend to my digs. I can’t stay here and mooch off your parents all the time. As much as I’d love to dump all my responsibilities and spend every day with you, it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. I’ve made commitments, Ramsay. You know I always keep my word.”

“Ye couldha took me with ye.” Ramsay drummed his heels harder, the thunking cadence of his leather boots echoed through the chamber.

Trish slid back and drummed her own heels against the rock, matching her rhythm with Ramsay’s kicking bounce. “And what would your family do without you? Your mom would be totally lost. And who would Catriona pester? The rest of the boys are afraid of her.”

“Ma’s fixin’ to have another bairn. She wouldna even notice I was gone.” Ramsay’s scowl remained locked on the tips of his boots, head bent, glaring at his swinging feet as if he was waiting for them to disappear.

“You know better than that.” Trish cringed at the scolding tone creeping into her voice.
Yuck.
She sounded just like Nessa. Stilling her feet, she planted both hands on either side of her thighs, leaned forward and scanned the wreckage scattered across the floor. “Is the new baby the reason you were trying to go to the past? Are you afraid you’re not going to get any attention here once your little sister is born?”

“Hell no!”

“Ramsay?”

“
You
say it. I’ve heard ye say worse than that many times. ’Specially when ye didna know I was around.” Ramsay puffed out his narrow chest, crossing his spindly arms over the grubby front of his shirt. “And I wasna tryin’ to get to the past. I was tryin’ to fold time and space and make it to yer dig before ye left. I was gonna surprise ye. Catriona’s a stupid nosy-butt. She peeks into Auntie Fiona’s paperback books. That’s where she got it in her head that I was tryin’ to travel back in time.” Ramsay shook his head, cutting his eyes sideways to lock an irritated glare fully on Trish’s face. “I hate girls.”

“Really?” Trish clamped her lips into a stern flat line. If she allowed Ramsay to witness the slightest hint of her amusement, not only would it hurt his feelings but her planned lecture would fall on deaf ears. “So, does that mean you hate me? I’m a girl.”

Ramsay’s smudged cheek shrugged deep into his collar as he stared down at the floor. No answer. Just the sullen thudding of two little boots banging against the stone.

“Ram. Talk to me.” Trish leaned closer, nudging his little shoulder with hers. She had to get him to open up or he’d never listen to reason.

“I don’t hate you.” Came the muffled reply as Ramsay tucked his chin deeper into his dark flannel shirt. “I just hate that Catty made me look like a dummy. I know how to work my spells. I know how to match them with the wheel.” Peeping up around his collar, Ramsay’s blue eyes flinched into angry slits. “If she hadna come in and ruined everything, I would’ve shown up by your side. I wouldha surprised ye. Now it’s too late and I can’t prove to nobody that I know what I’m doing.”

Poor Ram. Trish knew from personal experience that nothing burned worse than knowing in your heart you were capable of doing something but no one believed it but you. “I tell you what.” Trish curtailed the urge to smooth Ramsay’s wild hair back behind his ears. “Once you get this mess cleaned up and you’re not in trouble anymore, you can work the spell just for me and we’ll travel somewhere together. How would that be?”

“I’ll be a flippin’ eighty-year-old man afore I get this mess cleaned up the hard way.” Ramsay whacked his heels harder against the stone perch. “And Ma ain’t never gonna let me outta my room.”

Trish bit her tongue and held her breath. She must not laugh. “Now, Ram. You know you’ve been in hot water before and it didn’t last that long. You’ve survived solitary confinement to your room before.”

“I canna try the spell later. Well, at least not until a whole lot later. I hafta match the wheel.”

Trish frowned, scanning the shadowed floor of the dingy room and the crooked shelves still holding what few items had survived the blast. “What wheel are you talking about? I don’t see any wheel. Did it get blown away or something?”

Ramsay rolled his eyes, blowing out an exaggerated sigh as though he couldn’t believe Trish’s naiveté. “The
seasonal
wheel, Auntie Trish. Today is Winter Solstice.”

“Ahh.” Trish nodded. The phases of the moon and proper timing had made a huge difference all those years ago when Latharn had saved Nessa from a black-hearted sorceress. Apparently, MacKay magic drew its potency from nature and the eternal cycle of the universe. “So, I guess your spell will only work on Winter Solstice?”

“Auntie Trish.” Ramsay’s voice settled into a strained placating tone. “It’ll work on either of the solstices or either of the equinoxes.” Dragging his sleeve under his running nose, the boy sniffed as he continued. “I’m pretty sure it’ll work on the fire festival too but I’m not positive.”

Trish fished a tissue out of her pocket, grabbed Ramsay by the back of the head with one hand and pinched the tissue against his nose with the other. “Blow.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes over the folds of the tissue.

“Blow, Ram. You know how much it grosses me out when you wipe your nose on your sleeve.”

Ramsay trumpeted a gust of wind out his nose, reaching up to grab the tissue and finish the job himself. “I’m not a baby. I can wipe my own nose.”

“Then don’t act like a baby by using your sleeve and sniffing.” Trish shuddered and pulled another tissue out from the depths of her pocket. “Here. Take this one for later.”

Ramsay snatched the wadded tissue out of her hand and shoved it into his sporran. Running the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, Ramsay avoided Trish’s gaze and stared across the room.

Trish groaned. Not good. Whenever the boy worked the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip it meant he’d shifted into plotting mode. They’d all learned to pick up on that telltale sign before Ramsay even learned to walk. “What’s buzzing around in that head of yours, Ram? You haven’t even gotten out of the dog house over this...” Trish waved a hand, encompassing the chaos of the entire room from the overturned tables and emptied shelves to the tattered plaids dangling from the walls.

“I was just thinkin’.” Ramsay shrugged a dusty shoulder while starting a slow rocking motion from side to side.

Grabbing the child by the shoulders, Trish forced him to sit still. “Out with it, Ram. Whenever you stick out your tongue and start rocking, you’re always up to something that you generally shouldn’t do.”

Ramsay widened his eyes and laid a hand to his chest, failing at a weak attempt to cover the mischief beaming from his face with one of complete innocence. “I was just thinkin’ that if ye’d let me try the spell again, I could sift ye to yer room and ye wouldna have to walk through that ole dark tunnel again.”

Bullshit.
Trish bit her tongue against her favorite expletive, reminding herself that Ram didn’t need any additions to his already colorful vocabulary. The twinkle in his eyes was a dead giveaway that he still itched to try that spell. Forcing an appreciative expression across her face, Trish slowly rose and moved a few feet away. “So, you’re trying to redeem yourself by being considerate, worried that I’ll be scared in the tunnel? Is that what I’m hearing?”