The Charm Stone (2 page)

He stared at the colorful length of fiberglass. “Surfing ye say.” His bushy eyebrows furrowed. “And what manner of thing do ye hunt with a weapon such as that?”

Josie couldn't help it, she laughed. He was odd, no doubt, but he seemed harmless. “Big waves,” she said. Poor guy was just old and confused.

He frowned. “I’ canna say I ken the need for it.” He smiled then and gestured to her suit. “But I will admit to admiring yer armor. Quite flattering to the feminine form.”

Josie raised her eyebrows. Great. Just what she needed, an addled dwarf hitting on her.

“Well, we've no time to contemplate the ways of the world during my absence,” he said brightly. He turned and scampered up the nearest dune. He looked back when he realized she wasn't following. “Och, but me manners are truly wanting today. I've introduced myself and not asked ye about yersel. What is yer name, lass?”

She paused, unsure she wanted to play along anymore. But there was no harm in giving her first name. “Josie.”

“Josie.” He said her name as if he were tasting it, judging it somehow. He nodded then, as if in approval. “Would ye be a descendant then of Lady Elsinor?” He chuckled. “Aye, that would be the way of the Fates, wouldn't it? As I remember it there were several Josephines in her clan.”

“I have no idea who Lady Elsinor is,” she said. “And my name isn't Josephine. Just Josie.”

“Not a Josephine of Clan MacLeod then?”

“No.” She grinned. “I guess you could say I'm a Josie of Clan Pussycat.” She laughed at his completely nonplussed reaction. “My father has a passion for corny old comics.”

Now it was the dwarf who looked a bit wary. “Yes, well, however odd it might be to have the family cat as yer namesake, we've no time to ponder the curiosity. We must be off.” He moved higher up the dune. “We must book passage immediately. I needs deliver ye to The MacNeil.”

“Say what?” Charming and odd was one thing. Charming and seriously deranged was something else entirely.

She quickly ran down a list of possible courses of action. She could outrun him easily. But what if he were armed? Who knew what he might be hiding beneath that kilt. She surreptitiously scanned the length of the beach. The grassy dunes blocked the
view of the path to the street. The rising sun hadn't burned off the ocean mist, so the taller buildings and hotels crowding the beachfront farther down were invisible. And not one early-morning treasure hunter was in sight.

She gained hope as one lone runner shuffled slowly toward them, but as she neared, Josie saw she was at least sixty. Great. Josie and a senior citizen versus the maniac midget. Even the WWF couldn't have come up with that match.

She snagged her board. “Wave hunter and dwarf whacker,” she muttered beneath her breath, realizing the ridiculousness of the situation, but holding on to it nonetheless. It was the only weapon she had. She wondered if it was bulletproof.

“I, uh, I'm sorry,” she began, trying to sound friendly, but firm. “I won't be able to help you out today. I'm waiting for someone.” Although if her father wasn't here by now, chances are he'd fallen asleep over his drafting board again and hadn't gotten his phone messages.

Bagan was still standing near the crest of the dune. “I must insist, lass.”

Josie frowned. So much for friendly but firm. “I don't know you and I'm not in the habit of wandering off with strangers.”

“Hello!” a thin, high-pitched voice called out. “Do you need some help?”

Josie turned and found that the old woman jogger had stopped down by the water, about twenty yards away. What to do? She didn't want to involve anyone else in this potentially dangerous situation, but she didn't want to turn away what might be her only chance at getting help.

The old woman smiled when Josie didn't answer right away. “Don't be embarrassed about being caught talking to yourself, hon. I do it all the time.

Sorry if I bothered you.” Without waiting for a reply, she waved and moved off at her slow shuffle on down the beach.

Talking to herself?
Bagan might be short, but he was pretty damn hard to miss in that kilt. Josie turned back around, thinking maybe he'd disappeared the same way he'd mysteriously shown up.

But there he was, in all his plaid glory, waddling back down the hill toward her. “I should have explained,” he said. “She canna see me. Only you can, lass.”

Okeydokey.
This is all a head-injury-induced hallucination,
she reminded herself. But just in case it wasn't, she tightened her hold on her board and put some distance between them. “It's been real interesting talking to you, but I have to go now.” She debated whether to run down the beach or go past him over the dunes.

Bagan sighed and pulled his hat off, revealing a shiny pink dome surrounded by a shock of white hair. “Lassie, I canna make it any clearer to ye. You have the stone about yer neck. Yer the one. Ye must come.”

She looked down at the necklace, having forgotten all about it. “Is that what this is about? Because you're more than welcome to it. I hit the trunk with my board and—”

He shook his head, looking a tad exasperated.
Well, he wasn't the only one.
“ Tis no’ mine. I'm naught but the guardian of the thing. I must see the stone returned to the chief, as it is his to wield for the good of the clan.”

“The good of the clan,” she repeated hollowly. “Of course.”

“The MacNeil Stone is how the laird pledges his troth. With my guidance of course,” he said self-importantly. “I was heading home, en route from

Islay with the lovely Lady Elsinor MacLeod aboard, when our ship hit a spot of trouble and went down.” He looked away, his bright blue eyes growing glassy. “Terrible tragedy. All was lost.”

“Except for you. And the stone.”

“The stone and I share a joint destiny,” he explained. “I canna die.” He heaved a sigh and she didn't think she'd ever heard a sound quite so sad. “So many moons have passed now.” He was talking more to himself than to her. “And I've naught to show for my duties. I fear I'll be in disgrace for all eternity.”

“No good luck charm can keep a ship from going down in bad weather,” she said, not sure why in the world she was humoring him, much less consoling him. “Surely they can't blame you for that.” Whoever the hell
they were.

“I suppose not,” he said, though he didn't sound all that relieved. “Once the stone is set upon its path, the gods take no further hand in where Fate takes it or us. But I've never failed before. The stone has always gone to the one chosen to bear—” He stopped and shook his head, then mustered a smile. “My woes are no’ to be yer concern. Fate has guided me here and, like Destiny, she has her own plans for things. I am no’ to judge the wisdom of who or what she chooses to put before me.” The look he gave her made it clear that while he didn't judge Fate's wisdom, he did question it some. “All things will be clear when we get you home,” he said confidently, then his expression faltered slightly. “Once we find the current laird, that is.”

Josie wished she'd carried her cell phone. Men in white coats would be a welcome sight at the moment. Whether they'd be coming to pick up Bagan or her was a tossup at the moment. “This
is
my home,” she said, as if that would make any difference to him.

“Ye wear the MacNeil charm stone, lass,” he said simply, “which means yer trothed to the laird and will bear him a son. Ye canno’ change what Fate has wrought. Only death can end it.”

“Lucky Lady Elsinor,” Josie muttered.

“I dinna think she'd agree with ye, lass,” he said, obviously affronted. “ Tis an honor to be chosen, no matter the circumstance of it. I'm certain the current laird will be happy with what Fate has brought him.” He didn't quite pull this last part off convincingly.

Laughing probably wasn't the smartest thing to do in this kind of situation, but it burst right out of her. “So, let me get this straight. I'm supposed to fly off and marry some guy I've never met
and
bear his children. A guy, I might add, that you admit you don't even know. What if he's already married? What if he's a hundred years old? I don't think they even have clan chiefs anymore.”

Bagan folded his arms, looking remarkably obstinate for a little person. “The MacNeil Stone has only been worn by the laird's bride. No one else. It has never failed to bring good fortune to the clan.”

“I can see that.” He flinched a bit and she actually felt bad for chiding him.

“I dinna know for certain why Lady Elsinor was kept from fulfilling her promise. Fate has her own mind in these things, I suppose. She'd no’ put the thing on, despite my tellin’ her that it was the way of things. She had her own mind and was wanting Connal to do the honors.” He continued a bit uncertainly. “Perhaps it was her refusal that set Fate on a new course. In all the time it has been, the stone-when heeded-has brought good things to the clan. I canno’ be held responsible for those that wouldna follow its guidance. Connal was tryin’ to do the right thing, he knew it was the only way to save—”

“Just how long has this thing been sitting on the bottom of the ocean anyway?” Josie cut in, her head beginning to ache from more than the lump swelling on it. “When was the last time you dragged a bride back to Scotland?”

Bagan sniffed and looked mightily injured. “Seventeen hundred and two. And I dinna drag the lass anywhere. She was well thrilled to be the chosen one. Despite the clan's recent history, she knew it to be an honor. Why, there wasna a lass in the land who wouldn't have—”

“Well, I'm not from your land.”
Or your planet,
she wanted to add.
Seventeen-oh-two?
Was he for real? “And while there might be a few places in the world where arranged marriages still happen, America isn't one of them.”

“Ye canna go escaping yer destiny.”

“Watch me, old chap.” Josie tugged the chain over her neck and threw the necklace at him. It should have hit him square in the chest, but it didn't. In fact, it didn't hit him at all. Instead it landed in the sand where he should have been standing. But wasn't.

She whirled around, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Okay, this isn't funny!” she called out. No answer. But did she really want one? Josie swore under her breath. Maybe she should go to the hospital, have her head checked. Maybe have a CAT scan. Or three.

She looked at the necklace. She should just leave it there for some other innocent beachcomber to stumble across. But she couldn't. She stomped over, scooped it up, and tossed it into the trunk. She'd do what she should have done from the start. Deliver it to the maritime museum and let them deal with it.

By the time she hiked out to her Jeep she was exhausted and near tears. Well, who wouldn't be a bit
freaked out after a morning like she'd had? She pulled her keys out from where she'd tucked them under the back fender, then put the towel-wrapped trunk under the passenger seat so she wouldn't have to look at it.

A quick check in the rearview mirror showed a good-size lump along with a healthy gouge below her hairline.

“Mother Nature: one, Josie: zero,” she muttered and gunned the engine before pulling onto the road. She looked at the dunes receding from view, half-afraid she'd spy Bagan waving to her. “There's nothing there,” she told herself.
There was never anything there.
If she said it enough times maybe she'd start believing it.

Ye canna go escaping yer destiny.

She shivered as Bagan's words echoed in her mind. Well, her destiny was to do graphic artwork on her father's famed boards. That, and hit the waves whenever possible.

Which didn't explain why, for the first time since her father had put her on a board at the age of two, she was in no hurry to go back to the beach.

T
he museum was closer than the clinic, so Josie went there first. Parker's Inlet wasn't a very big place and their maritime museum was even less impressive, but at the moment she was thankful they had one at all. Until she saw the empty parking lot. Not a good sign. She swung her Jeep around to the front of the white clapboard building and squinted at the small hand-painted sign in the front window. “Closed Monday and Tuesday,” she read. And it was Monday morning. “Lovely.”

She was tempted to yank the trunk out and just leave it by the door. But her dad would get a kick out of seeing it-at least that's what she told herself-so she rolled back out of the lot with it still stuck under the seat.

Big Griff had spent close to twice the number of years she had globe-trotting and had seen all sorts of strange stuff. A kilt-wearing dwarf probably wouldn't even make him blink. Not that she'd decided to tell him about that part of it.

She was so busy trying to figure out just how to handle things that she was turning into her driveway before she remembered the clinic and getting her head looked at. Well, she wasn't going back now. She'd been banged up many a time and certainly knew how to handle a lumpy head and some blood.

Nothing some antiseptic and a fistful of pain relievers wouldn't cure. Toss in a hot meal and a shower and she'd be good as new.

And since she wasn't planning on going back to the beach anytime soon, the concussion she'd probably suffered wouldn't be a big setback.

She rolled down the narrow, crushed-shell driveway, wedging the Jeep between the overgrown stands of sea grass and nosed into the carport under her stilt house. As usual, she noticed the peeling paint and the jungle she whimsically called a yard and told herself for the millionth time she needed to hire someone to come over and take care of it all. Even though she knew that for the millionth time, she'd put it off. It wasn't the money, she just didn't like strangers poking about. It was why she'd chosen this place, way at the end of the strand. The water was too calm for good surfing, but she liked the seclusion, liked looking out her workroom window, watching the surf, propping her balcony door open so she could listen to the waves in bed at night.

None of that soothed her at the moment. She purposely ignored the trunk under the seat, and hauled her dad's board up the stairs. She peeled out of her wet suit and flipped it over one of the plastic beach chairs on her screened-in porch, thinking she'd rinse it off later. Right now she wanted to take a closer look at her forehead. The blinking light on her answering machine got her attention first.