just over a sennight ago when happenchance allowed the figure to witness an act of infuriating passion.
A kiss so shamelessly heated even the memory scalded.
And in a holy place, standing on the threshold of St. Maelrhuba's chapel and in clear view of the Na Clachan Breugach stone.
The figure shivered and stepped back from the lip of the gorge. Not wanting to invoke the older, darker powers that might frown on taking such justice into one's own hands, the figure adjusted the folds of its great, voluminous cloak and slipped back into the mists and shadows.
While St. Maelrhuba's influence might be a bit watered down after so many long centuries, there wasn't a Highlander walking who'd doubt the lingering sway of the ancients.
The mysterious Picts and others.
Shadow folk one would be wise not to rile.
Passing by the Na Clachan Breugach stone each time a visit to the ruinous chapel was required was daunting enough. Kissing in the shadow of such a stone, and then so lustily, was to call up a thousand devils.
Never mind that in the days of the ancients more lascivious acts than kissing had surely gone on within the sacred circle of those hoary stones. Stones of Wisdom or the Lying Stones, only one remained and the figure was sure it hadn't been pleased to witness such a kiss.
Such passion.
And so, the figure decided, moving stealthily through the trees, measures would need to be taken to ensure such passion didn't flame again. Only then would the stone be appeased.
And the figure's grievances well met and avenged.
About the same time and not all that far from the swirling waters of the Garbh Uisge, Jamie followed Alan Mor into his privy solar at Fairmaiden Castle. Once again, he marveled at the little room's cheery warmth and beauty. This time he also wondered if he hadn't misjudged his host.
Perhaps placed unwarranted suspicion on his doorstep.
Truth was, whether he found it hard to believe or not, the Matheson laird looked genuinely outraged and appalled.
And, Jamie couldn't deny, exceedingly innocent.
Leastways of having had anything to do with the deaths of Jamie's brothers. Alan Mor's indrawn breath and the way he'd leapt from his seat at the high table when Jamie stated his reason for visiting was testament enough to his surprise. Even now, his bushy-bearded face was visibly pale.
Clearly shaken, he raked a hand through his hair and strode to the shuttered windows, then wheeled back around almost as quickly. "I would not be party to such a black deed if my own life depended on it," he vowed. "Or the lives of my fair daughters."
"But you understand I had to come here?"
"Och, aye," Alan Mor owned. "I just canna think who would do such an evil thing."
He started pacing, rubbing the back of his neck as he stalked around the solar.
"I'll admit your da and I have had our bones to chew, but any feuding we carried on has e'er been amiable feuding. Anyone in these hills will tell you that. Though I willna deny we keep a wary eye on each other. But see Munro's lads done in?"
He stopped in front of the hearth fire and shook his bearded head. "Nay, lad, I had naught to do with the like."
Jamie frowned.
Ne'er had he accused any man of such a vile deed.
Even by association.
But he'd seen and heard what he had.
His brothers were as dead as dead can be. He couldn't back down. If he hadn't been able to save them, he could at least honor them now with his persistence in uncovering their murderer.
And hopefully, in the doing, prevent more tragedies.
Someone had appeared in his father's bedchamber draped in a dripping plaid - a plaid that selfsame someone later tossed onto the effigy of one of Jamie's long-dead forebears.
Although he'd not discount Aveline's insistence that she and others have seen his brothers' ghosts, Jamie was certain the bogle plaguing Munro was a fleshand-blood man. Someone well capable of tampering with an age-worn footbridge. And, he suspected, equally guilty of recently mixing fish bones in a kettle of porridge meant for consumption at Baldreagan's high table. A near disaster he'd learned of just recently, the almost-tragedy, averted thanks to Cook's watchful eye.
Just now, though, Alan Mor's eyes were on him, waiting. So Jamie put back his shoulders and plunged on.
"In truth, sir, I canna think who would have done it either," he said, speaking true. "I - " He broke off when the door opened and Sorcha entered with a large flagon