Eternity

  ETERNITY

  by

  Marie Morin

  © copyright by Marie Morin, October 2004

  Cover Art by Eliza Black, © copyright October 2004

  ISBN 1-58608-307-4

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Dedication:

  This one’s for my fan, Shirley S, with apologies up front for any and all errors you may find here. I’ve never been to Great Britain except through books and my imagination, but I’ve done my best to be as accurate as possible and to portray the land of my forefathers with the affection and affinity I feel for it.

  Chapter One

  Joy filled Emily Hendrick’s heart to overflowing. She had realized her dream. It had taken every penny of her inheritance and her savings. She had had to sell everything of any value she owned, and she was now in hock up to her eyeballs, but she was the proud new owner of a real Scottish castle.

  Her joy sustained her throughout the terrifying flight from Georgia to NY and from there to England. Not that either leg of the trip was particularly eventful, but it was enough, in Emily’s opinion, to strap her ass to a missile and trust that ‘manmade’ would hold together long enough to get where she was going, even if not for the added threat of lunatics roaming the world with nothing but death and destruction on their minds.

  Her exultation not only sustained her through customs and the headache of renting a car--when her English wasn’t exactly English--and piling her few belongings into it, her excitement grew as she drove out of Heathrow Airport and headed north.

  It was disorienting to find herself on the ‘wrong’ side of the road whenever she managed to drag her mind, and her gaze, from the pictures lying beside her on the seat, but then she would remember, before she could cause a multiple car pile up, that she was supposed to be on the wrong side of the road.

  "Left, left, left!" she muttered, trying to calm her wildly palpitating heart.

  Her excitement diminished just a tad when she finally arrived at the village nearest her castle and discovered the land agent had already gone home for the evening. Curbing her impatience with an effort, Emily found lodging for the night and settled to wait one more night before she could see her beautiful baby.

  She was pacing the cobblestones in front of Gregory MacGregor’s office when he arrived the following morning. He was an older man, gray hair streaking his red beard and the hair that grew on his head like a monk’s tonsure. "Mr. MacGregor?"

  He turned from his door and looked her over again. "Aye."

  Emily smiled with relief, surging forward. "I’m Emily Hendricks."

  He frowned, as if trying to figure out why the name sounded familiar, then finally grinned. "The Yank?"

  "Oh, I’m not a Yankee," Emily corrected him. "I’m from Georgia."

  He looked disconcerted. "Russia?"

  Emily gaped at him blankly. "No. In the United States. I’m the one that bought Castle MacKissack?"

  He chuckled, nodding. "Oh, to be sure! Ms. Hendricks. I was expectin’ ye yesterday." He unlocked his door and pushed it open. "Tha accent threw me fer just a bit. You’re not a Yank, then?"

  Deciding she really didn’t want to try to explain, Emily ignored the question, following him into his office. "Actually, I did arrive yesterday, but you were already gone for the day. I had to spend the night at the … uh … inn." She watched him as he moved about the cramped office. "I’m really anxious to get out to the castle."

  "Ye’ll be wantin’ ta take care of the paperwork before tha’?"

  "Oh. Sure. I thought everything was already taken care of?"

  He moved to a filing cabinet, flipped through a couple of folders and finally pulled one out and returned to his desk. "Just a couple more."

  Emily glanced over the papers cursorily and signed her name at the bottom of each.

  "Well, now, we’ve got everything in order now, I believe," he said, sounding somewhat relieved. "I’ll just lock up an’ take ye out fer a tour."

  Emily frowned, but finally merely shrugged and went out to wait in the car. The pictures that she’d been sent of her castle were once more on the seat beside her and she picked them up, studying them lovingly while she waited.

  The whining toot of a foreign horn jogged her out of her absorption and she looked up to see that Mr. MacGregor had pulled his car along side the one she was driving. He said something to her, but she didn’t catch it. Smiling and nodding anyway, she started her car and turned it to follow him.

  The accents were giving her more problems than she’d anticipated. In some ways it was rather like the U.S.--concentrate. Every few miles you encountered a slightly, or vastly, different accent. In the states, the accents usually didn’t vary that much until you crossed a state line. It made it worse that they didn’t seem to be having any easier time understanding her than the other way around. She had heard British accents that were really similar to her own, but that didn’t seem to be the case in this particular area.

  She shook it off. She’d get used to it after a while and, hopefully, they’d get used to her accent, too.

  She was so busy admiring the countryside she almost rear ended Mr. MacGregor’s car when he swerved and made an abrupt turn between two crumbling gates. She glanced at the gates curiously, but she was still rattled from the near miss and didn’t get much of a look at them.

  Almost as soon as they were through the gate, the narrow road began to curve and climb. The hair pin curves made it impossible to look anywhere except at the road and Emily kept a wary eye on the bumper of Mr. MacGregor’s car. When he swerved off the road abruptly and parked the car Emily thought he’d run off the road. He got out after a moment, however, motioning to her, and she pulled off as well, glancing at the ruin casting its shadow over the patch of grass where they’d parked.

  She supposed he’d decided to show her some of the sights along the road, but she really wasn’t interested in sight-seeing at the moment. Sighing, she got out of the car.

  He grinned at her, spreading his arms expansively. "An’ here we are."

  "Where?"

  "The Castle MacKissack, lass."

  Emily turned in a circle, looking out over the fields and finally faced the stone ruin. It looked vaguely familiar and a strange little knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

  Narrowing her eyes against the sunlight that was spilling around the crumbling heap of stones and, in some places, through, she studied the wide ditch that curved around the front. A rusty set of bedsprings lay half in and half out of the muck at the bottom of the ditch. There was an abandoned appliance, as well, that looked like it might have been a stove, or possibly a washing machine. Wheels, tires, and an assortment of unidentifiable objects littered the ditch.

  A narrow--very narrow--bridge spanned the ditch. It might have been wide enough for a car but looked barely wider than a walkway.

  Feeling a wave of nausea wash over her, Emily opened the car door, leaned inside and grabbed the small stack of pictures from the seat. When she’d emerged once more, she shuffled through them and stared down at the western facade and ‘main entrance’.

  It bore an uncanny resemblance to the ruin she was staring at--except for the fact that there was water in the moat, instead of cast off belongings.

  "Ahh, but she’s a sight, ain’t she?" Mr. MacGregor said, beaming at her.

  Emily merely stared at him. "This isn’t … this isn’t … You’re not saying...." She couldn’t seem to get the words out of her mouth.

  He nodded happily. "Speech
less, are ye? It tis a sight! O’ course this is just a minor holding of the clan MacKissack. Didn’t see much action a’tall, but tis as fine a specimen of the mid ta late medieval period as there is standin’ today."

  "So … where’s my castle? Is it close to here?"

  He turned and looked her over as if she was crazy. "Aye. Yer standin’ in it’s shadow, lass."

  Emily shook her head. "No." She stabbed a finger at the picture she held in one trembling hand. "This is my castle."

  Frowning, he took the photo from her and looked it over. "Aye, that’s the photos I sent ye."

  Emily gaped at him, feeling a twinge of outrage beginning to work its way up through her shock and dismay. "But … But …. When were these photos taken?"

  He frowned, scratching his head thoughtfully. "Well … I couldn’t say. I’m thinkin’ probably after the first great war, ta be sure."

  "What war? The Norman Conquest?"

  He chuckled at her joke. "Nay. It was na’ here then. Me grandfather had a man up from London ta take the pictures."

  "Your Grandfather!" Emily gasped disbelievingly.

  "Aye. They’re not as recent as I would’ve liked, but there didn’t seem much sense in paying a photographer ta come so far when I found them."

  Emily couldn’t seem to do anything but gape at him, her mouth working like a fish that had suddenly found itself yanked from the stream.

  "Come on then. I’ll show ye around. I know yer anxious ta see it."

  The tour didn’t help Emily’s feelings much. According to the brochure she’d gotten, the castle had been ‘modernized’. The Scottish idea of modern didn’t coincide with her own. In the center of each of the ten cavernous rooms the small castle boasted, a cord had been dropped from the ceiling. A bare socket and bulb dangled at the end. Theoretically, these were turned off and on by the string hanging down from the receptacle, but the string was rotted and broke when Mr. MacGregor tugged on them.

  Shrugging, he dragged a flashlight from his pocket, flipped it on and flashed it around the room. "The generator’s not on anyway."

  "Generator?" Emily asked faintly.

  "Aye. The power company run lines out this way, but the storm took them out a few years ago and they’ve not been ta put them up again."

  "How many years ago?"

  He scratched his head, frowning. "That would’ve been sometime along ’75, I’m thinking."

  "Nineteen seventy five? Or seventeen seventy five?"

  He chuckled. "It’s na’ been so long ago as tha’. I’m sure there’ll be no problem gettin’ them up an’ goin’ again now tha’ ye’ll be fixin’ the place up."

  Seeing her glum expression, he urged her toward the hallway and pushed a door open about halfway down. "In door plumbing."

  Emily didn’t go in. She peered at the ancient bathroom from the hall.

  "O’course it’ll not be workin’ without the generator ta pump the water," he added after a few moments.

  The remainder of the tour passed like a nightmare. Emily felt as if she was struggling to run through a thick, gray fog, being chased by something unidentifiable.

  When they’d left the castle and returned to the cars, Mr. MacGregor studied her curiously for several moments.

  "There’s no phone, I suppose," Emily managed to say around the knot of misery in her throat.

  "Nay. Went down with the power lines," he said almost cheerfully.

  She looked at him, fighting the urge to wrap her fingers around his throat and squeeze until his eyeballs popped from their sockets.

  "I’m thinkin’ a cell phone might work, but then again, maybe not."

  "It doesn’t matter since I don’t have one," Emily said through gritted teeth.

  He nodded, scratched his head.

  "Well, I’ll be off then."

  Emily merely stared at him, thinking that it was a very good thing she didn’t have a gun. Otherwise, she’d have been tempted to shoot him and toss his body into the ditch/moat with the rest of the garbage that cluttered it. "I don’t suppose you know somebody that could fix the generator?"

  He grinned. "Me nephew, Angus, is a fair hand at mechanics."

  Emily turned to stare at her white elephant. "And maybe you could give the power company and phone company a call and put in an order for me?"

  "Sure. I’d be happy ta. If ye like, I’ll ask around about some workmen ta give ye a hand."

  "That would be so helpful," Emily said, gritting her teeth at him in a parody of a smile.

  His brows rose, but finally he nodded, tipped his hat at her and climbed back in his car.

  She watched him until his car disappeared, wishing there was a cliff between Castle MacKissack and town that he could drive off of.

  Gloom settled over her once he’d disappeared. Resisting the urge to simply flop down on the ground and squall, Emily got back into her car and began to study the brochure and pictures.

  There it was, the print small, but readable. ‘Photos taken around 1940.’

  She supposed she’d noticed the caption, but she didn’t really remember it, maybe because she had assumed that the castle would be taken care of, maintained as it had been in the photos? Or, maybe, because she’d been living in a dream world ever since she’d first set eyes on the advertisement?

  Sighing, she studied her castle for a while.

  Finally, realizing that she was going to have to stay in the thing, at least until she could find out if there was anyway she could get out of the deal and get her money back, she climbed out of the car and began lugging her belongings inside.

  She was wandering through the echoing halls trying to do a mental inventory of everything that needed to be done when Angus MacGregor showed up. Relieved, she sent him to have a look at the generator and give her an estimate on what it would take to get it going.

  She was at the top of the castle, staring into the distance, when he found her again. His suggestion was that she simply scrap it and buy a new one, but he finally agreed to see if he could jeri-rig it for her and get it going.

  She would’ve far preferred simply abandoning the place and staying at the inn, but she couldn’t really afford to. Stiffening her spine, she picked her way carefully back down the narrow, twisting stair that led to the tower and found the ‘master’s apartment’.

  She’d bought the place lock, stock and barrel. The furnishings that came with it were from the 1700’s, which had delighted her when she’d read it. In actuality, the pieces weren’t in terribly good condition, but she supposed they could be cleaned up and restored.

  So much for the idea of setting up a tourist bed and breakfast to help her pay for the place.

  Shrugging off her morbid thoughts, she moved to the windows. They’d been painted closed, but fortunately the paint was cracked and peeling. She managed to get one of the windows open about two inches and another almost halfway up before it stuck.

  She was lucky there was any glass windows in the place. The glass looked like it dated back to the 1700’s, too. The panes let in daylight, but they were blurry, making it impossible to get much of a view.

  What she mostly needed, she finally decided, was cleaning supplies. The place was coated in dust and cobwebs. The fabrics around the room were mostly rotted, but she’d brought some household linens. If the mattress on the bed wasn’t rotted, too, she might be able to sleep if she could just clean the place up a bit.

  The mattress, she discovered when she’d stripped the bed, was actually almost modern. It couldn’t be more than fifty or sixty years old. There were a few holes in it and she suspected mice had made them, but after testing the bed experimentally she decided it would hold her weight without collapsing.

  The bulb over her head winked a couple of times and finally brightened.

  Emily stared at it, feeling her first upsurge of hopefulness since she’d arrived.

  It went out again.

  Sighing, she went back to cleaning.

  A voice echoed hollowly down the h
allway like the wail of someone long dead and Emily jumped.

  "Miz Hendricks?"

  Relieved when she realized it was Angus MacGregor, Emily put a hand to her pounding heart. "Up here!"

  She met him in the hallway near the main stairs. He was grinning triumphantly. "I got it goin’."

  "You did? But the light went out again."

  He frowned, following her as she led him back to the room. After staring at it for several moments, he looked around and finally dragged a chair across the floor. Standing on it, he tested the bulb, twisting it first one way and then the other. He almost fell off the chair when it came on.

  "It was just loose. It looks like it’s about as old as me uncle though, so you’ll be wantin’ ta get some more."

  He climbed down again. "If ye’ll follow me ta the dungeon, I’ll show ye how ta turn the generator off and on."

  "Dungeon?" Emily echoed faintly.

  "Aye. I guess you’d be callin’ it a cellar now, but that’s wha’ it was built for, ta keep prisoners back in the old days."

  Dismissing that, Emily focused on the real issue. "Can’t I just leave the generator running?"

  "It only holds enough fuel fer a few hours. I meant ta tell ye, ye’ll want ta be gettin’ a supply ta hold ye awhile."

  "It figures," Emily muttered, following him down the stairs and into the ‘modern kitchen’.

  Picking up a flashlight, he opened a door at the far side.

  "There aren’t any lights down there?"

  He shrugged. "None that I seen."

  "This just keeps getting better and better," Emily muttered, following him down the steep stairs.

  It felt like entering a cave. Beyond the narrow beam of the flashlight, there was nothing but darkness so profound it almost seemed solid. To her relief, she discovered the generator was near the foot of the stairs.

  Squatting beside the generator, MacGregor pointed to a couple of valves and switches. After taking her through the process a couple of times and watching to make sure she had the hang of it, he stood up once more, fanning the beam of the flashlight around. "You’d think they would’ve … ahh. There’s a light, right enough. Let’s see if it still works."