THE LAST LAIRD

Chapter 6 - William

I sat still, my own head swimming, not just from the amount of whisky I'd now consumed, but also from Duncan's story. Or should I say, William Duncan.

"You said you didn't know who you were, or how you'd got here..." My voice sounded croaky.

"I didn't until today, when I saw the bones, and the picture of the dagger."

"It was the one you gave your brother."

"Aye, twas."

"So you think the bones belong to James."

Duncan was quiet, his head hanging low, his emotions almost palpable.

He looked up, those eyes that stunned me every time I looked into them, now so full of grief. Jamie may have died hundreds of years ago, but for Duncan it was only a few days past.

"It was his bedchamber, where the body lies," he whispered.

"I'm so sorry," I placed my hand on his arm and he placed his own hand over it.

"If I had not come here...."

"It doesn't sound like you had a choice." The time travel bit was the part I was having the most trouble with, but I accepted it because it explained so much, it was as if a piece of my brain knew it before he even spoke.

"When I woke, I had no idea where I was, or when. It was daytime, but the weather was dreich and I was drenched, the dirt I was laying in had turned to mud and I looked like I had been half buried in it. I recognised the location. Many a night had I stood in my bedchamber looking out at the loch, and here was that familiar view, but that was all that was familiar. The castle was gone, reduced to rubble, and buildings and roads had sprung up around it. I felt like I'd taken a nasty blow to the head, I couldna see straight, I felt sick to me stomach, and I couldna make sense of who I was or how I had got here." He ran a hand through his hair, loosening long strands from where it was tied at the nape of his neck. I had never really liked long hair on men, but there was something about Duncan's that I found incredibly attractive. I wanted to feel those strands drift across my naked body....

I sat up straight, clearing my throat, and hopefully my mind of it's wayward fantasies.

"So what is your quest then?"

"I think I am to find out who murdered my brother."

Not for the first time, his expression scared me. I realised now that his anger was of another time, one where it was more than acceptable to kill, and to use a sword or knife to do so. Nevertheless, I felt safe with him, as if he would use that wildness to protect me, rather than to hurt me.

"Do you have any thoughts on it?" A murder mystery was something I could not resist.

"Aye, one or two. I was hoping ye would help me. There are no witnesses to speak to, no body to look at."

"Well, not entirely true. The bones and the site itself might yield some clues. You would be surprised what one can learn. That is what archaeology and anthropology is all about."

"Sure but they could have thought of easier words to call it, don't you think?"

I laughed, pouring the last of the whisky into our glasses.

"You mentioned your wife," I tried to make it sound casual. It was a tragic story, she had obviously struggled with some kind of mental health condition worsened by post partum depression. It would be difficult for a woman to cope with even in our modern times of medication and therapy, but in those days it would have been awful. "I'm so sorry, about what happened to her."

"Aye, she was a poor soul, and I couldna give her what she needed, nor was I old enough to understand what that could even be. I was struck with my own grief at the babe's death, and afraid it might have been at her hand, I didna ken how to deal with it. It gives me some peace to know that the sisters at the convent were kindly to her, and she found some tranquility there."