Free Haunt Me Still by Jennifer Lee Carrell Page B

shake. He spent his days watching the play of light across the blade. At night, he grew restless, walking the battlements at all hours, knife in hand, looking toward the hill. His wife began to wonder whether the thing had bewitched him.
    “On the eve of Samhuinn in 1859, he disappeared in a gale. A young servant girl later claimed she had seen him struggling up the hill, though how she could have seen through the lashing rain that night put her story in some doubt. In any case, neither William Nairn nor his knife was ever seen again.
    “To the end of her days, his wife believed that he had been taken by the Good folk, who had reclaimed the knife as theirs and had taken him along in the bargain.”
    The tale faded slowly, lingering long after her voice had stilled. “It was William’s grandson who met the dark fairy on the hill,” she said presently.
    The old woman who Sir Angus believed had sent something along to Ellen Terry. The phrases I’d heard whispered on the wind swirled around in my head. You shall be queen hereafter…. Nothing is but what is not…. She must die. Chased by a few clearer phrases: Evil rumors gathered around it …. Most strident of all: You have brought evil into this house.
    I shifted uncomfortably. “Lady Nairn…do you think the knife could have anything to do with whatever Sir Angus found?”
    “I shouldn’t think so. Why?”
    I looked up from the knife in my hand. “I found a knife very like this today.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Where?” Before I could reply, she answered her own question. “You went up the hill.”
    “I’m sorry.” I swallowed. “It—the knife wasn’t all I found. I also found a body, or at least I thought I did. I thought—at first—it was Lily.”
    “My God, Lily?”
    “Obviously, it wasn’t,” I quickly explained. “It must have been a dream or a nightmare.”
    She drew in a sharp breath. “That explains some of your rushing about, I suppose.”
    “There was no body.” I got up and went to the window. “Ben went back to make sure.”
    “And the knife?”
    “He has it.”
    “Is that where you met Auld Callie?”
    I nodded. “Lily says the kids in the village think she’s a witch.”
    “As the saying goes, you say witch, I say wise…. If she’s a witch, she’s a white one. Caledonia Gorrie is worth heeding.”
    “Where did you get this?”
    She put out her hand for the knife, and I gave it back. “My husband had it made for me. It’s a copy of the original.”
    I frowned. “But if the knife was lost in 1859,” I said slowly, “how could he have had a copy of it made?”
    “We still have the dig notes from 1799. There’s a full-scale drawing.”
    My heart turned over. “May I see it?”
    “Come,” she said, heading swiftly out of the room.

8
    AS WE NEARED the foot of the stairs, we heard a strange, almost inhuman keening, and every hair on my body rose. Ducking back into the hall, we found that most of the company had drifted off to their rooms and the lights had been dimmed. Those who remained had gathered at the french doors, thrown wide open to the night. The sound was drifting in from outside.
    Among them was the white-haired woman who’d been so nervous about the curse, Effie Summers…another of the witches. She was looking back at us, her mouth shaped into a long narrow “o” of fear; a low, whining sob laid a line of guttural bass under the strange song filling the air.
    “Effie,” said Lady Nairn, “what’s happened?” Gripping my wrist, she drew me through the room.
    Shaking her head, Effie pointed at the doors.
    I eased forward to look outside. The moon had set, leaving the night sky awash in stars. The pines ringing the house seemed to scour the horizon as they swayed in the wind. On the lawn below, candles marched in a flickering circle, and in its midst stood a woman.
    No—a girl. Lily, her dress rippling in the wind. Slowly, she began to raise her arms skyward, and I realized that the keening was