Chapter 1

1

DUNNEDIN, SCOTLAND, PRESENT DAY

“ S o, have ye come to seek out yer destiny?”

Douglas MacKendimen turned around slowly at the familiar voice. Mairi, fortune-teller extraordinaire, stood before him awaiting his response.

“No, Mairi, I know my destiny.” Douglas laughed as the old woman’s face tightened with stubbornness. They’d played this game before.

“’Tis coming yer way soon, boy, and ye willna be able to stop it.” Mairi wagged a bony finger close to his nose. She clutched her woolen shawl around her stooped body and whispered something he couldn’t quite make out.

“What did you say?” Douglas moved closer and bent down nearer to her. “I couldn’t make out your last words.”

“I said that ye be as stubborn as yer father and mother. Ye tempt the Fates wi’ yer cockiness just as they did, so long ago.”

“Mairi, please don’t start with those tales you told me as a child. They are just stories you made up to keep me interested in coming back here.”

Douglas stuck his hands into the pockets of his warm leather jacket. What ever made him come out to the ruins in this weather, at this time of night? He hadn’t even stopped at the manor house other than to drop off his bags. The pull was always at its strongest when he arrived. For reasons he’d never been able to discern or understand, his first stop on every trip back here to Dunnedin was this ancient stone arch. And, as always, Mairi knew he was here. His breath curled around him in the cool air.

“Is that what ye believe? Only stories for restless bairns? Och, there will be a reckoning for ye, lad, and it comes to ye soon.” Mairi paced now, in front of him, in front of the old stone arch.

Doug ran his fingers through his overlong hair. This trip to Scotland for the family reunion had been a last-minute thing for him. He was tired, jet-lagged and exhausted from double shifts at the hospital... and from sleepless nights caused by the strength of the dreams. Maybe now that he was here he would get some rest.

So, he thought as he readjusted the collar of his jacket, he really needed to sleep and not be standing here arguing with this distant relative... especially one who should be in her own warm cottage and not exposed to the harsh weather surrounding them.

“Mairi,” he started, placing his hands on her frail shoulders and drew her into an embrace. “I will visit you tomorrow and you can tell me those stories again ... when I’m awake enough to pay attention.” Douglas stepped back and smiled. “Can I walk you back home?”

“I amna ready to go back.” Mairi’s voice trembled as she answered. Was she cold or frightened? he wondered. He knew she was stubborn—if she said she wasn’t ready, she wouldn’t go home yet. “But ye should come to me in the morn, afore the noon meal. I have something to tell ye, lad.”

Douglas kissed the waxen cheek she offered and nodded at her in farewell. He’d taken a few steps when he turned back to ask if there were any messages for his parents— something Mairi always gave him to carry to the “new” castle.

The arch stood alone, moonlight reflecting off the sharper edges and cascading over its curve to the barren rocky ground around it. Smaller boulders lay on the ground some distance away but the arch dominated the landscape.

And there was no sign of Mairi.

Douglas blinked a few times and squinted into the moonlit night, looking for some sign of the old woman. But there was none. She’d disappeared into the mist-filled night without a trace... again.

One day, maybe even during their chat tomorrow, he would gather up his nerve to ask how she did that. For now, the heat and comfort of the clan’s manor house called undeniably to him.

“Dr. MacKendimen, it’s good to see you, sir.” The butler closed the thick oak door behind Douglas and reached out to take Doug’s jacket as he removed it. “I’m afraid the family has retired for the night.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Parker, I’ll see them in the morning. Do you have me in my regular room, then?” Parker was the epitome of an efficient butler, managing the entire MacKendimen household and making it look easy. In all his years of visiting the ancestral home of the MacKendimens nothing... no one... ever frazzled Parker.

“Just Parker, sir. And yes, the corner room in the back on the second floor,” Parker nodded in the direction of that room as he hung Douglas’s jacket in the hall closet. “Breakfast will be informal and begin at seven, sir.”

“Good night then, Mr. Parker.”

“And a good night to you, too, Dr. MacKendimen.” Douglas noticed the small wink as the older man turned and left the hallway.

With each step on the creaking wooden stairs leading up to the second floor, the weight of his exhaustion grew. By the time he reached the assigned room, Douglas knew he would be asleep before his head hit the pillow.

“No, please, help me....”

He forced the words out of his constricting throat, the pain of the scream waking him .

Gasping for air, Douglas sat up and threw off the covers. The coolness of the room made his sweat even more uncomfortable. The quiet knock at the door gave him something to focus on until the terror seeped away.

“Douglas? Are you okay?” His mother’s whisper seemed to echo across the stillness of the room as he tried to calm his ragged breathing.

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine.” Knowing she would not leave until she assured herself by seeing his condition, Douglas grabbed his robe from the foot of the bed and threw it on. Moving quickly to the door, he turned the knob and eased it open a crack.

“I heard you as I went by,” she said, pushing the door open and entering the room. “Do the dreams still come?”

By the time Douglas turned to face her, his mother Maggie MacKendimen had taken a seat on his bed. “I’m just overtired, Mom. I’ll see you in the morning.” He opened the door and gestured for her to leave.

“You may as well close the door, Doug. I’m not leaving.” She sat staring at him from across the room and he knew he’d lost the battle. She was already in mother mode and wouldn’t leave until... well, until she was satisfied with his answers. He really didn’t need this.

“Tell me about them. Are they as frequent as last year?”

“They come and go, Mom, as you should know.” He looked pointedly at the door but it did no good. He didn’t want to talk about the dreams, or how frequent and strong they’d really become. “Now, I’d like to go to bed, if you don’t mind?”

“If you’d answer my questions, rather than try to evade them, we could both go back to bed.” Her cut-to-the-chase attitude shouldn’t surprise him; his mother always preferred the short, concise version to the long, flowery one.

He dragged his hand over his face and through his hair. Could he tell her? What would her reaction be to the power and clarity of the dreams? Maybe his workload at the hospital was the cause—too many all-nighters and too many weekends could do this to a person. Right?

She must have sensed his reluctance to reveal details, for she rose and approached him where he stood at the door. Stepping closer and rising up, she took his head in her hands, pulled his face to hers and kissed his forehead. If only that were all it took to banish the dreams and the sense of disorientation they brought with them and left behind.

“I try to remember that you’re an adult and a ‘doctor,’ but the sounds I heard from the hall scared me, Doug. I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me. Good night.”

He turned the knob and pulled the heavy wooden door open. Without another glance, his mother walked out. Her acquiescence didn’t fool him—she would have the truth from him and on her own schedule.