Duet (26 page)

A
LL
Soul’s Night, Samhain, Halloween—no matter the name, not many took the eve lightly. Mairi laid her ceremonial robes out on the bed, brushing away a speck of lint, imagining her grandmother smiling down on her from the great beyond. All around the village, others made their own preparations, some to attend parties, others to attend a long-awaited ritual.

The castle caretaker told her all about the red-haired violinist who’d recently arrived. If the American truly was the Lost Laird’s reborn lover, he’d be unable to resist the lure of the grove at midnight. She counted on the elders to summon him; Mairi and her friends would do the rest.

Her bedroom door burst open, and Mairi shoved her robes beneath a knitted coverlet before her grandsons swept into the room and discovered her secret. Neither boy kept secrets well.

“Gran, you tell him,” Evan insisted, poking out his bottom lip, arms crossed over his chest. He’d wrapped himself in yards of green and red plaid, chubby knees protruding from beneath a rather badly wrapped kilt.

“Tell him what?” Mairi asked, exasperated to be called upon to referee another one of their fights. Why couldn’t they learn to get along?

“I’m Laird Callaghan!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at his brother.

Ian, dressed identically to Evan, shot back, “No, I am.”

Rolling her eyes to the heavens and praying for strength, Mairi tried reasoning with the pair. “There have been twenty-three Lairds of Callaghan thus far. Don’t you think there’s plenty to go around?” The clock chimed 9:00 a.m. Did they have to start so soon?

“I’m Aillil Callaghan,” Evan said, too stubborn to give in without a fight.

Ian countered, “No, I am.”

“And so are half of your friends,” Mairi retorted. “This makes no sense if you ask me, because none of you play the violin.”

The two brothers turned belligerent looks on her, twin scowls locked into place. Good, at least she managed to gain their attention. “Evan, why don’t you be Niall Callaghan instead?” she asked sweetly. “He successfully resisted English attempts to move the clan to the lowlands during the Highland Clearances and built the first village schools.

“And Ian.” She faced her other grandson. “Laird Keith Callaghan survived childhood polio to become a highly decorated fighter pilot during World War II, and always wore the Callaghan plaid in public. I think those are two suitably historic Callaghans for you to be.”

“But, Gran!” they wailed, in agreement for the first time in recent memory.

Mairi held up a hand to stop their protests, her head beginning to pound. “No buts. If you start one more argument before your father comes to get you, I’ll insist that he make you stay home this evening.”

The boys hung their heads. Mairi wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Now shoo,” she said, flapping her hands at them. “And don’t you dare come into this room again without knocking.”

“Yes, Gran.” They shuffled back out into the hallway. The moment the door latch snicked shut, the bickering resumed.

She prayed her new granddaughter might be of a sweeter disposition, for Mairi needed to take on a novice one day. She shuddered to think of Ian or Evan or (heaven forbid) both learning the secrets of the Druids.

A crash sounded from the vicinity of the kitchen. Mairi sighed. It was going to be a very long day.

B
ILLY
poured a cup of coffee while sitting in the living area of his rented cottage. He offered one to Neil, who declined.

“I hate springing this on you at the last minute, because I know you hate disruptions to your schedule, but there’s been a change of plans.” Neil wore an unreadable expression.

“Oh?” Billy looked up from his coffee, anticipating the worst. “No one cancelled the concert, did they?”

Neil seemed to be fighting a smile by coughing into his fist. “Well,” he began, a grin breaking free. “After your success in Edinburgh and the rumors swirling about what happened during the documentary, the tickets to your performance sold out. So many more requests came in that you’re being moved to the larger auditorium. It holds two thousand people, Billy!”

Two thousand people? A performance in front of two thousand living, breathing people? For a rock star, two thousand might not be many; to a concert violinist of Billy’s caliber? Enormous! He gasped, fighting for air that wouldn’t fill his lungs. It had been coming for days; now it was here—a full-blown panic attack. “Ah… ah… ah…,” he panted, hard and fast. “Can’t… can’t… brea….”

“Oh, dear God!” Neil shouted. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot!” He upended a bag of croissants in a flash, the contents dumped onto the coffee table. Neil placed the empty paper bag over Billy’s mouth and nose. “Breathe, Billy, breathe,” he chanted.

Billy huffed obediently into the bag until his heart rate slowed and his lungs no longer burned, the scent of buttered bread soothing him as much as the even breathing. “Jeez, Neil,” he wheezed once he could speak again, “don’t spring stuff like that on me without warning me first, okay? You know how nervous I get!” He crumbled the bag and tossed it on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry.” Neil seemed genuinely contrite—though, as Billy’s manager, he’d lived for the moment Billy commanded such a huge venue. They’d both worked long and hard for the big time. A concert of this size could be the opportunity they’d been waiting for. That is, if Billy controlled his nerves long enough to get through the concert without fainting. “I’m thrilled for you, Billy. You’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.”

Ever the pessimist, Billy replied, “It’s not me. They’re hoping something weird will happen like back at the castle. If it were me, I wouldn’t pay for a ticket. I’d consider the whole Lost Laird thing a publicity stunt.” While Neil wasn’t opposed to publicity, he’d never stoop to such a thing. Would he? “It wasn’t, was it?”

Neil exclaimed, “Billy, you’re my dearest friend in the world! Do you honestly believe I’d do such a thing to you?”

Billy hung his head. “No, of course not.” Neil might be his manager, but they were friends first and always looked out for each other’s best interests. “Do you think Luke might have cooked something up to get his film noticed?”

Neil shook his head. “Luke Scofield doesn’t need gimmicks to get his work noticed, he’s a world-renowned producer who’s won numerous awards.”

Leaning back into the couch, Billy ripped a croissant into tiny pieces. “Okay. I guess I’ll suck it up and play a larger crowd.” He forced a smile. “What else has changed?”

Now came Neil’s turn to fidget. “Well, you’ll need an extra rehearsal or two. I hired a local orchestra.” Misreading Billy’s look of horror, Neil grabbed the bag again and hastened to add, “Don’t worry, I’ve been told they’re the best, and bound to draw followers in their own right. The conductor is a big fan of yours, and they’ve practiced your standards many times. They’ve also been given scores to some of your new songs.”

Well, Billy supposed it wasn’t really important since he normally got lost in his own world anyway. But
a rehearsal or two
? With musicians he’d never played with before? “What about Leon?” Leon had been with him a long time, adding a calming presence onstage. Also, with a wife and kids to support, the man would benefit financially from the increased exposure.

“Oh, he’ll be there,” Neil assured him. “He’s been practicing too. Come now, finish breakfast and we’ll get you to rehearsals. Oh, and Billy?”

“Yes?”

“You’re gonna knock ’em dead.”

B
ILLY
’
S
attack of nerves proved unfounded, for he’d been paired with an extraordinary ensemble. The new songs, under Leon’s skillful ministrations, came alive. Practice went nearly flawlessly with only a few minor adjustments necessary. In spite of the normal pre-performance jitters, Billy looked forward to playing with a piano, woodwinds, strings, and even a drummer backing him up.

Forgoing dinner due to anticipatory nerves, Billy returned to the tower room with his violin. Familiarity grew stronger with each step to
his
room, and he eagerly anticipated the warmth that wrapped around him upon entering.

Without wasting a single moment, he began to play, his only means of communing with the spirit who must certainly dwell there. He rehearsed until sunset, never tiring. In fact, he felt energized when Neil came to collect him for the drive to Inverness.

Ignoring Neil and Leon’s animated conversation, centering on football, he stared out of the car window, watching the twinkling stars. As they neared the city, the celestial bodies gave way to artificial street and house lights.

Occasionally, the car slowed for a group of costumed children moving from house to house, many wearing plaid recreations of their ancestors’ attire.
My, what a glorious history these people have
. While several of the children smiled and waved, the majority seemed too intent on their mission of acquiring far more goodies than a child should be allowed in a year, and eating them all before they returned home. Billy didn’t envy their parents.

Soon they reached their destination downtown, and he stepped from the car behind Leon. Together they passed through the entrance of the stately turn-of-the-century building, the reassuring presence from the tower room enveloping Billy like a favorite sweater.

Violin case tucked beneath one arm and displaying far more confidence than normal when faced with so many people, Billy strolled, unhurried, across the crowded atrium, stopping once or twice to accept a compliment or shake the hand of someone he recognized. To his great delight, Curtis Everham rushed forward to greet him, Kenny and several other class members in tow. Billy made introductions all around, hoping Neil might consider Kenny a potential client. Their moment for any romantic possibilities had come and gone, but the gifted Scotsman’s talent needed cultivating.

A half-hour before show time, Billy slipped backstage to attend to last-minute preparations. All too soon came a knock on the door. “Five minutes, sir,” a voice called.

The normal panic tried to rise until the peaceful sensation settled over him once more. “Aillil,” Billy whispered, no longer fearing the spectral presence. The warmth hugged tighter.

Clutching the antique violin, he left the room to the soft murmurings from the audience and made his way to the stage. “Go get ’em, Tiger,” Neil said, holding out a water bottle.

Billy took a few quick sips before handing the container back. “Thanks.”

“Lisa’s out there. She said to tell you to break a leg. She’s free of my family tomorrow and wants you to join us for lunch.”

That brought a smile to his face. It was one thing to play for a roomful of strangers, all intent on judging every move and ready to pounce on any tiny mistake. At least with Kenny, Curtis, and Lisa there, Billy could count allies hidden amidst the numerous unknowns.

Aye, and you have me
whispered through his mind. Yes, he did. The Lost Laird followed him when he stepped out onto the stage to find his mark. Oddly enough, the spectral presence no longer worried him. Playing a duet with a ghost seemed natural, somehow. And fitting for Halloween.

A hush descended on the auditorium when he began to play, his notes joined by the phantom’s a second later. If anyone else heard, he neither knew nor cared; he heard it. Besides, if anyone else did, they’d attribute the additional violin to the orchestra.

Nearly two thousand people sat in the audience; only one mattered, and not an actual person, really. Billy played for Aillil Callaghan, the proud Highland laird whom he’d somehow loved. Memories embraced him along with the music, a reminder of days long since passed. As if it had happened yesterday, he recalled the incident at the stream. This time, instead of merely watching, he gasped at the sensation of water closing over his head, the cold shocking him breathless. Later, the sun dried his naked body, lying alongside the Highlander’s, before the two shared their very first kiss.

The legend spoke of a lost love. The Internet inferred a woman, not a man. Billy knew better. He should be terrified of having finally, completely lost his marbles, but he wasn’t. Somehow he’d been Aillil Callaghan’s lover, and he’d never felt saner.

Enraptured by memories and music, several moments passed before Billy noticed the silence of the other instruments, only the violins continuing. Instead of panicking, he followed the phantom’s lead, improvising an ovation-earning finish. The crowd rose to their feet.

He played an encore, icy fingers of anxiety sweeping up his spine, a feeling of something requiring his immediate attention. Once more the crowd applauded, begging for more. Choosing a shorter piece from his newly established repertoire, he set about appeasing his audience. Once more his heart thudded, and he swore something grabbed his sleeve, tugging him backstage.

You must hurry,
a voice whispered from nowhere.

Billy fought a veritable battle to return to the car, well-wishers blocking his escape. Their words fell on deaf ears. He stumbled through the crowd, filled with the building sense of urgency he’d first experienced back in Edinburgh.

Neil waited by the dressing room door, a huge smile on his face. He took one look at Billy and the smile fell. “It’s time, is it? All right, hurry. I’ll make your excuses.”

Before Billy puzzled out the words, Neil wrapped an arm around him, propelling them through the crowd and offering fabricated excuses. “I’m afraid Mr. Byerly is ill. No, nothing serious, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” When they made it curbside, Neil turned to face Billy, staring deep into his eyes. “He really loved you to do what he did. Now it’s your turn.”

Neil didn’t give Billy time to form a reply, shoving him into the waiting car and ordering the driver, “Get him to Callaghan Castle.” To Billy, he said, “Look over the mantel in the tower room, then go to the grove. You’ll know the way.”

Nineteen