Read Online Amanda Scott by Highland Spirits - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Highland Spirits
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was, exactly—he knew that it was the place he sought.
Anticipation changed to urgency, and he began to run. With every step, his urgency increased. He was flying now, moving so swiftly that he had no sense of his feet touching the ground, yet the castle seemed no nearer. If anything, it seemed to grow smaller, more distant. The faster he ran, the smaller it grew, as if a mouth to another world had opened and was swallowing it whole. Urgency turned to terror. He tried to shout, to tell it to stop, to wait for him—please, please, to wait—but no sound came from his throat.
The sky darkened. Wind blew. Thunder clapped without lightning, rolling and surrounding him, like a vast chamberful of drums. His knees grew weak, and his legs no longer responded automatically to his wishes. Every step required more effort than he could spare, as if he slogged through a thickening quagmire. Despair overwhelmed him when black darkness enveloped the castle, and Michael awoke, sitting up in bed, his heart pounding, his mouth dry.
A cold, wet nose pressed against his hand, startling him. Coming slowly to his wits, he silently stroked Cailean’s furry head, realizing that once again the huge dog had managed to sneak into his bed during the night. Despair subsided, but a sense of loss swept achingly through him and made it impossible to speak.
He felt clammy with sweat, although the air felt chilly. At least he was no longer slogging through whatever muck it was that had kept clutching his feet. Nor was the room around him as black as the horror of his dream.
Early dawn light outlined the curtains over the two arched windows, and he could make out the shapes of the furniture in his bedchamber. He guessed it must be nearly six o’clock, time to get up, but he gave himself a few more minutes to let his heartbeat return to normal while remnants of the dream faded from his memory.
The dream was not new. He had dreamed it many times—not, however, in quite the same way, because except for the castle and its Highland setting, the details varied from dream to dream. Sometimes he was inside; more often he was outside looking down on the castle from the hill. Although frequently, as in the most recent example, he felt as if he were approaching it for the first time, other times it was as if he lived there. Even then, however, he was aware that the castle did not belong to him. “His” castle was always somewhere else. Indeed, he was as certain as he could be that “his” castle remained Mingary, although in the dreams he never had any sense of being the Earl of Kintyre.
The dream had recurred so many times since his childhood that he suspected it sprang from a family legend about an ancient heir who had disappeared on a journey. Shortly before the dream’s first occurrence, a well-meaning uncle had related the tale to him as a bedtime story, and the dream had recurred two to three times a year since. Consequently, Michael knew the castle and its lands intimately.
What altered most were the physical feelings the dream engendered. Generally, it would begin with warmth, either from the sun or—if he was inside—from a hearth fire. It nearly always began with a sense of anticipation, as if he were looking for something special and expected to find it. What it was he did not know, although frequently, like today, it seemed to be a woman. The ancient heir had supposedly gone off to seek his fortune, a mission that Michael had always thought foolish, since the chap had expected to inherit Mingary and all its lands. The estate had been worth a fortune in those long-ago days before the English had imposed their rule on the Highlands and destroyed the old clan system.
Whatever it was that he sought in the dream, he never seemed to find it. Frequently, the dream began pleasantly and ended in fear or distress. Other times he would wander around the walls of the castle, or through the woods, without incident. In the latter dreams, his sense of
Anticipation changed to urgency, and he began to run. With every step, his urgency increased. He was flying now, moving so swiftly that he had no sense of his feet touching the ground, yet the castle seemed no nearer. If anything, it seemed to grow smaller, more distant. The faster he ran, the smaller it grew, as if a mouth to another world had opened and was swallowing it whole. Urgency turned to terror. He tried to shout, to tell it to stop, to wait for him—please, please, to wait—but no sound came from his throat.
The sky darkened. Wind blew. Thunder clapped without lightning, rolling and surrounding him, like a vast chamberful of drums. His knees grew weak, and his legs no longer responded automatically to his wishes. Every step required more effort than he could spare, as if he slogged through a thickening quagmire. Despair overwhelmed him when black darkness enveloped the castle, and Michael awoke, sitting up in bed, his heart pounding, his mouth dry.
A cold, wet nose pressed against his hand, startling him. Coming slowly to his wits, he silently stroked Cailean’s furry head, realizing that once again the huge dog had managed to sneak into his bed during the night. Despair subsided, but a sense of loss swept achingly through him and made it impossible to speak.
He felt clammy with sweat, although the air felt chilly. At least he was no longer slogging through whatever muck it was that had kept clutching his feet. Nor was the room around him as black as the horror of his dream.
Early dawn light outlined the curtains over the two arched windows, and he could make out the shapes of the furniture in his bedchamber. He guessed it must be nearly six o’clock, time to get up, but he gave himself a few more minutes to let his heartbeat return to normal while remnants of the dream faded from his memory.
The dream was not new. He had dreamed it many times—not, however, in quite the same way, because except for the castle and its Highland setting, the details varied from dream to dream. Sometimes he was inside; more often he was outside looking down on the castle from the hill. Although frequently, as in the most recent example, he felt as if he were approaching it for the first time, other times it was as if he lived there. Even then, however, he was aware that the castle did not belong to him. “His” castle was always somewhere else. Indeed, he was as certain as he could be that “his” castle remained Mingary, although in the dreams he never had any sense of being the Earl of Kintyre.
The dream had recurred so many times since his childhood that he suspected it sprang from a family legend about an ancient heir who had disappeared on a journey. Shortly before the dream’s first occurrence, a well-meaning uncle had related the tale to him as a bedtime story, and the dream had recurred two to three times a year since. Consequently, Michael knew the castle and its lands intimately.
What altered most were the physical feelings the dream engendered. Generally, it would begin with warmth, either from the sun or—if he was inside—from a hearth fire. It nearly always began with a sense of anticipation, as if he were looking for something special and expected to find it. What it was he did not know, although frequently, like today, it seemed to be a woman. The ancient heir had supposedly gone off to seek his fortune, a mission that Michael had always thought foolish, since the chap had expected to inherit Mingary and all its lands. The estate had been worth a fortune in those long-ago days before the English had imposed their rule on the Highlands and destroyed the old clan system.
Whatever it was that he sought in the dream, he never seemed to find it. Frequently, the dream began pleasantly and ended in fear or distress. Other times he would wander around the walls of the castle, or through the woods, without incident. In the latter dreams, his sense of
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