The Ghosts of Culloden Moor 42 - Rhys by L.L. Muir

Author:L.L. Muir [Muir, L.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-14T23:00:00+00:00

Number 16 of Culloden’s 79 enjoyed the first dreamless sleep since his death, and he did not care to rouse enough to discover if the droning in his head was due to the airplane or his own snoring. A wee while later, however, he had no choice but to wake when a tiny creature scurried along his bent leg.

He opened his eyes to the dark interior. Night had fallen and very few passengers were awake, and those who were sat staring ahead of them, their faces glowing from the eerie light of telly screens. He dropped his gaze to the third seat, and found something much larger than a mouse making itself at home just beyond his sock and boot.

Two somethings, as it happened.

The young lad of perhaps five years old, and his sister—miniature even for a house trained three-year-old, pressed themselves together on the empty aisle seat on his short row. Oblivious to his waking, they huddled beneath a pitiful excuse for a blanket they’d brought with them, and any warmth it might provide was kept away from their bodies by those ridiculous excuses for coats. After all his trouble alerting the womenfolk, the bairns were still cold and miserable.

He glanced across the aisle and noted the absence of Miss Kinder Care. Since the vehicle seemed to be airborne, still, he assumed she had gone to the loo. Perhaps the children had taken it upon themselves to find a warmer situation…

Rhys was just about to take matters into his own hands when Kristin reappeared. It took her a three count to notice her charges were missing. By the time she turned, he was back to feigning sleep, but he watched carefully to see if she might leave them where they sat.

“Look you,” she hissed, “get back in your seats. I was only gone a minute.”

His teeth parted as he waited, anxiously, to see if she might treat the bairns roughly, but she did not. He relaxed his jaw as she carefully set the wee lassie on her feet, then nudged her across the aisle. Sadly, she set one on each side of her, which meant they would both be colder on their own.

At least she made certain they each had a blanket, ineffective as they might be. And it wasn’t as if Rhys could do anything about it. They were nothing to do with him. He was nothing to do with them. In a matter of hours, they would be in the care of a grandmother who would surely harbor motherly instincts where they were concerned.

Not that it was his concern.

In the darkness, his head shook of its own accord.

Nothing to do with me. I have breadcrumbs to scatter all over the city of New York. I cannot be distracted by puppy dog eyes and chattering teeth…no matter how wee…

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