Unnatural vibes, no warnings other than the thought of this happening gives me the absolute creeps.
“I still think you’re crazy.”
Your mothers flat, unimpressed voice sounds down the line of your mobile, crackling slightly across the distance between you. A few smart pops are heard in the pause you give her to collect herself, while you chew on the hangnail bordering the skin of your thumb. The flesh is red raw, mainly because you gnawed it with anxiety during the flight.
When you landed at Inverness airport on the smallest passenger plane known to man, you thought truly that you’d never fly again. Each rock of your seat made you want to vomit, the turbulence churning in your already anxious lungs until the air caught in your throat.
But you’ve made the right decision. You’re here, about to throw your tired spirit a lifeline, a new experience brimming with hope and opportunity. It’s what you needed, a fresh start with no distractions. Any doubts you had disappeared in the stiff highland breeze that ruffled your hair, when you finally made it to your destination.
A tiny cottage on the outskirts of a forgotten village deep in the heather strewn hills, peppered with gorse and unforgiving crags painted with velvet moss. Those blunt winds that scour the land and inch down the collar of any jacket. So green and lush, it took your breath away, foliage rain dampened but still sending out frothy fronds in search of illusive sunshine.
Your new abode, happily you set your suitcase down on the slightly dusty slate tiled floor. It felt like home, or at least home for the next six months. After the end of your marriage and the semi-permanent writers block you’ve been plagued with, the need to escape was crawling up your spine.
The ticket was booked and with that you plunged into the uncertainty of a new place, one as isolated and bleak as it is stunning. Where the wilds of the old world still echo somewhere in the distance and magic glitters in every cobweb. Perfection, until you realised you were entirely alone and a good hours drive away from the nearest glimpse of civilisation.
So you did the adult thing on the third day and called your mum. Partly to inform her you’re alive still, but mainly because you haven’t spoken to anyone since the grumpy bloke who dropped you off and handed you the keys to the place.
“I’m fine! Honestly! It’s gorgeous here mum, wish you could see it.”
She sniffs in response and you feel faintly guilty. You know she’s worried about you, vanishing off to new territory, knowing not a soul there. The separation hit you hard, and she was the person who stood through it all, letting you cry on her shoulder. She never said ‘I told you so’ like she should have done, didn’t bat an eyelid when you moved back into her spare room.
But still, this is something you have to do. Your instinct for self preservation is strong, the will to recover from your past is even more powerful. Your destiny is yours for the taking, and you’re going to find it again amongst the beauty of this mist covered land.
Reassuring her that you’re safe and well, you hang up with a small pang. Vaguely you start pottering around the tiny kitchen, dreaming up things for dinner, investigating what stores you have saved in the pantry. It’s hung with sweet gingham curtains, like an old fashioned 1950s image of the perfect house. Demure with a charm all of it’s own.
Before long, the wood burner is on and a hot dinner of baked potatoes is warming your stomach, tucked under a tartan blanket you tug out your laptop and peruse the latest draft of your novel. Gently the lull of rain starts to patter on the windows as you tap away. So cosy, it makes your heart swell as the fire crackles low in the hearth, flames licking against the soot covered glass, making glittering shadows appear around you.
Slowly, softly, you’re cradled to sleep as the wind whips around the house. Ever since you moved in, you’ve had vibrant dreams. Disembodied voices calling out your name around the highlands, streaks of light that appear like headlights on a dark night, temporarily blinding you until you’re drenched in nothingness again.
Overeating and a lack of human stimulation seems an obvious cause. But still they linger, haunting your mornings as you try and remember what the noises were saying to you, or picture the landscape you gazed out on in them. It seems unfamiliar, but recognisable all the same. Confusion aches in your mind, the lack of resolution in them is puzzling.
You wake with a start, the sound of your laptop shutting down with a dismal low powered ebb right in your ears. It’s slipped, your chin now resting on the cursor, the heat of it warm on your chest. The fire is almost out though, suddenly the chill of the gale outside pitches around the house, rattling the panes of glass with ferocity.
“Ah shit.”
Cursing, you deposit the computer onto the wooden floor, rolling off the settee and reaching for the log basket. Empty, predictably so, you keep forgetting to fill it. You pause, listening to the breeze rattling outside with a vague shiver. It’s not nearly late enough to go to bed, if you don’t keep the fire on the house will be freezing come morning.
Heaving a sigh, you collect your torch and head out into the inky blackness of night. There’s nothing to be afraid of, no one around for miles, but still the richness of the dark around you feels impenetrable. Quick feet scurry over to the log shed, drizzle pattering on your face as you hurry, unlocking the door and shoving wood inside your hamper swiftly. The air around you pitches as you work, fingers catching splinters on the kindling you gather.
Just as you’re heading back to the door, while the howling rolling off the moors intensifies to a crescendo, you feel it. The hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, goosebumps rising in their wake as if ice is melting under your flesh.
Someone is watching you, silhouetted on a hillock just above the house. You’re chilled to the core, your bones dissolving with fear, dread filled eyes searching upwards reluctantly for the voyeur on your land.
You can barely make him out, but instinctively you know it’s a man there purely from the way he’s standing. Proud and tall, broad shoulders and powerful arms. One hand rests on the fence marking where the edge of the property meets the wilds of the fen. He’s in highland dress, you can see the kilt moving eerily around his shins, the glint of a sword on his hip where his other fingers are curled.
Blinking furiously, you back away from the scene, willing him to vanish, to be a figment of your overactive imagination. There he stands, face shielded from your gaze, but without seeing it you can tell he’s looking directly at you. He leans over the fence slightly, that hand gripping it tightly so it creaks above the screaming blow of air. It’s like he’ll never get enough of watching you, the longing is so strong it makes your chest constrict.
That singular creak is enough to send you pelting back into the house. No ghost or phantom could make wood move and you’ll be damned if your going to be murdered by some psychopath in the hills. Wood abandoned, you slam the door shut, quaking behind it, breath coming in sharp gasps as you try and steady the pounding of your heart.
It takes you half an hour to get off the floor and double check the lock is firmly engaged. By the time you peek out of the kitchen window, whoever it was has disappeared, probably to frighten the ever loving soul out of some other poor person.
Uncomfortably, you recall what the woman behind the counter told you, as you shopped in the local store for groceries.
“Wilds are full o’ghosties wee one. Ye take care not to wander the hills after dark alone now.”
Incorporeal or not, the experience has you shaking from head to toe and unable to sleep. You check your mobile, but there’s no signal, the WiFi on the blink too. Only when dawn breaks, finding you shuddering under your duvet, do you feel brave enough to look outside again. The ground is soaked with rain, you can see your footprints in the sedge across to the log store.
Willing yourself to pull it together, you get dressed, glancing out towards the fence every few moments to check he hasn’t come back for you. But there’s not a soul out there and gradually you begin to feel normal again. Maybe it was just a remnant of a dream? Some leftover horror from a scary movie you watched, one that your brain decided to present as a fun treat.
By midday, you’ve ventured outside to fetch your basket of logs, thankfully kept dry under the shelter of the porch. But when you curiously climb the slope to where the man stood, expecting to see footprints, you find nothing. No indication anyone has been there at all in the mud pooled by the rickety stake. Unnerved, you retreat back inside and lock the door, then check every latticed window to make sure no one can slip in.
You draw all the curtains as soon as dusk falls, then refuse to look outside again, tucking yourself up in bed while the quiet surrounds you. Another uneasy slumber awaits, full of shifting shapes and bright rays of light, murmuring speech fills your ears as things call for you again.
When you wake, it’s to sunshine peaking through the gaps in the floral curtains. Relieved by the sight of the intermittent halo of warmth, you turn to your nightstand to slurp a mouthful of water, throat dry from snoring.
A glitter of something catches your attention, makes every sinew in your brain shrivel up in terror.
There’s a broach on the polished wooden surface.
One that most definitely wasn’t there when you turned the lights out.
《A/N》: First of all, THIS IS NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE!! This is fiction. I did do some research about the Great Kilt, but that's it. This is purely for fun! I highly suggest checking out Fandabi Dozi on YouTube. Even just to take a peak so you can get a better idea of what Johnny's wearing <3
《Content》: NSFW. proceed with caution. Cuddlefucking, unprotected PiV, nipple play, cockwarming. This is so silly and cute, and I love it, and I hope you will too!!
The ask is here!
《WC》: 3.5k
Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of heart and effort into the things I write.
It was as if the Gods were damning you, cursing you to a cold death as the sky opened up, breaking in two as heavy rain started pouring from it like currents in the mighty sea.
The wide open hills left trees to be desired to seek shelter from this flood. What you wouldn't do for the protection of a blanket of green hanging far above your head. The grass turned slippery and you had to watch your step so you wouldn't tumbled down into the nearest glen.
Johnny had you tucked close to his side, trying his best to cover you from the heaviest pour with his Plaid. The thick woolen fabric warmed you up despite the wetness as the two of you quickly made your way across the Highlands, hoping to find somewhere warm and dry to escape certain death.
His bonnet sat atop his head, the few wet curls that were peaking out of the hat sticking to his forehead. The white shirt he wore was clinging tightly to his chest, the soaked fabric accentuating his broad chest. The hem of your skirt was stained with green and brown hues of grass and mud.
Thankfully, Johnny's Great Kilt kept most of the water away from your torso, the water running down the wool in fat rivulets. Just as you were thanking the gods for his Plaid, you thanked yourself for insisting on the woolen socks that kept your feet warm and dry. You glanced over at Johnny, rain dripping from his brow as he rolled his shoulder with a grunt, the pack frame digging into his back.
"How far are we out? I swear we didn't stray from the path, did we?" You asked with uncertainty, your voice already muffled by the sound of the rain pounding on the ground.
"Jus' through this glen right there an' we should find some trees, at least." He gave you an encouraging smile while he, himself, had a twinkle of worry in his wonderfully blue eyes, something you'd never miss.
The only thing you could muster was a tight-lipped smile as all the worrisome thoughts knocked around in your head like a woodpecker on a strong oak.
Although his kilt and body heat were keeping you warm, you couldn't help but let your brows furrow in concern at his soaked shirt. He would surely catch his death like this, something you were too stubborn to let happen. Death would have to pry him from your grip before you'd let him go anywhere.
You ducked away from the shield that was his Plaid and tucked it across his chest.
"What are you doin'?" He asked, almost frantically, as he reached up to his shoulder to pull the fabric free.
The rain was now soaking your previously dry hair, the drops running down your neck.
"You'll catch your death! I'll be alright for now." You replied firmly, cupping his hand with yours and pulling it away from the Kilt to intertwine your fingers.
His lips parted slightly.
"Absolutely no'. I'm not lettin' ya get sick." Johnny argued, already fiddling with the corner of the Plaid that you had tucked away.
"Don't you argue with me! I'm not letting you get sick either." You stood your ground, more figuratively than literally as the soft mud was making you sink into the earth.
Johnny sighed, dropping his hand, the other never leaving the tight grasp of yours. Arguing now would be of no use, shelter was the priority right now.
He could scold you when you were dry and warm. You took a step, catching a particularly slippery patch of grass. With a yelp, you fell, terror tearing through your chest as you prepared yourself to tumble down the hill through wet mud and sharp rocks. Johnny, however, managed to catch your arm, making your fall end on your knees.
"Careful, mo leannan." He scolded softly, pulling you up from the ground and tucking you into his side with a tight grip around your shoulders.
"Thank you." You breathed, blood rushing in your ears, your ribcage suddenly feeling all too small for your rapidly beating heart.
He wordlessly pressed a kiss to your temple, urging you to fasten your pace. The wet grass and mud squelched beneath your feet as your hope for shelter dwindled by the second.
The water was starting to soak through your dress, making a shiver run visibly down your spine. From the corner of his eye, Johnny had caught the subtle movement and untucked his Plaid and wrapped it around your shoulders.
"Johnny-"
"No." He said sternly, keeping his eyes forward toward the horizon.
You kept quiet. The only thing now filing the silence between the two of you was the heavy rain, a sound both sending dread and a soothing feeling through you.
Trusting Johnny to keep you on your feet, you took the liberty of looking past the part of the Kilt shielding your view. His was still forward. You turned your head in all directions, hoping to spot a tree or maybe bush you might've missed.
Instead, a dark structure caught your eye. Your face lit up, no matter what you'd spotted, it would keep the rain from pounding against your skull.
"Look!" You exclaimed, pointing toward your discovery and eagerly pulling Johnny in its direction.
"Shelter at last." He sighed, breaking into a smile.
You hurried up the small hill, revealing the structure to be a small and lonely cabin built from wood and stone. You'd hoped that whoever lived in it wouldn't possess a cruel heart and let you and your lover warm up inside. If not, well, Johnny could be very persuasive.
You rasped your knuckles on the heavy wooden door, waiting for a response. When no response came, you tried calling out.
"Hello? Is anyone in there?"
Still, no reply. You looked at Johnny with furrowed brows. He had a thoughtful look on his features, as if pondering between decisions before he reached out a hand to get inside. Your eyes widened and grasped his arm.
"Johnny, no! We can't just go inside-"
"I'm sure they won't mind." He shrugged, pushing open the door and ushering you inside.
The complaint on your lips died quickly as you stepped into the dry room. A sigh of relief slipped past your lips when the door fell shut behind you and the rain wasn't pouring down on you anymore.
Your gaze flitted over the interior of the cabin. It was sparse, but enough to get you and Johnny through the night and until the rain stopped.
"Surely it's not abandoned.." you mumbled, walking around.
"A huntin' cabin, maybe?" He said, looking around himself.
There was a table with a pair of chairs and in the corner stood a bed with a strong wooden frame. The centerpiece of this humble abode, however, was the stone fireplace.
"No matter. Let's hope the owners won't come back until we can continue our way home."
Johnny took the pack frame off his back and set it down, stretching his arms with a groan.
"Jus' us for miles, Ah bet." You spotted a pile of firewood by the bed, carrying arm fulls to the fireplace.
"We need to start a fire. Need to dry off." You said, arranging the logs.
Johnny kneeled down beside you and pulled his flint stones from his pocket and started on getting a tiny spark into a raging flame. While he was working on the fire, you busied yourself with laying down the sheep skins Johnny kept rolled up on this pack frame near the fireplace.
You were already intruding in someone's home, you were drawing the line at sleeping in their bed, too. The flame crackled to life, making Johnny hum. Taking off his soaking bonnet, he shook his head, his wet hair making droplets of rain fly across the room.
You giggled, shielding yourself from them as he ran a hand through his tussled mohawk.
The next thing to come off was his soaked shirt which he draped over his pack frame to let it dry. He's never looked this handsome, in your eyes. The damp locks, his bare chest covered with a layer of hair, and his Plaid hanging from his waist. The earthy, brown, and green tones shone nicely against his skin.
You couldn't help but let your gaze linger on the trail of dark hair that peaked from his waistband. Johnny could feel your eyes bore into him, a faint smirking tugging at the corner of his mouth when he noticed how you hurriedly looked away, a blush sitting on your cheeks so prettily.
You laid down on the soft furs, letting the heat of the fire seep into your bones. Johnny slotted himself behind you, his chest pressed to your back as his arms wound themselves tightly around you. He nuzzled his face into your neck, the cold tip of his nose making goosebumps rise on your skin.
"Are you sure you're not cold?" You asked softly, twisting to look at him.
"Never been cozier, my love." He hummed, pressing kisses to your jaw and cheek.
You giggled and sighed at the sensation. The exhaustion that sat deep in your flesh started to catch up with you, a yawn escaping your lips as you settled deeper into the warm sheep skins. Johnny continued his kisses, trailing them down your neck and then up to your jaw again.
"Johnny... what are you doing?" You sighed sleepily, the feeling of his lips on your skin making you all warm and fuzzy inside. His hand slipped upwards, kneading one of your soft breasts through the thick fabric of your dress.
"Warming you up, bonnie.." he mumbled against your throat, his stubble scraping against your delicate skin deliciously. A soft moan fell from your lips. It all felt so good. His lips, his hands, the outline of his hard cock pressing into your rear.
"Oh, Johnny...."
"Tha's right, mo leannan, say ma name.." he whispered softly, slipping his hand over your stomach, down your legs and underneath your skirt, bunching the wool around your hips.
His breath against your neck had your breathing pick up and your eyes flutter shut. He dragged his calloused fingertips up the inside of your thigh all while gently rocking his hips against you.
A breath got stuck in your throat when he stroked over your slit, your legs falling open just for him. You were lost in bliss, a heavy cloud of euphoria fogging up your mind as he continued to circle your clit and swipe his fingers through your folds, getting you nice and wet for him.
Your pert nipples poked through your dress, a sight Johnny couldn't resist. He snuck his second arm underneath you and pinched and tugged at your buds until you were coating his fingers in your slick.
"An absolute sight you are..." he spoke lowly, a breathless strain in his tone.
"Please, I need you, please.." you begged, mewling when he tugged his cock out from under his Plaid and rested it between your thighs, snuggly sat on your slick cunt.
"I'll give you whatever ya want, you know tha'." Johnny breathed, a groan ripping from his throat when he rocked his hips against you.
"Don't... do that.. I need.. I need.." you whined breathlessly, your words getting cut off by a moan as he pushed inside of you.
The ecstasy that flooded your veins was already making you melt into his arms, but when he reached between your legs to rub at your clit, you were putty in his hands. You were reduced to a mewling, moaning mess as he thrusted into your sweet cunt so deep yet softly, reaching parts of yourself you never knew existed.
"Ah know wha' you need.." he whispered against your temple, so sweetly, in fact, it made your head spin. You fit like puzzle pieces, made for each other. A choked moan escaped Johnny as he slid in to the hilt, pulling you impossibly closer. He pulled his hips back only to fit them snuggly against yours again in one smooth stroke.
Johnny quickly set a satisfying pace, fucking into you so nicely your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. The furs were soft against the exposed skin of your thigh and the popping fire started to fill the cabin with warmth.
The praises he cooed into your ear were a jumbled mess, not only from his pleasure but you were too far gone to think about what he was saying to you.
He held you close to his chest, grasping you so tightly as if you were to disappear the second he'd let go.
"Ah love you, my bonnie lass. Love you s'much." He muttered into your ear, the stutter in the movement of his hips indicating he was close.
But so were you, with him filing you so perfectly and his fingers rubbing over your clit.
"O-Oh, Gods... feels s'good.." you babbled mindlessly, sharp breaths and moans falling from your lips at the delicious drag of his cock against the warm walls of your cunt.
He was panting heavily into your ear, a few groans and moans making it into the mix, while he continued to snap his hips against your supple ass.
"Johnny, please..!" you cried out, every muscle in your body tensing up as that buzzing feeling of bliss gnawed at your bones, slowly working its way up to the crown of your head.
"C'mon, ma beauty, let go f'me.." he heaved, his lips attaching themselves to your neck once again.
A cry of pleasure ripped from your throat, his fingers swiping over your clit making you topple over the edge. You clenched down on him, going lax in his arms when he reached his end as well, a few more thrust making him spill inside of you with a groan.
A fuzzy feeling crawled up your spine, a dazed smile on your face as you pulled his arms around you even tighter. You laid in pleasant silence as your breath evened and the exhaustion of the say really started to set in. With a twist of your head you looked at Johnny with a soft smile.
"I love you too." You said quietly, watching how his eyes filled with warmth.
"Ah know, my love. Don't need tae say it. Ah can feel it." He mumbled until your skin, sighing as he finally settled in, ready to rest his body to prepare for the last part of the trek. Hopefully the rain would give the two of you a break, even just enough to get into town dry and warm.
The harsh fall of water softened during the night, leaving you with the sounds of Johnny's breathing, the crackling fire and the vast Highlands, stretching on for miles.
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
The next morning, you were up and about as soon as the sun peaked behind the horizon. The rain had subsided, and you'd use every opportunity to not get drenched again.
Everything was packed up quickly and the pack frame was hoisted onto Johnny's back once again as you left the little cabin just as neat as you'd found it.
Although the sun had decided to hide behind the clouds, there was no downpour. Only a gentle breeze that combed through the heather on the hills.
The green and purple swayed in the wind, painting a beautiful scene before you. Hand in hand, you made your through hill and glen, past trickling streams and past spots of trees huddled together.
While Johnny was busy keeping the both of you on track and occasionally admiring landscape, you were spending your time looking at him.
You wanted to etch his profile into every mountain face so the world may see what you fell in love with.
Those blue eyes that lit up whenever he smiled but had no problem becoming cold and piercing if the moment called for it.
Those lips of which you dreamed whenever you went to sleep, the feeling of them always lingering on your skin.
That voice that you could spend listening to until the world came to its end. Even if Johnny babbled and talked about things that made no sense to you, you'd always listen.
Those strong arms that could hold and protect you all at once. He'd carry you across the world if you'd ask.
You could list things about him until dusk. Until poets ran out of words. Until you'd both lay on your deathbed, ready to cross into the next realm together.
"You're starin', love." Johnny pointed out, pulling you out of your thoughts.
"I'd call it admiring, really." You quipped back, a smile on your face.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Oh, and what're you admirin', mo leannan?" He asked teasingly, taking his eyes off the path for the first time in hours. Johnny didn't want to admit it, but his heart leaped every time he saw you.
No matter how many times he'd seen you before, or how you'd never changed, your beauty would never fail to knock the wind out of his lungs.
"You." You hummed in response.
He nodded thoughtfully, trying to hide a bright smile.
"And why, might Ah ask?" He was teasing, a grin on his face.
He expected a compliment, how you liked his eyes, or the shape of his nose or his broad chest. And while all of that was true, the words that left you caught him off guard.
You gently stopped him, standing atop a hill, spotting the local tavern that was just out of town. Your hand went to cup his cheek, caressing his cheekbone.
"Because I'm utterly in love with you."
His jaw slacked. He knew that you loved him, of course he did, but this was the first time you'd said something like this. And what he wouldn't give to have you say it again and again. He'd never get sick of it.
Johnny cupped your hand, keeping it pressed against his cheek while his other pulled you in by your waist.
The baffled expression was quickly replaced with a soft smile and eyes that were looking at you with so much love and devotion even the sweetest honey would taste bitter in comparison.
"As am I." He spoke softly, connecting your lips in a kiss full of passion and adoration.
Caught up in your feelings, you'd failed to notice how thick clouds darkened the sky. In a change of fate, it started pouring once more, leaving you and Johnny without cover and in the middle of a kiss that could be written in a fairytale.
As the first drops fell down on you, your brows furrowed and you let out a sound of disapproval against his lips. Johnny chuckled, keeping you firmly in place when you tried to pull away.
"We need to get to that tavern-"
"Let's enjoy this, yeah?" He spoke softly, chasing your lips once again.
The rain was pounding down on you but how could you ever care about that when Johnny was kissing your breath away. You were held firmly in his embrace, melting into the kiss as water droplets were running down your face, the rain drenching you to the bone.
There was nowhere you'd rather be at this moment. The rain and wind were making you uncomfortable, shivers running through you, but the warmth Johnny ignited in your heart was enough to keep you warm for centuries. You pulled away, breathless, smiling at him.
"Come on!" You giggled, pulling him by the hands to follow you as you ran down the hill.
He had to hold onto his bonnet so it wouldn't go flying with the amount of force you'd tugged at him.
Between the heavy rain, only your pounding footsteps, along with giggled and laughter, was heard as you rushed down the slope, hand in hand.
"Slow down, will ya?" Johnny laughed, almost tripping and landing face first in the mud.
It was scene straight from a book. Two lovers running free, not even the worst storms being able to stop them.
The mud and wet grass made you stumble more than once, but the sheer happiness of such a special moment made the dirt caking your dress and the water running down the back of your neck a worthy sacrifice.
When you reached the bottom of the hill, Johnny slowed the both of you down and wrapped his arms around your middle. You were hoisted up, a noise of surprise falling from your lips, as he spun you around.
You pressed your lips to his in a giggly kiss while Johnny set you back down.
"Ah truly love you more than ya could ever know, my love." He said softly, rubbing his thumb over your wet cheek.
"I love you too. I know I've said it a million times, but I can't stop." You chuckled softly, earning yourself another soft kiss from Johnny before he finally pulled you into the tavern.
The evening was spent wrapped in blankets, an ale in hand while you sat in your favorite little corner. Music was playing and people were dancing, but you were content right here.
Next to Johnny, your head on his shoulder, gently nodding off so you could dream of him and wake up tomorrow, just to do it all over again.
The tempest roars around you, a whirl of colour and sound. Standing on the edge of a cliff top, your face beaten by a gale that has no earthly reason to be so fierce, bellowing in your eardrums like thunder. You cup your hands over your face, fighting the urge to run, take cover from the swell of this all consuming storm.
A whoosh of lightning splits the sky, forked tongues of light fracturing through the muddle. Like being immersed in deep, still water the silence is suddenly deafening, so unbearably quiet you could hear a pin drop miles away.
Then a voice calls out to you, low and throaty, the brogue recognisable, though you can’t put a finger on why. Husky in only the way a man’s tongue can be when he’s palpably in love. Sickened by it, the thickness lodged in his gullet is there because of you, as are the burning tears that threaten to spill from his tourmaline eyes.
You know all of this, without any doubt. Even though the darkness around you makes it impossible to see the man begging for your salvation on his bare knees, tartan tattered and lips chapped with heart sickness.
“Come home ta me, mo chridhe.” A pause, one small moment for him to collect himself, stifle the anguish running torrents through his soul.
The wind rustles through the ferns at your feet, moving the tall grass eerily as you turn the broach over in your fingers. It catches the low light, shining silver against the calming green and grey landscape around you. Sharp rocks peeking in and out of thick tufts of purple heather. Strange for it to last into this time of year, or so you’ve been told by the man in the village shop, usually it dies back by the first inklings of autumn.
You still haven’t managed to fix the WiFi issue at the house, meaning a trek is necessary most days to connect with the outside world. It’s faintly irritating, the fact that neither your landlord or the internet provider seem to be able to return your calls, made from a homely café with a router free for use if you buy a coffee and an iced bun.
The thick lemon scented icing makes a sticky residue on your teeth as you leave message after message with no reply. Even the appeals for you to come home from your mother seem to have dried up, as if she’s accepted you’re out here for the foreseeable future. Hours are whittled away in the warmth of the shop, pennies feeding into endless rounds of hot steaming drinks. The woman behind the counter has a kind face and knows you by name now.
In a fit of intrigue you’d shown her the broach, wondering whether she could tell you it’s origins, maybe recognising it as the property of a previous tenant or help you track down your ghostly visitor. On eyeing it she’d shaken her head, plump cheeks pursing with a frown.
“Dinnae recognise it my love. Try tha’ odds shop up tha’ road, he’s an eye for those kinda thangs.”
Hood pulled up against the drizzle, you’d made your way up the tiny high street towards the jumbled window of the building she’d given you directions for. The front of it bowed with age, warm amber lights highlighting an array of curious wares for sale, from old musty looking books to glass telescopes. A bell on the door tinkled as you opened it, the smell of ancient things filling your nose like stepping back in time.
A wizened old man behind a groaning wooden counter of bric a brac, squinted down at the metal pin, examining it closely.
“Where d’ya find this hen?
“In the house I’m renting on the moorland.”
He considered it, turning the broach over in his frail hands.
“Tis old fer sure, maybe 17th century though it’s hard ta tell. I dinnae understand how it came to be in your home though, such things are usually passed down through generations and held dear.” He points to the inscription. “Ye see what it says ‘non oblitus’? Means no forgetful loosely translated. Belongs to the MacTavish clan by right I’d say.”
“Oh, do you know where I can find them?”
The man wheezes out a laugh at that.
“All over tha place I’m afraid, scattered to the wind. Ye should keep it, maybe it came ta you for a reason eh?”
Scattered to the wind, it came to you for a reason.
Those words have resonated in you ever since. A humming prophecy you have no interest whatsoever in fulfilling. Somewhere deep down, you feel it’s obvious where the broach appeared from, a tangible item sullied by irrational thoughts and feelings. You’d left the shop on trembling knees, head lost in thoughts so deep you’d nearly bumped into someone on the otherwise deserted high street. Tall and broad, your shoulder knocked against a very solid arm and you caught a flash of sapphire coloured eyes gazing at you from under a hood of his own. But upon turning to apologise, the man was nowhere to be seen.
It made your heart thunder, gazing down the dark, rain washed lane now devoid of a soul. Your arm still ached with the impact of hitting him, despite his ghostly disappearance. Hurrying back to your car, you tried to justify it. He must have entered a shop quickly to avoid notice. There’s a rational explanation for everything.
Except the man who calls to you in your sleep. Leaves priceless gifts on your nightstand tarnished with the wear of hundreds of years.
Your highlander, real or not is stalking you like a hare through brush. That fact is as certain to you as the rising of the moon in the suns wake. It’s how you come to be sitting perched on this steep bank, the pin in your hands, endlessly pondering the possibilities of it all. The man hasn’t visited you again, not that you’ve taken the liberty of peering out of your curtains after dark since that night. But you’re sure now it’s him that haunts your dreams, the echo of his brogue thick in the recesses of your mind when you snap back into consciousness.
The dreams come every time your slumber begins now, thick and fast, potently clouded so you can’t make out the figures that move within them. He’s too far away to touch, to reach out for, but he cries your name with a deep yearning, begs for you to return to him as you stumble through fetid mud and gorse. Sometimes it seems so real you expect to see tears in your pyjamas from the thorns, pray you won’t open your eyes to his broad stature perched on the edge of your bed. It’s frightening yet tantalising in equal measure.
He always repeats the same words;
“Come home ta me, mo chridhe. Please come home.”
It’s like a record player stuck on a never ending loop, the same lines scratched within it so the soundtrack won’t move forwards. A cycle of confusion, no solution to the riddle in sight. Logic suggests he must be corporeal or he’d never be able to leave you the broach. But the prospect of that is more frightening still and if he is real, what is he doing in your subconscious, lovingly baying for you in a world filled with shadows?
With the answers to your questions even more out of reach than the man haunting you, you clamber to your feet, readying yourself for the trek back home. Clouds scatter above you, occasional snatches of sunlight bathing your face in warmth only to be swiftly whisked away. Heading down into a copse of trees you pocket the pin, the weight metaphorically heavy on your shoulders.
Dinner is a lacklustre affair, your mind too full to do much more than reheat last nights left overs. Outside the cottage, gales of wind start to pick up, tendrils inching down the chimney until the wood burner sputters and spits. A little anxiously you stoke the flames and draw the curtains tight, recalling vividly the last time a storm rolled in across the moorland, bringing a phantom apparition with it.
You should feel braver, a reasonable modern human capable of rationalising the unknowns of this world away with logic. But the reality of the highlands is different, far removed from civilisation, old magic that seems to dwell in every corner and under each moss covered rock. Secrets long forgotten and lost to time flutter under the surface of the land here, untouched by the changing currents of humanity.
Trying to pull yourself back together, you take a glimpse out of the window before bed, toothbrush in hand. It’s so dark you can’t see much further than the bare bones of the vegetable patch, neglected and abandoned for years. Cold air rattles the panes, seeping down your neck until goosebumps begin to rise there.
It takes you a long time to drift off to sleep, even then it’s fitful, somewhere between unconsciousness and waking. Finally you feel the waves of tiredness wash across your body, letting yourself relax into the feathered mattress.
That is, until an unearthly bang rattles your bones from beyond the cottage.
It’s so loud you nearly fall out of bed, the floorboards reverberating with the sound of it, pictures rattling in their frames. For a tenuous moment you wonder if a tree has fallen outside, taking the steps two at a time as you hurtle downstairs. Caution stops you short of the latch on the door, your hands trembling violently against the wooden frame.
Through the latticed glass you can see lights dancing, sparks leaping into the air in the distance. Snatching up your coat and a torch, you tentatively open the lock, moving onto the stone steps leading to the house.
Your first thought is fire, the way the glow shimmers and casts long shadows through the woods beyond the garden. But the colours are all wrong, violets and deep mauves instead of burning red. Then you hear it, clear as a bell calling through the night.
“Mo chridhe, please my heart!”
What the actual fuck. A man’s voice that has no right to be so loud over the howling noise of the wind. Thick with emotion and desperate sounding. Without commissioning them to, your legs move of their own accord, stumbling down the flagstones, bare feet chilled by the air around you.
“Bonnie come tae me! I beg o’ye!”
It’s like a hurricane, leaves whipping across your body, soft moss underfoot as you start to run. Your brain is frantically fighting, trying to pull you back to the safety of the house, but like a magnet drawn towards it’s mate, you couldn’t stop if you wanted to. The roaring in your ears is only cut through by the sound of your name in that Scottish brogue, so familiar and foreign in the same sense.
The colours are growing nearer, branches snapping as you enter the forest. Fairy lights flickering through the trees as the wind reaches such a pitch the wood seems to be screaming in protest around you. It’s transfixing, vibrant flickering pulses burst against your irises, the battering of freezing air still coursing around you.
“I’m here!” You shout pointlessly, though your subconscious screams at you to run, flee if you can. “I’m right here!”
Something hits you so hard it sends you flying, the taste of blood between your teeth, violet lights popping in the night sky and a terrible, scraping sound. There’s perfect, abject blackness. A strong pair of arms closing vice like around your chest. Sky coloured eyes swimming before your own.
