ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) (25 page)

But as Cassandra got herself under control, she also thought about what she had said about Julian. Cassandra was certain that when Mrs Campbell wavered in her speech, she
knew
someone at the farm had seen Julian that day. But if so, who, and why were they lying? Cassandra gave a start as she recalled Carol’s words …
she was sorry and didn’t mean to be so bad. Only, it wasn’t my fault in the end, there was nothing I could …
Cassandra felt like she was in the middle of some horror film and hadn’t a bloody clue what was going on, least of all Carol and her ramblings. On top of everything, Cassandra couldn’t explain her fears, and there was an overriding anxiety nobody was going to believe her anyway.

Cassandra sniffed and looked up at the gloomy sky, her eyes travelling down until they rested on the brae above the village and the snow flurries blowing off the heather. She imagined she saw the figure again. Apart from the one time when he brandished the sword, he was always too far away to make out any details. All Cassandra recalled was that he was tall, carried a threatening air about him, and was always absolutely still. But there was something vaguely familiar too. Could it have been one of the Campbell brothers or the uncle? But had she ever seen one of them away from their beloved farm? She didn’t think so. Angus was tall and dark and hiked the hills…Donald too…he was forever out and about these days. Her dark thoughts turned to other possible suspects. What about the women? Mrs Campbell, despite being an absolute horror, was far too fat and old. The Blackmore sisters: dotty Lorna was too slight a figure, but her sister was large and strong. No, she seemed too kind and caring a person to want to cause harm to anyone. Carol was average height and her odd manner, was forever alternating from one emotion to another, and of course there was useless, ineffectual Fiona, hopelessly in love with the sycophantic, handsome, and energetic Donald.

But what would possess
any
of them to suddenly abandon their normal lives and lurk around on the hill in all weathers or creep around her cottage? What purpose would any of those hellish events that Cassandra had experienced serve? It had to be some stranger.

Cassandra vowed to be firmer with herself, get a grip and to
always
lock and chain all her doors and never venture out after dark.

She shivered and walked on, not even noticing where her feet were taking her. She hated the thought of going home to an empty house, and despite the raw, biting wind hitting her in the face, she turned towards the moor, hoping to cleanse her mind of the foetid smell and sensation of fear. As she climbed, she held onto the hood of her coat to keep it over her frozen ears and cheeks. She thought she heard a call followed by a whistle, and holding herself stiffly against the freezing wind, she turned back and gazed at the village nestling in the valley. By now the snow was falling thick and fast. In the dim light, she didn’t see Angus on the road below and waving at her.

She carried on, knowing somehow she must confront this awful sensation of dread, and violence was somewhere out there. Even though she felt this foreboding, she needed to face her own devil, and then she could leave the village for ever. Images flashed through her mind: some familiar while some were just wispy traces. She recognised a white-faced Susan, her immaculately turned-out mother and taciturn father. The silent, brooding villagers from Inverdarroch flitted past, including a misty figure of Uncle Archie and Lorna’s young son. She even imagined a likeness of her brother passing before her eyes. Cassandra trudged uphill, and with each step she took, she told herself everything was going to be all right. During the recent months, she had put up with and survived everything that had been thrown at her. No more.

She would sell the cottage to Donald, taking the few pieces of Susan away with her. In facing her devil, she believed she would find Julian. Unlike the police and Angus, Cassandra suspected Julian was still out there, even though his car had disappeared. Cassandra wouldn’t rest until she found him.

Chapter 29 On Devil’s Brae.

As she walked, the falling snow turned from soft tiny flakes to fat cotton wool balls, which drifted and formed a moving veil. The hills above and around Cassandra became obscured from view. In the valley behind she could hear activity: a barking dog and the tractor on the Campbell farm. She wasn’t put off by a little snow, because the forecast earlier in the week was for snow flurries and nothing more than an inch or two in the Highlands. All this would no doubt melt and disappear as quickly as it arrived.

The raw wind began to whine. At first it was a soft whistle of a few notes, before becoming more of a growl. The wind picked up the snow, and it hit her in the face, stinging and biting against her soft flesh. Cassandra was at the summit and knew that if she really wanted, she could find shelter in among the rocks. There were a few hollows scraped in the ground which were almost caves. But she had no time for resting; she was determined to retrace her and Julian’s footsteps. She was sure the police must have missed something vital, and she was dogged enough to prove them wrong.

She set off down the track on the other side of the hill, eyes fixed on the ground, searching for something which would help her. After an hour and a half, she had walked further than the two policemen and still found nothing. She was cold and thought she would have to give up and go home. As she turned round, her boot caught in a hidden tuft of grass, and she tumbled over, falling on something hard and lumpy. Cursing she sat up and looked to see what caused her fall. With a triumphant smile, she picked it up and turned it over in her hands, laughing when she realised it was her pocket digital camera. She hadn’t missed it because Julian had borrowed it for the latter part of their walk. It was important because it held shot after shot of Julian, Bailey, and herself taken only the day before. At least she could prove Julian had been with her, and she wasn’t some barmy woman wasting valuable police time. Surely, if she showed this to the police, there would be grounds for conducting a more thorough search for Julian? She would show Angus too.

Thoughts of Angus sent her spirits plummeting. She was confused. She loved and wanted to trust him, but there were so many things which didn’t add up. And why hadn’t he bothered contacting her today, either? Perhaps she would do better to forget her crazy ideas of love and being by his side. It was all a pipe dream, anyway. Despite the scorching looks which passed between them, Cassandra knew nothing of what Angus really thought, and she had to remember someone in the village probably hated her. What was galling was she couldn’t offer any explanation, apologise, or make anything right. Why? Because she had no idea who
he
was or what the bloody hell he wanted from her. But she knew for certain that when she heard the distant drumming on the hills, her blood turned to ice. She was convinced: everything that had happened was the work of the watcher on the hill.

Feeling she was getting somewhere, Cassandra walked back up to the summit and decided to explore the stone cairn area before the snow became too deep. She suspected the police hadn’t really checked the area out. How could they have? The area was vast, and a person could easily have slipped over and fallen into a cleft between the rocks. While Cassandra climbed, she noticed
the falling snow dwindling to little more than sleet, and as the wind died down among the rocks, the temperature rose.

Cassandra began inspecting every foot of the ground where she and Julian had last walked together that afternoon. She realised the cairn was a lot bigger than she originally thought, and here and there were fractures in the rocks resulting in a couple of fissures. She thought the area might have been formed by ancient volcanic activity and the fissures by more recent low-magnitude earthquakes; the British Isles were full of them.

Snow began to fall again, thick and fast, and as Cassandra turned to retrace her footsteps, she heard a scraping sound. She froze and slowly turned her head.

He stood about three hundred yards from her, a spectre of death, alone on his brae.
Devil’s Brae
. The wind began to whine and tear down the valley towards the hamlet. Cassandra imagined it with an evil intent of its own, attacking her cottage, whistling down her chimney to invade her refuge. However, since her intruder, she knew it was no safe haven. She saw the whole scene before her—a drama waiting to unfold. Had he seen her? As she stood poised, ready to run, the figure uttered a cry, and she knew it was no spectre. He was a living being: flesh and blood, like her, although in this instance, it was he who wielded the sword.

As he advanced, Cassandra backed away. She felt a drag at her legs, as if they had been turned to jelly; speech was impossible despite her earlier resolve to have it out with him. She found it difficult to breathe as the wind gathered in strength and howled like a banshee around her head. Suddenly, he lifted the sword, and she knew it was all over. With strength she found from deep inside, Cassandra turned and ran.

She heard a sobbing breath following her and, in terror, drew on her reserves and increased her pace. It wasn’t until she had covered fifty feet that she realised the rasping breath was her own. She fought her way through what felt like a wild gale, slipping and sliding on the uneven rocks covered in a deep layer of snow. Conscious she could never outrun him, Cassandra had to find a place to hide. Her breath was hot and rasping in her throat; she ran between a cleft in the cairn, tripped, and fell.

She was tumbling over and over, falling down, down. There was no time to shriek, as all air was knocked from her as she came to a sudden hard and painful stop. Cassandra couldn’t even find the breath to groan. She lay still. Every bone in her body felt jarred; her back and legs bruised and throbbing. She attempted to move and bit her lower lip as a shaft of pain shot through her right arm, and mercifully, she blacked out.

***

Cassandra opened her eyes to a perfect blackness. Where was she? She felt muzzy and disorientated, not knowing what the devil had happened. She just knew something wasn’t right, and then with sudden clarity she remembered! She had fallen between rocks which were half-hidden by stunted bushes. She recalled falling down what must have been a passage of some sort. She gave an involuntary whimper, when she again felt the excruciating pain in her arm. She didn’t need a medical degree to guess it was broken.

As Cassandra lay in the dark, more memories came flooding back to her. When she remembered being chased by the watcher, terror took hold of her again. She couldn’t remain where she was, but she had to be sure she was alone. Supporting her arm she shuffled into a sitting position and stifling back a moan, she peered into the blackness. She saw that as her eyes adjusted, there was a faint natural light entering the passage from above her head.

Taking it slowly, because her head was swimming, she looked all around. She couldn’t discern any shapes in the dark, but she could smell something familiar. She sniffed again and stiffened when she realised what it was. Cassandra gave a sob of relief. The smell was Julian’s Hugo Boss aftershave. My God! Was he down here, too? Was it possible she had found him? “Julian?”

In excitement she scrabbled onto her knees. If only she had brought a torch! It was then she remembered putting some matches into her trouser pocket earlier that day after relighting the fire. With difficulty, she reached into her right pocket with her other hand and drew out the matches. Whimpering with pain, she held a match between her fingers and struck the box.

The little ring of yellow light dazzled her for a moment. She held it above her head so that she could look around her. She immediately saw a passage above her head where the weak light was filtering through. Looking to her left and right and in front, she realised she was in a small cave. As the match burnt down, she lit another and was almost thrilled on seeing pieces of dried heather branches at her feet. They were perfect to use as a torch.

Cassandra held the flaming branch higher and looked behind her. What she saw made her cry out and nearly drop the light. Lying not ten feet away was Julian.

Chapter 30 On Devil’s Brae

Ever since Cassandra’s phone call the day before, Angus’s life had become complicated.
No,
he corrected himself. From the first time they met, things had been turned upside down. On their original meeting, Angus discovered her traipsing over the heather during the autumn. He remembered Cassandra had an impressive-looking camera slung around her neck, a smudge or two of mud on her cheek, and something clicked inside. He was intrigued. She was nothing like the women he usually met and completely the opposite from his own beautiful, red-haired, petite Kirsten.

For a start, Cassandra was what he would have called a ‘statuesque’ woman: long-limbed, broad-shouldered, soft breasts, and with a mane of unruly mid-brown hair. She had a lovely mouth, and her face was more than interesting enough to appeal. Her best feature, he considered, was her eyes. Oval-shaped, the colour of warm peat and fringed with thick long lashes.

At their second meeting, when he stumbled upon her, almost catatonic with fright, he recognised more than just plain interest on his part. There was something about Cassandra which brought out his compassionate nature, and for the first time in years he felt a definite flicker of sexual attraction.

It was this which threw him into a quandary. Did he want the complication of having an affair or even falling in love with another woman? The thought made him ambivalent towards her—he who was usually so decisive in all other matters.