Kylie’s eyes fluttered open. The hazy light of an approaching dusk filtered through the canopy of moss-covered oaks and looming pecan trees. She glanced around, then inhaled. The sweet scent of magnolia blooms blended with the sharp tang of salt marsh, and a slight breeze, barely even there, stirred the reeds and saw grass. A pine cone thudded to the ground. It’d only been the wind.

It felt strange being back on the Vernon River. The scent of granny’s fresh-fried beignets and peach cobbler drifted on a far-away memory. If only other memories would fade so easily... She heaved a sigh and gave the porch swing a push with her bare foot. The gentle swaying coaxed her lids to fall, the creaking of the rusty chain lulling her back to sleep.

I need your help, lass. Wake up. Besides, you’ll miss the gloaming hour...

Kylie shot up out of the swing and glanced around. Her heart pounded, her breath hitched. "Who’s there?" The words squeaked from her throat.

Good God, woman. You’re sae bonny.
She whirled around and stared in the direction of the deep, accented voice. Nothing. The white veranda, in desperate need of a few coats of fresh paint and bare of the gauzy Boston ferns which used to hang from the rafters, sat empty. No one was there. But God, the voice sounded as though it’d been right in her ear.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Not only had she imagined a voice, she’d imagined it with a sexy Scottish burr. "You’ve lost your mind, girl." Maybe it’d been her subconscious self calling to her, pulling her out of sleep. She loved the gloaming hour--that small window of time between day and night, when a haunting darkness stretched across the land, and burnt colors from the faded evening rippled the sky and canopied above. Stars peered out, and night birds called to one another across the marsh. Seventeen-year cicadas had made their presence known after years of dormancy, and crickets sang their sweet, eerie lullabies, and the sound floated over the salty air. A slight breeze rustled the saw grass, sounding almost like a hushed whisper...

Aye, that's better girl. I knew you’d come ‘round.

Kylie jumped and whirled around. Fear gripped her insides. "Who’s there? I mean it--cut it out!" She looked around, then grabbed an old fly-swatter hanging on the post. "I’m...armed."

Deep laughter rumbled out of nowhere. Aye, an’ so you are, wee one. Another laugh. But put doon your weapon for now. I need you...

Kylie dropped her plastic armor and ran. Skidding around the corner of the porch, she flung open the door and jumped inside, then turned and bolted the lock. Her breath came out in harsh puffs, her chest heaving as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God, what’s happening to me? Why am I hearing voices?"

A heavy sigh broke the silence. My apologies, mo graidh. ‘Twas no’ my intention tae frighten you.

Her pulse quickened and she cupped her hands over her ears. "Stop! Please, whoever you are, just go away." She tried to swallow. "Leave me alone."

As you wish.

Silence. Only the whir of a ceiling fan sounded with her labored breathing. Minutes stretched, her back aching as it pressed against the cool, hard oak. She took several deep breaths and cracked open one eye, then the other.

Only an empty room filled her vision. A haze filtered through the flimsy curtains, casting an uncanny glow to the long-ago abandoned home. Dust-covered canvas draped the old pieces of furniture left behind after granny’s passing. A thready cobweb stretched across one corner of the kitchen breeze way. No man, no voice--and certainly not one with a Scottish brogue. "You’re going nuts, Kylie."
*****

At first, Kylie felt relieved at the absence of the voice. She’d been scared out of her wits yesterday. It’d sounded so...real. Where had it come from? And hadn’t he asked for her help?
Then, emptiness washed over her, and she found herself wondering more and more about it. It'd almost sounded familiar. Had she become so pathetic that the best she could do was imagine a man had spoken?

She glanced down at the long scars on both arms, thought about the matching one on the left side of her face. She ran her fingertips across the puckered line of skin. She
sighed. "Get a grip, girl."

After a quick inspection of the house, she pulled on her Keds and headed out the door. She crossed the yard to the narrow, wooden dock and started down its path over the water. The outgoing tide left the marsh with the sharp, pungent tang of salt and sea life, the bubbling of oysters in the shoal and fiddler crabs crackled far beneath her. Crickets serenaded one another through the trees, and a breath of air shifted across the water and teased the leaves of the pecans, oaks and saw grass. Magnolia and jasmine drifted by like a whispering caress. God, she’d forgotten how much she loved this place.

At the end sat the small, screened-in dockhouse her grandpa had built years back. She’d spent hours in there, wrapped up in one of granny’s crocheted throws, playing with her Barbies or watching a summer storm creep across the marsh. Life had seemed simple then.

She walked down to the floater, kicked off her shoes and sat down. Warm, brackish water circled her feet and legs. A thumbnail moon hung in the fading sky, and gulls cried out over the marsh. How calm the Vernon was compared to the bustling city of Atlanta.

Lass?

Kylie held her breath, then slowly released it. "No, not again. Not that sexy Scottish voice again. No, no no." She shook her head. "No."
A deep chuckle echoed across the water.

 So, you find my voice pleasing, aye?

She yanked her feet out of the water and jumped up. Nothing. There went that fear again, bubbling in her throat, threatening to steal her breath.

Do no’ bolt from me, Kylie. I willna hurt you. I need your help, if you’ll give it.

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" She swallowed hard. "Where are you?"

Forgive me, lass. Major Rory MacMillan.

A blurry haze shifted near one of the dock posts--like the sun’s reflection off hot tarmac. Her heart leapt into her throat. She tried to run, tried to scream, but a paralyzing grip held her tongue, kept her in place.

From the strange haze emerged a pair of long, boot-covered legs, braced wide apart. Narrow hips. A torso. Arms folded over a thick chest. Broad shoulders. A head, with dark hair pulled back. White teeth split his face in two as he smiled and gave her a low bow.

Kylie placed a hand to her head to keep it from spinning. She lost her breath and hiccuped, felt herself falling, and just before her eyes rolled back, she wondered why it seemed as though they'd met once before...
*****

Rory grabbed the girl before she hit the dock. Soft and limp in his arms, he held her up and thanked the saints for the gloaming hour. ‘Twas the only time o’ day he could touch, taste, smell, feel...

He squatted down, keeping her firmly in his arms. The feel of her body against his all but knocked him over. How she'd grown since last he'd seen her. Honey-colored hair pulled back like a horse’s tail fell across his arm, and brows the same color arched over closed blue eyes. Specks of cinnamon dotted her tanned nose and cheeks. He lifted a forefinger and traced the raised skin of the scar on her face. What had happened? Each arm sported the remnants of a like wound. He shook his head. Poor lass.

"Wake up, mo graidh." He gave her a gentle shake, her eyes fluttered open. Round and questioning at first, they quickly narrowed as she scrambled to get away. He allowed her to get up, then stood to face her.

Kylie could do little but stare--and try to look as though she wasn’t scared out of her mind. Yet at the same time, he fascinated her. It was the same thick, Scottish brogue she’d heard earlier. "Why are you here? And why are you dressed like that?"

High black boots, cream-colored leather pants hugged heavily muscled thighs, and a blue coat with tails...he looked as though he’d been in the midst of a battle re-enactment at Ft. Pulaski.

But GoodLordAlmighty, what a gorgeous man.
Instinctively, her hand moved to the scar on her face. His gaze followed her movement, and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

He lifted his stare to the darkening sky and sighed. "Your granny felt my presence, but could ne'er see me. I always hoped you'd be different."

Fear gripped her. "You knew my grandmother? I don't remember you at all."

He smiled and shrugged. "Nay, you wouldna. 'Tis only now you can see me. And I need you verra badly."

A memory flashed before her. A voice... "Why do you think I can help you?"

Somber gray eyes stared back at her. "Because you haven’t run away yet."

As if she could. He towered over her, blocking her path to the house. Their gazes locked, and her insides screeched to a dizzying halt. She couldn’t take her eyes off his.

He moved toward her. "Please, lass." He reached out his hand. "I’m desperate."

Kylie stepped back, confused. His plea sounded heartfelt, and so very real. Kylie, he appeared out of nowhere.... Another step back, then the sound of wood splintering cracked the air before she could stop herself. She screamed as the dock gave way beneath her. Just as both legs plunged through the rotted wood, Rory dove and grabbed her hands. "Please, don’t let me go."

"Nay, girl. I willna." As if they’d known each other forever, he pulled her up and into his arms. His firm chest against her cheek, his roughened hands splayed across her back, moving in a slow rhythm...

Then, his warmth seeped away, a cool trace of mist left in its wake. The solidity of his body shifted, and she leaned in to capture it back. She opened her eyes and looked up--and gasped.
"Do you remember me, Kylie? You were but eight summers old..."

Kylie scrubbed her eyes, trying to clear her vision. Slowly, he began to fade. She reached for him. "Wait! What’s going on?"

’Tis all right, girl. I can still speak tae you. But I’ll no' be able tae show myself again until tomorrow’s gloaming hour.

"Oh, God..." Staring at the haze until it fully disappeared, she drew a deep breath and swallowed hard. "You’re a..." It sounded crazy, stupid. But what other explanation, besides her pending madness, could it be? "Ghost?"

Aye, I’m afraid so. You should head back tae the house, girl. Should you fall again, I willna be able tae catch you.

She shivered as a childhood memory assaulted her. The dockhouse, especially during the gloaming. A presence, perhaps. "I always felt something, but didn't know what it was."

He chuckled. Aye, your little nose would crinkle up whenever I'd come aboot.

She exhaled and closed her eyes. "I remember."

Rory.

She opened her eyes. "What?"

My name’s Rory. An’ I’m desperate tae hear you say it.

A breeze rustled the reeds and cat tails, caressing her cheek as her heart pounded like a feral thing. Yeah, leave it to Kylie Robinson to be turned on by a dead guy.

"Rory." She hadn’t meant for it to come out as a whisper, but it had. She wondered if he’d even heard it. Silence stretched between them as she walked across the yard and into the house. Dummy her, she’d forgotten to leave a lamp on. Easing into the darkness, she stopped after a few feet to gain her bearings.

Say it again.

Kylie jumped. His thick accent brushed her ear, surrounded and moved through her. Every nerve ending in her body hummed with awareness. What was he doing to her? She cleared her throat. "I, uh, thought you needed my help?"

Again, that laugh. Sensual and strong, it filled the room and she’d never wished so hard that something could be real in all her life.

 Aye, I do. Forgive me. You’re most distracting.

Breathe, Kylie Jane. She moved until her fingertips brushed the lampshade. She pulled the chain and a dim light settled over the breeze way. A quick glance confirmed that indeed, she was talking to a ghost. Yep. She’d gone and truly lost her mind.

Moving into the kitchen, she made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the table. She peered around the empty room. Again, she cleared her throat. "Rory?"

I’m right here, Kylie Jane.

Yeah, and seemingly right against her neck. Another deep breath. "I’m only called that when I’m in trouble."

Rory laughed, this time a bit further away. I know. I heard your granny call you that more times than no’. Truce it is, lass. For now. I’ll no’ be able tae measure my behavior in the future.

She gulped. A horny ghost? She could understand that. "Okay, so tell me how you think I can help you."

Verra well. He let out a heavy sigh. I’m weary, girl. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been searching the river for someone to help me. No one's been able tae hear or see me--save your granny--until you. I...can’t seem tae remember things. Things which will put me tae rest.

"You’re a soldier?"

Aye. His voice moved closer. I left Nairn in the year of our Lord, seventeen hundred an' sixty-five, where I joined the Revolution. I havena been back tae Scotland since.

"What happened?"

I remember leading my men through a wood, no’ too far from here. An ambush overtook us, killing several of the lads. What few of us remained were herded into the Berkshire.

Kylie gasped. "The prison ship Berkshire?"

Aye, the verra one. How is it you know o’ her?

"I’m a professor of Georgia History at the University."

Och, so you can help me then.

Kylie stretched and crossed her legs. "What is it, exactly, you need help with?"

I’ve got tae know I died wi' honor.

Her insides chilled. How sad, to think this man had once lived, fought for a young country not his own, and died...yet didn’t. She ached for him.

I’ve waited sae long for you. I always hoped one day you'd see me.
"I remember playing in the dockhouse. I felt as though someone stood beside me, calling my name."

Aye, I tried for many years. Then, you left.

She had left, and sorely regretted it. Rinsing out her tea cup, she turned. "Can you see me, Rory?"

Aye.

"So, you can see, hear and speak, just not touch and smell?"

Nor taste.

She shivered as the suggestion sounded in her ear. Mercy, what a sexy man...even for a ghost. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t broken out in a cold sweat, or run away. He seemed just tangible enough to be real...yet not real enough to be a threat.

Flipping off the kitchen light, she headed for the bedroom. At the door, she paused. "You’ll be here, won’t you?"

You have only tae call for me, mo graidh.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "What's that mean–mo graidh?"

She steadied herself with a deep breath as the words washed over her. Probably just her silly own wishful reaction. There was a reason she neared thirty and still lived alone. She slipped into her bedroom. "Goodnight, Rory."

An’ tae you, Kylie.