He Said, Sidhe Said

"Gordon's uncle says there's still Templar organizations in Scotland, even after all this time. I thought you'd like to know that." The gravestone was warm under her fingertips as she traced the shallow carving of the sword. "He gave me his word that he'll give it to the person in charge.

"So, I'm bringing you his promise in place of the medallion."

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she turned to go. Then she remembered one more thing. "I could still lie to Mr. Hardie. Tell him you got the medallion back, pick up that ten grand and the job – but I won't. Because it isn't dying honourably that counts, is it? It's living honourably, right to the end."

As she reached the corner of the church and could see Gordon waiting by the car, the hair lifted off the back of her neck. The silence pulled her around.

Standing on the grave was a tall young man with red-gold hair and pale skin, in the clothing of the Jacobite army. Pat forgot to breathe. He hadn't been wearing the medallion the night he'd driven off the three thugs, but today it hung gleaming against his chest.

The air shimmered and she saw a line of men stretch into the distance behind him. They all wore the medallion. Many wore the white mantle and red cross of the Templar Knights. One wore the brown mantle of man-at-arms. For an instant, she felt a familiar weight around her neck, then both the weight and all the shades but Alexander MacGillivray's disappeared.

Tell Chalmer Hardie, he said to her heart as he faded, that you kept your word.