Avalon by Stephen R. Lawhead Read Free Book Online Page A

sounded heartbroken. “She just dashed out to make a delivery.” Jenny owned a pottery business that shipped pieces all over the world, as well as supplying the local shops and hotels with better-quality tourist items. “I’m sorry,” Agnes said. “Could I have her ring you?”
    “That won’t be necessary. If you could just tell her I’ve been called away to London on business for a few days. I’ll try to ring her when I get back.”
    “I’ll surely tell her,” promised Agnes. “Why don’t you come to dinner on Sunday? It’s Mildred’s birthday — eighty-seven, she is. You’re more than welcome, James.”
    He thanked her for the invitation, and said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but duty calls. You know how it is.”
    “That’s a shame. Well, take care of yourself in the big city. Come round when you get back.”
    “You can count on it,” James promised, said good-bye and hung up, disappointed.
    He filled up with petrol and drove to the Invercauld Arms parking lot where Cal was waiting in his forever muddy green Ford Escort.
    “ ’Lo, James,” he said as he stepped out, pulling a soft-sided black bag from the seat beside him. He locked his car, tossed the bag into the backseat, and climbed in.
    Turning onto the highway, James rejoined the sparse morning traffic through town, and headed for Pitlochry. The drive through Glen Shee was one he usually enjoyed. This time, however, he hardly noticed the scenery. Cal slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes, while James, his mind churning, dissected the events of the last few months. He thought about his recent troubles, and how so much turmoil could have been avoided if the old Duke had simply left a proper will. He found himself thinking about his parents, and how worried they had been when the Australians began filling the post box with all their heavy-handed legal letters. James was still in the service at the time, but there was not much he could have done in any case. It took years off their lives, no doubt.
    He thought about his mother: bright and enthusiastic, with a wonderfully fanciful sense of humor. She liked nothing more than those newspaper competitions which ask the reader to supply amusing captions for peculiar photos, and routinely had her entries published. She was unfailingly cheerful, and her manifold kindnesses won her lasting and loyal friends. In her day, she had been a knockout. James had seen pictures of her that would have done credit to a fashion model’s portfolio. Indeed, she was still a handsome woman when she died. The end came so quickly for her that she did not wither or waste away like so many older women do when their men go. The doctors said it was her heart, but James suspected she just couldn’t stand to live without her husband.
    He thought about his father. A good, honest man, hard-working but not ambitious, he had taught James the value of a job well done and the enjoyment of life’s simple pleasures. Moreover, he instilled in his son a knowledge of his Creator. It was from his father that James had learned that this life was inextricably bound with the next. A frustrated vicar, John Stuart had studied for the ministry, but had left theological college after only a year or so. Why, James never learned; his father did not speak of it.
    Next, his thoughts turned inexorably to Embries, and the odd way he had chosen to make his introduction. While it had seemed mysterious and full of portent at the time, in the cold light of day, it all seemed slightly silly. Melodramatic. Much ado about nothing, really. James felt foolish for having been gulled by such obvious flimflam.
    Yet, here he was, rushing across country to make a train to London, and all because of a few whispered words down a phone line. How, he wondered, did the old boy fit in with his parents? What did he know that could help save Blair Morven? Who was he anyway?
    Outside Pitlochry, James joined the long, slow queue of Friday shoppers coming