Death of an Adept

"Oh, it's probably nothing," Adam said lightly. "I had some odd dreams last night - nothing I can put my finger on. It could well have been a bit of a hangover from the Erasers'

Hogmanay party, coupled with jet lag. Thanks anyway for checking."

After Ximena and Philippa had come down for lunch, Adam took Ximena out to the stables to inspect her Morgan. The battery was dead, or they would have taken it out for a spin. They settled for a drive in Adam's Jaguar instead, and spent part of the afternoon deciding on what would be necessary to get the Morgan back on the road. When they returned, in time for tea with Philippa, a message was waiting for Adam to ring McLeod at the office.

"Hello, it's Adam," he said, when McLeod had picked up his direct line. "You rang?"

"Ah." The word conveyed a world of expectation. "There's been an interesting wrinkle on your 'hangover' theory this morning."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Shortly after you rang, I had a call from young lolo MacFarlane, out on Lewis. He's the chap who was first on the scene at Callanish. It seems he also had some unsettling dreams last night. He said he hoped I wouldn't think he was crazy, but he could best describe it as 'a disturbance in the Force.' He says he thinks something terrible happened last night. He doesn't know what or where, but it was somehow connected with what happened at Callanish."

"I see." The information tended to confirm what Adam himself had picked up, but was no more helpful. "Do you intend to talk to him again?"

"I don't intend to go back to Lewis, if that's what you mean. Unfortunately, 'a disturbance in the Force' isn't very specific, and you aren't much more help. We'll just have to wait and see what else develops. I thought you'd want to know, though."

"Thanks, Noel. I appreciate it. Keep me posted."

Following the long New Year's weekend, Ximena took up her new appointment at the Royal Infirmary and Adam plunged into catching up on professional commitments put on hold while he was in America. Taking over management of the domestic concerns of Strathmourne House, Philippa focused her primary energies on helping the couple make plans for their formal nuptials, which were officially scheduled for the first Saturday in February.

Meanwhile, the news that Sir Adam Sinclair was shortly to marry Dr. Ximena Lockhart was given pride of place in the society supplements of every newspaper in Scotland, and was the cause for disappointed sighs by many an Edinburgh matron who had hoped her daughter might catch the eye of one of Scotland's most eligible bachelors. Following the public announcement, a flood of notes and letters of congratulation began to pour in to Strathmourne, as Adam's many friends and associates, contacts, and colleagues from far and wide took the occasion to express their heartiest good wishes.

"You have an amazing variety of friends," Ximena marvelled, casting a wondering eye at the array of correspondence strewn across the breakfast table between them. "As near as I can tell, you seem to be on a first-name basis with everyone from the senior curator of manuscripts at the British Museum to the governor of Edinburgh Castle to the head lama in charge of the Buddhist Retreat Center on Holy Isle. How on earth did you get to be so well-acquainted with so many different people in so many walks of life?"

Adam chuckled. "Some of the connections I owe to my family, of course. As for the rest - " He shrugged. "I am a Jungian analyst. Cultivating an attitude of cultural eclecticism is one of the hallmarks of Jung's approach."

"That still doesn't explain where you get the time," Ximena said. "One of these days, you're going to have to let me in on the true secret of your manifold successes."

Though obviously playful in spirit, her choice of words cost Adam a faint twinge of conscience, for it reminded him, however indirectly, that there were still truths about himself that he had not shared with his new wife.

"Are you sure you really want to know?" he replied, trying to keep his tone equally light.

Ximena looked up from pouring herself a fresh cup of tea, something a little forced about her air of innocence.

"Of course I want to know," she told him. "After all, we did vow a mutual sharing of worldly goods - hardly a week ago, as I recall. I believe that includes any and all skeletons lurking in the closets around here."

Adam managed a rueful smile. "You don't scare easily, do you?''

"Not as a general rule. But I do get concerned now and then for your safety - and not without cause, I think."

"Psychiatry is not generally regarded as a high-risk specialty," he said, hoping to divert the conversation.