Once Upon a Christmas Past
Page 1
Once Upon a Christmas Past
Regan Walker
Paula Quinn
Catherine Kean
Brenda Jernigan
NY Times & Award Winning Authors
Introduction
Christmas time – the best time of the year! A time we celebrate love for family, friends and strangers. The world is brighter and much prettier with all the Christmas decorations. It is a time that we wish could last all year.
We cannot make it last all year, but we can do the next best thing. We can offer you love in our 4 full book collection of Christmas stories. If you love Scotland, England – we have it all for you. And the best part is that it is free with KU or .99 cents.
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We wish you love throughout the year.
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Merry Christmas,
Regan, Paula, Catherine and Brenda
Contents
Regan Walker
A Secret Scottish Christmas
Acknowledgments
Praise for Regan Walker
Characters of Note
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Author’s Note
Author Bio
Books by Regan Walker
The Donet Trilogy:
The Medieval Warriors series:
Paula Quinn
A Highlander for Christmas
Blurb
Praise for Paula Quinn
Praise for A Highlander for Christmas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Also by Paula Quinn
Catherine Kean
A Knight’s Redemption
Reader Letter
Knight’s Series Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About Catherine Kean
Connect with Catherine Kean
Books by Catherine Kean
Brenda Jernigan
Christmas in Camelot
Praise for Christmas in Camelot
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
Also by Brenda Jernigan
A Secret Scottish Christmas
Regan Walker
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
A SECRET SCOTTISH CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2017 Regan Walker
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9976567-1-8
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
My gratitude goes to photographer Kenny Muir for allowing me to use his beautiful photograph of Dunnottar Castle, dressed in winter’s splendor, for my cover. A special thank you also goes to those who helped me make this novel historically authentic: Simon Cruickshank, the proprietor of The Ship Inn in Stonehaven, built in 1771, who confirmed that the inn had sufficient rooms in 1819 to accommodate William Stephen’s guests; and Paul at Big Game Indicating Dogs, who read my scene of the deer stalking with Ailie’s setters and assured me it could well have happened that way.
In addition, I must thank my beta readers for their contributions, especially Liette Bougie and Dr. Chari Wessel, whose contributions were invaluable.
Praise for Regan Walker
“Ms. Walker has the rare ability to make you forget you are reading a book. The characters become real, the modern world fades away, and all that is left is the intrigue, drama, and romance.”
—Straight from the Library
“The writing is excellent, the research impeccable, and the love story is epic. You can’t ask for more than that.”
—The Book Review
“Regan Walker is a master of her craft. Her novels instantly draw you in, keep you reading and leave you with a smile on your face.”
—Good Friends, Good Books
“…an example of ‘how to’ in good story building… a multilayered novel adding depth and yearning.”
—InD’Tale Magazine
“Spellbinding and Expertly Crafted”… “The path to true love is never easy, yet Regan Walker leads the reader to an entertaining, realistic and worthy HEA. Walker’s characters are complex and well-rounded and, in her hands, real historical figures merge seamlessly with those from her imagination.”
—A Reader’s Review
“Walker stuns with her gift for storytelling, magically entwining historic fact and fiction to create a thought-provoking, sensual romance, one that will stay with you.”
—Chicks, Rogues & Scandals
“Walker’s detailed historical research enhances the time and place of the story without losing sight of what is essential to a romance: chemistry between the leads and hope for the future.”
—Publisher’s Weekly
“… an enthralling story.”
—RT Book Reviews
Characters of Note
(with their stories noted)
Aileen (“Ailie”) Stephen
Nash Etienne Powell, twin brother of Robbie
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Robert (“Robbie) Pierre Powell, twin brother of Nash
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William Stephen, Scottish shipbuilder in Arbroath, and Lady Emily Stephen (from The Holly & The Thistle)
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Claire Powell, mother of the Powell sons and wife to C
aptain Simon Powell (from To Tame the Wind)
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Hugh, the Marquess of Ormond, and Mary, Lady Ormond (from Racing with the Wind)
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Captain Nicholas Powell and Tara Powell (from Wind Raven)
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Sir Martin Powell and Lady Katherine (“Kit”) Powell (from Against the Wind)
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Muriel, Dowager Countess of Claremont (who appears in many of my stories)
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Captain Dougal Anderson of William Stephen and Sons, shipmaster
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Mrs. Harriot Platt, Lady Claremont’s cook from London
Martha McBride, William and Emily’s cook in Arbroath
Rhona, Ailie’s maid
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Angus Ramsay, maternal grandfather to Ailie and William in Stonehaven
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George Kinloch, the gentleman farmer from Dundee, dubbed the “Radical Laird”
Preface
There are no secrets that time does not reveal.
—Jean Racine
Prologue
St Peter’s Field, Manchester, England - 16 August 1819
The crowd surged around Nash like a living thing. Voices of children mingled with those of their parents anxiously awaiting the man they believed would give eloquent voice to their long-ignored cries for reform.
Unmindful of the smoke from the city’s factories marring the blue of the midday sky, thousands had flocked to the vast green field. Mothers wore their Sunday best, some carried babes in arms. Their presence only added to Nash’s fears.
The conversations he and his twin brother Robbie had overheard in Manchester’s taverns had educated them to the people’s hope that such a large gathering would rouse the government to act. They wanted representation in Parliament and relief from the heavy taxes that took bread from the mouths of their children.
Nash had seen for himself the hunger and sickness that stalked the overcrowded city like a destroying angel, claiming lives old and young.
Manchester’s huge population lacked even a single Member of Parliament while some villages with a dozen people and a few cows had their own MP, a situation that kept votes in the hands of the landed few.
Jostled by the crowd, Nash took a step back, shaking his head. He doubted the workers in Manchester would see their hopes realized. The political climate in England turned a deaf ear to cries for reform. Fearful the lower classes would rise up like those across the Channel, the government’s mood was one of suspicion, even fear.
The Home Secretary Lord Sidmouth had sent Nash and Robbie to Manchester to spy on those “fomenting rebellion”. But in the days they’d been here, they’d uncovered no signs of revolt. As far as Nash could determine, none of the men in today’s crowd bore arms. They carried only the meager food they had to sustain their families for the day.
What man brought his children to an armed rebellion?
Shifting his gaze to the right, Nash caught a glimpse of Robbie’s head of nut-brown hair rising above the crowd some yards away. His brother’s furrowed brow shouted the foreboding they both felt. As twins, they often shared emotions, a benefit to them as spies.
Nash’s unease grew, his stomach twisting in knots, as he thought of the forces mustered a few streets away: six troops of the 15th Hussars cavalry and seven companies of infantry, to which had been added the Manchester Yeomanry.
Over one thousand armed men stood ready to subdue any violence offered by the unarmed crowd.
Convinced this would be an insurrection, Sidmouth wanted to make a point. But did the Home Secretary intend to do more? Nash feared Sidmouth wanted blood. Did his plan, undisclosed to Nash and Robbie, include teaching the people of Manchester a terrifying lesson?
Murmurs spread through the crowd as the man for whom they had patiently waited finally made his way to the wooden platform. Henry Hunt, with his distinguished head of gray hair, stood ready to address the people.
Nash glanced at his pocket watch, noting the time: half past one.
From the other side of the field, a band struck up a rousing “God Save the King” and, for respect owing their monarch, the men took off their hats. Nash, too, removed his cap, setting it back on his head when the music stopped.
With eager anticipation, the people surged forward, straining to hear Hunt’s first words.
Suddenly, on the edge of the field, not far from where Nash stood, the Manchester Yeomanry appeared. Their blue uniforms and tall hats trimmed in gold made a flashy contrast to the common dress of the people.
Nash desperately wanted to believe the soldiers were there merely to assure order. The people must have believed it was so because they received the yeomen with shouts of goodwill. But the hard expressions on the soldiers’ faces told Nash they were there for an entirely different purpose.
Without warning, the yeomen raised their sabers and galloped into the crowd.
Horrified, Nash watched as the cavalry, reeling in their saddles, hewed their way through the defenseless heads and naked hands of the people. Heedlessly, they chopped off limbs until their blades dripped blood, leaving gaping wounds and blood-spattered clothes in their wake.
The thronging masses panicked, shrieking in fear and protest. Eyes wild, men, women and children screamed and tried to run. Trapped by the crowd, there was nowhere to go.
Heart-rending cries from women and children filled the air, piercing Nash to his soul.
Ignoring the shrieks and groans, the uncaring cavalry plunged forward.
Catching Robbie’s eye, Nash pushed his way through the fleeing crowd, heading toward the nearest yeoman to try to stop the mêlée. Before he could reach him, the soldier raised his saber and struck a woman in the head with the flat of his blade.
She plummeted to the ground. Her children fell to their knees beside her wailing, “Mama!”
Hot fury burned in Nash’s chest, as he raced to the yeoman. “These people are unarmed!” he shouted above the din. “Drop your sword! Forbear!”
The yeoman, slurring his words beyond understanding, swung his blade at Nash.
The blow hit him on the side of the head. Stunned, he crumpled to the grass.
Blackness closed around him as he heard Robbie shout, “Leave off, you fool! He is Sidmouth’s man!”
Chapter 1
Arbroath, Forfarshire, Scotland - December 1819
Aileen Stephen drew her blue tartan shawl tightly around her, burying her cold fingers in the soft wool as she stared out the window, watching snow fall in great lumps on the shipyard. In her mind, she saw the face that had come to her in a dream the night before. A dark-haired man of handsome visage who seemed to see into her very soul.
A man she did not know.
The stove in the shipyard office warmed her backside, but the air next to the large window carried winter’s chill. “It’s snowing again, Will. Soon, the entire yard will be buried.”
As she watched, the snow covered the decks, rigging and masts of the schooners docked in front of the company’s offices, making them appear like fairy ships. Beyond the snow-covered schooners, the North Sea showed its drab face, like an old sailor’s, gray and sullen.
Behind her, she heard her brother scratching a line into his ledger. “Aye, no work outside today, but the lads are still working on the new schooner in the main shop and I’ve got others cutting sails. They’ll have the week before Hogmanay and the New Year to spend with their families, so they’ll not mind a bit of work before then. ’Sides, I’ve made sure the stove fires are stoked and fed with coal.”
She turned away from the window and reached her hands toward the heat from the office stove, her ginger hair falling over one shoulder. Opening the door of the stove, she added a log and breathed in the sweet smell of the burning birch. “When are your guests arriving from London?”