Arch Through Time: Books 1, 2 and 3: Scottish Time Travel Romances (Arch Through Time Collections)

by Katy Baker

  For a while they didn’t speak and Gretchen was content to just lie there. But suddenly a thought struck her.

  “You know,” she said. “We really ought to consider going on honeymoon.”

  “Honeymoon?” he asked, turning to look at her. “What’s that?”

  “A vacation. For newlyweds. Somewhere special, just the two of us.”

  “That sounds like a tradition from yer time I could whole heartedly approve of.” He raised himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to take my bride away for a while, away from the demands of clan life. In fact, I know just the place.”

  “Oh?” Gretchen said, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Where?”

  “When I was in exile, I spent a lot of time on the Isle of Skye. It’s a beautiful place. Would ye like to visit?”

  “Absolutely!”

  He grinned. “That’s settled then. We’ll leave in the morning - off on a grand adventure!”

  Gretchen grinned back. Then she reached up and pulled her husband down for a kiss. Sure, they might be setting off on a grand adventure in the morning but there was plenty of the night left.

  And Gretchen planned to make the most of it.

  THE END

  Echoes of a Highlander

  Arch Through Time book 3

  Chapter 1

  LUCY JENNINGS PLUCKED the strings of her guitar one at a time. She listened carefully to the note each produced, checking it was perfectly in tune. She was about to perform the first song of her set and she wanted to ensure it went flawlessly. Although, she had to admit, "set" was a very loose term for the hastily assembled songs of a street musician standing on the junction of two streets in busy downtown New York.

  She'd run through a possible set list in her head and settled on what she thought would be most popular. Locals and tourists alike usually preferred the oldies, the ones always played at parties and weddings that everyone seemed to recognize.

  Finally satisfied that her guitar was in tune, she struck the first chord and launched into a rendition of Hey Jude. Some of the people hurrying by tossed a few coins into her open guitar case and Lucy nodded her thanks.

  It was a blustery day and Lucy had somehow managed to pick a spot where the wind was strongest, swirling her hair, tugging at her clothes and sending goose bumps up her skin. Yet Lucy barely noticed. She lost herself in the music. Sure, she was standing on a street corner and most people were ignoring her, but to Lucy this was a grand stage. As long as she was playing, she was happy.

  After what had happened with Garth, it was the best she could hope for.

  Aunt Helen wouldn't be pleased when she found out that Lucy had been out playing again, rather than searching for a "proper job". But Uncle Nathan would understand. The quiet, reserved man, had been a musician all his life and he had instilled his passion for music into his niece and although he might not disagree with Aunt Helen in public, when it was just the two of them he would squeeze Lucy’s shoulder and tell her to follow her dreams.

  So she did, even though she knew she ought to be sending off job applications or perhaps applying to other colleges as Aunt Helen kept suggesting. Lucy couldn't work up the motivation. She’d left college, run back to her aunt and uncle’s house nursing a broken relationship and a shattered heart, and now she didn’t seem to be able to focus much on anything.

  She scraped a living performing on street corners and taking the odd gig at the rundown bars in town. One day she would get her big break. Her chance. A way to glue herself back together.

  But until then she’d keep singing Hey Jude and anything else the indifferent audience would pay for.

  She came to the end of the song and fell silent, letting the notes slowly die away. Then, almost without pause, she began playing Sweet Caroline. Halfway through the second verse she realized that one of the passers-by had stopped to listen and was standing on the sidewalk a few feet away, watching her. It was an old woman, small and gray-haired, wearing a long coat held shut with a deer-shaped brooch.

  The woman watched with her head cocked to one side, her foot tapping along with the music. The crowd parted around the old woman, barely breaking stride.

  Lucy reached the end of the song and played the last note. The old woman clapped loudly, a wide smile creasing her face.

  “Bravo!"

  Lucy grinned and gave a flourishing bow. It wasn't often somebody stopped to listen to her but when they did, it made her day.

  "Thanks!” she said. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  The old woman walked over. Close up Lucy saw that she wasn't just old; she seemed ancient, with nests of wrinkles around her eyes and leathery skin. She had small black eyes that sparkled with mirth.

  "Enjoy it I did," she said in a broad Scottish accent. "Ye do have some talent, lass, and no mistake.”

  Lucy blushed at the compliment.

  "Do ye do requests?"

  “I...um...yes, I suppose so. As long as I know the song, of course.”

  The old woman nodded. "I'm a visitor in yer fine land but I find I miss my bonny homeland. If ye could play me a song that reminds me of home, I would be mighty grateful. Do ye know Loch Lomond?”

  Lucy nodded. It was one of the many folk songs that were the staple of any performer learning their trade. "I'd be delighted to perform it for you," she said. "Although I'm not sure I will do it justice."

  The old woman waved her hand. "I’m sure ye’ll play it beautifully.”

  She stepped back and Lucy cleared her throat. She placed her fingers on the fretboard of her guitar, mentally rehearsing the chords she needed and the words of the song to make sure she had it down right. Then, when she was happy, she began to play.

  It was a beautiful song and Lucy found her eyes sliding closed as the haunting notes shimmered in the air. As she sang, her mind filled with images of a land far away across the ocean. A land of heather-covered hillsides, majestic mountains and deep lochs sparkling in the sun. The song spoke to her of a land of mists and folklore. A land of passion, family and the bonds of kinship.

  For a moment, just for a moment, this imaginary land felt strangely like home.

  Eventually though, she reached the end. As the last strains died away, she opened her eyes. The old woman watched her with a rapt expression. And was Lucy imagining it or were tears shining in her eyes?

  She stepped forward and took Lucy's hand in hers. Her skin felt dry, warm, and as rough as the bark on an old oak tree. "Didnae I say ye’d play it well, lass? That was beautiful. Beautiful. I can see it gives ye solace from yer hurts." She squeezed Lucy's hand. "Ye have given me a great gift and it’s only right that I give ye something in return.” Her grip on Lucy's hand tightened. "I'll send ye some good luck, lass. Ye'll know it when ye see it."

  Then she released Lucy's hand and strode away.

  “Wait!” Lucy called.

  The old woman paused and looked back.

  “I don’t even know your name,” Lucy said.

  “I’m Irene, Lucy dear,” the old woman replied. "Irene MacAskill."

  With one final smile, she turned away and was soon lost in the crowd.

  Lucy stared after her feeling a little unsettled. It wasn't the first time somebody had made a request but this felt different somehow. The words felt like some kind of bargain. What had Irene meant by saying she’d send some good luck? And how, Lucy realized with a start, had Irene known her name?

  Lucy shook her head, smiling wryly at herself. Listen to you, she thought. You’re getting as bad as Aunt Helen. You’ll be believing in fairies next.

  She played a few more songs and earned a few more coins as a result but found that her heart was no longer in her playing. Her thoughts kept returning to Irene MacAskill and their strange encounter. So towards midmorning she packed up her guitar, slung the case over her shoulder, and made her way home.

  She found her aunt and uncle in the kitchen of their modest home. Aunt Helen was busy chopping vegeta
bles and Uncle Nathan had an old accordion sitting on the kitchen table that he was busy tinkering with. It looked like the thing hadn’t worked in years but that didn't deter Uncle Nathan. Rescuing and restoring old instruments was one of his passions. Lucy paused in the doorway for a moment and watched them.

  “Nathan, will you get that thing off my table," Aunt Helen said in an exasperated voice as though she had already asked this several times and been ignored. Helen was Lucy's mom's elder sister and she and her husband, Nathan, had brought Lucy up after her parents had died in a car accident when she was only a child. Helen was a bright, bubbly woman in her early fifties. The sandy hair, the same color as Lucy's, was gathered into a loose braid that fell over one shoulder.

  Uncle Nathan didn't look up from his accordion. “It’s not dirty, Helen,” he said patiently. “This didn’t come from some junk yard. I got it off the old guy who lives at number eleven. This was his pride and joy once and I promised him I’d take it back once I got it working again."

  Aunt Helen frowned at her husband. Then her eyes lifted and she spotted Lucy standing in the doorway.

  “Lucy!” she cried. "Will you talk some sense into your uncle? I'll be serving lunch soon and he's taking up my table with his bits of rubbish!"

  Lucy laughed, stepping into the kitchen. She gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, Aunt Helen,” she said. “You know I gave up on trying to talk sense into Uncle Nathan years ago. It's a lost cause!"

  "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Uncle Nathan rumbled.

  Lucy chuckled, planted a kiss on her uncle's bald head and then sat down and peered at the accordion. It was an instrument that Lucy had never played although she had always wanted to have a go. By all accounts, it was incredibly hard to learn.

  Uncle Nathan pushed a tiny screwdriver across the table towards her. "See if you can get the grille off for me. If I can get inside, I'm pretty sure I can get this fixed. Then you can go get your violin and we’ll have a sing-along.”

  Lucy grinned, grabbed the screwdriver and set to work.

  "Did you have any luck this morning?" Aunt Helen asked as she lit the stove and set the pans on top. "Did you go to Randle's like I suggested? Betty says they're hiring for all sorts of positions."

  Lucy winced. “I...um...I didn’t exactly....”

  Her aunt raised an eyebrow, a stern look on her face. "You've been out playing again haven't you?"

  Lucy's sheepish expression was answer enough.

  Aunt Helen threw her hands up. "I give up! This is your fault, Nathan. Filling her head with fancies! When will you realize that you need to find yourself a proper job?"

  "Let the girl dream, Helen," Uncle Nathan said. "She's only twenty-three. Plenty of time for her to figure out what she wants to do."

  Aunt Helen stared at them for a second. Then she sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, Lucy. It's just that...I worry about you.”

  Lucy pushed her chair back and folded her aunt into a hug. “I know you do. And I’m grateful. I’ll start looking for a job this afternoon. Promise.”

  "Sure. And who knows?” said Aunt Helen. "You might hear back from that audition you attended last month."

  Lucy nodded, not wanting to dampen her aunt’s enthusiasm although she didn't share it. If the orchestra she’d tried out for last month had really wanted her, they would have contacted her by now. Their silence spoke volumes.

  "You might be right," she forced herself to say. "I met a strange old woman this morning who said my luck is about to change. She seemed a bit odd. A bit witchy."

  Aunt Helen’s eyes lit up. "Was she a gypsy? Gypsies are said to have the power of foreknowledge you know."

  Lucy groaned inwardly. Here we go, she thought. I've done it now.

  Aunt Helen was into fortune-telling, tarot cards, tea-leaf reading and absolutely anything else fashionably new-age. Her latest fad was reiki. Before that, it had been crystal healing.

  “Tell me what happened," Aunt Helen instructed. "And tell me exactly what this old woman said."

  Lucy dutifully recounted her experience with Irene MacAskill. As she spoke, Aunt Helen nodded and looked suitably serious as though the experience was significant. When Lucy finished Aunt Helen crossed to the dresser, pulled open one of the drawers and took out her pack of tarot cards.

  Lucy shared a look with Uncle Nathan who rolled his eyes. They'd both had to sit through countless readings where Aunt Helen had predicted many dire things, none of which had come true.

  "Sit down, Lucy love," Aunt Helen instructed.

  Suppressing a sigh, Lucy slid into a seat next to her aunt and watched as she laid the cards out in a pattern on the table. Frowning in concentration, Aunt Helen leaned forward, examining the spread.

  Lucy waited patiently, knowing from long experience not to bother interrupting her aunt or explaining that this was all just rubbish. Finally, Aunt Helen sat back and then looked at Lucy.

  "The cards are clear," she pronounced, wearing a solemn expression. “Something momentous is coming, Lucy. Your luck is about to change."

  Lucy patted Aunt Helen’s hand. "Great. Wonderful. Whatever you say. Can we have lunch now?"

  JUST AS SHE PROMISED, Lucy spent the afternoon filling in job applications. She applied for a post as a waitress, a clerk in a grocery store, and lots of others that she barely even registered. She passed some time browsing the Internet, looking at college courses, but after a miserable year studying law, Lucy had come to realize that academia wasn't her thing. And besides, the disaster with Garth had put her off colleges for good. Still, if it kept Aunt Helen happy, she would at least pretend to show some interest.

  The phone rang and Aunt Helen rushed to answer it. “It's for you," she called in an excited voice. "Some guy with a really posh English accent."

  Puzzled, Lucy took the phone and pressed the receiver against her ear. "Hello? Lucy Jennings speaking."

  "Lucy? It's Max Whitelaw here. You came to an audition with us a few weeks ago? At the time we mentioned having you as a reserve?"

  Lucy's heart skipped a beat. "I... um... yes I did. That's right."

  "Well, we would like to offer you the position of third violin for our tour to the UK."

  Lucy's mouth fell open. He was offering her a job?

  "But.... but.... Surely the tour has already started?”

  Max cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s right. Unfortunately, our third violinist has had to drop out suddenly and so did our first reserve. It was most strange and left us in a pickle. I realize this is late notice, for which I apologize, but we need somebody who can be in Edinburgh in three days, ready for rehearsals on Thursday and Friday and a concert on Saturday night. Could you do it?”

  Lucy’s mind whirled. Edinburgh? In three days? This was all happening so fast. She’d have to get a plane ticket. And pack. And arrange for her instruments to be shipped. And...and...

  “Yes,” she heard herself saying. “Of course I can do it.”

  After the phone call ended, Lucy stood in shocked silence for a moment. Aunt Helen watched her expectantly.

  “Lucy? Is everything okay?”

  “Okay?” she said. “I...um...I guess so. I’ve just been offered a place on that tour. I’m going to Scotland!”

  Aunt Helen’s eyes widened. Then she was rushing forward, throwing her arms around Lucy and they were both capering around the room like excited schoolgirls. Disturbed by all the squealing, Uncle Nathan ambled in. But when he heard the news he joined in, as excited as any of them.

  This was it. Lucy’s big chance. I’ve no idea what you did, Irene, she thought. But thank you.

  Chapter 2

  ANDREW HARRIS SHIFTED his feet, trying to hold his temper. But it was hard when the two crofters in front of him were being so unhelpful. The elderly couple bowed and scraped, looking fearful as he questioned them. Why did they have to mumble so? Couldn’t they just give a straight answer?

  “It isnae a difficult question,” he said, fighting to keep his patience. �
��Have ye seen a man that matches the description I gave ye? He would likely have had several horses with him. I’ve had word he came this way.”

  The woman looked up at him. “Nay, lord. We havenae seen anyone in days.”

  Andrew frowned. Was she telling the truth? Maybe she was in on it. Maybe this was all a pack of lies. He shook his head. Thoughts like that would lead him nowhere. If a laird couldn’t trust his own tenants, where would he be?

  “Very well,” he said. “Thank ye for yer help.”

  He spun on his heel and strode back to his horse. The couple watched him go with wide, fearful eyes. Andrew swung onto his mount, not liking the look on their faces. The crofters had never looked at his father like that. Laird Gareth Harris had commanded respect and loyalty from his clan, not this wary fear with which they regarded Andrew.

  “Yah!” he kicked his horse into motion and sped off along the muddy trail.

  He’d ridden out that morning from Dun Arnwick on the trail of a horse thief who’d stolen three of his stock. Old Dougie had advised him to take men from the garrison with him but Andrew preferred to ride out alone. They were his horses. His responsibility to find them.

  Besides, he had to admit, riding out by himself was like a balm. Away from Dun Arnwick, away from the pressures of leading his clan, out here he could simply be himself, whoever that was. He nudged his mount to greater speed. Soon he was galloping along the narrow cliff-top trail, the wind sending his hair streaming out behind.

  On his left, the cliff fell away in a sheer drop and the waves crashed mercilessly on the rocks below. One wrong move and both he and his horse would fall to their death. Andrew wasn't worried. How many times had he ridden it with his father and brothers in years past? Laird Gareth Harris had believed in training his sons in the duties of leadership from an early age. So, as soon as they were old enough to ride, Andrew and his two younger brothers Matthew and Duncan had ridden out with their father and his guardsmen whenever he made rounds of his lands.