The Sapphire Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “Get Braham geared up. He’ll need a uniform, weapons, greenbacks, a wee bit of gold. I want him to go back with everything he needs. After three and a half years of war, I’m sure Sean the first is pressed for funds. How long will it take ye to gather supplies?”

  “Four or five hours, and I’ll probably need the plane.”

  “Kevin can fly the prop plane or you can take the jet. The Mallorys won’t notice Braham’s absence before seven or eight o’clock. Unless Charlotte flies in a private plane, she won’t get a flight out tonight. My bet is she and her brother will be here first thing in the morning. Braham needs to be gone by then.”

  “I’ll be in my office at the stallion complex if ye need me. If I have to go out, I’ll let ye know.” David gathered up his laptops in one arm. With his free hand, he tossed his empty bottle of water into the trash can, then turned and left the house through the French doors.

  Elliott moved to the window behind his desk and stared out over the paddocks. The office door opened behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled as his wife came up beside him. He pulled her into his arms.

  “Have I told ye today how much I love ye?”

  She shook her head. “Not since I woke up.”

  He put his hands to her cheeks, eased her head back for the kiss he planned to give her, but paused to gaze into her eyes. “I love ye, and I’ll always be grateful to Cullen Montgomery for saving yer life.”

  “Did you tell Braham about Cullen’s ghost?”

  “No, and I don’t intend to. Some stories don’t need to be retold.”

  He gave her a tender, lingering kiss, caressing her lips lightly with his tongue. The pads of his fingertips glided down her neck. Her hands threaded through his hair, now longer just for her. For moments like this.

  “Are you giving Braham the brooch?”

  “Oh, aye. I only needed to verify a few things.”

  She pulled away slightly and looked up at him. “Did you find the answers you wanted?”

  He gathered her close, holding her tightly to his chest, his cheek pressed against her hair, relishing the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Most of them, but something doesn’t seem right. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Trust your intuition. Are you going to talk to Charlotte?”

  He pushed Meredith’s hair behind her ear and nibbled on her lobe, murmuring, “If it weren’t for Braham, Kit and Cullen never would have found each other again. She would want me to do whatever he asks of me.” He blew lightly on Meredith’s neck, knowing it would tickle.

  She giggled softly, and her laughter enchanted him.

  “Even if you have reservations?” she asked.

  He blew again, and she pressed her body firmly against his growing erection. Every time Meredith was in his arms, desire burned through him, and he wanted her now as much as he had the first night he met her in Scotland.

  “I understand Charlotte not wanting to return for fear of being stuck there, but why would she object if he found another way?”

  “Maybe she’s already in love with him and doesn’t want him to leave.”

  Elliott skimmed his hands down Meredith’s hips. “He’s leaving his love behind to honor his commitment to Lincoln. Honor I understand. But there’s more.”

  Meredith held his look with a faint, sultry smile. “If he sees her, maybe it will be harder for him to say good-bye again. David told me she’s an excellent surgeon, beautiful, and wealthy. What’s not to love?”

  “Maybe her wealth is the problem, since he would have nothing to offer her. Not even a name or family,” Elliott said.

  “Well, Braham has us.”

  The last rays of the dying sun fell softly through the window, crisscrossing Meredith’s face with light and shadow. Perfect light to paint her chin and cheek and lips with his finger. “Yes, he does.”

  “I look forward to meeting Charlotte. I’ll know right away if she’s in love with him.”

  “And if she’s not?”

  Meredith rubbed against him. “It could get complicated.”

  Elliott chuckled against her lips. “From personal experience, I know ye can’t fight love.” He kissed her again, even more thoroughly. “When did we become such romantics?”

  Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “When you decided you couldn’t live without me.”

  21

  MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day

  Elliott’s voice blared from a box on the kitchen wall. “Braham.”

  Braham jumped to his feet then groaned, grabbing his side. Glancing at Mrs. Collins, he said, “What the hell was that?”

  “If ye’re still in the kitchen,” Elliott continued, “please return to the office. Mrs. Collins, if ye’re there, buzz me back.”

  Mrs. Collins pressed a button on the box. “We’re both here, Doctor Fraser. I ’spect he’s tired of listening to me blather on. He’ll be right there.” She picked up a plate of cookies. “Take these with you. David loves ’em.”

  Braham hoped Elliott was going to help him go home, because Braham didn’t think he could tolerate more fancy cars or talking boxes. He took the cookies, walked down the stately mansion’s long hall, and stopped at the foot of the center sweep of stairs, remembering the day Kit went into labor. Her water broke almost exactly where he was standing. It had been a day mixed with joy, fear, and a very long wait.

  Cullen had passed out cigars, his face bright with exhilaration. At the time Braham had been elated for them both. Now, though, as a flood of recollections burst through the dam constructed to keep them in a hidden corner of his brain, a jumble of sorrow and loneliness overwhelmed him. He shook off the feeling, or tried to. Shoved the memories back behind the dam, or tried to. Stepped over the spot on the floor, scrubbing it from his conscious thought, or tried to. All he succeeded in doing was chastising himself for being full of regrets instead of being grateful he was still alive.

  The door to the office was open. He knocked on the doorjamb. A young, strapping man, broad-shouldered and narrow of waist and hip, peered over Elliott’s shoulder at the stack of papers he was holding. The lad had close-cropped brown hair and, when he turned toward Braham, revealed large brown eyes. He flashed Braham an easy smile. Braham recognized him for what he was—a powerful warrior.

  “Come in. Sit.” Elliott pointed to the man standing behind him. “This is David McBain. He’s been busy since ye showed up at the security gate.” Elliott held up the stack of papers. “We know everything that’s happened to ye since ye were supposedly found in the parking lot at the Cedar Creek Battlefield.”

  Braham’s heart rate increased, but he steeled himself against showing emotion. He casually set the cookies on Elliott’s desk and prepared to hear the word no. If Elliott did, in fact, turn him down, Braham would take his case to Meredith. He would not leave MacKlenna Farm without the brooch, even if he had to steal it.

  “I believe yer story,” Elliott said, “And because ye’re my goddaughter’s cousin, I’ve decided to loan ye her brooch.”

  The words loan ye swept away the top layer of tension Braham carried in his tight muscles. But only the top. What conditions would Elliott impose?

  David picked up a few sheets of paper from the desk, came around to Braham’s chair, and handed the pages to him. “We found reenactors willing to sell uniforms, pants, shirts, jackets, belts, boots, hats. Everything ye need.”

  Braham thumbed through the pages, arching an eyebrow at the detail on the uniforms. Whoever made them knew what they were doing.

  “Ye’ll have to try them on, and a tailor will have to make adjustments, but we’ve been assured a complete uniform will be ready tonight,” David said.

  “As for weapons, those were harder to come by,” Elliott said.

  David flipped to the last page of pictures. “We did find a saber and two Colt revolvers. They’re all in excellent condition, but I decided to go with these,” he said, pointing to the pictures. “The revolvers are reproductions of the 18
62 Pocket Navy .38 caliber. If I had my druthers, I’d send ye back with an assault rifle, a SIG, and a laser-guided furball.”

  The only thing Braham had understood was the word rifle.

  Elliott held out an envelope. “David, hand this to him.”

  “Here’s five hundred dollars in greenbacks,” David said. “It’s all we could find on short notice. Again, they’re antiques, but I don’t think this late in the war anyone will notice they’re old.”

  “Ye’ve gone to a great deal of trouble and expense on my behalf.”

  Elliott sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his flat belly. A sly grin appeared on his face. “I can afford it. Kit would expect it, and Meredith told me if I didn’t help ye I would sleep alone tonight.”

  “Ye need to rest now,” David said to Braham. “Ye been out of the war zone for a few weeks. Ye need to prepare for going back in. Ye’re still recovering from major surgery, too, which likely will slow ye down a wee bit, and ye’ll be more afraid to take a punch that wouldn’t have bothered ye verra much before. The guest room is prepared. Take a shower. Rest. When ye get up, it’ll be time to go.” David tapped his forehead. “Ye need to be ready up here.”

  His speech confirmed David was also a soldier, as Braham had suspected. Braham shook his hand. “Thank ye.”

  David clasped Braham’s shoulder. “I’d go with ye, but this isn’t my war.”

  “Mrs. Collins has prepared Kit’s room. Top of the stairs. Go rest,” Elliott said.

  Braham nodded. “I do have one question. Are ye going to call the Mallorys?”

  Elliott scratched underneath his chin with his buffed thumbnail, thinking. “If I don’t hear from them this evening, I’ll call the doctor in the morning and make arrangements to return her vehicle.”

  Braham tapped the envelope against his fingers. “When ye talk to her, tell her…tell her I’m sorry I didn’t thank her for all she did for me. And tell Jack, too. They’re good people.”

  Elliott picked up his bottle of water, unscrewed the lid, lifted the bottle to his mouth, and then paused. “I’ll tell ye what Meredith said, and ye can take it or leave it.” Without taking a sip, he screwed the top back on and set the bottle down. “She said, ‘This won’t be the end—’”

  Meredith entered the room saying, “—of the Charlotte and Braham story. I predict this is only a crossroads. What lies ahead will be full of potholes, but if you are meant to be together, which I believe you are, you’ll find a way through them, around them, and over them. And I look forward to the day when we’re all sitting in this room together, Charlotte and Jack included.”

  Braham hugged her. Meredith had inherited the best of Cullen and the best of Kit.

  22

  MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day

  Braham was jolted awake in a not-too-soft, not-too-hard bed. His feet didn’t even hang off the end. The only other bed he’d ever slept in that fit him perfectly, other than his own, had been at the Mallory Plantation. He bolted upright, and groaned when his sudden move pulled on the healing incision. More carefully, he leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp. According to the clock, he had slept for almost five hours. Driving, he had discovered, was stressful. His arms were still sore from gripping the steering wheel.

  He looked around the room, since he hadn’t paid much attention to the furnishings earlier. He wasn’t an art aficionado, but he could identify the work of a handful of artists. Kit MacKlenna Montgomery was one of them. On the wall opposite the bed were paintings of Chimney Rock, South Pass, and the Blue Mountains. They were painted from sketches she had made during their trip west in 1852.

  He eased to his feet and headed toward the bathroom. A Union Cavalry jacket hung on the back of the door. He ran his hand over the wool and checked the hand-stitched seams where the lining and wool met. Excellent quality and workmanship.

  Stacked on a chair nearby were trousers, a cotton muslin shirt, and a slouch hat. A pair of spit-shined cavalry boots sat on the floor.

  How could anyone have entered his room without making noise? He’d already noticed the floorboards creaked, and he was a light sleeper with excellent hearing. Either he’d been knocked out or someone with unusual stealth had come in and left the clothes. He rubbed his head. There weren’t any bumps.

  David McBain.

  Braham had a new appreciation of the soldier’s abilities.

  On the desk under the window he found a belt and buckle and leather-end suspenders, every item made with the highest-grade leather. An old, moth-eaten uniform would have been fine with him, but as he had discovered, Elliott Fraser expected the highest quality in his animals, the people who worked for him, and goods and services he purchased. He wouldn’t have purchased a moth-eaten anything.

  Braham remained in the hot shower for a long time, letting his mind drift to Charlotte. If she knew there was another brooch, she’d call Elliott immediately to explain the real reason she wouldn’t take Braham back to his time. Would Elliott still loan him the brooch if he knew Braham intended to stop Lincoln’s assassination? Probably not. But David would understand why Braham had to stop an assassin’s bullet.

  He took his time dressing. Each article of clothing added another tug on his heart and mind, pulling him back into his century. He stood in front of the mirror, gazing at his reflection. At some point in the past four years he had become a soldier in his appearance, thinking, and behavior. He was no longer a lawyer, friend, cousin, nephew, uncle. He was a major in the United States Cavalry, on assignment to the president. He picked up his hat and gauntlets and mentally saluted his commander-in-chief.

  Braham found Meredith and Elliott in the office, sitting in front of a blazing fire, talking quietly. He cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Sorry. I didn’t plan to sleep so long.”

  “Wow,” Meredith said, looking him over. She came close, fiddled with the jacket, and patted the shoulder boards. “I don’t think we need the tailor. Do you, Elliott?”

  “It’s a perfect fit. David has a good eye.”

  “Do you have your money?” Meredith asked.

  Braham tapped his chest. “Yes.”

  David entered the room behind him. “Here’s the rest of it. A saber and Colt revolvers.”

  Braham tested the weight of the revolvers. “Did ye fire them?”

  David laughed. “Aye. I found the sights on the revolvers a wee bit crude, at least compared to today’s standards. Be careful.” He slapped Braham on the shoulder. “If ye come back, I’ll take ye out and let ye shoot with some real weapons.”

  Braham threw him a crooked grin as he strapped on the holster and saber. “Ye make it tempting, but I won’t be back.”

  Elliott picked up the rosewood box from the desk, opened it, and removed the ruby brooch.

  “The first time I saw this, it was pinned to Kit’s dress. She was only a baby. We had no idea where she came from. We thought someone had abandoned her. I hope it brings ye the happiness it has brought her.” He handed it over. “Good luck, Major.”

  Braham turned the brooch over and over in his shaking hand. “I don’t know how it works. Kit never told me.”

  “I’ve never seen it open, but I know how it works.” Elliott showed him the clasp. “Press right there, and the stone will pop open to reveal the Gaelic. Once ye speak the words, ye’ll go through a fog. When the fog lifts, ye’ll be someplace else. Hopefully right here, but in another time. Don’t touch anything here. Whatever ye’re touching when ye go into the fog seems to make the trip, too. Good luck, lad.”

  Elliott, Meredith, and David moved to the other side of the room. Elliott wrapped his arms around his wife. David snapped to attention and saluted. Braham saluted him in return. Blowing out a breath, he opened the brooch, drew his revolver, then spoke the words engraved on the stone, “Chan ann le tìm no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais an gaol ach’s ann le neart anama.”

  23

  Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present
Day

  Charlotte hadn’t called Braham all day, and neither had Jack. They had decided to give him time alone to think. In hindsight, it had been a mistake. She had worried all day. After seeing her last patient, she switched on-call schedules with a colleague and rushed out to the plantation. When she got there, the house was dark and her car was gone. Uneasiness spread over her and the hairs on her neck stood up.

  Braham could be asleep, and the car could be in the garage…or it could be wrapped around a tree, floating in the river…

  Stop it.

  The police would have called if her car had been in an accident. He’s not hurt, he’s only… what? Sitting in the dark?

  She grabbed the house remote from the glove compartment and pushed a button to turn on every light in the house. Braham might want to sit in the dark, but she wasn’t going inside without the lights on. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of bumping into a burglar.

  She entered, but left the front door open. “Braham. Braham.”

  There wasn’t a sound. No radio. No TV. No YouTube videos playing on the iPad. She knocked on his bedroom door. The bed was empty, made without a wrinkle or a ripple. It was so tightly made, in fact, a quarter would bounce off.

  Check the kitchen.

  She rushed to the kitchen, calling him. Still no answer. There were no dirty dishes in the sink. No crumbs on the counter. The newspaper was neatly folded, as if it had never been opened. The den was empty and so was the library. He wasn’t napping on either of the sofas. She searched Jack’s office for a note. Nothing. She stood at the desk rubbing her forehead, thinking. Where could he have gone? If he’d taken the car, he could have crashed it and be back in the hospital. But why would he have taken the car out onto the road?

  She opened the middle desk drawer. The pizza money was gone. Her heart sank to her stomach, then to her knees, and then puddled on the floor.

  Scenarios fueled her imagination. None of them good. Did he drive to get pizza? Surely not. Then where was her car? She hadn’t checked the garage. She darted into the mud room and flung open the door, and for a moment was afraid to look. Her hand hovered over the light switch. Finally, she flipped it on and her heart sank.