by Leela Ash
“Baby, it’s time to wake up,” he said before kissing her brow.
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him until she realized why she was waking up in the car. She was running. The only good thing that came out of the whole situation was the fact that she wouldn’t be in trouble. Without Campbell’s body there was no crime, which mean his mate was free of any guilt.
“Hi,” she replied. “We’re here?”
“Yes, baby, it’s time to meet your new family.”
She glanced away as tears filled her eyes.
“Hey, sweetheart, this is good. Because here, your father was well loved and respected. No one thought any less of him because of his mixed heritage.”
“Really?”
“Of course. He was one of us.”
She nodded. He got out of the SUV and jogged to her side, opening the door before she was out of the car. She thanked him with a kiss on his cheek. He grabbed her hand and led her into the den. Finally, he was home.
His father greeted them as soon as they stepped into the main house.
“Conner,” he said and pulled his son into a hug. Then he looked at Lana and gasped. “No, it couldn’t be?”
“Yeah. She’s James’ daughter, dad.”
“Oh, my dear, come here.” He didn’t wait for an invitation before pulling Lana into a tight hug and squeezing her until she couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t complain. Her arms wrapped around him and hugged him back. Finally Conner was able to pull her from his father’s grasp. “You look so much like him, dear girl.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I do?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Dad, have you heard anything underground?”
He smiled. “It seems your rush to bring her here for protection was unnecessary. But I’m glad you’re here. It seems Mr. Mark’s body was found, in pieces and nearly unrecognizable early this morning.”
Lana gasped. “How is that possible?”
His dad glared at him. “Did you tell her anything?”
“No, she was sleeping, and I didn’t want to scare her.”
He sighed. “Come sit.” He patted the seat next to him on the couch, and she sat down, waiting for him to explain. “You see, Mr. Marks was possessed by a demon. When Conner killed him—and he did in fact kill him— a more powerful demon, one we will not name, couldn’t have them exposed so he cleaned up the mess. But since Mr. Marks was wanted by the police, he couldn’t just disappear. So he was ripped apart and only recognizable by his DNA. The demons win by shedding his blood and by knowing the humans aren’t any closer to finding out the truth. You’re lucky, though. Some demons wouldn’t have let you go, but since Conner was caught on the tape killing him, they knew there would be no reason to worry about you telling the world about its darker side.”
Lana paled. Conner moved to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. She calmed a little beneath his touch but was still worried. “So I’m safe. No one is after me?”
“No, you are good to go, luckily. Sometimes it doesn’t end this well, for anyone. I’m glad you’re here and I was able to give you good news. Now we must celebrate your mating!” He clapped his hands and stood. “The clan will be thrilled. There hasn’t been a new mating in far too long.” Then he strode out of the room, leaving behind a happy peace.
Conner loved his father, but he had just driven for two days straight. He was tired and hungry. And most of all, he wanted his mate so badly it hurt. They hadn’t stopped long enough to do anything other than get cheap food and have a bathroom break. Now he wanted more. He pulled Lana to her feet and kissed her lightly. “See, baby, I told you everything would work out. But my dad was right, we got very lucky in this situation.”
She nodded and kissed him back forcefully. It seemed she was in the mood, and he had no intention of turning her down. They both wanted to forget the stress of the past week. He lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the house. Cheers surrounded him, and he could feel Lana’s body heat with embarrassment.
He chuckled. “You can meet her later,” he told the crowd of gathered bears. All of them wanted to meet her and welcome her to the family. It was a bear’s way.
THE END
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Highlander Time Travel Romance
The Highland’s Call
Jessica Savage
Copyright ©2015 by Samantha Leal. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you so much for your interest in my work
Chapter 1
Andrea clutched the small stone in the palm of her hand. It felt cool and smooth and somehow strangely comforting. Her Grandmother Betty had insisted that her only granddaughter be given this small artifact on her death. That had happened over a week ago, as Andrea was driving through New York. It was almost as if she knew. An image of her beloved Gran had flitted through her mind at the exact moment she took her last breath.
Betty was her father's mother. Her dad Joe had died a few years ago and her mother Pat had remarried. She had never approved of her stepdad, Pete; he could never replace her beloved father.
Perhaps she was being unfair, but she had always sided with her dad against her mum, and now the two women seemed poles apart, no longer able to communicate with each other. Pat didn’t even attend the funeral. Not that Betty would have minded. She had never approved of the union in the first place.
Andrea had inherited her Grandma's creative talents and she had been close to Betty when she was a child, closer than to her own mother, but after college she had been offered a three-year contract with a major advertising company in New York, and it had been too good an opportunity to turn down. Betty had understood that she needed to fly the nest. She had been a young woman once, although that seemed such a long time ago.
Andrea had only seen her Gran when she flew home for Christmas and important family occasions. Then she had met Steve and her life in the US seemed to take on a more permanent footing, until the death of her Grandma had made her suddenly homesick for the English countryside. She loved the buzz and fast-paced life of New York but now longed for some peace and time to reflect and find herself again, and she certainly couldn't do that on Fifth Avenue.
Steve had stayed behind. He was in the middle of an important project but was willing to travel with her on a trip home for the funeral. For once Andrea didn't feel the need to be accompanied; this time she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and memories. Her insistence on being alone had caused a strain between them, the first serious rift since they got together almost two years ago, and it would be the first time they had spent any real time apart.
The pressure of the stone against her palm brought her back to the present. It had been almost five days since she left JFK airport, and Steve hadn't phoned her since. Not even yesterday after the funeral to see how she was coping. It saddened her to think the man she had grown to love could be so stubborn and heartless, and she began to question her commitment to the relationship. Did she really know him? He had seemed to be perfect for her, and she had enjoyed his company; yet when she looked back at the continual rounds of friends and parties, drinks and dinners, it seemed somewhat sh
allow. Lately she had started to feel broody; her body clock reminding her that time was ticking away. She had mentioned it to Steve once in a light-hearted way, and he had held up his hands in mock horror. That would never be the deal with him; his career was way too important, and her needs would always come second.
Did she and Steve really have anything in common?
The day was grey and coarse; the wind whipped up sharply from behind the trees and caused her to shiver. She had forgotten the English weather and hadn't prepared nor packed for it.
Opening her palm, Andrea looked down at the stone in her hand. She remembered seeing it as a child, taking prize position behind the glass in the old china cabinet in her Gran’s front room. Occasionally she had been allowed to take it out and hold it in her small palm. It was pale in color, not quite white and not quite beige. Several markings had been etched deeply into the surface, and she’d been told it once belonged to a white witch with magical powers. As a child, she had held the small token and made a secret wish that she would never grow up, that she would always remain a child. Of course, that hadn't happened. Not physically, anyway—but perhaps in her heart?
Grandma Betty had always been so full of life, her small blue eyes twinkling on the wrinkled and careworn face. There had been some sadness in her youth, but no one had talked of it and Andrea had never asked, but sometimes she saw a wistful shadow slightly dimming those sparkling eyes.
And now the stone was hers—that and an old battered leather diary from 1956. Before her death, Grandma Betty had written her a letter, the hand-writing barely legible on the expensive vellum cream paper. It had taken her a while to read the spidery hand.
Andrea,
My darling Granddaughter, I fear that I may not see you again. I do hope that is not the case, but I have to be practical. There is so much I should have told you and so much left to say, but my time is running out. Remember the wishing stone you used to ask me about as a child? I leave that to you. It's my most valued possession. You must promise that you will do something for me? The stone needs to be returned to its rightful home on the Isle of Iona, just off the Isle of Mull. You must take it into the Abbey and enter the little graveyard of St. Oran's chapel. Take the stone and place it on the third grave on the left-hand side. I can't explain everything to you in this letter. Most of it I don't understand myself. But you must promise me this, this small pilgrimage of mine. The diary may help? Call it an old woman's ramblings, but as you loved me please do this one last thing for me. The thought of you, my only remaining flesh and blood carrying out this last request, brings peace to my mind as I near my end.
I will never stop loving you even when I am far away.
Grandma Betty x
Tears trickled down her face as she imagined the dear old lady sitting up in bed, scribbling her last instructions to the world. It must have taken a lot of effort to write the letter. She had been in a very weak state in the end and therefore must have considered it extremely important to write.
Andrea had promised Steve she would be back in a few days, but what would a few more matter? It wasn't as if he was speaking to her anyhow. She would visit Iona. It was the last thing she could do for her grandmother, and although it would mean a further 1000 mile round trip, it would give her some peace of mind to follow her last wishes.
The phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, and pulling it out, she could see it was Steve calling from New York.
"Hey." His voice was deep and apologetic across the miles, and her heart thumped loudly at the sound of him.
"Hey, back." She tried to sound light as she finished their usual greeting.
"So, how are you?"
She could tell he was struggling to find the right words.
"Not too bad, under the circumstances. It was the funeral yesterday." Andrea could feel herself start to choke on the words; she had been bottling things up for too long.
There was a pause as Steve caught his breath. "Yesterday? Andrea, I'm so sorry, I would have called. I thought it was today."
Another lengthy pause ensued. Usually they had so much to talk about.
"At least you'll be home tomorrow,” he added. “I've missed you."
And now it was crunch time.
"Steve, I won't be coming home tomorrow. I've extended my stay by a week." She could hear disappointment in the silence that followed.
"I have to go up to Scotland, to Iona. It was Gran’s last wish."
"What?"
His voice sounded incredulous, as if he hadn’t quite heard her right.
"It's just something I have to do; it was her dying wish that I visit the chapel there."
"But honey, you don't have to do that now. Not right away, anyway. You haven't forgotten the opening night for my exhibition, have you? It's in four days. I want you by my side. You promised."
Andrea had forgotten, and she closed her eyes as if that would make things go away. She had tried that as a child; it hadn't worked then, and it didn't help now. It just gave her a few more seconds to think.
"Andrea?"
"It was her last wish, Steve. I've got to do it."
She could feel his exasperation as he breathed heavily into his phone.
"Are you crazy? You know how much this exhibition means to me. You're not really going to put your senile old grandmother ahead of me, ahead of us?"
"Grandma Betty wasn't senile!"
"I know, honey. I know how much she meant to you, but you've got to be reasonable."
She was three and a half thousand miles away, and “reasonable” was something she didn't have to be. The word irritated her, and she could feel the anger rising in her throat.
"Andrea?"
She pressed the end call button and put the phone back in her pocket. End of call, end of relationship, she guessed. She shouldn’t have felt angry; she knew the exhibition meant everything to him. She should be the one feeling sorry and calling him back to apologize, but Andrea didn't feel any of these things. Her grandmother dying and her trip home had sparked something inside her, some longing and need that she couldn't quite grasp. The only thing that she was certain of was that she needed to travel to Iona as soon as possible.
Chapter 2
The next day she was leaving Yorkshire, traveling by train up North to the Inner Hebrides of Scotland and would complete her journey by ferry to the tiny Island of Iona.
Although still cold outside, the sun was shining brightly in a vain attempt to warm the chill October air. Inside the carriage, Andrea was cozy, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the world race by. The scenery of the Northumberland coastline stretching its way up North was breathtaking, the sunlight dancing and glimmering on the waves as they brushed against the solitary, rocky bays.
She felt truly liberated.
It would take most of the day to reach Iona, so Andrea settled back in her seat. She had no book to read but then remembered the small pocket diary from 1956 in her bag and eagerly pulled it out.
The pages were yellowing and the diary entries didn't start until June that year. The writing was faint, but she could just about make it out.
June 13th, 1956
Arrived on Iona after a long journey. Fishing boat brought me over from the main Island of Mull. Mother still not pleased with my decision to take a few months away, but I need some time to paint and think. There is plenty of time to become a housewife.
Andrea smiled. She had married Grandpa Joe in 1958, so not too many years of being free and single.
Little pencil sketches filled the margins of the paper: a fishing boat (maybe the one she had traveled across the water in?) and a hut or shack standing alone. It looked bleak.
June 14th, 1956
Digs are basic and chilly. The walls are made of corrugated metal so very cold at night. Porridge and kippers for breakfast, which I have surprisingly enjoyed. It’s much warmer outside in the early summer air than in my poky little room. Glad to get out in fresh air and now am going to walk over to the Abbey.
19:15- Had a lovely day. The Island is truly breathtaking. The Abbey is a very special place and it felt strange yet welcoming, almost if I had come home. My great, great-grandfather’s family were Scottish—one of the Great McDonald Clan—maybe that is why? I must go back and do more sketches tomorrow in the early light. Have been told the sunrise here is spectacular.
June 15th, 1953
Up early. The sky is still dark, but I want to set up my easel in the little chapel grounds so I can start to capture the first rays of light against the Abbey, and get a feel for the colors and the peace at that time of day.
The rest of the diary entries ended there. But towards the back of the book the scribbling started once again, not in any particular date order, but just what seemed like a collection of thoughts.
I’m not sure what happened at the Chapel? I seemed to have passed out in the cemetery. I had found an ideal spot for my sketches amongst the ancient burial places, and the last thing I remember was finding a strange looking carved stone in the grass. After that, it all becomes a little bit dreamlike and it can’t have been too long after that I must have fainted or something. I can’t remember feeling ill. When I came to, which must have been only seconds later, I was seized with an awful pain within my stomach and had a bitter taste in my mouth. I was crying and wretched and was violently sick and that seemed to make things a little better, but I felt weak and tired. Maybe it was something I ate for breakfast? Perhaps the kippers don’t agree with me, after all? I have these strange images in my head—hallucinations or dreams—and the people I see are so vivid. I feel disoriented as if I have been snatched out of a deep sleep. I don't seem to have any physical injuries except a cut to my right ankle. The strange stone was still in my hand. I am very tired and feel a sense of deep loss.
