by Audrey Adair
Callum was six years older than Margaret, five years older than Roderick, three years older than Adam, and a year older than Finlay. Finlay may have been younger than him, but he felt they were much too old to go tumbling about in the woods, or so he told them all with his chest puffed out. Callum was fine with that. He would rather play with Gregor. Finlay was much too stuffy to have fun with running about in the woods.
Gregor was their cousin, the same age as Callum. He had been raised with the rest of the McDougall clan after his parents were killed in an uprising. He had been staying with the McDougalls at the time, which saved his life. Four years later, Callum could still hear Gregor’s sobs that night as he lay in the bed next to him. He never said a thing, as Gregor would be mortified to know he heard him.
But today, on this summer day made for kids trampling the fields, they didn’t think of that. They ran to the main keep, catching Margaret and running through the chicken coop, scaring the birds as feathers flew.
They ducked a swat from one of their father’s farmhands, and kept moving like a pack of dogs, sweeping over the keep.
That night, exhausted, Gregor and Callum lay outside, trying to count the stars, content in their friendship and life on the Highlands.
Chapter 1
June 21, 1882 ~ London, England
One foot dangled inside the windowsill in the relative safety of the bedroom. The other desperately searched for a foothold on the lattice that climbed the house as Victoria Brighton precariously straddled the ledge.
Cursing as her skirts snagged on a nail, Victoria looked below her. It was a pretty view, the ivy-strewn lattice climbing the red brick house. But she would be much happier looking at it from over her shoulder.
“Blast,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice down to avoid being heard by anyone who happened to be outside.
Her foot found the lattice and she began inching her way down from her second story window. It was fortunate she didn’t sleep on the third floor, she thought.
Her fingers dug into the wooden lattice and her foot slipped a few times on the tangle of vines as she made the slow climb down. Her gloves scratched against the rough brick wall as her fingers slid through the lattice holes and hit the cold surface. There was still a chill to the air in the late hours of spring, but nevertheless Victoria could feel anxious perspiration dripping down her spine.
What she lacked in coordination, she made up for with determination. By the time she reached the ground her arms were beginning to ache from the weight of what she felt was a very average sized frame.
As she reached down to retrieve the valise that she’d sent flying out the window minutes earlier, Victoria heard the din of voices around the corner. Laughter floated through the air, as the voices of her wedding guests were full of gossip and excitement, lips loosened by too many glasses of champagne and punch.
The wedding in question was one that Victoria was determined would never take place. It would be not a fairy tale of her choosing, but one that would mean a happy ending for her stepfather and groom to be. She was seen as a bank account more than a bride and she refused to spend the rest of her life married to a man who made her skin crawl in all varieties of unpleasant ways.
She didn’t think any of the guests would be disappointed. Rather, this would provide fodder for their gossip for months. How a girl from a common family – though an heiress to a formidable fortune, mind you – could leave the Duke of Lansingberg practically at the altar! Never mind that he had nothing to his name, had destroyed his estate with his greedy ways and had left one widow in his wake – he was a duke.
Victoria would not be wife number two, and would certainly not be making the Duke a widow twice over.
She was, as always, running late. She didn’t know how it had happened, as she thought she had timed everything perfectly. Feigning a stomach illness, she had blamed the richness of the food and her nervousness for the day at hand. No one had questioned her, nor had cared really. The sky was just beginning to darken, and she knew she had to get moving if she was going to make the last train to Liverpool.
Victoria had made a schedule for herself in order to time everything just right – enough time to reach the train station, arrive in Liverpool, and make her way to the docks to board the Parisian. Her hope was that once the others realized she was gone in the morning, there wouldn’t be enough time to catch her before the ship launched. She had told her maid, Mary, not to wake her until late as she needed the beauty rest before her wedding day. It pained Victoria that Mary, as sweet and gentle as she was, might be blamed, but Victoria consoled herself with the thought that she was also saving Mary from a life serving in the household of the Duke of Lansingberg. Victoria had left her with a note outlining what to say to the Duke, including information on where she had arranged another placement for her.
Victoria crept around the back of the house to find the alley clear. Dark tendrils had slipped out of their pins and were tumbling down the side of her face after her foray out the window. She tried to shove the pins back in before heading to the streets to find a hackney. The streets were fairly quiet at this hour, the streetlamps not yet lit but guiding the way to the main road.
Victoria could move at a fairly good pace in her simple gown but didn’t want to attract much attention. She was hoping she had luck on her side.
A few turns later, she finally saw a gentleman disembarking from a hackney up ahead, and she raced to catch it before it continued on. Any questions the driver had about a lone female out at this hour were forgotten when she pulled out her purse, and they were soon on their way to the train station, where Victoria would board for Liverpool.
She had matched an unadorned hat to her plain dress, and had tucked her hair up in pins underneath it, hoping she would look forgettable enough that no one would remember seeing her if questioned later on.
While Victoria had been short-sighted in imagining how far her stepfather would go to achieve his own political goals, her aunt had not been. Her father’s sister, Sarah, had a better sense of a person upon first impression. Months before, soon after the death of Victoria’s mother, Aunt Sarah’s letters became urgent. She sent them through Victoria’s friend Marian, as Victoria’s stepfather made sure to review all of her correspondence. Victoria anticipated their monthly arrival, eager for her aunt’s news of adventure in the western wilds on the other side of the Atlantic, as well as for her comforting words. Victoria had at first disregarded Sarah’s claims, ignoring her aunt’s suggestion that Victoria begin planning a way to escape her stepfather and his conniving ways. While she didn’t necessarily enjoy living under his roof, she knew she only had to wait a few months more before claiming her inheritance and her freedom.
Until the night she had overheard a conversation between her stepfather, Edward Travers III, and the Duke of Lansingberg.
She had been in her stepfather’s office, looking for a letter opener to reveal Aunt Sarah’s latest correspondence. As Marian was one of London’s librarians, and Victoria was no stranger to the institution, it was easy to meet up with Marian to receive the letters.
Victoria didn’t enjoy spending time in this office. Its polished wood and brass accents were cold, and the lack of decoration on the dark walls left an austere feeling to the hollow room. The window overlooked the unkempt gardens, left unattended by her stepfather’s dwindling staff.
After finally locating the opener in Edward's massive desk, Victoria was in the middle of slicing through the seal when she heard his footsteps in the hall.
A terrible liar even with preparation, Victoria wanted to avoid any questions regarding her whereabouts in the office or the content of the envelope. Without thinking, she followed through on her first instinct, diving behind the settee in the corner of the office, narrowly missing landing on the letter opener that flew from her hand. She tucked it under her skirts as she folded herself into the cramped corner.
When Edward entered the office, he wasn’t alone, but acc
ompanied by the Duke of Lansingberg, his new bosom buddy. Victoria didn’t know why they had aligned themselves together so often as of late, but she figured there was a reason. Perhaps it was because their respective London societies had spurned them from social gatherings.
“Travers, this had best happen quickly.” The Duke addressed Edward with disdain in his voice. The Travers family had quickly become rich through ownership of a popular London newspaper. His father, Edward Travers II, was a strong advocate against the Scottish protests, and his paper was widely read throughout England. When his father passed and Edward the III took over, the paper began to fall apart. Edward published stories that the bureaucracy would enjoy, not taking into account that the vast majority of readers were common folk. The newspaper was dying a slow death. As readers fell, so did Edward’s fortunes. He tried to keep up appearances, but it was becoming difficult. The dust that currently tickled Victoria’s nose reminded her of the shortage of household staff.
“Be patient Lansingberg,” Edward responded in his gravelly voice. “We have to time it right. We can’t spook the girl. She’s of age, so can leave anytime. But she hasn’t the funds until she turns 21 or until she marries, and we need to be able to take advantage of that.”
Hasn’t the funds. This was about her and her fortune. Victoria was also eagerly awaiting her 21st birthday. If only she could access the fortune that was left to her, she would have been out of this house months ago. She was now counting down the days until that time.
“That time is coming up.” The Duke’s flat voice sent shivers up and down Victoria’s spine. If the villain from one of her novels could have walked off the pages, it would be in the Duke’s image, she could swear it. She and Marian had laughed about it. From the tone of this conversation, however, it was no laughing matter.
“Let’s set a date,” he continued. “June 21st? We can begin inviting guests two weeks before. You’ll just have to keep her here until that time. Do you think you can handle a 20-year-old girl?”
“Of course I can handle her,” Edward snappily responded. “I’ll have the staff keep an eye on her and lock her door at night. I don’t know why the silly twit doesn’t realize she needs to be married. I’ve tried to broach the subject with her before and she continues to adamantly refuse. So there will be no talking her around to it. The girl doesn’t have any sense in her brain. If she did, she’d realize that a title would take her places. We are doing what’s best. Her mother would have agreed. In the meantime, I’ve had my lawyer drawn up the documents stating the funds I’ll receive upon your marriage — half of the inheritance. And my introduction to society.”
“Why Edward, your trust in my word is so flattering,” the Duke responded, sarcasm dripping off every word. Victoria could just picture him looking down his pinched nose, which was accented by hollow cheekbones. “Very well. Let me take them to my attorney and we shall be on our way to mutual success.”
With that his footsteps clipped out of the room and door snapped shut behind him.
Edward Travers III spent another hour in his office. The time ticked by slowly for Victoria, who remained hidden but wide-eyed behind the sofa. Her mind worked furiously as she digested what she had heard and began making plans to find a way to escape before it was too late. June 21st was a month away. It didn’t give her much time, but she was determined that come that day, she would be far away from a wedding altar.
She had tried to find a way to escape from her stepfather’s home, but he had been vigilant, and there was never an opportune time, despite her best plans and intentions. When she arrived at the Duke’s estate, she’d found her opportunity, and had completed the plan that had begun that moment behind the settee.
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BRIDE FOR A TIME
LOVE FOR ALL TIMES BOOK 1
PREVIEW
Read the first book in the
time traveling Highlander romance series!
Prologue
Present Day - Lake Michigan
The keys to the rental cabin fell from her fingers and landed on the table next to the door with a chink. The couple locked in a heated embrace on the couch sprang away from each other and stared toward the sound, the man’s face cloaked with shock and guilt.
“What the…” Jaime peered closer. “Chris? Sylvia?”
Her long-time, live-in boyfriend and … her boss’s wife? The boss Jaime had just spent the evening with at a dinner Chris had cut out early on.
“Ah…ah…ahhh, Jaime,” stammered Chris.
Like he couldn’t even remember her name.
Smiling coyly, Sylvia rose and smoothed her dress, then padded barefoot past Jaime to the door and slipped through. Jaime glanced over her shoulder in time to see her boss’s wife slip on sandals that rested just across the threshold. How had she missed them when she opened the door?
Jaime turned back to Chris, who was struggling to stand. “Do not say anything.”
Inside, Jaime’s emotions froze. It was like when she’d lost her parents.
They had died in a boating accident during a vacation in the Caribbean during Jaime’s first year in college, and the resulting devastation had torn Jaime’s entire world apart.
For weeks afterward, she lay in her parents’ bed, flipping through old photographs and sifting through boxes of family heirlooms. She had moments of clarity but would then be overcome with grief. Over time, the spirit her parents had cultivated lifted once again, and after college, she took a job in Boston and moved in with her college sweetheart, Chris.
He had never met them, and she never spoke of them. Instead, she had focused on her work, and her relationship with the man with whom she had thought she would spend the rest of her life.
And now this … this was unforgivable.
She turned back toward where he was still standing.
“Get out,” she said.
“Jaime. This is just a misunderstanding. You’ve just been so busy with work, and now here at this retreat, you and your boss were so focused on the account you were discussing, I just felt invisible, you know? And, really, to be honest, you’re always going on about your parents and your trips to Scotland with them. Just go to frickin’ Scotland already if that’s what you want so badly. I just needed a break—”
“Get. Out. Now.” She knew her face was void of emotion as she stared him down. All she wanted was for him to leave, to get out of this cabin and out of her life — forever.
She walked over to the closet, and began tearing his clothes off the hangers and tossing them haphazardly into his suitcase.
“But Jaime, where am I going to stay?”
“I don’t care.”
Finished stuffing his suitcase, she zipped it up, opened the door to the cabin and threw it outside. One blue shirtsleeve waved pathetically from where it caught in the zipper. She held the door open, looked at him, and said nothing.
Finally, he sighed, shook his head, and followed his bag out the door. He had barely made it across the threshold when she slammed the door after him.
Once he was gone, she sank to the floor, holding her head in her hands.
He was right about one thing. She loved Scotland. It was the last time she had been really, truly happy — with her parents on their family land at the cottage in Crieff.
Her mother had always told her, “You only have one life, Jaime, so live it to the fullest.”
Maybe it was time she started following that advice.
1
Present Day - Boston, Massachusetts
The water beaded up on the plexiglass windows separating the people from the planes. Jaime stared out through the running droplets at the jets landing and departing on the runway. The clouds swirled around in the sky, and the wind feverishly blew the runway’s bright red windsocks in all directions.
Jaime was lost in her thoughts as people boarded flights around her. She had made sure to get to
the airport extra early. While the gate for her flight to chilly Scotland was fairly empty, there had been a rush of families and romantic couples in their beachwear heading for sunny destinations.
Her phone buzzed. It was Chris.
Hey. Where are you? I thought we were going to talk?
Jaime hadn’t told him she was leaving. She packed her keys, her passport, and a few items of clothing before leaving the apartment behind. She really didn’t care what Chris thought.
Jaime rolled her eyes, put her phone on silent, and tossed it in her purse. Why would he think there was anything to say? Jaime looked back toward the window, catching her reflection. She looked terrible. Her long strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her blunt cut bangs tickling her forehead, and her oversized sweater and yoga pants were at least ten years old. Sure, she had packed some nice clothes, but she figured jumping off a plane where it was, at the most, forty degrees, and riding a train from Edinburgh to Crieff called for comfortable and warm.
The loudspeaker crackled and cracked above her as an attendant stepped up behind the desk and turned on the phone. She typed on the computer for a minute before actually speaking. Jaime stared at her, feeling like there was something just a bit odd about the woman. She had bright red hair, matching lipstick, and thick-lensed glasses that she kept pushing up her nose every few seconds. She looked, Jaime thought, out of place more than anything.
“Abernathy. Jaime Abernathy. Would you please come to the front desk?” the woman’s nasally voice called out.
Jaime sighed, figuring the nearly empty flight to Scotland was cancelled. She piled her purse on her carry-on and wheeled it up to the front then stood there for a moment waiting for the woman to notice her. Jaime cleared her throat, catching the woman’s attention.
