by C. A. Szarek
The Parchment Scroll
Highland Secrets Trilogy
Book Three
By
C.A. Szarek
The Parchment Scroll
C.A. Szarek
Highland Secrets Trilogy
Book Three
All rights reserved
Copyright © August 2014, C.A. Szarek
Cover Model: Hope Goddess Lyra
Cover Photo and Art Copyright © 2014, Lindee Robinson Photography
Cover Design and Series Imprint Copyright © 2014, Danielle Styles
Edited by Fiona Campbell
Paper Dragon Publishing
North Richland Hills, TX
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Paper Dragon Publishing or the Author.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-941151-08-2
Print book ISBN: 978-1-941151-09-9
Published in the United States of America
First eBook Edition: August, 2014
First Print Edition: August, 2014
Table of Contents
Title Page
Other Books by C.A. Szarek
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Author
Other Books by C.A. Szarek
Highland Secrets Trilogy—Fantasy/Paranormal Romance
The Tartan MP3 Player (Book One)
The Fae Ring (Book Two)
The King’s Riders—Fantasy Romance
Sword’s Call (Book One)
Love’s Call (Book Two)
Rogue’s Call (Book Three) Coming Soon!
Fate’s Call (A Novella from the World of the King’s Riders) Coming Soon!
Crossing Forces—Romantic Suspense
Collision Force (Book One)
Chance Collision (Book Two)
Cole in Her Stocking (A Crossing Forces Christmas)—FREE read!
Calculated Collision (Book Three)
Collision Control (Book Four) Coming October 2014!
Anthologies
Deep in the Hearts of Texas—FREE read!
Story: Promise (A Crossing Forces Companion)
Dedication
This one is for Alison, Captain of the Word Count Police! Love ya, girl!
Chapter One
“I’m not giving up. I have to find her.” Jules listened to her partner drone on about needing her. He wanted her to come home to Texas.
Now.
Too freaking bad.
“Jules, I hate that this happened, but what else can you do?” Dan asked.
She tried not to growl at him. “I’m a cop. I’m gonna do what I do.”
“In another country?”
“Yes. You might as well leave off, Dan. I have two more weeks’ vacation. Chief is cool with this. Why aren’t you? Some support would be nice.”
“I think you’re setting yourself up for disappointment is all. I’m worried about you.”
“Disappointment? You’re acting like this is a missing puppy. We’re talking about my baby sister. So you can kiss my ass.”
He sighed and she pictured him shoving his hand through his dark hair like he always did when he was frustrated with her. “I’m sorry, Jules. I’m not trying to be a jerk, or sound insensitive. It’s just—”
“I know. It’s been three weeks. It’s just if they’re not found within the first forty-eight hours, they’re usually not found.”
Jules didn’t tell Dan about the scroll in her hand. Or that she’d seen—held—Claire in her arms on the beach.
She didn’t believe a word on the parchment. Despite the fact it was written in her sister’s neat, tight handwriting. “I know my sister. Something’s not right. She didn’t take off on her own.”
Despite what the letter says.
He sighed again, not answering right away. “Jules…”
“Look, I gotta go. I have an appointment with a guide and I don’t want to be late.”
“Just be careful. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” Jules hung up the phone in the bright room of the hostel. She shook her head and glared at the broken MP3 player on the nightstand.
She’d hit every isle, every historic landmark, museum, even castle and quaint village Claire’s tour group had traveled to. No sign until Tuesday last week when her sister had fallen into her arms naked—literally appearing out of nowhere. Jules had hugged her and demanded to know where Claire’s clothes were, as well as where she’d come from.
Hadn’t gotten her anywhere.
If she didn’t have the MP3 player and the piece of parchment as proof, Jules might’ve thought she’d dreamed it.
Claire had told her to read the scroll. Said she’d gotten married.
Then she’d said she loved her, and… well, disappeared.
The rest was hazy.
Jules was still full of what the hell?
No logical explanation.
No sign of her sister, either.
Claire had told her she’d probably never see her again.
“Screw that.” Jules made a fist, but was careful not to crush the fragile scroll. She’d read the words more than a hundred times.
Still didn’t believe them.
She sucked in a breath and sat hard on the bed. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” Jules closed her eyes and tugged at her messy ponytail.
Silence and a whole lotta no answer to her question.
Claire’s all I have.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
Jules stomped her feet into her boots and yanked the side zipper all the way up. She hadn’t worn the clunky things since she was a patrol cop, but they came in handy trudging all over the rocky beaches of the Hebrides.
“Not that it’s got me anywhere,” she growled, yanking her backpack off the chair in the corner. She grabbed her hoodie and slipped it on. The weather was chilly, and warmer clothing was almost an afterthought, since Texas was usually pretty mild in the spring.
With a sigh, Jules slipped one of the bag’s straps over her shoulder and surveyed the room. She had everything she needed to be gone all day, including two flashlights and food in her bag in case she got the munchies.
She didn’t know the chick she was meeting at the pub. The woman was Irish—at least from her accent on the phone—and she’d called Jules in response to the missing persons ad she’d placed in the local paper.
What the caller knew about her sister was a mystery—she’d refused to spill on the phone.
“Well, I’m about to find the hell out.” Jules pulled her door shut.
“Goin’ ou’, lass?”
Jules plastered on a smile for the owner of the hostel when she made it to t
he foyer of the building. “Gonna check out that famous pub.”
The older woman smiled. “Enjoy tha day.”
She nodded, turning away without another word. The only way Jules would enjoy her day was if she found Claire.
The sea air made Jules close her eyes and take a deep breath. It permeated everything, but she didn’t mind. The wind was clean and refreshing. Too bad she couldn’t take a minute and enjoy the serenity.
Her sister had always been fascinated with Scotland, but until Jules had set foot on Skye, she hadn’t understood why. She could see the appeal now, with the sprawling green fields and rocky beaches, the castle ruins strewn about, and even buildings as much as eight or nine hundred years old still standing.
History and legend dominated the Hebrides and if she hadn’t been on a mission, she would’ve loved exploring. Every place Jules had visited had been beautiful, even if it was a bit cold. And the accent—add it to a cute guy, and she could see why Claire would melt. She probably wouldn’t get used to the plaid everywhere, though. It made her think of school uniforms.
Mostly male voices enveloped her as she opened the heavy wooden door into the place. The scent of musty wood and whiskey hit her senses, but the pub had charm. A sign boasted that it’d been established in 1892.
Jules waded through the mass of people, making her way to the bar, where she’d told the woman to meet her.
A good-looking redheaded man was wiping up a spill on the scarred bar as she slid onto a stool. He flashed dimples when they made eye contact. “What can I get ya?” His accent was thick, and appealed as much as the twinkle in his brown eyes.
“Just a water please.”
“American?”
“Yes.”
“Only water, lass?” He straightened and grabbed a glass from the stack on the counter behind him.
Lass. Another thing that would take some getting used to. Not like she was a spring chicken, at thirty-one.
Jules leaned into the edge of the bar and smiled at the guy anyway. “Yes, please. Too early for anything else.”
He winked. “Not ‘round here. Never too early for a drink.”
She laughed. Damn, he was charming. If she could take a minute to have fun, she wouldn’t be opposed to asking him to show her around.
The bartender scooped ice into her glass and made a flourish of filling it from the tap.
Jules couldn’t stop smiling, despite the weight that still settled over her chest. She sighed for the hundredth time that morning and sipped water, watching as the cute bartender moved on to fill another order. Every time she caught his eye he winked.
She glanced at her watch and frowned. Fidgeted on the stool. The chick that’d answered her ad was late. The caller had been the one to pick the pub, so she had to know where the place was.
I assume, anyway.
“What gives?” Jules dragged two fingers through the condensation clinging to the side of her glass.
Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the pub, but no one seemed to be searching out someone they didn’t know.
Small groups of mostly guys sat, chatting or watching the television on the wall. Scottish brogues, as well as other accents—tourists like Jules—graced her ears, and the atmosphere made her shoulders loosen. There was no urgency. People laughed as they talked, enjoying their food and drink. Two waitresses balanced trays as they moved around the place, both smiling as they interacted with patrons.
Jules swallowed sigh one hundred and one, and studied the shelves of bottles perched on the wall across from her at the bar. All types of alcohol were on display, with the usual expensive stuff up top.
The words “By sea and by land” were carved into a wood plaque above the shelf. MacDonald was in all capital letters below it. Some sort of crest was beside that, wrapped in a plaid dominated by red. It was too dim in the bar to catch the rest of the colors.
The bartender shut the cash register drawer with a ching, and threw her another wink. “Sure I canna’ get you somethin’ else, lass?” He made his way to her. The smile he wore was infectious.
“No, but thank you. Meeting someone.”
“Ah. He shouldna keep you waitin’.”
Jules grinned at the sudden disappointment on his face. “I’m just anxious ‘cause she’s late.”
His broad shoulders loosened, that appealing smile back in place.
Her eyes trailed his chest. The short-sleeved hunter green shirt wasn’t skin-tight, but hinted at defined pecs. Jules tried not to stare or imagine his abs. It’d been a while since she’d been with anyone, and even longer since she’d had a relationship, and this guy was tall like she liked them.
Maybe she was just lonely.
“Rob MacDonald.” He threw his hand out for a shake.
“Jules.” She put her hand in his, liking the feel of his calloused skin against her palm. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Jules, huh?” Her name in a Scottish accent made him even more tempting.
“Juliette, but it’s too formal for me.” She grinned.
“Jules fits you, like fine jewels.”
If she was in her right mind, she’d roll her eyes and disregard the cheesy pick-up line, but she winked at Rob. “MacDonald, huh? Like that plaque up there?” She pointed.
“Aye. Clan MacDonald’s crest. My family’s been on Skye a long, long time.”
So Jules had discovered when she’d looked into the history of the Isle of the Hebrides Claire had been most fascinated with. “MacDonald and MacLeod, right?”
Rob nodded. “Dunvegan, the MacLeod stronghold, still stands. Armadale, my clan’s castle, doesna, unfortunately. But there are ruins and a garden popular for weddings. Open for tours, I believe.”
“I’ll have to check that out.”
His eyes grazed her face and Jules tried not to squirm. Rob’s lips parted as if he was going to say something. Her gut screamed that he was going to volunteer to show her around.
“Juliette McGowan?” The feminine voice cut through the cute bartender’s almost-proposition.
Dammit.
Jules swiveled the bar stool around. Her gaze collided with a pair of dark brown eyes. “That’s me.”
“I’m Bree. I can take ye to yer sister.”
Chapter Two
Yup, the accent was Irish, not the distinctive Scottish brogue she’d grown used to since landing in the country. The woman was dressed oddly, too. Red track pants sporting a white stripe from waist to ankle on the side, some tan hunting boots that looked three sizes too big, and a tight green V-neck shirt with purple and pink polka dots.
Bree was wearing a thrift store.
Or thrift store rejects.
Jules tried not to stare and slipped off the stool at the woman’s urging.
“Come, let us find a more private place to speak.”
She followed Bree to the back of the pub—in the darkest corner, really. Her pants swoosh-swooshed as she walked and the boots clunked.
Definitely too big for her.
Bree slid into the booth, her eyes darting around the pub. She stared at the large flat screen TV mounted on the wall and swallowed. When she averted her eyes, she shifted on the padded seat, like she had some aversion to soccer—football as the UKers called it.
A cell phone rang and Bree jumped, a scowl twisting her mouth. She looked around again, rubbing her bare arm below her short sleeve, and fidgeted.
“Are you okay?” Jules asked as she took a seat across from her mystery caller.
Dark eyes darted to meet her gaze and Bree visibly shook. But then she squared her shoulders and sat taller. “I am well. Considerin’.”
“Considering what?”
The woman shook her head, shifting her ebony hair. It was long and loose, hanging almost to her waist and swaying when they’d headed to their seats. No doubt it touched the bench’s vinyl padding.
A waitress appeared at the edge of their table. “Can I get you lasses anythin’?” She smiled, flashing dimple
s. Her hair was red as well. She had to be the bartender’s sister. The resemblance was clear.
Bree jumped again.
“No, I think we’re good,” Jules said.
“Call fer me if you change your minds. I’m Megan.”
Jules nodded, and turned back to her strange companion.
What’s this chick’s problem?
She was acting like a meth head.
If she was high on something, it wasn’t meth, though. Her olive complexion was creamy and clear. Bree wore no makeup, and her face held no pockmarks, one of the physical side effects of methamphetamine use.
If she’s high, can I trust anything she’s about to tell me?
“Ye look like her,” Bree blurted.
“Where’s my sister?” Jules demanded.
“No’ where. When.”
Jules’ heart kicked up a notch.
When.
Could Claire’s scroll be true?
No.
“When?”
“Aye.”
They stared at each other in silence. A cheer went up in a bar. Jules didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know the Scottish team had scored.
“How do you know my sister?” She forced the words out when the woman shifted on the bench, averting her eyes.
“I opened a portal to this time by accident. She came through it, back to my time.” The words were even, understandable despite the thick Irish brogue.
It was Jules’ turn to shift in the booth; her heart plummeted to her stomach. She schooled her expression, calling upon all the police professionalism she could muster.
It can’t be true. Doesn’t make sense.
“My grandma was Fae. So I’ve magic.” Bree’s conversational tone—as if they were talking about the weather—made Jules swallow hard.
Her temples throbbed. “Magic?”
“Aye. The rift in time was an accident; I only meant to go into the Fae Realm.”
