by B. J. Scott
The last chamber found Katherine standing in awe of its grandeur. Not only was it huge and lavishly bedecked, it had both an antechamber and a bedchamber. This was most likely the room occupied by the head of the household, yet given a choice, she preferred the smaller chamber with less elaborate décor. This room, with its heavy, carved bed, baroque accent furniture, weaponry, and ornate wall hangings felt cold and uninviting.
After taking in her fill of the ostentatious bedchamber, she backed out of the room and glanced around the smaller, brightly lit, sitting area. Wooden shelves stacked with books caught her immediate attention, her gaze then traveling to two upholstered chairs positioned before the hearth, and finally settled on an old desk beside one of two large, west-facing windows.
She padded across the room, planted her hands on the windowsill, and peered out at the snow-covered grounds. While an odd fluke of nature for this late in June, it did ironically seem to fit in with the other odd things she’d experienced. She closed her eyes, picturing the gardens on a hot summer day, the flowers and trees in full bloom. It was then she envisioned a small stone cross, nestled amidst the rocks and plants. Her eyes flew open and she couldn’t help wondering if this room overlooked the garden where Catriona Grant was buried in unhallowed ground.
An unexplained niggling tugged at her belly and she suddenly found herself drawn to the desk. And while she couldn’t begin to guess its age, like everything else in this cottage, the antique was in pristine condition and looked as if it had seen no wear.
She swept her fingers across the polished oak top, then paused to admire the carved legs and ornamental brass hardware. Overcome with curiosity as to what it might contain, she tried to open the drawer. But to her dismay, it was stuck.
Clasping the handle with two hands, she yanked again, yet the drawer still wouldn’t budge. Katherine refused to give up, instinct telling her that something of importance could be found inside. Bracing her knee against the desk and gritting her teeth, she once again pulled with all her might until the drawer gave way. Thrown off balance, she tumbled backward, landing on her butt with a jarring thud, the contents of the drawer strewn all over the floor.
She frowned as she sorted through an array of quill pens, sheets of velum, a wax seal with the Grant clan crest, several letters, and bills addressed to her Aunt Agnes. But there was nothing that shed any light on the croft or the strange things going on within its walls.
After placing the items back into the drawer, Katherine picked it up, intent on returning it to its rightful place. But when she felt something cold beneath her fingertip, she quickly flipped it over, the contents once again spilling to the floor.
Her finger rested on a tiny latch, that when pressed, opened a door to a hidden compartment. Inside she found a small brass key. “Could this be the one that opens the mystery box?” she muttered as she set the drawer on the desk and studied her find more closely.
Since there was no way of knowing unless she checked, Katherine raced back to her chamber. Perched on the edge of the bed, with the box resting on her lap, she tried the key in the lock. Thrilled when it opened, she lifted the lid to find a very old leather-bound book.
Upon closer scrutiny, the journal turned out to be written by Catriona Grant. Once she recovered from the shock that her female ancestor could read and write — not always common for women in this time period — pride swelled in Katherine’s chest. Not to mention she found it hard to keep a lid on her excitement. In her hand she held documentation she hoped would provide insight into her family history, and perhaps the answer as to why the author took her own life. She thumbed through a few pages, then paused at the one dated June 20, 1304. She gasped. Today was also June 20 — only seven hundred years later.
Anxious to get started reading, Katherine took the journal back to the antechamber, where the light was much better and she’d spotted a comfy-looking place to sit. After tossing another log on the fire, she settled in one of the two armchairs.
Hands trembling with anticipation, she carefully opened the book again. Excitement bubbling up from her very core, she began to read.
June 20, 1304
Today I awakened with a joyful heart. The sun is shining, the breeze is warm, and the birds are singing so sweetly. I hope, no, I pray that I’ll see Ayden MacAndrews today.
A knight honored and revered by Scottish nobles for his dedication to the fight for our country’s independence from England, he is perhaps the bravest man I know. Yet he treats me with such tenderness, listens to what I have to say, and seems to genuinely care about what I think. While he has the braw body of a hardened warrior, he has the kind heart of a bard, the gentle hands of a sculptor. He makes me laugh when my day is bleak and gives me a reason to awaken every day, living in hope that our paths might cross.
I pray he finds the courage to ask my father for my hand. I know he is na da’s choice for me, and I never dreamed I would marry for love. But Ayden makes me believe anything is possible if we’re together.
Touched by her words, Katherine swiped at a stray tear as it tracked down her cheek. It was clear Catriona loved this man wholeheartedly, as the couple in her dreams loved each other. “Just like my dreams,” she gasped, as the similarities sank in. “It’s just a coincidence,” she chided. Or was it?
Eager to read more, she turned to the next page, dated the same day as the first entry she’d read.
My father came to my chamber today and informed me that our neighbor, Lord MacConnery would be attending the feast. And while he dinna come out and say for certs what he had planned, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that da intends to offer him my hand in marriage.
Were that to happen, I am not sure what I will do, what will become of me. I canna stand the pompous arse, and the thought of warming his bed and calling him husband is a fate worse than death. Not only do I love another, but Lord MacConnery is twice my age and has a questionable past. I’ve heard rumors bandied about the estate, that he has close ties to King Edward of England. Some say he gained most of his wealth, along with his titles both in Scotland and England, by doing Longshanks’ bidding. While only hearsay, I believe he is not a man to be trusted.
I pray that Ayden can convince my father to give him his blessing, so we can be joined as husband and wife. If the Almighty is a merciful and loving God, he will grant my wish and answer my prayers. I am sneaking off to meet with Ayden by the stream. There we will try to figure out a way to be together. I am counting the minutes until he holds me in his arms.
Tears blurred her vision and trickled down her cheeks. Each time she read a passage from the journal, the words touched her deeper than they should have. But why? It was almost as if she’d written them herself and shared the same emotions Catriona did as she put pen to paper.
Maybe it was because Noreen told her about the love affair between Ayden and Catriona, and how it ended in tragedy. She knew what lay ahead for the star-crossed lovers and she wished more than anything there was something that could have been done to change things.
In need of a stretch and to distance herself from the heartbreaking story, Katherine rose and padded around the room before heading into the kitchen for a bite to eat. She picked up a leftover scone from the morning meal and placed it on a plate, then waited while water heated for tea. Chamomile, Noreen had called it. Her grand used to make it before bed, claimed it help her sleep. Katherine brought a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. She was tired and really should try to get some rest, but the journal kept crossing her mind.
“I’ll read a bit more before heading to bed,” she promised herself as she headed back to the sitting room with snack and tea in hand. After tossing some wood on the fire and giving the embers a stir with the poker she found beside the hearth, Katherine settled in the chair and picked up the journal.
My heart is filled with despair. After refusing Ayden’s request for my hand and promising me as I had feared to Lord MacConnery, Father beat Ayden and warned him never to see me again.
But true love canna be so easily thwarted, and Ayden and I ran away to a cave near the river, where his friend, Brother Thomas, a Benedictine monk, married us in secret.
He gave me a ring he’d had specially made for me, inscribed with words so touching it brought tears to my eyes. I was filled with such joy and love for him, I thought I might burst. I believed at that moment I had found true bliss and could never be happier.
But I was wrong. The wedding night that followed took me to places I never knew existed, brought forth a glorious array of emotions and sensations I prayed would never end. Our bodies joined as one, we made love throughout the night and I woke in my beloved’s arms, sated and feeling cherished and loved. Something I’d never truly known until now.
Her own body on fire and filled with longing and desire, Katherine paused to fan herself. Catriona sure had a way with words and made Katherine feel like she was living in her skin, breathing the same air, and experiencing every feeling and emotion as if she’d lived it herself.
Katherine dabbed at a tear that slid down her cheek and willed her pulse to stop thundering in her ears before turning the page and reading on.
When I heard the lark singing and my eyes opened, it took me a moment to adjust to the dimly lit surrounds and chilly air. Naked, I lay on a pelt strewn on the ground of the cave and was covered by a plaid. I’d awakened with the most amazing feeling of happiness I’d ever known. That was until Ayden rolled me beneath him and made love to me again, leaving me wondering if a person could perish from too much pleasure and joy.
But my elation ended when he told me he had to leave. He’d promised to assist the Scots who were battling to hold on to Stirling Castle, and couldn’t go back on his word. And knowing he was a man of honor, I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to shirk his duty for my sake.
He wiped away my tears and promised to return as soon as he could. A sennight at most, he’d said. We decided it was best to wait until he came home before telling my father we’d wed. And if he wouldna accept our announcement, Ayden swore he’d take me away to a place where we’d grow old together and raise our bairns. I gave him the ring and bid him keep it with him for luck and to bring it back to me as soon as he could.
I knew when I returned to Glen Heather da would demand that I marry Lord MacConnery, and was determined to find reasons to put the nuptials off as long as possible. Fortunately, fate saw fit to give me a reprieve. My betrothed had to leave on business and would not return for a month or longer, at which time he would make me his wife. He left today, as did my beloved husband. Is it a sin to pray only Ayden returns?
“Wow!” Katherine found herself sobbing, the emotions of joy and despair Catriona expressed felt so real her heart was breaking. She lightly touched the parchment where the letters were smeared. Catriona’s tears, she guessed, then turned the page. She had to read on, to find out what happened and why a woman so full of life and love would take her own life.
But to her dismay, the page was blank, so Katherine flipped to the next, and then one more. Sadly, she’d read the last entry, leaving her hanging and feeling as if she had a gaping hole in her chest.
Disappointed with the cliffhanger ending, Katherine closed the journal and lay it on the table beside her — surprised when a ring dropped on the floor at her feet. Immediately scooping it up, she examined the silver band on her flattened palm, admiring the intricate Celtic designs. When she noticed something engraved on the inside, she took an even closer look. The words Forever and Beyond were etched on the inner surface.
Her heart gave a tug. This ring had obviously been given with much devotion. Perhaps it was the wedding band Catriona mentioned in the journal, she thought as she slipped it onto her left hand.
But the moment the ring passed her knuckle, it began to radiate a strange heat, her head began to pound, the room started to spin, her chest tightened, and she found it hard to breathe. She tried to stand, but her legs refused to obey. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t form the words.
“Search for the answers, Katherine. The truth will free your soul and right a terrible wrong.”
Terrified when she heard these words and saw no one in the room to speak them, Katherine squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, while bracing herself against the horrible sensation of being torn into a million pieces.
Chapter Seven
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Catriona, but your father told me to clean out the hearth and tidy his solar in preparations for the festivities this evening. While there is no call for guests to be in his lordship’s private chamber, he wants the whole estate scrubbed prior to the ceilidh.”
Upon hearing the gravelly male voice, Katherine struggled to open her heavy eyelids. “My father?” Her vision blurred and her head clouded, she scrubbed her fist across her eyes and waited for them to focus. However, when she spotted a man squatting before the fireplace, she leapt to her feet. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” Her high-pitched squeal caused the man to shoot up and whip around.
“M’lady?”
Terrified by the intruder’s presence, she slowly backed away, until her legs rested against the chair and she could go no further. “Who are you?” she repeated.
A puzzled look crossed the man’s face. “Beg your pardon, mistress. But it is I, William. I’ve been a servant in your da’s employ since long afore you were born.”
Servant? She blinked several times, her mind buzzing with questions. This man had obviously mistaken her for someone else. Yet when he first arrived, he’d called her by name, albeit in Gaelic.
He took a few steps in her direction, then squatted to pick up the journal that had fallen from her lap. “You dropped your book. It must be very important, because I’ve often seen you writing in it.” He held it out to her. “I dinna mean to startle you. But your da said no one was in here, or I would have knocked first.”
Not knowing what else to do or to say, Katherine snatched the journal from his hand. “Thank … thank you,” she stammered, then continued to study the man. She had no idea who he was, how he got in, or what he meant when he said her father wanted the place cleaned. Given her father, Hunter MacDonald, was dead, that would be impossible. “You said my father sent you?”
“Aye. Your da gave me strict orders to have everything gleaming. He is expecting an important guest to attend the feast,” he replied. “He also said if I were to cross paths with you, that I was to tell you he wants to see you right away. He’s been scouring the grounds of the estate looking for you. And he’s na in good spirits. But I am sure that will change when the festivities begin this eve.”
“What festivities are you speaking of?” she asked, her gaze fixed on the man. He wore a long leine belted at the waist, wool stockings, and leather boots, all of which appeared to be from a bygone era. But what surprised her more than his presence or attire was that he spoke in Gaelic and she understood every single word he said. And while her thoughts were in English, her responses spilled from her lips in the ancient tongue of her ancestors as well.
“The feast of St. John and in honor of the Summer Solstice. Your father is planning the traditional outdoor meal, bonfire, and the all-night ceilidh. He has invited a great many people and also said he has an important announcement to make.” William narrowed his eyes. “But you already know these things, m’lady?”
Totally dumbfounded and not sure what to make of this, Katherine’s eyes darted around the room as she desperately tried to regain her grip on reality. Everything looked exactly the same as it did when she nodded off in the chair, yet she sensed there was something very different. To begin with, she was no longer alone. She was carrying on a conversation in Gaelic with a man who looked like an extra from the movie Braveheart. So far this had been the most peculiar two days of her life. Perhaps she’d taken ill or had fallen and hit her head. Whatever it was, something was very wrong.
She quickly recounted her day thus far, hoping it might shed some light on what was happening.
After getting over the shock of waking up in a strange bed and feeling as if she’d been well loved, she’d made her way to the kitchen. She enjoyed a hardy breakfast — prepared by a mystery chef she hadn’t seen — and recalled her visit from Noreen. After the neighbor left, she’d changed into some clothes she’d found in the old trunk and decided to explore the rest of the croft. While in the solar she’d found the key to the wooded box the lawyers had given her, in which she found the journal and later a ring.
She clutched the book to her chest, but when she stared at her hand, the ring she’d slipped on her finger was not there. She did a quick scan of the chair and the floor surrounding it, but it was nowhere to be seen.
William moved forward and touched her arm, causing her to jump. “Are you ill, m’lady?”
“I’m fine,” she said, then dragged her fingers across her chin. Unfortunately, revisiting the events leading up to this moment didn’t explain what was happening now. “This was crazy. I must be dreaming or unconscious. There could be no other sensible explanation,” she uttered aloud. Her eyes locked with William’s gaze, hoping he might be able to answer some of her questions. “Are you the one who has been tending to the fires in the croft these last two days?”
“Part of my responsibility is to tend the fires. Among other duties. But you dinna need a fire today. The air is mild and the sun is shining,” the man said before she could finish. “If you ask me, we are in for a very hot day. It has been stifling for the last sennight. And this room could certainly use a breath of fresh air.” He moved to the window and pushed open the shutters, then turned to face Katherine.
“Been hot for days? Why, yesterday was cold and it snowed,” Katherine blurted. “There was still some on the ground when Noreen came to call this morning and when I looked out the window this afternoon.”
“Who came to call? Snow?” A look of concern crossed his face. “Och, you’re looking a wee bit pale. Are you sure you’re well? Mayhap you would like me to fetch the healer?”
