Rachel Carrington (11 page)

The heavy wooden door swung open and a large woman with a mass of gray hair and suspicious brown eyes peered out at her visitors. Then, recognition dawned and her mouth rounded to an “o” of surprise.

“Your Grace! Welcome! Come in! I did not realize that you were coming for a visit.” She swept the door wide and waved her hand enthusiastically. “I will put some tea on. Please come in and make yourselves at home.” She curtsied lightly, which was a surprise considering her size. Then, she trundled off toward the kitchen area.

“Please do not trouble yourself,” Sinclair called after her. “Actually, we came to see your daughter, I believe. She is the soothsayer?”

The kettle clanked against the brick oven and the woman’s motions slowed. “My daughter is out back.

She did not tell me that you would be coming today.”

“We only just decided last evening. She might not have known.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “She knew. She always knows. I will get her for you.”

Carla took a quick glance at her surroundings, taking in the evidence of poverty, the dirt floors, the makeshift furniture consisting mostly of poultry crates. Thick, burlap sacks covered the windows and on the shelf above the hearth stood a lone figurine, a ray of light in the dim interior. She tried not to shudder and feeling guilty, she lowered her eyes to the floor, concentrating on the toe of her boot.

“Your Grace, how nice it is to see you again.” The girl’s young age surprised Carla. Barely out of her teens, she was fresh-faced and slender with long, graceful hands and a face that was serene and happy despite her circumstances of life.

Sinclair stepped forward and took the young girl’s hand. “Letta, I would like you to meet Miss Carla Morgan. She is from a long way away. She would like to talk to you if you have the time.”

Letta nodded with an understanding that made Carla suspicious. “Of course. Shall we talk out back in the garden? I like to sit in the sunshine. We will not have too many more days like this before winter sets in, I’m afraid.” She led the way through a door lined with rotting timbers, indicating two narrow chairs with a wave of her hand. “My mother was quite taken aback with your sudden appearance, Your Grace.”

“But I would imagine that you were not.”

The soothsayer smiled placidly. “One of the advantages of my gift.” She directed her dark eyes toward Carla and extended her hand. “You wish to speak with me?”

Carla had never talked with a psychic before and if the truth were told, she didn’t really believe in them.

But, of course, she hadn’t really believed in the possibility of time travel before this past week, either.

Circumstances made her a believer. She cleared her throat, cast a nervous glance at Sinclair and licked her lips before beginning. “I don’t know if you know this, but I am not… I don’t belong here.”

The young girl continued to smile, inviting further revelations.

“I went to sleep on a sofa in the library at Heath Castle, but I woke up in a different time.” Difficulty in expressing herself had never been one of Carla’s problems, but she found herself tongue-tied, the words staying hidden in the deepest recesses of her brain. “I know you might find this difficult to understand.”

A thin, blue-veined hand slid across the top of the table to cover Carla’s. “You must feel free to speak at will, Miss Morgan. I can honestly tell you that nothing you say will surprise me.”

Still uncertain, Carla took the young girl at face value. “All right. I am from the twenty-first century.”

The smile returned. “I know.”

That caught Carla off-guard. “You know?”

“I saw you…before you came. I knew you would be coming to our world.”

Carla leaped to her feet, her movements agitated. “If you knew, why didn’t you try to stop this from happening? Did you also know that I didn’t belong here? Did you know that my family would be worried? They probably think I’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”

The soothsayer sat back in her chair and folded her hands primly in her lap. “I see the future, Miss Morgan. I do not control it. I cannot change what is to be. That is why I could not stop you from coming.”

“Why am I here?” Desperation clawed at her throat.

“Because your destiny is here.”

Carla tossed her hands up in the air and whirled around. “You know, everyone keeps saying that, but I’m not seeing a whole lot of destiny happening! I’m in a castle that, in my world, is well over four hundred years old. I’m freezing my ass off because you don’t have electricity and I’m wearing a costume straight out of a Broadway play! If this is my destiny, forgive me for saying so, but I think someone screwed up somewhere!”

Letta’s face remained calm, her posture relaxed, almost as if she was unaffected by the outburst. “You want to contact your family, to let them know that you are safe.”

The air went out of Carla’s balloon of indignation. She sank back down into the chair, her eyes filling with tears. “I need to let my sister know that I am still alive, that she doesn’t have to worry about me.”

“You do not wish to contact your mother or father.” It was a statement, not a question. Carla didn’t respond. Letta inclined her head shortly. “I wish I could help you, but all I can tell you is that no direct contact is allowed between the worlds.”

“Then how did I get here? Because from where I’m sitting, this looks like direct contact. I crossed a time line and you’re telling me that I can’t have contact with the people I left behind? There has to be a way! Just like there has to be a way for me to get back home!” Carla’s shoulders shook and she didn’t feel Sinclair’s hands come to rest against them, offering comfort.

Letta reached out to touch her, but Carla pulled away. “I believe,” Letta paused and look up at Sinclair.

“Please, Your Grace, may I have a moment alone with Miss Morgan?”

Sinclair hesitated, but Carla lifted her hand in agreement. If it meant finding out information, she’d have a one-on-one conversation with the devil himself. Once Sinclair departed back into the house, Carla rounded on the soothsayer. “So what is it? What is it that you want to tell me that you couldn’t say in front of Sinclair?”

The psychic’s lips pursed. “I believe your arrival here has something to do with his wife.”

Carla’s eyes lit up. “I knew it! When I tried to take that poetry book out of the library and the wind started to swirl and everything went haywire, I knew she must have had something to do with it. You think she brought me here, don’t you?”

Letta lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “It is only supposition on my part, My Lady, but I believe it is a distinct possibility, yes.”

“But how?”

“I am not certain. I can only tell you that the spirits have greater power than what we can fathom. It does not take much effort to cross over from one realm to the other.”

Carla clasped a hand to her heart. “But that still doesn’t tell me how she managed to summon me here.

Her crossing over between mortal realms couldn’t have brought me here…could it?”

For the first time since Carla’s arrival, Letta looked excited. “It is possible to shift the fabric of time if a spirit crosses at a precise moment. The Duke’s wife would have had to have knowledge of this.”

“Did she know she was dying?”

Letta nodded.

“Then perhaps she did a little reading while she lay dying.” Carla gnawed her lower lip. “And I’m not just talking about the poetry book.”

Letta began to smile. “Perhaps.”

“Then if she shifted the fabric of time, how do I re-shift it?”

The soothsayer’s face closed instantly and Carla sensed they were no longer alone. “There is a way for you to return home. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to interfere with the fates. You must find the way for yourself.”

Carla launched herself to her feet once more, turning, colliding with Sinclair’s chest. She pulled in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his soap, feeling the rasp of the cloth beneath her cheek. “Take me home, Sinclair. This isn’t doing any good.”

She should be rejoicing that she’d at least found out some information, the beginning, but instead, as Sinclair’s arms closed tightly around her, she found herself dreading the moment when she would have to say goodbye.

* * * * *

“Your Grace, you have a visitor,” Nettie greeted them at the front door. Several chambermaids and even the house cleaners gathered over her shoulder, eager to see the Duke’s reaction.

Sinclair viewed the procession with a dubious eye. Having just seen his family off, he wasn’t so sure he was eager to see the person that could make his entire staff so anxious. “I take it my visitor is not someone who I am going to enjoy seeing.”

“I take affront to that!” A deep voice boomed from the just inside the great hall. Sinclair immediately recognized the shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes and affectionate smile as his visitor approached. “It is good to see you again, Cousin.”

Sinclair shook his cousin’s hand slowly. “Alexander? I thought you were in the Highlands. What in the world are you doing here?”

“I came to enjoy the benefits of wealth and prosperity,” Alexander’s hand swept the interior of the castle. “It appears that I came just in time.” His eyes landed on the woman at his cousin’s side. “I don’t believe I know you.”

Sinclair made the introductions with a shrewd gaze. “Alexander is my cousin on my mother’s side. Once considered a brat, he has, hopefully since the last time I saw him, matured into a reasonably respectable man. How are my aunt and uncle, by the way?”

Alexander stuck his hands behind his back and shrugged. “Mother would kill me for saying so, but she is actually getting meaner with each passing day. I suppose it had to have happened sometime especially now that Father is spending so much time inside the house.” He grinned, lifting his eyebrows with a waggle. “Now that I see you have much more entertainment, I can certainly see myself staying here a while if that is acceptable to you, Cousin.”

Sinclair caught the gist of Alexander’s meaning and his brows lowered into a displeased scowl. “If you mean to try your charms on the lady at my side, I can assure you that she is immune.”

“To you, maybe, but perhaps you are not the man for her.” Stepping forward, Alexander offered his arm to Carla. “May I escort you to the drawing room, Miss Morgan? I am sure that, if asked, Nettie could bring us some of that perfect wine my cousin keeps hidden for such an occasion as this.”

“I was not aware this was an occasion,” Sinclair grumbled from behind, inclining his head toward the housekeeper who still hovered nearby.

“And you didn’t mention where this lovely lady is from, Sinclair,” Alexander queried, still holding out his arm. “I’m sure I would have seen her had she been here before.”

Carla accepted Alexander’s arm and allowed him to lead her away.

“She’s a guest.” Sinclair strolled in behind them, wondering if Alexander’s audacious charm would hold her as captive as the other women in his cousin’s life. Alexander certainly had a way with the ladies, but Sinclair didn’t find himself too concerned. He’d held Carla in his arms, touched her, kissed her, tasted her and she belonged to him. Alexander didn’t stand a chance. “That much I figured, but a guest from where?” Alexander favored Carla with a smile which twisted Sinclair’s insides.

Carla opened her mouth to speak, but Sinclair quickly replied, “From the Americas.”

Alexander’s eyes widened. “You know someone from the Americas? Especially such a beauty as this?”

He laughed aloud. “Surely, you jest, Cousin.” He leaned down to peer closer into Carla’s eyes.

Sinclair nudged him in the back with his elbow. “Why don’t you allow Miss Morgan to sit down before you circle the drawing room thrice?”

A shrewd look on his face that Sinclair ignored, Alexander swept a hand toward the settee. “After you, Miss Morgan from the Americas.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, warming the room and lending a bright glow to the corner where the trio sat, pewter cups filled with wine.

“So now that you have returned to your homeland, what are your plans?” Sinclair deliberately positioned himself between Alexander and Carla. Though he didn’t feel concern over his cousin’s presence, he saw no need to take any chances.

Alexander took a long draught of the wine and shrugged, turning his face to the fire. “I suppose I will move on.”

“Your mother will not like that.”

“I know, but what am I to do? I do not feel that I belong here.”

“You left here to find where you do belong. You obviously have not been successful.” Sinclair’s words were not harsh, but merely observatory.

Alexander agreed with a rueful grin. “I fear that I will never find my place in this world.”

Carla took a sip of wine, not offering anything to the conversation and Sinclair found himself wondering if she could relate. The glow of the fire bathed her face and his fingers itched to get lost in the wealth of her hair. His breeches tightened and he quickly looked away, only to see his cousin’s smirk.

Sinclair adjusted his legs to ease the ache between them. “Maybe it is time for you to settle down in one place and make a life for yourself. Take a wife.”

Alexander slid a gaze toward the shapely woman beside his cousin. “That idea has more merit this time around.”

Sinclair held his tongue, refusing to rise to the man’s deliberate goad. “Have you gone to see your mother on this visit?”

“No. Not this time around. She cries when I leave. I am not sure that I can take the tears this time.”

Alexander sighed heavily. “I was on a ship bound for the Americas and I saw the strangest invention.

There was a young man…”

“Alexander has always had an eye for new ideas and inventions that will take us into the next century.”

Sinclair lowered his voice to a whisper so as not to disturb his cousin’s recollections. “He does not seem to understand that by the time we reach the next century, he will most likely be too old to enjoy it.”