Timeless Heart

Published by Evernight Publishing at
Smashwords

http://www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2011 Karyn
Gerrard

ISBN:
978-1-926950-49-5

Cover Artist: LF Designs

Editor: Hannah Giersdorf

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or
distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this
book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without
written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Evernight Publishing, for taking
a chance on an unknown entity.

To Hannah Giersdorf, my editor, who
led me though my first ever edits and made this story
shine.

To my family, immediate and
extended, most especially my parents, for all your love, laughs,
and support.

To the sims community and all the
wonderful writers/storytellers I have met the last few years, your
encouragement and support is boundless.

To the romance community, and to all
the authors I have read and met in my net travels, especially Anna
Campbell, a true inspiration.

To my critique 'critter' ladies,
your suggestions and support mean so much. A special thanks to
Kimberly Barnella, cheers, mate.

And to my hubby, my real life hero,
after all these years, it still endures.

TIMELESS HEART

Karyn Gerrard

Copyright © 2011

Prologue

1821

It had been a miserable day, and the evening
was faring no better. What had started as a slight mist that
afternoon was now a raging, swirling storm, complete with howling
banshee winds and skin stinging rain. Thunder rumbled ominously in
the distance. Forks of lightning streaked across the heavy grey
sky.

Bloody great.

Jerrod Ross knew he should have hired his own
carriage, but with the skies so ominous and threatening, he did not
want the bother of trying to deal with a skittish horse. Or the
wait. Due to the inclement weather, there were no carriages to be
had at any rate, and blast the luck of his own carriage having a
cracked axle. He did not want to rent a horse and deal with the
wind and rain either.

And so he was stuck taking a public conveyance.
Deuce it all, what did he care? It was not like he was some
arrogant member of the peerage.

He looked at the other carriage occupants. The
young woman opposite him seemed positively ill, the rolling and
lurching of the carriage having the same effects as being tossed
about in stormy seas. The gentleman next to him, florid of face and
form, also looked unwell. The younger man just stared out the
window, showing no reaction to their situation.

For his part, Jerrod kept his own legs far
apart, bracing himself from the swaying of the carriage, which was
going far too fast for these conditions. Every time the wheels hit
a rut in the now muddy road, he felt his kidneys being
jarred.

The storm worsened. The leaves from nearby
trees were swirling in a vortex of heavy rain and humid, oppressive
air. Thunder now pounded mercilessly directly overhead. Jerrod had
never heard anything like it, like twenty cannons all being fired
at once.

He picked up his cane and banged on the roof,
trying to get the driver's attention. "You there, driver! Slow
down!" he yelled. But it was to no avail. He could not be heard
over the screeching wind and roaring claps of thunder.

Lightning cracked across the night sky, giving
the illusion of daylight. It struck a nearby tree, leaving a
smoking mess of singed branches and smoldering leaves. The young
woman screamed.

Before he could even offer words of comfort in
her fright, lightning struck the carriage.

Darkness. Unfathomable, bleakness. The absence
of all.

It seemed he was moving forward, but he could
ascertain nothing, see nothing, nor could he move, or even blink
his eyes. He was frozen in some dark place. He could no longer feel
the wheels touching the ground. The storm-torn ruts seemed to have
disappeared, almost like he was floating. Not bloody
possible.

He assumed he was traveling at a great speed.
He no sooner came to that conclusion than he seemed to slow down.
The blackness was interspersed with thin ribbons of light, and in
those ribbons of light he could see his fellow passengers
entangled, wrapped and being pulled in multiple directions at ever
increasing speed until they were gone. He began rippling slowly
toward a swirling vortex of dark and illumination. He still,
however, could not move.

This must be a dream. He had fallen asleep and
somehow was having this bleak nightmare of floating through...what
exactly? Mist? Air? The ceaseless beating of the rain was also
gone, as was the howling wind.

Silence.

His scrambled thoughts were soon interrupted by
faint sounds, coming from the ribbons of light. Voices. He
struggled to listen.

“Fourscore and seven years ago…”

Then a different voice, lost, ethereal,
everywhere and yet no where.

“The lamps are going out all over
Europe.”

Another man speaking about how the only thing
we have to fear is fear itself. Strange music played, changing
rapidly. What the deuce?

More voices. “Don't ask what you can do for
your country.” Some singing, about holding one's hand, and a hard
day's night. Bloody silly nonsense. Was he at some carnival?
Perhaps he was firmly locked in a cell at Bedlam, it would not
surprise him. He tried to shut out the voices, someone demanding
they tear down this wall. Something about...nine and
eleven?

More music, now he could not make out the
words, garbled nonsense and an ear-piercing screeching noise and
thunderous pounding. Horrible. He tried to raise his arms, to cover
his ears, but he couldn't.

Wake up, damn you!
he cried to himself.
But he was losing consciousness.

Darkness.

Chapter One

Present Day

As glorious as late spring days could be, this
one was just about perfect, and Sandra Cranston did not want to
waste one hour of it. She packed a light picnic lunch of egg salad
sandwiches and green grapes, some magazines, and her latest
historical romance novel, but nothing else from the outside world,
no iPod, Blackberry...nothing. She wanted to escape, and escape she
would.

She had found a secluded patch of woods,
fifteen kilometers outside of town, even though she was not an
outdoors girl, really. What had possessed her to take a picnic, of
all things, to some lonely part of the woods was beyond her, but
the impulse grabbed her, so she acted on it. There were no bugs, a
slight cool breeze, and the sun was warm and comforting. She
silently prayed some lumbering black bear would not come out of the
woods to snatch her lunch, or worse, her, but other than that worry
of marauding wildlife, it was a lovely day.

Sandra was on a leave of absence from her job
as an elementary school teacher. One year. She needed it. She did
not want to be around children, or anyone for that matter. She was
frayed, burned out. And if there were more luscious days like this,
she would be feeling like herself in no time. It beat
anti-depressants any day.

Sandra inhaled deeply, she could smell pine and
wild flowers and fresh, crisp air. But her picnic was gone and
she’d had enough of hard ground. She could only take so much
communing with nature. Gathering her basket, books, and the blanket
she had sprawled out on, she put her things in her SUV, then
started down the road. She realized she did not want to go home
quite yet, that she might as well go for a drive,
explore.

Sandra drove, listening to classical music,
when in a cluster of pine trees, she saw something. Something
completely out of place. Something that shouldn’t be there.
Slowing, she turned toward the cluster of trees, her SUV rolling
and lurching over the uneven ground, throwing her books
about.

It looked like some sort of old style of
carriage. Out here, in the middle of nowhere? Where were the
horses? And how did it come to be abandoned in the
woods?

Turning off the ignition, she climbed out of
her vehicle and approached slowly. There was a man in the carriage,
his eyes were closed, and his body was twisted at a most
uncomfortable angle. Sandra reached out to touch the door. It was
ice cold! She almost left some skin behind on the wooden
door.

"Hello...mister?" she called out
tentatively.

The man opened his eyes and groaned. Sandra's
breath caught in her throat. He was handsome, hell, he was
beautiful. His eyes were as blue as the sky above. His long hair,
the lush, rich color of butterscotch, was pulled back in a pony
tail. His eyes quickly fluttered shut again and his head dropped
forward.

She reached in through the open window of the
carriage and shook him. She could feel lean, solid muscle move
under her touch. His cerulean eyes fluttered open again.

"Can you get out of this carriage?" Sandra
asked.

His eyes looked unfocused, but he nodded
slowly.

He had no sooner opened the door, when he
tumbled onto the ground, unconscious again. Now she noticed the way
he was dressed, like he was out of one of those BBC period dramas
she loved so much.

Who was he, Mr. Darcy?

He must be dressed for a play or some such,
what other reason would he be dressed this way? He looked silly,
really. Out of place.

She studied his face. An aristocratic nose
slanted slightly down toward the most luscious, sensuous pair of
full lips she had ever seen on a man. A small dark mole sat
invitingly at the corner of his glorious mouth. Sandra was seized
with the sudden urge to kiss that delectable mole until she all but
inhaled it. Her eyes continued their perusal. He was very tall.
Long, muscular legs, those tight fitting breeches things...oh yes.
She gulped deeply as she stared at the most masculine part of him,
quite prominent and visible under the wool leggings. Nothing was
left to the imagination, absolutely nothing.