March 1896
“I don’t like this,” Connor MacLean, Earl of Strathclyde, murmured under his breath as his wary gaze swept the surrounding area.
He helped his bride of just a few months down from the carriage, keeping a secure hold on her hand. Emmy was thankful for the assistance. She’d gotten much better at dealing with long skirts and limited mobility over the last couple months, but still occasionally tripped over them now and then when she was distracted.
As she was at the moment. As they both were.
The queasiness of the motion sickness from the extended carriage ride took a back seat to the uneasiness their journey incited. From Duart Castle on the Isle of Mull to Dunskirk Castle outside the small hamlet of Achenmeade, the mystery of why they were there and what awaited them weighed on their thoughts.
“Well, we’re here.” Emmy pursed her lips and stared up at the looming façade of Dunskirk Castle. “So where is Donell?”
“I’m fast learning to never trust a man who can come and go in the blink of an eye,” Connor observed wryly, as if such men were commonplace and not the utter mystery Donell was. “I dinnae trust him, lass. No’ a wee bit. We shouldnae e’en be here knowing what he might do to us.”
Again.
The unspoken word sent a shiver through Emmy.
A week past, she and Connor had been leaving their rooms to go to dinner when she’d walked around a corner and straight into Auld Donell. The shock of seeing him had quickly been overridden by fear.
Fear that the odd, elfin little man who’d wielded power over her destiny might decide to brandish his clout again. Taking her away from all she loved. As he had once before.
However he’d managed it, Donell had taken Emmy from the twenty-first century and transported her through time to the nineteenth century. Into the life and arms of Connor MacLean. She’d fought her circumstances, questioned her destiny…and had fallen in love. Only to be torn away from a life with him without her knowledge or consent. It’d taken months to find her way back once more. Weeks of heartache and anguish, believing she’d never see Connor again.
All at the whim of the enigmatic man known as Auld Donell.
And now she was bending to his will again, without knowing entirely why.
All she knew was that he’d appeared at Duart with a plea for their help.
Herhelp.
Immediately.
Or as immediate as life and transportation in nineteenth-century rural Scotland would allow. For some reason Emmy still couldn’t quite fathom, she’d agreed to help with no details other than her urgent help was needed for a delivery.
The doctor in Emmy couldn’t deny the call to duty, despite her unrelenting trepidation over Donell’s unexpected reappearance.
Was it any wonder when he’d shown up again just months after she thought herself safe and secure with the man she loved, she’d feared the worst?
He’d really rattled her, but for all her worry over her own welfare, knowing another’s might hang in the balance took precedence. It had forced her to set fear aside and give in to the old man’s wishes despite Connor’s argument against doing so.
Questioning the old man’s motives, Connor was apprehensive while remaining ever diligent and watchful, his muscular body rigid and ready to pummel Donell should he sense a threat.
He wouldn’t, couldn’t lose her again, he’d vowed, and insisted on accompanying her on this journey Donell required of her.
Yet, after a day on the train from Oban in western Scotland to this castle on the southern border and several hours more in the carriage, neither of them could figure out Donell’s motives.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” Emmy studied the castle again. No one had appeared at the door when their carriage approached, nor was there any sign of life around the grounds.
Empty, perhaps, but not abandoned. Someone lived here or at least maintained the building and grounds. While the main section of castle appeared to be medieval in age and style, parts were obviously more recent, historically speaking. Six turreted towers clearly built more for effect rather than function punctuated the many angles of the curtain wall. Awash in sunlight against the blue sky, the two decorative spires soaring more than fifty-feet high flanking the gated front doors couldn’t have been more than a few decades old.
“I dinnae like this,” Connor repeated, as dark as the day was sunny. “Tell me again, why did ye agree to do as Auld Donell asked?”
“You once told me he was harmless.”
Her husband snorted, a mixture of humor and irony. “That was before he snatched ye away from me. These days I dinnae trust him one whit.”
Her trust levels weren’t one hundred percent in the old Scotsman’s favor either, but Emmy didn’t think this was the moment to mention it. “He said someone needed help. And I suppose I owe him a favor since he did help me find you.”
