Inveraray, Scotland
September, 1748
Aila rolled onto her back, her lust-fogged mind clearing. Finn’s friend had introduced himself as Ian MacKintosh. Could there be a connection there? A relation?
Another hidden agenda Donell failed to tell her about?
Curiosity nagged deep within, but she forced aside the urge to explore the possibilities. This time was no place for her. September 20, 1748. She’d seen the date in Elliot’s journal before he’d closed it. Far beyond the optimal timeframe for her to search out the Boyce clan legacy.
Climbing off the bed, Aila went to her trunk and pulled out the history book she’d been reading the previous evening. Aye, the 1stDuke of Argyll had been the one to conceive of replacing the old castle before he’d died in 1703. It was the second duke who’d commissioned John Vanbrugh, the famed London architect who’d begun as a clerk to Sir Christopher Wren before designing Blenheim Palace, to draw up the plans for what would become the castle she knew. That duke had died in 1743. The third duke was the one who’d actually started building it with the help of Vanbrugh’s successors, breaking ground in 1745.
And the Battle of Culloden had been fought in 1746. The duke’s cousin Colonel Jack Campbell — who would one day succeed to the dukedom himself — commanded the Campbell militia there…on the side of the English. The wrong side, Violet would say. Taking part in the Redcoats’ victory while his countrymen suffered the consequences of what King George deemed treason.
There too, Ian MacKintosh’s words made more sense in retrospect. Finn was an angry man these days. As were they all.
Angry at falling under the rule of a king who cared nothing for their tradition and culture. Angry at losing everything they had when they failed to put Bonnie Prince Charlie on the throne. They’d spent the past two years paying for their rebellion. Little did they know, the worst was yet to come. With the onset of the Clearances, many of them would lose their lands along with their way of life.
What would become of Ian MacKintosh? Of Finn? His children?
Aila turned the page of the book and a piece of paper fell out, fluttering its way to the floor. A piece of paper she hadn’t put there and that hadn’t been there the previous night. Retrieving it, she saw one side was covered in a bold, scrawling script. She read:
‘Be curious. And however difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at.It matters that you don't just give up.’ Stephen Hawking spoke these words, lass. Don’t be the one to fail him.
The note wasn’t signed but it didn’t take a legendary astrophysicist to know that Donell had been the one to leave it. The old man had more confidence in the strength of her curiosity than she did herself. Not that she intended to give up. She still wanted to find the treasure and solve the mystery. She simply needed to do it someplace other than where she was now.
Sometimeother than where she was now.
Shoving the note back into the book and the book back into the trunk, Aila withdrew the time travel device and considered her next move. The easiest thing would be to return to her own time and recalculate the proper historic date from there. Sweeping her thumb across the cool white porcelain of the device, she woke the glowing blue circle that highlighted the dial. Its center pulsed, enticing her to push it.
Unfortunately, this castle didn’t exist in her time. She’d end up without a floor beneath her feet. Brontë had made that mistake. Aila didn’t intend to do the same. She didn’t fancy a fall of thirty or more feet only to land herself on the private property of the future duke’s gated park. She needed a known space. Something untouched by the centuries to come. The inn would do as it existed in its present form in her time.
Or…
The counterclockwise movement of her thumb around the circle prompted a date and time to appear, descending as she sketched a quarter rotation. Going back to the turn of the century might be her best bet. Prior to the first duke’s death, yet following his ascension from earl to duke.
May 1, 1700. Ten in the morning. That should do it. She could still accomplish her mission. Her thumb hovered over the center button, but she didn’t push it. For obvious reasons, she told herself. She needed to retrieve Rab from the kitchens and find a discreet location outside from which to depart as there was no guarantee that this room would remain untouched. Aila didn’t want to become part of the furniture any more than she wanted to fall on her arse.
Slipping the time machine in her pocket, she latched the trunk and donned her cloak. Through the window, she saw that the sun had dipped beyond the trees. Darkness would cover her departure so there would be no more startled sheep or worse. The trunk scraped across the wood floor as she hefted it by one handle and dragged it to the door.
Her steps dragged as well. She didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Her curiosity about this time hadn’t been satisfied yet. There was more she wanted to do here.
“Ha,” she muttered under her breath as she yanked open the door and backed into the hall with the trunk in tow. “More I want to do? More like someone.”
“Still talking to yerself?”
Aila’s head jerked around to find that certain someone standing at the door down the hall from hers. Hand on the key inserted into the lock. Gah! She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer to whoever might be listening.Thank God I had the good sense to leave on my own.Temptation one door down would have been too much to resist.
He’d changed from the plain woolen suit he’d worn earlier into a navy jacket better tailored to his broad shoulders with a tartan wool waistcoat beneath. He was divine, wrapped up tight with that high cravat and topped with a bow. Like a Christmas present begging to be unwrapped.
She needed to get out of here…fast. Preferably before he realized the puddle of mush he reduced her to.
“As one does.” She straightened as she delivered the response with forced cheer.
For a moment, something bordering on humor almost lit his moody gaze. Almost. Then it shifted down to her trunk and back up again, serious once more.
Pulling his key from the lock, Finn pocketed it. “Ye cannae be thinking of leaving now. Night has fallen and there will be nae one traveling who might take ye anywhere.”
Be that as it may, she had all the means and mode of transportation she required. What she needed most was to get out of here before she did something stupid.
