June 1856
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost, Papa,” Mikah said without hesitation for the relationship or the question itself. They were nearing their destination. She could feel it in her bones. Every mile the carriage traveled, every sight and smell that assailed her, told her so. She could feel the excitement building inside of her, not just her own excitement but Hero Conagham’s as well.
It was all still very strange.
When Lord Ayr, the doctor, and the maid, Mandy, finally left her alone the previous afternoon, Mikah had studied herself in the mirror of the dressing table. What she saw had surprised her. She looked much the same as always, but paler and a little softer, as if she’d never been exposed to the sun and had skipped her twice-weekly Zumba class for months. Her clothing and hairstyle were mid-Victorian in styling. Further investigation of the hotel room revealed furnishings she considered antique, while a peek through the window showed a world out of time with a smoky, industrial skyline and carriages, wagons, and people dressed much as she was.
Gone was the twenty-first century, and she kept waiting for the dream to end. At any minute she expected to wake up and find herself when and where she belonged. Not in the summer of 1856, but safe and sound back in the autumn of 2016. Her arms would most likely be covered in bruises in the days to come from her constant pinching. Still the delusion persisted; there had been moments of panic that bubbled up in her chest until she’d been ready to scream.
Then she would think of home. Not Mikah’s home in Milwaukee but an honest to God castle, Dùn Cuilean, where they would be arriving shortly. She could see it clearly in her mind, feel a longing for the place deep within her soul.
Her home. Hero’s home. It didn’t matter. It washome.
And Ian Conagham would be there was well.
Those two thoughts subdued the hysteria that kept mounting in Mikah through the past day. Able now to consider her situation more logically, she concluded the blow she’d sustained must have been worse than she imagined. She’d never dreamed like this before. Whether her usual dreamscape included the realistic or fantastical, she seldom dreamed that she was someone else. Even if she were a warrior princess from outer space, she was still Mikah, warrior princess from outer space.
On the rare occasion she dreamed that she was someone else, she became a character in a role not a person with thoughts and emotions of her own. Yet here she was with Hero’s memories suddenly there, as vivid and real as her own. Andwereher own. Every emotion, every moment of heartbreak or joy, washers.
With every remembrance she embraced, the haziness of the previous day faded and Hero’s memories crystallized. The only conclusion she reached from the hours of self-analysis she’d had was that either the accident had left her in an unconscious dream state gone wrong or she truly was trapped in some sort of delusional hallucination.
Mikah preferred to think of it all as a dream.
Since she’d always heard about how dreams were some representation of a person’s subconscious desires, it was an easy enough theorem to embrace. A man like Ian Conagham could only be possible in a fantasy, and she’d seen his face in her dreams hundreds of nights in her life, always hazy and distant. She’d never before gotten to interact with him, never heard his voice in them but for that one moment two nights before.
Seeing him in the flesh was literally a dream come true.
She studied him from beneath her lashes as the carriage rocked beneath the archway of an ancient viaduct that marked Dùn Cuilean’s boundaries and her heart raced once again. The new marquess’s attention hadn’t strayed far from her over the course of the last several hours’ journey. He watched her as she watched him. It was comforting to know that he found her intriguing as well. Her girlish fascination with him would’ve been unbearably embarrassing otherwise.
Neither Mikah nor Hero had ever met a man, or even imagined a man, so compelling. He was a man who sent excitement shivering down her spine with every glance.
“Why have we never met before?” she asked, realizing in that moment that her voice was softly cultured and bore a distinct English accent.
“I suppose we never had the opportunity.” His voice, on the other hand, was a melodic Scottish brogue that was like the finest whiskey. Smooth with no bite where Robert Conagham’s voice had been much more gruff. The Scottish brogue was familiar and comfortable to Hero, but to Mikah, as to many American women, that beguiling tone could stand alone as a weapon for seduction.
“I had, in fact,” he continued, “met my cousin only a few times in Edinburgh as a youth while attending St. Andrew’s University. I joined the army after that, serving in England and abroad, and most recently I was in Crimea to repel the Russian problem there. That is where I was when I heard of his death. I certainly never anticipated I would actually be his heir. Might I add how sorry I am for your loss?” he added as an afterthought, as if just remembering that she had lost a husband in order for him to become a marquess.
“Thank you,” she responded automatically, though her mind latched onto something she found familiar. “You fought in Crimea?”
“Balaklava, actually,” he amended. “We were just being sent out to put a siege on Sevastopol when I was recalled.”
“You just missed it then.”
“I wouldn’t have thought a genteel lady such as yourself would be versed on the details of foreign wars,” Ian said, his brows rising in surprise. “Aye, I missed the battle at Balaklava by just a week. Many of my friends and comrades were killed there.”
Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of Death rode the six hundred. Forward, the Light Brigade!Mikah thought, remembering her history and English literature classes. “You were fortunate. The casualties were quite high.” The marquess just nodded, and she felt that he was uncomfortable with the topic so she let it go. “How long have you been at the castle, then?”
“Just over a month,” he told her. “I like it very much already though.”
“It’s hard not to.” She sighed with heartfelt feeling. “I’ve missed it so.”
As if he caught the wistful tones, Lord Ayr was quick to assure her. “You and your father are certainly welcome to stay for as long as you like. It is your home, after all, and I would be thankful for the company.”
Mikah could feel Hero’s joy as the worries of being ejected from the property, which had been weighing her down, released, unleashing her buoyancy. This was exactly what she was hoping for, and she bestowed a radiant smile upon Ian. “Thank you, my lord. We will endeavor not to intrude upon your privacy.”
“Not at all, Lady Ayr. I am happy to have you here,” the marquess assured her. “You are my cousin by marriage. You and his grace are my family now as well.”
