Once Upon a Winter Solstice (A Scottish Time Travel Novella) Read online

  Once Upon a Winter Solstice

  Victoria Zak

  Contents

  Copyright

  Newsletter Signup

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Newsletter Signup

  About the Author

  Books by Victoria Zak

  Once Upon a Winter Solstice

  Victoria Zak

  Copyright 2015 by Victoria Zak

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author and publisher.

  All characters, events, and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or living, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by JAB Designs

  Editing by Kathryn Lynn Davis and Julie Roberts

  ISBN: 978-1-942516-13-2

  Created with Vellum

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  What if all moments throughout time existed at once? What if you had a love that stood the test of time? Never faltering, never fading. What if one legend brought both time and love together as one? Once Upon a Winter Solstice is dedicated to those who believe in true love.

  Enjoy!

  Victoria Zak

  1

  Highland Falls, NY

  December 20, present day

  “Are you sure you can lock up by yourself, Ivy? I don’t mind staying.”

  “Yes,” Ivy reassured her best friend and co-owner of the Highland Falls Art Gallery. “I’ll be fine.” Ivy helped her friend into her woolen winter coat and ushered her to the front door. “Besides, Dean is waiting outside for you.”

  Poppy Sinclair’s better half had made it known several times over the past five minutes that he had grown impatient with her by blaring the horn from inside his silver SRL McLaren parked curbside.

  Ivy rolled her eyes and opened the door to the art gallery. A bitter chill blew through her little black dress, causing her to shiver.

  “Poppy!” Dean called out of the rolled-down window. “Get your ass in the car. We’re going to be late.”

  “Hi, Dean.” Ivy waved and did her best to smile. There was no doubt about it, Dean was the kind of man who didn’t like to be kept waiting. He was a high-profile lawyer who worked and lived on the upper east side of Manhattan; driving an hour and twenty minutes to Highland Falls on the coldest day of the year had put him in a foul mood.

  It was Poppy and Ivy’s last art exhibit for the year; he should cut Poppy some slack and be happy for her: the event had been a huge success. Throughout the occasion he’d mingled when it mattered the most, beaming at Poppy as a journalist from the local news station interviewed her and praised her for her paintings. Ivy knew better than to believe the façade, and had to bite her tongue and grab a glass of wine as the waiter passed by. She had needed something to wash the bile down as she watched him eye his Rolex and exhale in frustration. The man was truly an arrogant ass. What Poppy saw in him Ivy would never know.

  Dean smiled back at Ivy. “Hey, are you still seeing that guy…”

  “Mark?”

  Dean snapped his fingers. “Yes, him.”

  Ivy rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to ward off the cold and, before she could answer, Poppy stepped out of the gallery and reached for the car handle. “Dean, it’s none of your business who Ivy dates.” She slid into the seat as Dean leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Poppy looked at Ivy. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. “Yes, now go. I’m freezing out here.”

  “I really wish you would reconsider. You shouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone.”

  Poppy had invited her to spend Christmas in The Hamptons at Dean’s summer vacation home, along with a few of his buddies from his law firm. I would rather spend Christmas with a serial killer than have to spend one more minute with Dean.

  Her past three Christmas rituals were far better than staying in an oversized, overpriced five-bedroom beach house full of horny men reliving their fraternity years. No thanks! Staying home by herself, sitting on her black leather couch in front of the fireplace in her comfy p.j.s, slurping down a big bowl of Ramen Noodles sounded like heaven compared to the Christmas Frat House nightmare.

  “Poppy, you worry too much. Besides I’m sure Mark,” Ivy shot Dean a cross glare, “has something planned for us.”

  Poppy stuck out her bottom lip, giving her a pout that surely would work on Dean but not on her friend. “Go get warm. I’ll see ya next year.” Ivy waved goodbye as Dean rolled up the window and sped off.

  Ivy closed the big glass door behind her and turned the lock. Her black heels echoed across the empty studio as she walked over to the displays to shut off the spotlights. Indeed, it had been a successful night; four out of her five paintings had been bought at top dollar. But it was Poppy who had been the real star of the night; all of her showcased art had been purchased with inquiries on a few new projects. Who would have thought contemporary-western style wild animals in their natural states, add in one or two vibrant colors, would be such a winner? Ivy shook her head as she studied one of Poppy’s paintings of a bear standing in a crisp stream with a flopping bright peach salmon in his mouth. She had a talent in capturing the animals’ true essences.

  Finally, Ivy reached the last painting. It was the only one of hers remaining that had not been purchased, and she was relieved to still have it. It was by far her favorite and most personal, because she had dreamt of such a place.

  In the painting there were two Scottish Highland mountains peaked with white snow, a fine mist covered the sky and wisped over a winter garden, tingeing everything with grayness. A black iron gate, ajar, was covered in an array of green shades of ivy. Farther into the garden a bright green holly tree stood tall with ruby-red berries shining like stars. Fresh snow powdered the ground and the tops of the trees. Standing in awe, she ran her index finger across the holly and swore she could feel its sharp edges pricking her finger. The garden called to her from deep inside, somewhere soul deep. If there was one Christmas wish she could wish with all her heart, it would be to jump into this winter garden and stay forever.

  Ivy took a step back and smiled. She knew exactly where to hang it back at the townhome she rented. If fact if it hadn’t been snowing, she would carry it home with her tonight, since she lived just down the street. “This will look perfect in my living room above the fireplace.” Ivy clicked off the light then checked the back door to make sure it was locked. Tomorrow she would have to come back and unlock the gallery for the movers. Poppy had promised their clients that the paintings would be delivered before Christmas.

  After one last glance at the winter garden, Ivy slipped on her coat, wool cap, and grabbed her purse. Taking the keys out, she made her way to the front door. Locking it behind her, she nuzzled deep i
nto her coat as she walked down Main Street against the snow flurries. Of all nights, why had she decided to walk to work on the coldest night of the year?

  Quickly, Ivy hustled down the sidewalk, noticing all the shops had their closed until next year signs hanging in the storefront windows. This was one of the downfalls of living in a tourist community. Not only were tourists few and far between, but also most of the locals in Highland Falls were traveling, visiting family during the holiday season. There were a few locals who stayed behind and braved the cold; but for the most part, Highland Falls was a ghost town. For Ivy this time of year was a reminder of the Christmas Curse.

  She passed a small girl holding her father’s hand, walking down the sidewalk. The child was beaming from ear to ear, which made Ivy smile. She had a bounce in her step Ivy could relate to. Her mother had told her time and again she was daddy’s little girl. Nothing could be truer; she’d loved her dad.

  Her father Martin Davenport was an intelligent man, an Archaeologist specializing in the study of Celtic History. When he wasn’t in Scotland on archaeological digs, which was rare, he spent his time teaching Medieval European History at NYU.

  A memory, a special one that she had hung onto over the years crept into her thoughts and made her smile.

  It was a few days before Christmas Eve and the night of the Winter Solstice. Her father had just returned home from a month’s stay in Scotland where he had been head-deep into a dig where they believed they had stumbled upon sacred ground dating back to the Celts of old. Ivy remembered the dark circles under her father’s eyes and how exhausted he had been, but he still found the energy to take his daughter out to find the perfect Christmas tree. She was ten and still innocent in the ways the world. She had believed her parents were happy in life and loved one another, which she’d found out mere hours ago was far from the truth. Earlier that day she’d heard her mother on the phone venting about how she was tired of coming in second place to Martin’s work. That he lived and loved in the past.

  But that night, surrounded by tall, full spruce trees, Ivy had been happy to have her father’s undivided attention.

  Ivy ran to her father, long blonde curls bouncing with every stride. “Dad,” she pulled her father’s arm excitedly, leading him over to a huge, green spruce, “Look! I found the biggest tree in the world!” She pointed.

  “Yes, my love, you have.” Martin chuckled as he glanced up and down, taking in the monstrous spruce.

  “I want this one.”

  “I don’t know, honey, it’s very big. Do you think it will fit in the car?”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. “Daaad, you put it on the roof of the car, not inside.”

  Her father pulled her wool cap down over her eyes. “Why of course, Ivy.” He laughed and pulled his daughter close, hugging her.

  They walked down another row of trees, holding hands. Ivy became quiet and withdrawn, deep in thought.

  “What’s wrong, Pumpkin?” Her father squeezed her close and kissed the top of her head.

  Ivy kicked a clump of snow. “I miss you, Dad. Mom misses you too.”

  His forehead creased. “I know, but I’m home now.”

  “But for how long?”

  “Ivy—”

  “Dad, I heard Mom on the phone this afternoon. She sounded very upset with you. She said that she feels you love your work more than her.”

  Martin bent down to his daughter’s level, holding her arms in his hands. “Pumpkin, you don’t worry about me and your mother. I will take care of this. Understand me?”

  “Yes, Dad.” Ivy looked to the ground as a tear fell from her cheek.

  “Did I ever tell you how your mother and I came up with your name?”

  Ivy sniffled. “No.”

  “Come, walk with me.”

  They finished walking down the row of Christmas trees and stopped by a table that had all the trappings available to make your own holiday wreath. Martin grabbed a clump of holly and several vines of ivy. “There’s an old legend about two Celtic Gods named Holly and Ivy who fell in love in a time where Gods were forbidden to.”

  “Ewww, Dad!”

  He looked down at his daughter and grinned. “Holly was in great despair over this and he planted a holly tree in the enchanted garden for his love Ivy, so every time she passed the garden she would be reminded of Holly’s love for her until they could be together again. Legend has it because of their loss and longing, the tree brings together others to help them find their true soulmates. When you gather nine holly leaves,” she watched her father grab nine holly leaves and stack them one on top of the other, “wrap a vine of ivy around the leaves like so, then place them under your pillow and make a wish, your wish will come true on the twelfth day of Christmas. But it only works for those pure of heart and who truly believe.” He took the holly bundle and handed it to Ivy.

  Ivy flipped the bundle over and examined the leaves. “Dad, what does this have to do with me?”

  Martin bent down and held her hand. “Your mom and I met under a holly tree and fell passionately in love. Every Christmas we went back to that tree, and just over ten years ago under that same tree, your mom told me she was pregnant with you. We decided to name you Ivy in honor of Ivy, the Celtic Goddess.”

  Ivy stood silent.

  “So you see, Pumpkin, you have nothing to worry about. Your mom and I love each other very much.”

  Ivy wrapped her arms around her dad’s neck and he squeezed her tight.

  She wiped a tear from her cheek. She had believed in the old legend up until her father’s death a year ago. Her wish never came true. Cancer took his life suddenly and her world fell apart.

  2

  A few more blocks down Main Street and Ivy would be home, snuggling in the warmth of her house. The flurries were falling faster now and the bricked sidewalk was slippery with a thin layer of ice. With the thought of sipping hot cocoa and defrosting next to the fireplace, Ivy picked up the pace. She could smell that chocolatey goodness.

  A buzzing sound coming from her purse interrupted her chocolate delight musings. She fumbled through her purse to find her cellphone. “Where is that damn thing?” Suddenly, her foot gave way from beneath her as she slipped on a patch of ice, twisting her ankle. She was about to hit the ground hard when strong arms gathered around her waist, pulling her against a solid wall of muscle, preventing her fall.

  “That was a close one, lass. Are ye all right?” the stranger asked.

  Ivy looked up at him and every coherent thought left her as she stared into the most intense dark eyes she had ever seen. It was as if those black depths held a spell and drew her in deep.

  “Lass?”

  Apparently she had stayed staring at him longer than she should. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his white t-shirt under his tan leather jacket, which fit him like a second skin, revealing he had muscles in all the right places. He must think I’m an idiot.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” Embarrassed, Ivy tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled away from the stranger’s arms, stumbling. She had an eerie feeling she’d felt his arms and his eyes on her before. But that was ridiculous!

  Immediately, Ivy felt his strength again as he held her arm, helping her keep her balance. “I dinnae think ye’re fine.”

  “I must have sprained my ankle.” She bent down and removed her shoe. Already she could feel her ankle swelling.

  “How far are ye walking? I can call ye a cab.”

  “Oh no, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. Really.” Ivy began to take a step and buckled. Not happening. Her ankle was too painful to put pressure on it.

  The stranger chuckled. “I understand that women value their independence, but, lass, ye won’t make it another step without me help. Let me call for a cab.”

  “I only live two more houses down the street.” Ivy pointed to the baby-blue, two-story wood frame townhome.

  “All right.” The stranger bent down and placed her arm around his shoulders. “Hang o
n, lass, I’ll get ye home and off yer ankle in no time.” He winked and it took all of Ivy’s will not to melt right there on the sidewalk. Thank God he was holding her, because her knees went weak.

  Two stone accented townhouses later and there they stood outside her home. Awkwardly, they made it up three steps to her front door without any further embarrassment on Ivy’s part. The heat she felt against his chest was instantly lost when the stranger took a step back, leaving her propped up next to the door.

  “Do ye need help inside?”

  Why yes she did. There was nothing more she wanted to do than invite him in and rip off his clothes and attack him like some wild, wanton woman. The man was intoxicating, making her want to throw caution to the wind, which was not like her in the slightest.

  Ivy cleared her throat. “No, I can take it from here.” She smiled meekly as she searched for the keys in her purse.

  “Well then I bid ye a good night, Miss Davenport.”

  Ivy paused then looked up from her purse…the man was gone.

  Wait…What? He knows my name?

  She turned her head to the right then to the left, looking down the street, but there was no sign of him. It was as if he never existed. Poof…he was gone. And she hadn’t even had a chance to thank him or ask his name. If her ankle wasn’t swollen, she’d run after him.

  Odd as it was, Ivy shook him from her thoughts and quickly unlocked the door. Before she entered the house she reached down and picked nine holly leaves from a holly bush she had planted next to the entrance years ago when she moved in.

  It was reckless of her to allow a stranger to walk her home. Whoever this man was, he now knew where she lived. What if he came back? After the way he’d left, maybe he’d been stalking her all along. With a sense of dread creeping up her spine, Ivy limped into the house and locked both locks, then peeked out the living room window. Still, the man with strong hands and haunting eyes was nowhere to be seen.