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

  A beep coming from her purse drew her attention to the fact that she had missed a call. Shit! It was probably Mark. With the phone in her hand, she slipped out of her coat and scrolled down to her missed calls. Yep, she was right; Mark had called. She’d missed him tonight at the gallery. She’d been hoping he would make it to the event. He’d told her if he could manage to leave work early, he would be there. Work ended at 6:30; the event had stared at 7. The signs of his undependability were already there, staring her in the face, even though they hadn’t been dating long. No matter who the man was, it took time for Ivy to open up and allow herself to let her guard down. Too many times she’d been dumped and she had grown tired of the excuses. You work too much. I don’t feel a connection. It’s not you, it’s me, babe. I don’t want to be tied down. Blah…Blah…Blah. She’d heard it all before.

  This time she’d hoped Mark was the one. Someone to stand by her and not run ahead to a place where Ivy didn’t feel comfortable going. Someone to support her and be a shoulder to cry on when life dealt her a bad hand.

  Ivy held her cell to her ear and listened to the message. Mark’s voice was clipped and cold as he told her he did not want to see her again. She sighed, frowning, her shoulders slumped as she plopped down heavily on the sofa. She’d been dumped by voicemail. Now that was a first. “Asshole!” She threw the messenger of bad news across the room. This was the third time in the last three years she had been through a breakup. Was she really that undateable?

  Agreed, she did work a lot of hours and tended to immerse herself in her painting. Agreed, it took her more time than most women to trust the opposite sex. Agreed, in the last year she had gone through hell, tending to her father on his deathbed, watching the chemo drain every ounce of his once true self from his body, turning him into a feeble, sick man. And it had happened around Christmas. Ivy sat back against the couch and exhaled. There was no doubt the Christmas Curse was upon her.

  Reaching into her coat pocket, she retrieved the holly leaves. Wincing, she stood and limped to the kitchen where her ivy plant sat on the breakfast bar. She snapped off a vine with three leaves on it and wrapped it around the holly, then placed it on the counter. “Stupid wives’-tale.” She glared at the bundle.

  Before she made an attempt to climb the stairs to her bedroom, she grabbed the pain relievers, an ice pack from the freezer for her swollen ankle, and a bottle of red wine to nurse her fragile ego back to health. The breakup wasn’t what bothered her the most; it was the ugly pattern of things that concerned her. Perhaps she needed a change of scenery…a change of attitude. Or above all, better judgment when it came to dating men.

  She turned and looked at the holly and ivy mocking her from the bar. Shaking her head, disgusted with herself because she was actually surrendering to the old Celtic folklore, she picked up the greenery and headed upstairs.

  Dragging her swollen ankle behind her, she made it to her bedroom where she undressed and slipped into her nightgown. Limping into the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and washed the makeup off her face. Taking a moment, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles, bloodshot eyes. She rubbed her face. Ivy, you look tired. Indeed, she had been working too hard and needed a break.

  She shut off the light and made her way to the bed. As she pulled the sheets back, the holly and ivy bunch fell to the floor. Gingerly, she bent down and picked it up. Holding the leaves in her hand, she closed her eyes and wished for once in her life that fate would listen to her pleas. She wanted her soul to be at peace.

  Feeling silly for believing in such nonsense, Ivy nevertheless placed the bundle under her pillow, then took a sip from the wine bottle before crawling into bed. Her eyes were heavy, and before long, she found herself drifting off into a winter garden full of ivy and one giant holly tree. This is where she longed to be, for it called to her and settled her soul.

  A cold breeze blew over Ivy’s body, causing her to shiver as she reached for the big warm comforter. She reached farther and yet there was no comforter. She must have kicked it to the floor sometime during the night. She tucked her legs against her stomach to ward off the cold. Really she should get up and check the thermostat.

  Ivy wrinkled her nose as the scent of pine and earth assaulted her. It smelled like…Christmas? Tree branches brushed together making an eerie sound. Had she left a widow open? She didn’t remember opening one. How much wine had she drunk last night?

  Her head pounded in pain and her thoughts spun as she tried to wake. It was so cold, almost as if she was outside. Ivy opened her eyes. A white haze blanketed everything in sight. Snow powdered the ground, the tops of trees, and collected on a wrought-iron fence surrounding her. She took in an enormous holly tree, following its thick trunk all the way to the top; pale green ivy intertwined through the holly’s branches as if it was hugging the tree. Pushing herself up, she shook her head desperately, trying to make sense of it all.

  Ivy stood weakly, shaking from the bitter cold. “This can’t be,” she whispered as she spun around in disbelief. “It’s my winter garden.” She felt a rush of elation that was immediately overshadowed by confusion and dread. Rigid with shock, she could not move or think. But she could not stand here until the snow and wind made her too weak to leave.

  In a daze, Ivy opened the iron gate and stumbled outside, searching for something that felt familiar. The moon was big and bright in the sky, bright enough to shine through the grayness of the night. In the shadows, she could barely make out the massive snow-covered mountains standing in the distance and what looked to be a small town up ahead. There were no roads leading to it, no traffic sounds, and not one light was lit throughout. Blowing against the night chill, she saw smoke billow from the roofs of small huts peppered over the hillside. Where I am? she wondered. And how did I get here?

  The wind howled and a gust of frigid air blew through her thin nightgown, stinging her skin. She wrapped her arms around her chest to protect herself against the cold, but Old Man Winter had already conquered her bones. Her body shivered and shook, beyond her control, and her teeth chattered violently. She was in desperate need of shelter before she fell victim to hypothermia.

  Snow crunched beneath her numb bare feet as she made her way to the village. The trail was long, but fighting against the winter winds and bone-chilling cold weighed her down and drained her of energy, making the journey seem much longer than it was. Ivy prayed that this village wasn’t a delusion, for she could feel her once sharp mind gradually becoming foggy. “Please…let there be shelter,” she hissed against the snow flurries.

  Weary, huddled over and rubbing her arms ineffectively to try to stay warm, she was frozen to the core when she reached town. No one was about. Of course not, Ivy mussed. They are all inside sheltered from the bitter cold. Her desire for warmth drove her farther as she came to a small hut. She knocked on the door. “Please, I need help,” she called out, teeth chattering. “Please, I’m very cold.”

  Defeated, Ivy took a step back when no one came to the door. After a while when there was no response, she shoved the door open and was greatly relieved that no one met her with a weapon.

  “Hello, is anyone here?” Her voice shook and traveled through the dark space. The hut smelled horrible, like horse shit, but she didn’t care; it was warm inside. The moon shined through a small window and Ivy noticed a mound of hay in the corner. As though her body had taken over her logical thinking, she lay down and snuggled deep into the hay. Keeping sane was impossible when she was losing her mind little by little from the hypothermia. She could have sworn she heard a horse whinny. Her mind drifted farther away from her until she lost consciousness and everything turned black.

  3

  “Da!” The eldest MacLachan boy ran into his father’s solar, out of breath. “Ye must come quick.”

  Kellen MacLachan drained his tankard of ale, caring not that the sun had barely risen. “Patrick,” he wiped the amber liquid from his lips, “what has ye in such a panic this morn?”
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  Patrick pulled out the chair his father was sitting in and tugged at his arm. “Come, ye’ll see.”

  Kellen stood on drunken legs. “If this be one of yer tricks, ye’d best no’ let me catch ye.”

  “Nay, Da, no trick. I promise.”

  Slowly, Kellen lifted himself from the chair and grabbed the wooden staff that lay next to him, resting on his desk. Gaining his balance, which would have been much easier if he had stopped the ale two tankards ago, he followed his son out of the castle and toward his horse barn.

  Patrick ran ahead, hardly waiting for his father. Kellen limped along, cursing every step of the way. A mere leg wound was not just cause for his commander to take him off the battlefield and send him home. He still had two arms that could masterfully wield a sword and bring down its wrath upon his enemy with great strength. The Highlander was a warrior; the heat of battle had been born in his veins and trained upon his body, passed down from his Irish kin. He was built for action.

  Alas, the luck of the Irish hadn’t shined upon his wife. On his return over a year ago, his world had changed, leaving him not only physically wounded but also emotionally destroyed. The announcement that his daughter had been born made his heart beat joyfully, until the room fell silent. His older brother Donnelly took over and walked with Kellen up the stairs to deliver the bad news; his wife had died during childbirth and left him and Donnelly to raise their three sons and his infant daughter alone. Indeed, a year had passed, but the wounds still ran deep and raw.

  “Look, Da.” Patrick pointed toward a heap of hay where his little brother Wylie was throwing oats at an unconscious woman lying on her back. Halting his oat assault, Wylie faced his father. “She will no’ wake, Da.”

  “And she be wearing nothin’ but her shift.” Thaddeus, the middle child, ran by and slapped Wylie on the back of his head.

  “I hate ye, ye turd!” Wylie yelled at his brother while chasing him through the barn and out the door.

  Kellen stood over the woman and tapped her bare thigh with his walking cane. “Lass.” He pushed farther with the cane and still the woman didn’t move. Panic pricked through his drunken state, sobering him. There was a dead woman in his barn. What in the devil has happened to her? How did she end up in my barn?

  “Patrick, go fetch a blanket. Quickly.”

  “Aye.”

  With much effort, Kellen bent down and leaned over her, trying to hear if she was breathing. He looked to her chest, catching a glimpse of the top of her naked breasts peeking out from under her nightgown. Shaking his thoughts away from her beauty, he saw her chest rise and fall. Thank God she was breathing.

  Running back into the barn, Patrick handed a plaid to his father and bent over, clutching his hands to his thighs as he caught his breath. “Da, what are we going to do wit’ her?”

  Kellen tucked the plaid around the woman. Her skin was ice-cold and her lips were tinged blue. If this woman had a chance of surviving, he had to get her warm. There was no way he would allow her to die in his barn, or furthermore, on his property.

  “What in the devil is this?” his brother Donnelly questioned as he strode next to Patrick, gawking at the woman.

  Kellen stood and leaned on his cane. “I dinnae know, brother. I was hoping ye would.” He pinned his brother with a scrutinizing glare.

  “Och, ye dinnae think I did this?”

  Kellen stood silent.

  “I’ve never seen the lass before in me life, I assure ye.”

  “’Tis no matter. She’s barely breathing and we need to get her warm before she dies.”

  “Aye.” Donnelly bent down and scooped the woman into his arms. Listless, her body limply flopped against his chest and she began to mumble.

  “Patrick, make sure there’s a fire started in the hearth of me bedchamber,” Kellen ordered.

  “I’m taking her to yer bedchamber?” Donnelly asked with a bit of suspicion.

  Kellen looked at the helpless woman in his brother’s arms and nodded, confirming his mad request. Someone would be looking for her. She was someone’s daughter or mayhap she had a husband out searching for her. The lass had to belong somewhere and before he was accused of a crime, he wanted to talk to the lass to find out what her story was. That is if she made it through the cold that plagued her body.

  Kellen pulled the covers back from his bed while Donnelly lay the lass down.

  “Her clothing is wet,” Donnelly mentioned as he backed away from the bed. “We should remove it.”

  Kellen scrubbed a hand down his face. Already breaking his rule of never allowing a woman in his bedchamber, he now had to undress her in the sacred space that he had once shared with his wife.

  “Ye’re right, brother.”

  Donnelly moved toward the bed and pulled the furs back. Kellen grabbed his arm. “Nay, I’ll do it. I found her on me land, she’s me responsibility.”

  “Kellen, ye dinnae have to do this. I can take care of her.”

  The bond Donnelly had with his brother was strong, unbreakable, especially since his sister-in-law’s death. He’d heard the screams through sleepless nights when Kellen had laid in bed for days on end, mourning his wife. With every tankard of ale he watched slip further into the darkness, until he was comfortably numb.

  Shocked at how far Kellen had taken his madness, Donnelly had come home one eve to find all the female servants gone, except for the wet nurse. And if it wasn’t for his daughter, she would have been gone as well. Females were not welcome at castle MacLachan and having a woman, soon to be naked, in his bed surely wasn’t in Kellen’s best interest.

  “I know what ye be thinking, that I can no’ handle it.” And perhaps he couldn’t, but somewhere deep within, Kellen was compelled to help the lass, as if he held the burden of her safety on his shoulders. Or mayhap he wanted to be there when she opened her eyes—to confirm they were just as stunning as her beauty.

  Gently, the Highlander sat on the side of the bed and lifted her gown over her shaking thighs. Accidentally the back of his hand brushed against her skin. Her legs were long and slender, soft to the touch. As he pressed on, a small piece of black lace covering her womanly part peaked his interest. He’d never seen something so erotic on a woman before. Feeling guilty for staring too long, he looked over his shoulder and wasn’t surprised to see Donnelly standing behind him, looking at the lass as if she was his prey.

  “God’s Blood, brother, show the lass some respect.”

  Feeling awkward, Donnelly cleared his throat, then turned his back.

  Kellen continued to work the thin material up her body and paused as it reached her breasts. They were full, well-proportioned with the rest of her body, and he bet they felt as soft as they looked. Swallowing hard, he tamped down the urge to reach out and touch them.

  “Are ye done?” His brother asked, shaking him from his lustful thoughts.

  As much as her body enticed him, he hurried to remove the gown then tossed it to the ground. Grabbing the furs nearby, he tucked them around her, pushing away the images of her naked body and cursing himself for thinking upon her with such wicked thoughts.

  “Aye.” Kellen stood and took a step away from the lass.

  She was still shivering uncontrollably. Kellen walked over to the hearth and threw another log on the fire. The flames hissed as they grew higher.

  “What do we do now?” Donnelly inquired as he stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the lass.

  Kellen stood and met his brother beside the bed. He’d tried everything to keep her warm, but it wasn’t enough. A thought arose which confirmed he was losing all good sense, yet nothing felt more right. “She needs more warmth.” Setting his cane next to a table by his bed, he removed his long furred jacket, then his tunic.

  “What are ye doing?” Donnelly asked as if his brother had gone mad.

  “’She needs our body heat.” Kellen untied his trews and had begun to pull them down when his brother stopped him.

  “Under no circumstanc
es am I getting naked and lying in bed wit’ yer ugly arse. Ye’ve gone daft. What happens when she wakes and finds yer ugly naked arse next to hers?”

  “What will happen if she dies? How do we explain how we found her in me barn? Ye are aware how people judge first, then seek the truth.”

  In fact, Donnelly knew this all too well. He shook his head in surrender. “Bloody Hell.” He kicked his boots off and undressed.

  Kellen pressed his body against the lass and rubbed her shoulders and arms in hopes of giving her the warmth she needed. She was so cold. The bed gave way when Donnelly joined them. “Brother, ye’re in debt to me until ye lay cold in the grave,” he huffed as he settled behind the woman.

  “We’ll both be in the grave if the lass does no’ wake.”

  A long silence crept over the room, leaving Kellen warring with himself as to whether he had made the right decision? Instinctively he brushed the lass’s long blonde hair away from her face. Her nose was pert, slightly lifted. Giving in, he traced her round cheeks with the back of his hand, marveling in her beauty. He’d never seen a woman quite like her before.

  His body stilled and his heart raced when the lass moved. This was what he feared the most, the woman waking naked in bed with two strangers. She nuzzled deep into his chest soft hot breaths heated his skin as she rested her head on his chest. He found himself wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Aye, he’d missed a woman’s touch.

  A sense of calm washed over him, a peace he hadn’t felt in years. His eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep.

  4

  Ivy plunged deeper into the warmth that surrounded her like a cocoon, yet she craved more. She inhaled, taking in a scent of pine mixed with something she couldn’t put her finger on, but whatever it was, it was divine.