Left alone in the quiet night air, Andrea began to weep for the loss of Alex as the reality hit her. She had only known him briefly, but it seemed like years, and the grief was very real. She could understand why Helena thought she was a witch. It was 1645 for crying out loud, and people had funny ideas about the devil, but how on earth could she convince her otherwise? As she wept into her cloak, she heard footsteps approach. It was Geraldina, and taking her by the arm, she ushered Andrea back into the warmth. The young nun had lit a new fire and several of the candles. Andrea shivered. She hadn’t realized how tired and cold she was.
The tears still ran down her face as she undressed and put on her nightgown, remembering her last night here with Alex. Without him, what would become of her and the child? Without the rune, she may never return home.
Tucked up in bed, Geraldina brought her a draught of the bitter herbal medicine. She trusted the young girl and drank it straight down. She had to think about the baby now and how they could survive. It wasn’t long until she was in a deep sleep and dreaming.
She was standing in the middle of a battle zone, and there were Highlanders and English men fighting all around her, but she seemed to be a ghost and able to pass through them, unharmed. And although the battle raged fiercely on all sides of her, there was no noise except for the melancholy whine of a lone piper. A mist appeared and someone was calling her name. No, not her name—Andra’s. She recognized the voice; it was Alex calling out to her through the void. As the mist rose, she could see him, battle worn and bloody but not dead.
“Wait for me, Andra,” he was saying, over and over again.
When she awoke, she felt calmer as if Alex had really been with her. Maybe there was still hope, but she would keep it to herself.
She expected Geraldina to bring her breakfast and was surprised when Helena opened the door with her meal. She braced herself for another onslaught of venom.
Placing the tray on the bed, Helena walked over to the window.
“Andra, I am deeply sorry about last night. The news of my brother’s loss hit me strongly and I spoke out of turn. I have not been as welcoming to you as perhaps I should have, and I think that I should start to make amends, especially as you are carrying his child. After breakfast, come walking with me. The air will do us both good.”
It was a struggle for the older woman to say the words, and her face twisted with every vowel. She was trying hard to be pleasant, but her manner left Andrea cold. Still, if Helena could make the effort, then so could she.
The girl smiled and nodded. “I could do with some air and exercise too. I will come to you after I have dressed.”
Andrea ate up her breakfast. She needed to keep up her strength. Then, pulling on her layers of stockings and tunic to keep warm, she wrapped a large woolen blanket around her shoulders to keep off the chill from the sea air. Helena was already waiting for her by the door, and the two women set off into the bright winter air.
Together they walked over the brow of the Island to the northern-most point, the “Bay of the Breaking Waves,” the locals called it. The view was spectacular and the women walked on in silence, each one thinking of Alex in their own way. As they rounded the hill, Andrea began to break out into a sweat, becoming breathless before the pains started in her abdomen. Clutching her belly, she shouted out to Helena who was walking slightly ahead of her. By the time Helena had turned around, Andrea had already slipped to the stony ground, writhing in agony.
The Abbess walked over to the girl, a strange look upon her face. She was about to speak when a voice called out to them in the distance, and a small black figure approached them. It was Geraldina, who, noticing that Andrea had not taken her cloak, followed the two women to bring the garment.
“Geraldina, come quick, the young mistress is unwell, and we need to get her back to the nunnery as a matter of urgency.”
Slowly and carefully, the two women supported her back to the room. Luckily, they hadn’t walked too far and within half an hour, Andrea was tucked up in her bed with a roaring fire in the grate. The pain had subsided in her stomach, but her heart was racing and she had a fever. The physician had examined her and left another draught of bitter herbs to help her rest.
She slept for the rest of the day, and by suppertime she was feeling much better and sat up in bed to eat a small meal that Helena had brought for her. The Abbess had showed her great kindness that day, and Andrea wondered if she had been wrong to doubt her. It was only when Geraldina came to check on the fire about midnight that anyone realized the attack had happened yet again. After her meal, Andrea had slept only to wake with a raging thirst and a pounding head. As she had tried to get out of bed for a glass of water, the stabbing pains started again and she was too weak to shout for help.
The young nun wet a rag with cold water and laid it on her forehead. Andrea was almost delirious with pain but could see Geraldina smiling kindly down at her. For once the girl spoke.
“Listen to me. There is not much time. Helena is trying to poison you; she does not want you nor the child, now that her brother is dead. She is poisoning you through the food, and I cannot stop her–but I can give you an antidote for the poison. Here, drink this up and you will soon be feeling better.”
The nun went on to pour three drops of a reddish-brown liquid into a goblet and filled the rest with water.
Andrea drank down the potion; it tasted sweet and of berries, and within five minutes the fever had eased and the pains gone.
“You must take three drops of this with water before and after each meal to protect you. Now I must go, I have been here too long.” And leaving a small vial on the bed, the nun left, locking the door behind her.
She was in deadly danger. If Helena was trying to kill her, then she would stop at nothing. Geraldina’s potion would only prolong the inevitable. She had been right all along about Helena. Grandma Betty had returned back to the present on the seeming death of Andra, but then again she had the rune. What would happen if Andrea died without it in her hands?
All night she lay awake, afraid of every noise, of every footstep in case it was Helena’s. She tucked the glass vial under her pillow out of sight. Without the young nun’s help, she would have been dead already. She must keep the faith.
Chapter 12
Andrea eventually slept, for when she finally awoke the rain was lashing down at the window. She was also not alone; Helena was standing at the foot of her bed looking like death herself, dressed in a long black habit.
“I am glad to see that you have had a good night. I am surprised; the doctor thought that you might lose the child again. I have brought you some breakfast to keep up your strength. Some beef tea and bread will do you good, now let me help you.”
Her hand reached under the pillow. The little vial had gone. Her heart started to beat fast as Helena sat by her side and started to pick up the spoon.
“What is wrong, my dear? You look like you have lost something. Now drink some of this, it will do you good.”
Andrea had no choice; if she struggled, then Helena would force her. They were both playing a dangerous game, and Helena currently held the upper hand. Her only hope lay in the hands of Geraldina.
Soon the beef tea was all gone and Helena smiled as she proffered the last spoonful.
“There, all done. Now I will leave you to rest. I have told the other nuns not to disturb you today. I will lock the door and take away the key, just to make sure you rest in peace.”
The key turned in the lock and the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor until all was still. Was this to be her final fate?
After half an hour, the fever and the pains started anew and within an hour she was almost unconscious with the pain. Her mind kept blanking out, but she concentrated on the pain to keep her awake. The little song kept playing round and round in her head:
Long ago and far away
I dreamed a dream one day
And now that dream is here beside me.
The words came and went as she tried to sing them out loud, tried to remember the tune that the little nun had sung.
Her heart was beating fast, and her breath was rasping in her throat. So this was the end. She thought of Steve and New York, of her Grandma Betty, and of Alex.
Her eyes began to mist. Death was pulling her towards eternal sleep, and there was nothing she could do. As her senses began to shut down, she was aware of a commotion around her. The door had opened and a shadowy figure was in the room. Maybe it was Death paying her a personal visit? But the face was real. It was Alex; he had returned. He was shouting something out loud to another figure behind him.
“What have you done? What have you done?” His voice was desperate.
Soon she could feel a strong arm around her, sitting her up, shaking her, trying to restore life, but it was too late—she was slowly breaking down. The last thing she remembered was a small stone being thrust into her hand before all went black.
At 30,000 feet in the air, it all came flooding back to her. Geraldine MacDonald had found her that morning slumped over a grave in the little Chapel of St. Oran. She had been overdoing it lately, and the stress had taken its toll. Once she was feeling quite well again, the old woman had given her a book on the genealogy of the McDonald clan and not wanting to be rude, she had taken it along with her name and address and telephone number, just in case she happened to be in the area again.
At first she had tried to sleep. She had an aisle seat and was at least able to stretch out her legs. Yet every time she almost dozed off, vivid dreams and imaginings would wake her up. She looked in her carry-on bag. She had nothing to read except the book Geraldine had given her so she casually flicked through the pages to pass the time. On the third page she paused as she read the name of Alexhander McDonald. Her heart stopped as the memories came flooding back in every detail. Surely it had been just a terrible dream, brought on by her grieving state? Maybe she had been influenced by her grandma’s diary. She had always had an active imagination.
She looked at the family tree spread out in the middle pages of the book. There was Alexhander McDonald, married to Andra in 1642. They had a child, Alexhander (dead) in 1644, and another, a girl in 1645. There were no dates of death, only question marks against the entries. The history books couldn’t tell her everything.
Andrea put a hand against her stomach, remembering the pregnancy. Could it be that she was expecting? She had been sick that morning when she returned to the hotel, and she still felt a little queasy. Deep inside her, it all started to make sense. If it had been just a dream, then she wouldn’t be feeling so strongly. Alex had come through for her in the end, just at the right moment. She fished out the small rune from her jeans pocket and held it in her hand. This tiny object connected her past and present; it was her link to the one man she loved and would return to.
In the dark room of the nunnery, Alex McDonald held onto the still, warm body of his beloved Andra. The dawn had just started to break, and a weak sun was rising above the mist. He knew that she was safe and that she would come back to him. As long as he kept holding her, she would not die. Their love was eternal.
THE END
This exciting story continues with The Highland Dream, available from Amazon now
My Holiday Billionaire
Pamela Avery
Copyright ©2015 by Pamela Avery. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you so much for your interest in my work!
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE: THE JERK
CHAPTER TWO: HAWAII
CHAPTER THREE: SECOND THOUGHTS
CHAPTER FOUR: PASSION WINS
CHAPTER FIVE: NOT AGAIN
CHAPTER SIX: LOVE WINS
Chapter One
Alexandra Jordan’s big blue eyes filled with unshed tears as the plane taxied down the runway, increasing its speed exponentially, before rising into the air, its powerful engines vibrating beneath her wings.
She tossed her head, deliberately hiding her face beneath her cloud of riotous blonde curls as she stared out at the rapidly diminishing landscape. Her seat mate, a batty old woman in her nineties chattered incessantly, trying to draw Alexandra into conversation. After several minutes engaged in what turned out to be a droning monologue, the woman took the hint and relaxed back against her seat.
I should be happy, Alexandra told herself. I should be ecstatic, over the moon; I should be the one talking the old woman’s ear off!
She had won a trip to freaking Hawaii and was flying first class for the first time in her entire life; plus she was going to spend two exotic weeks at a five-star resort; all expenses paid, and yet she could barely summon a smile.
She knew why, of course, her eyes filling anew as she ducked her head; she was mourning the death of her relationship of five years. It had ended just two days ago when she had borrowed Andrew’s phone to show him the email she had received about winning the trip. She had seen a text message that came in at that very second, “Hey Baby…remember, I’m serious…no more unprotected sex!. Pleeeease bring condoms! I miss you!”
Her mouth tightened now again as she recalled how her hand had shook as she looked up in shock, her disbelieving eyes zeroing in on where her fiancé was calmly sipping the bowl of soup she had made for him.
“Who is Cindy Jacobs?” she had asked in a shrill voice she barely recognized as her own.
Andrew had paused, his hand arrested half-way to his mouth and then he had blithely informed her, his eyes turning hard as he obviously braced himself and said, “She’s the woman I love.”
Alexandra shut her eyes now in remembered pain as she recalled the strange tunneling sound she had heard after that. A part of her had been afraid she might even be having a small stroke at the time.
Andrew had simply glared down at her as he rose to his feet and announced he had been dying to tell her that he had had enough, but now was as good a time as any. Then before her shell-shocked eyes, he had marched into the bedroom, grabbed a small duffel bag, and was heading towards the door before she could so much as sneeze.
The worst part was that whenever she remembered that encounter, what stood out most in her mind’s eyes was the apparent disgust etched onto his features as he looked at her. The pain was still there, but she wished she could believe it when she told herself that he didn’t deserve her. Her weight had always been a sore subject for her and he had known exactly what button to press. At the same time she knew her own self-worth and she wanted to be with a man who saw her as beautiful. She knew that she had to believe it first though. As he had left he had actually had the balls and gall to say “And lose some weight!” Thankfully, in this one instance she did not regret her temper. Before she had a chance to stop it, she had slammed her fist into his nose before shutting the door in his face. What a dick, she thought now.
At the time, she had promptly dissolved into tears but he didn’t know that, so that was alright.
She had been so devastated that she had actually considered not going on the trip at all. Her best friend and partner, Claire Davies had practically shoved her out the door insisting that Beautiful Designs, their Interior design company, could survive without her for two weeks. Beautiful Designs was her pride and joy; through sheer grit and determination, the company had risen from being a tiny corner shop to a corporation responsible for at least two hundred employees with branches in three states. The best part was, they were still growing and if she had anything to say about it in the next ten years, it would become a mega-corporation. She was the CEO but sometimes, like today, she felt about as clueless as the janitor.
In hindsight, she realized he had actually been gradually moving out on her for a while which explained why he had needed no more than a second to st
roll out with just one little duffel bag containing all his belongings.
Raw pain shredded her heart anew and she leaned her head against the headrest of her seat and let the tears flow freely, unchecked as the powerful plane continued to burst through the sky. With every second she was getting further away from what was, and closer to what could be, she realized. Maybe the trip would be good for her.
***
“Sí Señor,” the hotel Manager crooned, bowing so low it was a wonder his head didn’t touch his knees as he smiled up with sycophantic worship at the tall, powerfully built man in front of him.
Alexandra tried not to roll her eyes as she watched the pair. The tall man murmured something in what was obviously meant to be a low tone. Given his very deep baritone voice, however, it carried right to her. She noted disinterestedly that he was speaking Spanish and tried not to start tapping her foot in impatience as the Manager started opening drawers and flipping ledgers in a flurry of urgent movements.
Unable to bear the wait any longer, she said waspishly, “If you two are done with your bromance moment perhaps you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of a bar. Watching the pair of you is so painful I could certainly use a big, strong ─” her voice trailed off into silence as the large man turned to look at her.
All thoughts fled as she locked eyes with what had to be one of the most amazing specimens of human being she had ever laid eyes on. He had a tawny mane of windswept hair that scattered around his head in a most becoming and arresting manner. He also had the most captivating pair of dark, dark eyes she had ever seen. They were so dark they were almost black and so intense she could have sworn she could fall into them. His features were finely chiseled with a granite jaw, a long aristocratic nose, and a firm upper lip. His lower lip was surprisingly full. His shoulders had to be at least a mile wide. There was a quality about him, something that reminded her of a big jungle cat about to spring. His tuxedo spelled class and money and was so impeccably tailored and well-fitted on his large, slim frame that she knew it had to have been custom-made. Expertly, her eyes picked out the unique Dormeuil Vanquish II cut of his tux. The man was the last word in gorgeous and very wealthy by the look of things. That tux had to have cost something in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand dollars!
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