Time Travel Romance Collection

by Grace Brannigan

They made their way down the next sloped terrace, Hawk leaning forward with his arm extended to keep the branches from his face.

  His horse slid several feet down shale outcroppings of rock, his steel shoes clattering noisily as they reached the perimeter of the pool.

  She lunged forward and out of the creek, her slim legs carrying her into waist-high ferns.

  "Hold up! I mean you no harm."

  He thought she ducked down, but when he reached the area, he saw no trace of her.

  Quickly, Hawk scanned the area. She must have fled into a close growth of small pines, somewhere his horse couldn't negotiate without risking injury to the animal's legs.

  He'd been a clumsy oaf in his approach to her, too eager, scaring her off. But more importantly, something had been triggered in his brain. He searched for several more moments, but she seemed to have vanished into air.

  #

  Shivering, Isabeau lay with her cheek pressed to the ground, clenching her jaw so her teeth wouldn't chatter. Would the horseman pursue her into the pines?

  She'd screwed up big time going into the water in unfamiliar territory.

  She wasn't sure, but she thought it might have been Hawk. Of course, it could have been Sanderly also, but it had sounded like Hawk.

  A hard ache formed in her throat.

  She had no idea how she was going to get out of this embarrassment if he figured out it was her skinny dipping. No doubt it would be considered unladylike, to say the least. Isabeau cursed her impulsiveness.

  #

  Isabeau stood outside the library. Clenching her fists nervously, she knew she had to speak to him.

  She knocked on the wood panel.

  "Come in."

  She entered the room. Hawk sat at his writing desk, the leather-bound journal open before him. "Isabeau." He seemed genuinely pleased to see her.

  She closed the door behind her, curious as to what he recorded so meticulously each day in the journal, his handwriting bold, quite unlike her own scribbled writing.

  A knock sounded on the door at her back.

  "That will be Lenore with a new decanter of bourbon. Could you let her in, please?" he asked.

  She opened the door to find not Lenore but another girl. The new housemaid smiled nervously and squinted at Isabeau, as if she had trouble seeing. Isabeau thought the girl looked familiar, but she couldn't place her.

  The girl bobbed a curtsy, a small amount of flaxen hair coming loose from the tight kerchief covering her hair. In her hands she held a tray with a crystal decanter and glass. The girl almost thrust the tray into Isabeau's hands and immediately scuttled away and out the door.

  The decanter slid haphazardly toward the lip of the tray, almost tipping before she managed to steady it.

  Placing the tray on a small side table, she turned in time to see the orange tail of a cat as it slipped under a chaise.

  "The cat."

  "What's that?" Hawk Morgan's head came up.

  Isabeau indicated where the cat had run for cover. "Your aunt's cat ran into the room before I could stop it. She's under that chaise."

  "Forget it, I'll run her out later." He stood, stretching upwards with his hands, standing on his toes.

  "Have you remembered anything else?" she asked quietly. "Your memory," she added when he looked blank.

  He frowned. "There are moments when I think I see something, but it remains elusive."

  "It has to be just a matter of time. It will all come back, maybe even all at once."

  "I am ever hopeful."

  "Do you remember anything of the night you were hurt, when you lost your memory?" she asked.

  He frowned. "I can't recall that night at all. Not a bit of it."

  Isabeau chewed her lip. "What about childhood memories? Do you have any of those?"

  "Oddly enough, I do have a few. It's like I've looked at a picture and I remember parts of it. One memory in particular seems to play over and over."

  She poured liquid into the glass tumbler. As she lifted the glass from the tray she suddenly heard a roaring noise in the room, as if a thousand icebergs cracked and thawed in her eardrums. Pain ran down her arm and into her palm, her arm jerked and the glass left her hand forcefully.

  "Isabeau!"

  Astonished, she watched it hit the floor and roll a short distance, leaving a puddle on the oak floorboards. The glass did not shatter even though it hit the wood hard.

  Distressed, she stared at her bright red fingertips. The glass had been red hot. Hawk jumped to his feet and rushed to her, grabbing her arm.

  "Don't cut yourself."

  "I wasn't going to pick it up. And it hasn't broken."

  "What the devil! Why did you throw that glass?"

  "I didn't."

  "It looked like you were going to throw it at me."

  "My arm felt locked, and then it was pulled from my hand and almost shot to the floor. And I didn't try to throw it at you," she said through gritted teeth.

  "I'm merely telling you what it looked like." Concerned, he quickly turned her hand palm up. "You've burned yourself. You'd better get some burn crème," he said gruffly, releasing her hand. "How did that happen?" he asked abruptly.

  "The glass --" A loud mewling and scratching suddenly erupted from under the chaise.

  The cat raced out from beneath the chaise, then raced back for cover, wildly flailing, clawing the wood floor, its fur on end from head to tail.

  The cat slashed the air.

  "Stay back," Hawk cautioned harshly as she tried to approach the animal.

  The wild frenzy lasted but a moment before the cat lay pathetically silent, limbs outstretched.

  Hawk pulled Isabeau even further away.

  "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered. "What a horrific demise." Her voice thin and barely discernible, he pressed her to his side.

  "T-the cat," she whispered huskily.

  Hawk cleared his throat, pivoting them so their backs were to the unfortunate animal.

  "Gone," he somberly.

  He read the shock on her face.

  "I should take care of it so Belva doesn't see it," she said.

  "No need," he said quietly. He pressed his fingers reassuringly against the slight bones of her shoulders. "I'll see to the animal. As for the bourbon," he shook his head. "Apparently the animal had a fondness for it. I would prefer that you leave. You don't need to see this."

  He urged her to the door and gripped the brass door knob. Hawk experienced a sharp pain in the back of his head and put his hand against the wall to steady himself.

  "Hawk, what is it? What is it?"

  Her voice sounded distant, as if coming down a long tunnel. Hawk shook his head, blinking hard. He'd be damned if he was going to pass out.

  Isabeau gripped his arm, shaking it slightly, worried about the extreme pallor of his cheeks. He remained stiff and unresponsive and then just as quickly seemed to breathe again.

  "Hawk."

  He looked at her, his eyes still slightly unfocused. "It's gone -- a bright flash, like a scene playing in my mind." With a muttered curse, he straightened. "What the hell is the matter with me? I'm experiencing more and more of these unexplainable flashes."

  She gripped his arm, aware of the hard sinew and muscle beneath the jacket.

  "The cat lapped up a poison intended for you. The girl that brought the tray wasn't Lenore," she added grimly. "Right now that could have been you on the floor."

  His expression changed, became searching as he stared into her face. "Once again you have kept me from harm. How could you have known?"

  "I didn't. The glass burned me and was pulled from my hand."

  How many times would he be so lucky she wondered? What if the next incident she missed the signs? In her heart, Isabeau knew there would be other attempts. She had to find a way to help him, not only for her return to her time, but for Hawk, a man she was beginning to care about.

  "The circumstances of these accidents become more and more inexplicable,
" he mused. "Just as your appearance in our lives seems unexplainable. How can you know when these incidents are about to occur?"

  "That's just it," she said defensively, "I don't -- I don't know. It just happens, and I have a premonition, a warning if you will." She shook her head at his frown. "I know you have a hard time believing this, but I'm telling you the truth."

  "Strangely, I want to believe you, but --"

  "Whoever is behind this, we cannot let them win," she said passionately. "Maybe Belva is right, I am here to help keep you safe in whatever way I can."

  "Perhaps I should send you away before you are endangered," he mused.

  "Do you think the attacks would stop if I left?" she demanded. "They began long before I arrived."

  "Yes, it would seem so."

  "You've told me so yourself."

  "This situation might become dangerous for you, Isabeau. I would not wish the murderer to turn their attentions to you."

  Isabeau felt his concern, sensed the conflicting emotions. Perhaps he wanted to believe her but just couldn't fathom her story as truth. "They would have nothing to gain by harming me. They can't know I'm the one who's managed to foil these attempts."

  Hawk opened the library door and Malry stood outside, hand upraised to knock.

  "Isabeau," Hawk said quietly, his eyes on Malry, "could you please ask Lenore for a cotton sack?"

  "Of course." She slipped past Malry, seeing the questions in his dark eyes.

  "Here, now," Malry said, "why do the two of you look scared out of a year's growth?"

  Isabeau went in search of Lenore as the library door closed on the two men, cutting off Hawk's reply.

  She hoped between them they could devise a plan to trap the real killer.

  #

  "The girl who brought the tray of poisoned bourbon disappeared," Maize told her, grimly shaking her head. "I hired her this morning. What a pitiful state she arrived here, crying and claiming she needed work to help feed her younger brothers and sisters. With Hawk's approval, the girl was hired."

  "You couldn't know," Isabeau told her. "None of us knew. If we could find her, then maybe we could get at the truth."

  Maize clucked her tongue. "That one went running through the kitchen and flew out the back door. Truth to tell, I thought she had been let go by Hawk. There's just too much mystery around this, too many secrets."

  Isabeau nodded, helping Maize polish the dining room table, thinking of the secret she harbored. With painful clarity she recalled the Bible record of Hawk's death. May 19, 1894, a date not that far away.

  What should she do with this knowledge? Would it help to share it with Hawk or Malry? With a grimace, Isabeau decided they'd probably boot her out of Hawk's Den immediately. She was afraid it might not take much to tip the scales against her.

  The continued attempts were a deadly plot, but instigated by whom? Who had the most to win if he were to be murdered? He had no wife, no siblings, save Treat Sanderly.

  As far as Isabeau could determine, Belva Morgan would inherit all of her nephew's estate. It didn't add up, because not for one moment did she suspect his aunt. That left Treat. Although the two brothers seemed to meet from time to time on business matters, Treat never dined at Hawk's Den, and she did not think an invitation was extended to Hawk to visit Sanderly Manor. Having been an only child, Isabeau would have dearly loved a sibling while growing up. She didn't understand why the two brothers weren't closer, but she didn't know their history either. However, she did wonder if it had something to do with Treat's mother. Perhaps she resented that her son was not acknowledged as a true heir while Hawk had been his entire life?

  Malry seemed to be a regular fixture at the house, although Isabeau would have thought he'd be off to sea or somewhere. When he walked the property, he seemed to have a constant roll in his step, as if he were still out to sea and compensating for the heaving deck of a ship. His initial hostility toward her seemed to have abated, but their brief exchanges still seemed slightly charged with suspicion, making him difficult to decipher. One moment the bawdy sailor, the next someone sharp of wit and keenly perceptive. His devotion to Hawk was obvious.

  If they managed to discover who was behind the murder attempts, would she immediately return to her own time? She didn't want to leave Hawk or the people at Hawk's Den so abruptly. She needed an opportunity to say goodbye. If it came down to it, would she give up her life in the present time if she had the chance to stay here, to get to know Hawk? No, she shook that thought away. That was foolish. He was engaged to another woman. In this era, engagements weren't so easily abandoned, nor should they be.

  How ironic, Isabeau mused. There had been men who wanted a relationship with her in her own time, but she had been too busy with work. She could see clearly how her career had taken over everything in her life.

  Now the man she was beginning to care about appeared irrevocably out of her reach -- long dead before she was even born!

  Wistfully, Isabeau couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have Hawk as a partner.

  #

  On a rainy, miserable day, the Sheriff arrived with some documents for Hawk regarding several tenants of farms lying within Hawk's Dens' lands. The Sheriff was a small man with an abrupt manner. As he stood in the house, Isabeau could almost feel his eyes taking inventory of the hallway furniture. Belva had persuaded him to leave his paperwork and finally managed to send him on his way after promising him a freshly baked pie to take home to his family.

  Isabeau carried the documents to Hawk's office. She chewed at her lip, wondering if she should steal a look at the papers. Carefully, she deposited the sealed documents on his desk.

  On the large wooden desktop lay his leather journal. She wondered if he recorded only business ventures in the journal each day or did he write about his personal life, too?

  As she turned, a small breeze blew through the open window beside the desk. A few papers from a small pile lifted, fluttered and slid off the smooth surface to land between the desk and the wall.

  "Great." Isabeau bent down and squeezed her arm into the space between the wall and desk. The papers were caught on a piece of wooden trim about six inches off the floor.

  Her fingers couldn't quite reach them. Opening the top drawer of the desk, Isabeau found a white pearl-handled letter opener. She used it to try and snag the paper and pull it toward her.

  "What the devil is going on?"

  Awkwardly, she turned her head, surprised to see Malry standing in the open doorway, one dark brow cocked upwards.

  "Have you lost something?" he asked. The left corner of his mouth lifted, the puckered scar giving his face a brutal twist. Strangely, he wore a dark cape she recognized as Hawk's, the black hood pulled up over his head.

  Straightening, she snapped, "I'm trying to reach some paper that fell. You could help instead of standing there offering biting sarcasm."

  Malry planted his feet more firmly without advancing into the room. "And why would you be rifling through Hawk's desk?"

  She pointed to the space between the desk and wall. "The paper's down there. See for yourself if you don't believe me."

  Even as Malry's expression showed disbelief, Isabeau saw a shadow move behind him from out of the hallway. An arm raised, a statue cracked him on the back of the head. All six foot something crumpled like dead weight to the floor.

  "Malry!"

  Chapter Seven

  Isabeau ran to kneel beside Malry. Parting his dark hair, she found a deep cut, puffy and oozing blood.

  "Go on, get away from me!" Struggling to sit upright, Malry pushed at her hand. She stumbled back, surprised by his anger. "By all that's holy, you could have warned me someone was about to coldcock me!"

  "But -- it happened so fast --"

  Malry staggered to his feet, putting out a hand to grip the wood of the doorway as he swayed. Despite his protest, she helped steady him, feeling the dampness on his cloak -- Hawk's cloak.

  Running footsteps, the
n Hawk arrived, no doubt having heard Malry's string of expletives and Isabeau's cry.

  "What's going on?" he demanded. His eyes sharpened on Malry. "You don't look well."

  Malry gingerly touched his head and glared at Isabeau.

  "Somebody came up behind him and hit him with a --" she pointed to the heavy bust lying broken on the hallway floor.

  "Felt like the back of an axe," Malry said.

  "If it was an axe you'd be dead," she said shakily. She turned to Hawk. "He was standing in the doorway when I saw a shadow --"

  "Who?" Hawk asked.

  "I don't know -- all I saw was an arm with a white shirt sleeve."

  "How convenient," Malry muttered. "I catch you snooping, then somebody clobbers me from behind."

  "You think this is my fault? I didn't have anything to do with it." She put her hands on her hips. "And I wasn't snooping. I told you, I was trying to get some papers that had fallen between the desk and the wall."

  "Seems to me nothing but strange goings-on have happened since you showed up," Malry said accusingly. "You're always poking around."

  Injury or not, Isabeau moved closer to him, "You crazy old --"

  "That's enough!" Hawk's bark silenced them both. "I'll question the staff to find out if anyone's seen anything. In the meantime, Malry, have Maize take care of that cut on your head." Hawk looked at Isabeau. "We will talk when I get back." He closed the door to his office, leaving her inside.

  Despite the anger Malry's accusations stirred in her, Isabeau was worried about the lump on his head, seeing again the ooze of blood between his fingers. Sickly, she wondered how this could occur. Now they were attacking Malry. Isabeau slumped in the chair behind the large desk, her eyes caught by the leather journal that lay on the desk top.

  #

  Hawk urged Malry to sit on a stalwart oak chair in the hallway. "I'll be right back."

  Malry stopped him. "Listen, Cap'n, I'm not trying to tell you your business --"

  Hawk looked at him over his shoulder.

  "-- but there's something about the girl -- something's not on the up and up, if you know what I mean. She's come out of nowhere and the attempts are coming faster and faster. We know nothing about her -- there's no reason to trust her."