“How about me? Am I as you remembered?”
He jerked as her hands closed around his manhood. “It’s been a long time,” he groaned, “and if you keep that up, I won’t last.”
Smiling, Fiona stroked the silken length. “We have all night—unless you have somewhere to go.”
“I’m in the only place I want to be,” he growled softly, “and, yes, you are beautiful, more beautiful than I could ever dream or imagine.”
He picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and moved to the bed, his lips hungrily claiming her willing lips, following her down and stretching full length upon her now trembling form.
Concerned, he hesitated. “Are you okay?”
“Perfectly,” she panted, “just wondering what’s taking you so long.”
His seeking mouth was everywhere, building the tension until Fiona thought she would faint from desire. His stroking hands stimulated her erogenous zones such that when he finally claimed her, as Kellach had claimed Fiona so many thousands of years ago, he did so cherishingly and with tenderness and love. When the barrier had been breached, he waited, allowing her silken sheath to adjust to his generous size, until she moved against him, gasping with pleasure, wanting all of him, rolling her hips to adjust. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to last, wanting their first time together to brand itself into her mind, needing her to know the man she was with was him, not Kellach.
He could feel Fiona’s tension building, small spasms rippled through her muscles as she clutched him tighter, eyes closed as she moaned his name…Kellen. Her head tossed and she strained against him as soft noises escaped her lips. Begging! Pleading! He plunged in, hard and deep, rubbing and tickling her most sensitive spot until a scream erupted from her lips. Bucking faster, he groaned wildly as his senses whirled, joining her in one mind-blowing orgasm that seemed to go on and on. Finally, spent, he collapsed on top of her.
Fiona’s mind swam with pleasure. Sated and content, she lay there listening to his breathing calm as he slowly relaxed. Her lips widened in a grin. He finally dozed off. Gently easing herself free, she moved to the window. Inhaling the night air, the scent of oriental lilies wafted on the slight breeze drifting through the open panes. Her eyes searched the night sky, reveling in the peace she had finally found so far from home.
Mom, I found him!
Kellen’s husky voice broke her reverie, as a kiss dropped softly on her shoulder. “Come back to bed.” His hands stroked her arms, cupping her breasts as his hips rocked against her, his member stiff and prodding.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” Her lips curved in a delighted smile.
“Not now…not ever…not where you’re concerned.” His lips tickled the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck, sending chills down her spine. “Besides, we have something we need to do?”
Confused, Fiona turned to face him. “What?”
“Con! We have to make him again. That’s the only way to complete the circle.”
Wrapping her arms around him, Fiona’s heart swelled. Love was everlasting!
One Year Later…
“Come on, Honey,” Maeve’s voice floated through her consciousness. “Come on now, just a little more, you can do it.”
Agonizing pain gripped her. “No, I can’t! I don’t want to do this anymore! I’ve changed my mind! Stop it, now!” Her voice rose on a scream.
“Yes, you do, now push, push hard, one more time.” Maeve’s face hovered over her, her voice gentle but firm. “The head’s crowning. Come on, push, Baby, push one more time.”
Kellen held her hand, his would be bruised in the morning by the strength of Fiona’s grip, but there was no place on Earth he would rather be, broken hand or not. He comforted her, rubbing her back, while Maeve urged her to keep pushing.
“Tell me about them again,” Fiona panted.
“About who?” Maeve’s eyebrows arched.
Fiona shook her head. “Not you. Kel. Tell me about all of them again, about Tanith, and Siran and all the others.”
“Tanith and Siran had a long and loving life. Tanith helped Kellach raise Con,” he began.
Fiona groaned as another pain gripped her. “Keep talking,” she gasped.
“Ceara married Cyrnon and they traveled as traders most of their life. Machar became Con’s closest confidant and led the warriors, the mightiest of which was Berlach. Durlach took Xio Li to wife and she continued as a healer in the tribe.”
“What about Conan, tell me about Conan.” Her words ended on a cry of pain.
“Conan survived and Machar cared for him and loved him to the end of his days. One or more of his offspring were always kept by Kellach.”
“And Kellach, tell me again about Kellach!”
“Kellach had three wives after you…” he hesitated.
“That Rat Bastard!” Fiona grinned through the pain.
He laughed outright. “But he never loved any of them. He only loved Fiona.”
“Then why did he marry again and so many?”
“They were merely concessions to strengthen the ties among the tribes. Kind of sad for them.”
“The head is out,” the doctor advised. “One more big one, Fiona, and it’s done!”
She took a big breath, tightening every muscle in her body, and pushed as hard as she could. The baby slipped out and immediately started screaming, waving small arms around.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor laughed, “and a very healthy one by the sound of him.”
Maeve started crying and ran to the door to tell Dad. “It’s a boy! It’s a boy!”
The nurses cleaned him up quickly and laid him on Fiona’s chest. His perfect little head was covered in curls so white, he almost appeared bald, and a small kissing dimple dented his tiny little chin.
Kellen took the baby from her, laughing with pride and love, and lifting the baby high in the air, as if offering him to some ancient god.
“Conner,” he looked to her for approval, “his name is Conner.”
Fiona nodded, love and contentment washed over her, healing the last of the hidden scars. A small memory surfaced and she smiled. She was not the one wandering the afterlife alone. Rot in hell, Voadicia, she thought, rot in hell.
A word about the author…
Offbeat is a perfect word when describing me. For many years, I taught, performed as well as choreographed dance. I am a dreamer and an avid reader of fiction, a sometime gardener and an inept crafter. I love to travel, always returning to my beautiful Idaho where I reside with my husband, sons, granddaughter, two huge cats and a toy poodle. I am a member of RWA. I have finished the third in the Riley's Journey series, entitled Beyond Tomorrow and that was the final in the series. So there was Riley's Journey, Into the Savage Dawn and Beyond Tomorrow.
Website: http://www.plparker.com
Blog spot: http://www.plparker.blogspot.com/
Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1469668244
Somewhere My Lass
Somewhere in Time Series
Book 2
Paranormal Romance Novel
By Beth Trissel
Story Excerpt
“You are a beauty.” His words were a hoarse whisper.
The rise and fall of her chest betrayed a deep inhalation of breath. A flicker of reproach lit her eyes.
“I dinna think ye took heed of me at all.”
He winced at the well-deserved jab. “About before, I’m sorry I left you so suddenly. But there’s no earthly way I could fail to notice you. I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind and even then…”
The tension in her face eased, and then the hurt returned. “Oh, aye? How could ye forget all ye knew?”
He remained as he was, threading that wealth of hair through his fingers. Again, the rational part of him argued, “Is it possible you’re imagining you knew me before?”
She balked, a mutinous glint in her eyes. “Nae.”
He slid his hand to the finely crafted silver chain at her throat and c
oaxed the coverlets further down.
A slight gasp escaped her lips. He muted any outward response to the thrill running through him.
The scooped neckline of her nightgown revealed the tops of white breasts sprinkled with freckles. Above this heart hammering sight hung the crucifix. “I gave this to you?” he managed to ask without betraying the swell of emotion surging inside him.
“At our betrothal.”
Praise for Somewhere My Lass
“Mrs. Trissel masterfully blended the past and the present in order to create a lovely romance that spans centuries.” ~Long and Short Reviews
“A good adventure and romantic time travel story that delivers.” ~Romance Novel Junkies
“The kind of story you can get lost in. Well-written and exciting, Trissel hits a homerun with her time-crossed lovers.” ~Amazon Reviewer Robin Landry
“I enjoy the paranormal and Trissel brings in much to like! Not only do we have time travel, but a number of psychics to add to the fun! The well-written fantasy is almost a fairy tale; merging the present together with the past in a seamless movement…I thoroughly enjoyed this story! Surely romance lovers will find it a wonderful way to spend the weekend. Highly recommended!” ~GABixlerReviews
Author Awards
2008 Golden Heart® Finalist
2008 Winner Preditor's & Editor's Readers Poll
Publisher’s Weekly BHB Reader’s Choice Best Books of 2009
2010 Best Romance Novel List at Buzzle
Five Time Book of the Week Winner at LASR
2012 Double Epic eBook Award Finalist
2012 Reader’s Favorite Finalist
2013 Won Book of the Month at Long and Short Reviews
Additional Romance Titles by Beth Trissel
The Bearwalker’s Daughter (Native American Warrior Series)
Through the Fire (Native American Warrior Series)
Red Bird’s Song (Native American Warrior Series)
Kira, Daughter of the Moon (Native American Warrior Series)
A Warrior for Christmas
(Short) The Lady and the Warrior
Enemy of the King
Into the Lion’s Heart
Somewhere My Love (Somewhere in Time Series)
Somewhere the Bells Ring (Somewhere in Time Series)
Somewhere in the Highlands (Somewhere in Time Series)
Traitor’s Legacy (Release date August 2014)
Nonfiction Works by Beth Trissel
Shenandoah Watercolors
A Christmas in the 1960’s in A Very Virginia Christmas by Wilford Kale
Plants for a Medieval Herb Garden in the British Isles
Somewhere My Lass
COPYRIGHT January ©2013 by Beth Trissel
Cover Art by Elise Trissel
Published in the United States of America
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Contact me: [email protected]
Dedication
To my daughter-in-law Charity and daughter Elise for their invaluable research assistance, and a special thanks to Elise for the wonderful cover~
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
“By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.” ~Macbeth
Chapter One
Early November 2009, Staunton, Virginia
Running with the bulls seemed preferable to running his computer graphics business. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and there’ll be another Star Wars movie with an opening for a Jedi Knight,” Neil MacKenzie muttered, turning the key in the brass lock of his Victorian home. A tingle darted through his hand. What in the name of—
Had the electricity gone fluky on him too? He’d just finished paying for the new roof.
The jarring current coursed through his fingers as Neil closed them around the doorknob. And it was porcelain for God’s sake, not even an electrical conduit.
Vowing to rewire the big gingerbread house if it took every last cent he owned, Neil flung open the door and strode inside. The gilt framed mirror on the landing reflected the late rays of sunshine fingering the darkened hall—illuminating the crumpled body of his housekeeper.
“Good God.”
His briefcase thumped down onto the Persian carpet. He spun around and stared at the plump figure slumped on the red slicked steps. Neil’s heart hammered in his chest then plummeted to the pit of his suddenly leaden stomach.
Dear Lord, no. It couldn’t be. Not Mrs. Dannon.
Had the poor old lady fallen and fractured her skull? There was an awful lot of blood.
Too much.
His gut twisted as he dashed forward and bent over the woman curled at the base of the winding staircase. Her normally pink face was ashen, her body limp, motionless. Worse and worse. Her cheek felt unnaturally cool.
Everything in Neil told him she was dead. With a wild hope that went against his inherent knowledge and medical training, he tilted her gray head to check for a faint pulse. Maybe he could revive her long enough to call—No! Her throat had been neatly slit.
“Christ!” Neil lurched back, his fingers red, the metallic stench of blood in his nose. Sweet Jesus, why! Who would commit such a terrible act?
A skilled problem solver accustomed to thinking on his feet in the business world, he struggled for a reasonable explanation for the grisly murder. Horrific crimes didn’t happen in this quiet neighborhood of sedate older homes. And amicable Mrs. Dannon had no enemies, nor anything worth killing her for.
The string of pearls she loved still hung at her throat. Stained scarlet, but there. The necklace was of some value and easily torn from her. Why leave the pearls if this was the work of a violent thief or thieves?
Neil almost expected to see slashed wallpaper, vulgar graffiti, and gang slogans spray-painted on every surface. But this was no home invasion such as he’d heard about in the news. Nor was it Los Angeles but historic Staunton, for Christ’s sake. It struck him as the heinous deed of a single man.
Insane or driven by greed? Was he strung out on drugs?
That made no sense. A crackhead would steal anything for his next high including the pearls.
Maybe this thief had inclinations other than jewelry—electronics or antiques.
Had Neil been robbed? Was he the one targeted and poor Mrs. Dannon in the wrong place at the wrong time? He knew of no one with a personal vendetta against him either.
More importantly than why, was whether the intruder remained inside.
&
nbsp; He shot a glance down the hall. Nothing.
What of the front door? It bore no sign of a forced entry. No one had come in that way other than him. And he’d unlocked it himself.
All this flashed through Neil’s reeling mind. Grabbing his cell phone from his pants pocket, he called 911. “Code Blue. Woman down,” he said in a low voice, using the lingo from his EMT days in the Rescue Squad. “Throat cut. 1602 North Coalter.”
That same training helped him keep his head in an emergency. That and his stint as a medic in the army. “Perp at large,” he added, using the abbreviation for perpetrator.
He’d find that menace. In a matter of seconds, he’d transformed from disbelief to grim resolve. He slid the bloodstained phone back into his pocket and snatched an antique cane from the umbrella stand. If need be, he’d wield the cane as a weapon. Though the vintage revolver tucked under his bed would be better. The silver monkey head on the end of the walking stick grinned impishly in contrast to his black mood as he crept along the hall.
Every shadow harbored sinister possibilities. Each ponderous piece of furniture was a potential hiding place. The big house was stuffed with massive wardrobes, chests of drawers, large upholstered chairs and couches all providing a forest of concealment. Perfect for boyhood games, insidious now. His old family home had gone from quaintly cluttered to lethal.
The current that charged through Neil when he’d closed his hand around the doorknob still tingled. As though he needed further warning. Hyper alert, he strained to detect the slightest movement, the faintest rustle that didn’t belong. He could have been a hunter out in the woods stalking his prey. If he hunted.
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