When the Stars Align

by Kathryn Kelly

  “Good,” he said. “I like it here.”

  “I do, too.”

  Then they were kissing again.

  “Let’s get married tomorrow,” he murmured against her lips.

  Her heart raced. “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” he nuzzled her earlobe sending tingles of fire down her spine.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to wait any longer. I want you to be my wife.”

  She giggled. “You haven’t even asked me yet.”

  He lifted her hand and the diamond he’d slid on her finger sparkled in the moonlight. “Camille Lafleur. Will you marry me?”

  She gasped, but was too overcome with emotion to speak.

  “Yes?”

  She nodded and felt tears running down her cheeks.

  But then he was kissing her again and the tears became a smile. “Don’t you have to ask my father first?” she asked, between kisses.

  “I’ll ask him later.”

  She giggled. “Ok.”

  A few minutes later, someone knocked at Camille’s door. She clutched at his arms. “What do we do?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’re getting married tomorrow.”

  “No,” she said, standing up. “I should go.”

  When Camille opened the door, Villars stood on the other side. “Mistress Erika sent me to bring Bradley to her.”

  “It’s ok,” Bradley said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Camille closed her door and went to sit at her dresser. She picked up a brush and began brushing her hair. Running the brush through her hair, she counted to one hundred as her mother had taught her to do. After one hundred brush strokes, she set the brush down and went back outside. She put her hands on the rail and leaned over.

  The air was quiet. As she stood there, she heard distant laughter drifting from the slave quarters. Then a dog barked in the distance.

  She shivered and went back inside, closing the French door behind her. She sat on the chair for a few minutes, but her eyes began to grow heavy. She climbed into the bed and hugged the pillow to her. She studied the ring on her finger. Admired the glow of the diamond in the candlelight.

  What if Bradley didn’t come back?

  He’d disappeared once before. That meant it could no doubt happen again.

  He wanted to get married. What if she married him and he went back to his time? What then?

  Did she call herself a widow? After how long? And what if he made it back years later. How would she explain that?

  By the time Bradley knocked lightly on the door, Camille had worked herself into a such a frenzy, she didn’t even open the door for him.

  He peeked around the corner anyway, then came into the room and went to stand next to her. She didn’t resist when he pulled her into his arms.

  “What is it ma chère? Why the pout?”

  “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

  He held her close, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah. That’s actually a valid concern.”

  She pulled back, looked up at him. “What do we do?”

  “We have to have faith that we’re meant to be together. And you have to know that if that ever happens, I’ll do everything in my power to get back to you. No matter how long it takes.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re asking too much.”

  “You’re having second thoughts?”

  She closed her eyes tightly. “Just the opposite. I’m wondering how I would live without you.”

  He smiled at her. “You live. That’s how. You live no matter what and I’ll find you.”

  She returned his smile. “Like in the book.”

  “The book?”

  “The Last of the Mohicans.”

  She saw in his face the moment he remembered the line from the book. “Yes, exactly like the book.”

  They had stayed up much too late.

  Kissing.

  Kissing was the nectar of the Gods.

  They stood behind the house surrounded by family with the priest who had been summoned standing in front of them. When Camille had been asked where she wanted to get married, she’d chosen the big oak tree whose branches dipped to the ground. She’d spent a lot of time here dreaming about Bradley and watching the sky for him. Vaughn sat on one of the branches, a cloak pulled over her head.

  Everything had come together perfectly. Erika’s wedding dress, with only a quick tuck here and there had fit her perfectly.

  Camille’s knees were weak, but she clutched Bradley’s arm and managed to stay steady.

  The priest’s words faded into the background as her gaze met Bradley’s.

  She heard him say “I do” and she repeated the words after him even though it wasn’t time.

  Someone in the audience laughed, but the priest kept talking without a hitch.

  Then Bradley was kissing her. In front of everyone.

  And she was Mrs. Bradley Becquerel.

  Epilogue

  Vaughn looked around the table and smiled at the laughter of the young people.

  She had both her grandchildren with her – Erika and Bradley, as well as their new spouses – Charles and Camille.

  Camille had taken to Vaughn immediately, but Charles was still a little wary of her. A lifetime of seeing her as a mystery was difficult to overcome. He was coming around though as the others embraced her.

  They had taken to spending more and more time at Vaughn’s home during the day. Vaughn had started cooking again, something she had enjoyed in her life with Jonathan and she attributed that as one of the reasons they flocked to her.

  Erika was three months pregnant and Vaughn counted the moments until she could hold her grandchild. Something she never expected to happen.

  Vaughn smiled to herself as she reflected on her own two loves – Nathaniel and Jonathan. She missed both of them deeply, but she wouldn’t give up anything for any moment she had spent with either of them.

  The spell that had sent Vaughn spiraling through time seemed to have settled now that her descendants were here with her. An unexpected twist of fate had brought Erika back in time to be with Charles. Then the stars had aligned to allow Bradley to also come back to her. He had made a stop along the way in New Orleans to pick up Camille, reaffirming Vaughn’s belief that love knew no boundaries.

  Not even time itself.

  Bradley had brought a photo of Jonathan and she kept it on her nightstand. She thought of him often and had grown lonely for him.

  Vaughn had begun feeling a little prickly sensation along the back of her neck. One she hadn’t felt in quite some time.

  She felt it last week and again yesterday.

  And just now. Now with her family gathered around her.

  Perhaps that had been her purpose in being here in this time. To bring them together.

  Now, perhaps, she was free to follow her own destiny.

  If you loved When the Stars Align, I think you’ll also enjoy Once Upon a Christmas. Please continue reading for sneak peek at it – it’s currently available on Amazon!

  Once Upon a Christmas Excerpt

  Once Upon a Christmas

  Once Upon a Time Series

  Book 3

  Chapter 1

  Once Upon a Christmas

  December 1969

  Vaughn Dupre woke disoriented. It was nothing unusual. She woke disoriented every day.

  She’d fallen asleep after an evening spent listening to Nathaniel read to his five-year-old son, Beau. His three-year-old daughter, Abigail, had already fallen asleep snuggled in her mother’s lap. While the parents tucked their two children into bed, Vaughn had gone to her bedroom and crawled beneath the warm blankets.

  Now, as she lay here with her eyes closed, she tried to sort out what was different. The sheet pulled over her head smelled… masculine.

  Her eyes flew open. Her bed had smelled clean and feminine when she’d fallen asleep last night. H
ad she somehow ended up in Nathaniel and Martha’s bed? She was certain she had not. Yet… the masculine scent was unmistakable. She only knew this because she had spent the last two months as the nanny for Nathaniel and Martha, which sometimes included doing household chores like making beds.

  She slowly lowered the sheet and cautiously opened one eye. She gasped.

  This was not the room she had fallen asleep in. Gone was the little dresser with the flowers she and Abigail had picked yesterday. Gone was the nightstand with the candles.

  Instead, the bed was turned so that she faced the window. The curtains were mere strips of white cloth hanging from the ceiling. Gone were the thick velvet drapes that had been drawn closed when she had fallen asleep.

  Suddenly, a loud buzzing filled the air. She threw a hand over her ears and ducked back below the sheets. It sounded like a giant bee.

  When the noise stopped, she realized it wasn’t an insect in her ear or even in her room.

  Quiet as a mouse, she got up and slid off the bed onto the floor. As her toes touched the cool wood, she glanced down. At least her night gown had not changed.

  She walked to the window and peeked out.

  The buzzing started again.

  She gasped and jumped back, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest.

  The buzzing stopped and was followed by a loud clatter.

  She waited. This time, steeling herself, she went back to the window and peeked out again.

  A man, his back to the window, stood below. He was wearing blue trousers and a white shirt. His dark hair was short. He stacked some boards across two wooden platforms, then picked up one long board and turned toward the house.

  She moved closer to the tall window, so she could see him better.

  As though he sensed her, he looked up and saw her standing there watching him, a scowl on his face.

  She froze. Her hands fisted into the cotton of her nightgown.

  His scowl changed into a grin. He hoisted the board onto his shoulder, then disappeared inside the house.

  Vaughn inhaled quickly and lifted her gaze to the grounds. She was facing the back of the house. The clothesline was gone, as were the clothes she had hung out last night to dry. To her right sat an odd-looking buggy in bright red.

  There were no fields of cotton. Just trees where the cotton fields had been yesterday.

  She moved closer, grasping the curtain in her right hand.

  She jumped back when the grandfather clock began to toll the hour. And faced the room.

  Seven o’clock.

  Everything was the same, yet different.

  It made no sense that she was would be in Nathaniel and Martha’s chambers.

  She listened closely, but didn’t hear the children. Usually by now, they would be up, running down the hallway, getting ready for breakfast.

  Then she heard hammering from somewhere inside the house. She needed to get to her room and get dressed so that she could figure out what was going on.

  She made her way to the door, then dashed down the hallway, the sound of her footsteps disguised by the hammering. She went into her room and closed the door.

  Her heart raced.

  The bed was made, but she didn’t recognize the green blanket tucked neatly across the top. She’d left her dress draped across the back of a chair next to the bed. Not only was her dress missing, but the chair was gone as well.

  She went to the bureau and threw open the doors. Other than a blanket folded neatly and sitting on the top shelf, the bureau was empty.

  A wave of panic shot through her, and she ran her hands along her nightgown.

  She had nothing to wear.

  She turned, and her gaze fell on her reflection in the mirror. She saw a panic-stricken girl dressed in a white shift, her brunette hair cascading around her shoulders. She hurried to the dresser and searched through the drawers, but there was no brush.

  She sat on the stool and put her face in her hands.

  Then she took a deep breath. After everything she’d been through, she could surely figure this out. She sat up and squared her shoulders. The noise downstairs had grown quiet.

  Perhaps that man could help her.

  Chapter 2

  Once Upon a Christmas

  Jonathan tapped the board into place where he had ripped out water-damaged wood and measured for the next. He hammered in another nail for good measure. The old house had been neglected for too long after his father passed away five years ago.

  It had taken awhile for Jonathan to make his way back, but now that he had, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. It was a little unsettling to be the last of the Becquerel line. He would have to think about what to do with the house when he was gone.

  But in the meantime, he had to get her back into shape.

  He’d learned to think of the house as a ‘she’ from his father. His father said the house was a grand lady and should always be treated as such. Built in the early 1800s by Nathaniel and Martha Becquerel, it had been handed down from generation to generation for over two hundred years.

  As far as Jonathan knew, the five years since his father had died was the only time it had been uninhabited. Unfortunately, Henry had been in ill health and hadn’t been able to care for her for a number of years even before his death.

  Going back outside to cut another board, Jonathan glanced toward his bedroom window.

  She was gone.

  Seeing her in his bedroom window was a little unexpected, but not a total shock. After spending a year in Vietnam, he was no longer surprised by anything he saw.

  Most nights, he woke in a cold sweat, sometimes with his mind blank and sometimes with images of horrors too severe to speak of, but always with his heart racing so fast, it was a wonder it didn’t take flight.

  As a pilot, he had been shielded from many of the horrors experienced by the infantry. But he had seen his share of carnage. Carnage he had caused, as he flew overhead, releasing the bombs and bullets that downed dozens of men at a time. Sometimes, it hadn’t seemed fair. Most days, he was thankful to protect his fellow soldiers, and to keep his country safe by making sure the war stayed on the other side of the world.

  That, added to the fact that his grandmother had raised him with tales of ghosts in the Becquerel house, led him to avoid questioning things that could not be explained.

  He’d never seen a ghost until he saw her, but he’d heard things. Mostly drums coming from the direction of the slave quarters on a clear still night with the windows open to catch the breeze from the river. Then there was the attic. There were no chains or anything like they showed in the movies, but sometimes, in the dark of night, he would hear boxes, or maybe furniture, sliding across the floor above his room.

  As a child, he’d slept with a nightlight on, but his mother had convinced him it was just his ancestors looking through their belongings; nothing to be afraid of.

  Jonathan had developed a healthy respect for his ancestors. After smoothing off the edges of the board, he lifted it over his shoulder and took it with him back into the house.

  Stepping inside the back door, he bobbled the board.

  She stood there in the doorway staring at him.

  Her green eyes locked onto his.

  He’d never expected to see one this close up.

  “Good morning,” she said, her mouth curved into a tentative smile.

  He slowly let the board slide down through his gloves until it rested on the floor.

  Ghosts were not supposed to speak.

  Never. Not once had a ghost spoken in any of the tales passed down by his grandmother, his grandfather, his father, or even his mother, who was sometimes taken to flights of fancy with her tales of ancestors in the attic.

  And never had a ghost been described as being so lovely that she took a man’s breath away. Her dark brunette hair swirled around her face and fell loosely past her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, with a French accent. “But I don’t ha
ve anything to wear.”

  Want to keep reading? Grab your copy here:

  Once Upon a Christmas

  Begin Again Excerpt

  Remember Noah Worthington from Skye Travels? Read the the clean and wholesome book about Noah and Savannah. It’s not a time travel, but I think you might enjoy it. Continue reading for a sneak peek at it – it’s currently available on Amazon!

  Begin Again

  Begin Again

  Love’s Second Chance

  Book 1

  Chapter 1

  Begin Again

  Savannah Richards didn’t believe in chance.

  But there he stood, head bent, focused on his iPad. Handsome in his black uniform – black tie, white shirt, silver stripes at his wrists, and a captain’s cap sitting atop his head – his hair graying around the edges.

  Noah wouldn’t recognize her, even if he remembered her.

  He would be forty-two now. A far cry from the college senior who had been attached at her hip for a year. He’d been a boy then, but his features were the same. A few pounds heavier, but that was to be expected. He was wearing the five o’clock shadow that never failed to appear by early afternoon. The same brow that she had seen furrowed over calculus problems seemed to have made a permanent home between his eyes. No wonder, as he had worn it often. Sometimes even as he’d studied her, though he thought she hadn’t known.

  As a college senior, the only time he’d left her side was when he was flying or training to fly. Sometimes she’d gone with him to practice on the flight simulator. She usually ended up using the time to study her own biology textbooks or read an English lit novel. Side by side, each lost in their own world.

  The time, she thought wryly, had been well spent. After her freshman year, Savannah had immersed herself in her studies and graduated top of her class with a bachelor’s degree in science.