PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  “But, your grace—!”

  “I asked if my instruction were clear. Or do I need to reiterate them for you?”

  “Aye. It’s clear ’nuff.”

  “Good.”

  “Just hand over my Lileth, and we’ll be gone, your grace.”

  “What makes you think she’s here?”

  “She sent a note last eve to her!”

  Dughall pointed at Ainslee again. Neal waited another long moment. “Are you referring to the Duchess of Straithcairn again? And failing to use her proper title?” he asked.

  Dughall’s skin went even darker red. His mouth worked behind clenched teeth. His eyes bulged out. Neal watched silently and decided this was highly enjoyable.

  “Forgive me. Lileth sent a note to her grace, the Duchess of Straithcairn.” The man finally replied.

  “And you believe this means Lileth is here?”

  “The wench will na’ tell me wot was in the note!”

  “Final warning, Dughall. You will address my wife with the proper respect or incur consequences. I don’t know what they are, so I’ll invent a proper penalty. And I need to warn you, Dughall. I intend to get very medieval with what I decide.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Gentlemen? Does the castle still have a working dungeon?”

  Neal looked over the heads of the MacAffrey bunch and addressed his Honor Guardsmen. Murmurs of reaction happened through the ranks of MacAffrey clansmen. Neal ignored them.

  “Aye, your grace. More than one,” one of the guardsmen answered.

  Rory had arrived. He motioned from the door. Neal nodded. Rory had a gentleman with him. The man looked almost as wide as he was tall. And he was nearly as tall as the doorframe. Neal guessed him at mid-forties. He had silver-tipped hair at his temples, an air of authority, and looked like he could handle just about anyone. And anything.

  “Ah. Dughall. It appears my constable has arrived.”

  More than one man jerked around. Dughall was the first to turn back to Neal. He’d lost quite a bit of color.

  “Now wait. Just a moment, yer grace. All I wanted to ken was if my Lileth was safe. Things can happen to a young lass if she’s away from the protection of her family.”

  “I see. Well. I shall ask. Are we harboring a fugitive?”

  Neal addressed the guardsmen and Rory. Everyone shook their head. He turned back to Ainslee and went to one knee again. Softened his tone.

  “Darling? Forgive the question. Has your sister...sought refuge with us?”

  She shook her head as well. There was the cutest smile atop her lips, too. Neal’s lips twitched in response. He settled with a wink. Stood back up. Turned back to Dughall.

  “Well, Laird MacAffrey. There you have it. Your daughter is not here.”

  “That’s it? Yer just gonna believe it? Have ye nae sense, lad? You have to beat the truth out of them!”

  Neal’s eyes narrowed. His jaw set. He hoped the anger was projected with his tone when he finally replied. “I sincerely hope you are not referring to my lady wife, the Duchess of Straithcairn again.”

  Dughall nearly swallowed his tongue. It was audible.

  “Uh. O’ course na’.”

  “Then. May I bid you a good day? And good riddance. You have sullied my wife’s presence long enough.”

  There was an audible gasp from the assemblage. Neal ignored it. He was trying to be as offensive as possible. And enjoying the hell out of it.

  “Ah. Look. Out in the hall. I see more of my Honor Guard has arrived. They will be escorting you gentlemen out. Oh! One more thing before you leave, Dughall.”

  The man didn’t reply.

  “I was told the will was written because you desired an end to an old grievance of some kind. Your clan and mine had been at war for decades. Did I hear this correctly?”

  Dughall nodded.

  “Well, then. If you ever arrive at the castle again. Unannounced. And uninvited. And accompanied by armed clansmen. And if you ever again threaten my wife, the Duchess of Straithcairn, I will consider it an act of war. And respond accordingly. Now. Is any of that unclear?”

  A thumping sound started up out in the hall. Someone out there had a drum. The thump had a cadence to it. Like a battle march. That’s when Neal decided there wasn’t any need of reaching New York. Or a trading floor. Or building an empire. Gaining financial domination of world markets. He’d been driven to gain more and more his entire life. More money. More power. More influence.

  Shock held him rooted to the spot as the Laird of MacAffrey and his troupe filed out of the blue salon and turned to their left. The MacAffreys were already smaller in stature. Once they got surrounded by Straith clan, they looked even more diminutive.

  Neal had been so wrong. Money had no value when placed against the real power in the universe.

  Love.

  All these years. All the stupid striving for wealth. Avoiding love every time he chanced near it.

  Well. He knew the truth now. And he had it. Right here. Right now.

  He was exactly where he wanted to be.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Ah. There you are, your grace.”

  Neal looked up from the journal he was reading as Mason entered his chamber, a white cloth draped across his arm as if in preparation for something.

  “I have been on the hunt for your location for some time. I should have checked your chambers.”

  “On the hunt for my location?” Neal repeated.

  “Exactly, and growing quite exasperated.”

  “You have such a droll way of speaking, Mason.”

  “Droll?”

  “Yeah. Very. And never change. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

  “And may I also repeat that request, Neal?”

  The man lost all joviality as he placed the towel on the rack of Neal’s shaving stand. He wouldn’t need it. Neal had given off shaving. Unless Ainslee preferred him beardless. But she hadn’t mentioned it, one way or the other.

  “What request are we referring to?” Neal asked.

  “That you never change. Again, I mean.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought the old me wasn’t so bad.”

  “You were a moron, Neal. I realize it now. And I have to say this. I have served many members of the gentry before coming to work at Straith. I served the prior duke of Straithcairn. And I must say I have never been prouder to be in my position in my entire life.”

  “I did something...extraordinary?”

  “But, of course! The castle is abuzz at the set-down you gave that MacAffrey! The nerve of the man! And the way you came, not only to your wife’s aid, but demonstrated the level of respect she deserves! Oh. Neal. I only wish I’d been there to observe it.”

  “You liked that, huh?”

  “And then some. To quote your grace.”

  Neal chuckled.

  “But, I need to ask you, is it such a good idea to relocate Lady Blair?”

  “Your thoughts?”

  “I have always considered it much more beneficial to have an – and I sincerely hope you pardon my impertinence – enemy in one’s sight. So as to ken what they are planning.”

  “True. But I’m actually checking the extent of Lady Blair’s influence. See...when dealing with a spider, there are three options: Ignore it. Kill it. Or move it somewhere that it can’t be an issue. I already know I’m not going to ignore her. Relocation is the next option on the list. And...spiders don’t stop spinning their webs just because you move them. You just don’t have to see them or care. Nor will anyone else. Which – in my aunt’s case – sounds like a viable consequence to her meddling.”

  “A spider, Neal? How...apt.”

  “You didn’t see it?”

  “I do so like your manner of speaking. There’s no beating about the bush.”

  “So. To the matter of my aunt? She is being relocated. I just don’t know how far that might need to be. But I’m certain I will find out.”

/>   “The duchy does have a piece of nice property...inland a piece.”

  “Really? How far inland?”

  “’Tis a huntsman’s cottage. A good half-day ride at least.”

  “Excellent. I’m going to have to give you another raise. So. Hey.” Neal lifted the leather-bound journal he’d been reading. “Did you know my father?”

  “I did. The duke’s younger brother was quite a fellow.”

  “Did he really meet my mother on a trek through...let’s see. He lists Egypt? Sumer? A place I can’t even pronounce.”

  “They were quite the explorers, your parents. ’Twas a sad day when a carriage accident took them from the world.”

  “Are there other journals like this one? Written by former...dukes?”

  “Every duke has written a life history.”

  “What a spectacular idea!” Neal rose to his feet. Set the journal on a table. Almost clapped his hands.

  “Neal?”

  “Oh. I’ve been pondering something. I...have something I need to make certain future generations know.”

  Future generations?

  Oh, my God.

  What he’d just said hit him with the force of a blow. Neal reeled and almost fell back into the chair. A future generation meant he’d have at least one child. One, created with Ainslee. Held, and cradled, and nurtured to adulthood.

  That realization changed everything.

  Neal’s entire body experienced a wash of something so amazing, it stole his breath. The sensation came in waves that crested and then subsided. They were combined with a light of such brilliance he had to narrow his eyes and blink rapidly against an instant film of tears. He didn’t have any experience to draw from for how this felt. It went beyond any thrill the twenty-first century Neal had experienced when dealing with takeovers and monetary success and jet-powered flight. This feeling was indescribable. Beyond compare. It weakened his limbs, sent a tremor through his belly, and infused his chest with such warmth, he might be glowing.

  He had to wait several heart-pounding moments, and then clear his throat in order to continue speaking. He was actually amazed he was still standing.

  “I...uh...wasn’t sure how to get the information to a future...Straith, although I told Iain exactly what was needed before he left. I see now that if I list the instructions in a missive, seal it with wax, and secure it in a journal for opening in say...1870? That might be exactly what I need.”

  “1870?”

  “Oh. Um. I...have a hunch. I get them...occasionally. I usually go with them.”

  “I see. Well. I shall have the comptroller fetch you a journal so you can start. You have a fresh quill and ink at your writing desk. Or would you rather use the library desk?”

  “Quill and ink pot? Truly? And fine grains of sand?”

  “But, of course. Everything is strictly modern.”

  Mason walked to a tall armoire standing in the shadows against the wall that contained the door leading to Ainslee. His beloved. Taking a long bath. Preparing for him.

  Neal banished the thought so he could pay complete attention to Mason. The man stood before a furniture piece that was a lot narrower at the top than the bottom. It had a slanted front. Mason unlatched two leather hoops, released the slanted portion, and brought it down to create a writing surface.

  Wow.

  That piece was worth a fortune on the antiquities market two hundred years from now. Then again, the same could be said for all of the furniture in Straith Castle. Even from here, Neal could see the writing surface had a leather top, affixed with brass studs. Cubbyholes containing little pots of ink. Feather-topped quills. All kinds of mysterious items. He’d never written with an ink and quill. Too time consuming. He might feel like he had to write in calligraphic script.

  Hmm.

  That challenge could prove highly entertaining.

  “So.”

  Mason turned and walked over to one of Neal’s wardrobes and opened it, revealing more shirts than had been there yesterday. The castle seamstresses were not only creating a spectacular wardrobe for Ainslee, but they seemed devoted to making certain Neal wouldn’t shame anyone with his attire, either. He smiled at the instant thought. Mason’s words cancelled the smile. Rapidly.

  “What do you wish to wear this evening?”

  “Oh, no. Uh-uh. I’m wearing a robe. And not a whole lot else. I’m spending this evening with my wife, Mason. In her chambers. Unless...and please don’t say it. There can’t possibly be a reason that is a bad idea.”

  “I think it a spectacular plan, Neal. But, might I suggest you wear the robe trimmed with ermine?”

  I have an ermine-trimmed robe?

  Mason went to another wardrobe and started shuffling, and then a knock on the chamber door stopped everything. Neal swore beneath his breath. Mason crossed to the door. Spoke for a bit. Shut it.

  “It better not be a reason I have to get dressed,” Neal told him.

  “Well, I was under the assumption it would be the comptroller. With the selection of rings from the safe. If memory serves me right, I believe there is a sapphire setting that should fit her grace.”

  “Good man.”

  “You are too quick with your praise, Neal. I was mistaken. It is an invitation. To go grouse hunting on the morrow. Early. At Huntsman’s Dale. With your cousin, Garrick. The man he sent has instructions to await your reply.”

  Neal whistled. “Hmm. My aunt certainly doesn’t waste any time.”

  “Lady Blair?”

  “Garrick doesn’t have the smarts for this, but I’m not being generous. Tell the man I gladly accept, but I think we need to make a party of it. Can you make certain the solicitor fellows are invited?”

  “The gents from London?”

  “They’re still here, aren’t they? Oh! And add in Reagan Fells. And the vicar. He might as well join us, too.”

  “That will be quite a party, Neal.”

  “Exactly. Write all that, will you? I’m going to quaff a really large dram of whisky, and then go dunk my head into the rain barrel.”

  Mason had just closed the door when Neal returned from the balcony. The man stood expectantly in the center of the room.

  “Now. For the part they won’t know about. You ready?”

  Mason nodded.

  “We need to get a message to the new captain of the guards, Iain Straithmore’s replacement. On the sly. Extremely quiet. Nobody knows. Can you do this?”

  “You’re calling in the Honor Guard?”

  “They’re all good shots, aren’t they?”

  “The best the clan has to offer. ’Tis why we have games every year. To pick them out, make certain of their fitness for the position.”

  “Good. And here is what you need to tell him. I want every man dressed as a gamekeeper and on the field at Huntsman’s Dale before sunrise. Armed. With a flintlock rifle. We have those, yes? If they like, they can also carry a blunderbuss. Or the small version, the dragon. Either way, I need them armed to the teeth and prepared for anything.”

  “The teeth?”

  “It’s an expression. I’ll explain it one of these years. After we handle this new strand of the spider’s web.”

  “The Lady Blair?”

  “It’s obvious my aunt heard of MacAffrey’s visit.”

  “I assume so. Everyone did.”

  “So. She knows the heiress is missing. Now...I’m guessing the missing heiress eloped with her love, because she’d heard of her father’s recent choice of bridegroom. My cousin, Garrick. But that’s only a guess, so don’t quote me. This moved my aunt’s timeline up considerably. But then again. I am not surprised. I’ve been expecting this.”

  Mason was still regarding him with a blank expression, but he rarely gave much indication of what he was thinking. Neal continued.

  “The MacAffrey heiress is missing, Mason. Nobody knows where. That means there are two ways left for Garrick to replace me and become the Duke of Straithcairn. Are you following my drift, yet?”


  “Following your drift?”

  “Do you see where this is heading?”

  Mason frowned slightly and shook his head.

  “Garrick will need to wed the widow to fulfill the requirement of the will. That is one way. The other one is obvious and connected to the first.”

  “What widow?”

  “Ainslee.”

  Mason’s eyes enlarged. His jaw dropped.

  “I assume they expect me to have an unfortunate hunting accident, Mason.”

  “Garrick would na’ commit murder. Not in broad daylight.”

  “Keeping an eye on Garrick will be Cedric’s responsibility. But he may have compatriots. That is why I wish to know where the solicitor fellows, Kingston and Bon are. Not to worry. I’m a really good shot. I’m prepared. I’ll have over a dozen men who are also good shots protecting my back. We’ll need some sort of signal. Tell them to give a sharp whistle if they spot anything. And finally, my Aunt Margaret and her camp need to be completely unaware of everything.”

  “You can rely on me, Neal.”

  “I know. You need another raise. Remind me. But, before anything else happens, could you please find me that robe?”

  Neal grinned, but the valet didn’t return it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Her room was probably the most elegant one in the castle.

  Ainslee was reclining on her chaise lounge, looking about the chamber with a touch of awe. The maids had lit five sets of candelabra throughout the room. One had been situated on the headboard behind her. Candlelight flickered all about the chamber, highlighting the richness of the room. She was dressed in a gossamer pink nightgown made from a fabric so fragile it pulled slightly with the weight of the little white lace that had been affixed to it. That lace had been tatted by a master. It was interwoven with silvery strands that sparkled in multi-hued flashes when she moved. Ainslee had blushed, her skin reaching the same color of the gown as Mira and Beth had helped her into it. The accompanying robe was fashioned of finely woven wool and much more modest. Made of the same pink shade, it also had the same lace decorating it. Her maids had laced more silvery lace through little braids that pulled her hair back, but for the most part, it was left loose.