PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  “You’re going off-grid?”

  “And then some.” Neal smiled as he recited the words.

  “Um. Who is gonna run the company while you’re...not available?”

  “Good point. Have the driver stop by my attorney’s office.”

  “Your attorney’s office?”

  “They still have an office in Miami, don’t they?”

  “They’re located in one of the buildings you own.”

  “Well. Of course they are. With my interest in blocking anything that might save the planet, I probably need lawyers under my feet. I hope they’re not getting a bargain on the rent.”

  Eric snickered.

  “You told me I’m the fifth richest man in the world, right?”

  “Yeah. You are.”

  “Well, I’m going to transfer that problem, Eric.”

  “It’s not a problem that I can see.”

  “You are about to find out, young man. But. Before I give you. Power of Attorney. Will you promise me something?”

  Eric’s jaw dropped. His mouth kept opening and shutting, but nothing came out. That was almost entertaining enough to break through the ache Neal was living with.

  “Buy yourself the new Tesla. Take it out on a race track. I think you’ll love it.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  It took three days to get to Scotland.

  Seventy-two hours.

  Neal would have been counting every minute if they hadn’t been so crammed with things he had to handle. Do. Take care of. The Power of Attorney was just the start. Unless he wanted long legal entanglements, he had to transfer all kinds of properties and titles. Being fifth richest man came with a lot of baggage. Eric already looked older. His grin flashed a little less often. Neal hoped the responsibility wouldn’t wear him down too quickly.

  Neal finally gave the kid his personal cell phone – complete with private numbers for some of the most influential people on the planet. Neal bought a disposable one, with just enough technology he could get flights and rentals taken care of. Make sure of directions. And then he was finished with it.

  Not that he questioned his self-control – but Neal had forgotten the power cord. Wouldn’t matter, actually. He hadn’t brought any credit or debit cards with him, but he was still Neal Straithmore. He had offices all over the world, one as close as Inverness. Another in Edinburgh. He was well-known. If he wanted cell technology, all he had to do was walk into one of his offices.

  He’d also used the three days to acquire a good used backpack. Hiking wear. Long sleeves shirts. Jackets. Wool socks. Trekking shoes. A fedora. And then he had to figure out how to get all of that into the backpack. He’d stopped shaving. His whiskers grew in fairly quickly, leaving him with a grizzled look. It was a familiar brownish-red, but there was a lot of gray in there, as well. He looked light-years different than the tuxedo-clad CEO of Straithmore Enterprises, which was exactly what he wanted. Eric commented on it the last time he saw him. Said Neal was looking pretty ‘Old Country’.

  Good description.

  The asphalt he’d been driving only went so far. Neal wondered absently if they called it tarmac out here. If not, they should. Neal smiled slightly. He hadn’t been exaggerating to Ainslee when he’d told her Scotland was a mother lode of inventors and inventions. Tarmac was just one of them. A John McAdam had come up with a way to bind the surface stones together with coal tar. They’d called it ‘Tar McAdam’ – hence the name.

  It was desolate out here. Nothing in sight except a few sheep and a lot of yellow meadow grass. There had been a dogleg to the left, a mile or so before the road ended. Neal had ignored it, although the pavement down that particular deviation had been in great shape. That was probably where any traffic exited on this road. Neal didn’t notice and he didn’t care. His objective was Straith Castle.

  Neal maneuvered his four-door sedan onto the non-maintained gravel trail and managed to get another half mile before the ruts and overgrowth got too difficult for the car. He parked the vehicle where it was. Left the key in the ignition. Fished his cardigan out of the back seat. Buttoned it. Pulled the fedora onto his head. Hefted his backpack. And started walking.

  It was a nice day. Especially for a morning in October. A chilly breeze teased him as he started to walk. It carried a possibility of rain, as did the cloud cover. Neal inhaled the scent of moisture. Heather. Thistle. Fresh air. This corner of Scotland was like an oasis of nature. Pure. Untouched. Clean. He stopped at a stream.

  Wait.

  It’s called a burn, Neal.

  He lowered the backpack, went to his knees, cupped his hand, and quenched his thirst. The water was icy cold. Refreshing. Clear. Tasted perfectly clean. Neal stood, re-shouldered the backpack, and continued on. He already felt healthier. More alive. His heart was beating in tandem with his steps. He could hear each breath as he filled his lungs and then expelled the air. The tip of a standing stone came into view. Neal’s heart ticked up a notch. He jogged to the crest of a hill, and stopped to look over the area known as Huntsman’s Dale.

  It hadn’t changed much.

  Grass still covered the area. It waved and bowed with the wind. A strand of trees stood on the opposite side of the bowl-shaped valley. Neal looked over at it. The trees looked different without their foliage. A little taller. A lot less sinister. They couldn’t hide a sniper such as Lachlan today.

  Neal was a bit winded from his jog, so he walked down toward the spot where it had all started. The place where he’d usurped Niall Straith’s barely deceased body. First met Ainslee. And where Garrick had met his end.

  Neal narrowed his eyes against the wind. Looked about. There wasn’t any sign of a trail through the area. A boulder stuck out of the sod off to one side. He’d never noticed it before. Then again, he hadn’t had a reason to observe things this closely. Neal set his backpack down beside the boulder. Settled onto his butt on the rock. Extended his legs. Used his backpack as a back rest. Lowered his hat to shield his eyes.

  And waited.

  He may have dozed off. He wasn’t sure. The sun had moved. Clouds had gotten darker. Nothing else had changed.

  But he hadn’t really expected it to.

  Well.

  Time was passing. Still. Always.

  Neal stood. Brushed off his khakis. Re-shouldered the backpack, and started walking again. He wasn’t on horseback. It took a lot longer to reach the start of Castle Straith’s outer wall on foot. Eventually it came into sight. Neal walked until the castle wall was waist high, so he could lean against it and prop his backpack at the same time. Catch his breath. And look over the bay toward the cliffs on the opposite side. It was exactly as he remembered. Easily as regal. Majestic. His heart was still sending ache with every beat, but for some reason, it was muting slightly. He felt reenergized.

  Almost hopeful.

  Neal’s steps grew quicker as the walls narrowed to make the entrance path. Each stride lengthened. Shivers lifted along his skin. The arrow slits were the same. The arch the same. Everything the same.

  Wait.

  The portcullis was missing. There was a ridge in the rock where it had been. And nobody called out as he approached. Neal’s heart started hammering for a different reason. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the entire place reeked of dereliction. Desolation.

  Almost like...

  He was loping as he turned the corner. And then he stopped dead. The backpack rocked atop his shoulders. The tower that had stood so proud and tall was a good story shorter than before. There were gaping holes where windows used to be. And even a casual observer could see the interior was gone. Open sky was in every aperture. No matter how high he looked.

  “No!”

  Neal’s cry was lengthy. It carried the shock. Dismay. And defeat.

  He lowered his backpack. He didn’t care where it landed. His boots crunched with every step as he approached and climbed the flight of stone steps that had once led to such grandeur. The front stoop stone was still there. Neal st
ood on it and gaped. The entire great hall was missing. Only stone remained. Walls with large fireplace openings lined the sides, while the chieftain stair was basically intact, but impossible to reach. The bottom steps were already separating, leaning precariously in midair. Because there wasn’t any roof. And there wasn’t any floor. Above the landing of the chieftain steps was a view of sky. His chamber was gone. The duchess’s chamber. The rooms where he’d found such bliss but four days ago...

  All gone.

  His life with Ainslee had never felt farther away. Neal shook with emotions he’d never experienced before. Worse than even heartache. Sometimes he’d rather be a cold, heartless bastard. Because now, he knew how what dying hope felt like.

  Neal covered his face with his hands. Sagged onto his knees. And wept.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “Hello, there!”

  Neal didn’t know how long he stayed hunched over. Absorbed with grief. It had been a long enough span of time his sobs had ceased. Any tears dried. He lifted his head from his hands. The elements intruded. Wind ruffled his sweater. His hair. Raindrops dusted his face intermittently. He shivered with chill.

  “Hello!”

  The young female voice hailed someone again. Her words penetrated the elements. It took a few moments to realize the words were meant for him. Neal swiveled, and looked across the courtyard. A young woman was walking toward him, coming from the direction where the stables had been. She was leading a very large horse. It was a Clydesdale. The horse had a reddish toned coat. And a big white blaze on its nose.

  The girl lifted her arm and waved at him.

  “I said, hello!” she called out.

  Oh, my God.

  “Ainslee!”

  Neal shouted the name. Joy filled him. It was a great motivator. Neal hadn’t known that. He was on his feet and racing down the stone stairs, his legs pumping, his heart thumping, and his breath coming in great heaves for air. He leapt the final two steps and started across the overgrown courtyard at a dead run. His fedora flew off. He was halfway to her before he realized the obvious. She was hatless. Her charcoal-shaded hair was blowing freely. It didn’t look much longer than shoulder-length. She wore a cranberry-colored cardigan. Tan slacks.

  This wasn’t Ainslee.

  Neal’s steps slowed. Then stopped. His heart didn’t match. It was pounding away with powerful beats that hurt his chest. His legs were complaining. Muscle spasms spurted through his thighs and lower legs. He locked his knees so he wouldn’t fall. And he was out of breath. Neal bent forward, supporting himself with hands on his thighs as he gasped for air. He’d forgotten he wasn’t a young athletic twenty-six-year old anymore.

  Now, he was paying.

  He barely heard her approach. She stopped about six feet from him. The horse followed suit.

  “I did na’ ken we had a visitor scheduled.”

  “Uh—” Neal couldn’t make words yet. He didn’t have enough breath.

  “I’d have met you. Given you a tour.”

  “Tour?”

  He should have waited. The word was a huff of sound. He was surprised she understood it.

  “’Tis na’ tourist season, but we’re grateful for anything we get.”

  “You...have a tour?”

  “Oh, aye. We conduct full tours all year round. The old castle is verra special. Some say ’tis haunted. The span you were looking over? That was the great hall. ’Twas said to have been a magnificent room. Over ninety feet in length. Eight fireplaces. And the double-staircase at the end? That led to the chieftain rooms. There is a wall of windows up there that once looked out over the ocean. ’Tis a breathtaking sight...but um. You must na’ tell anyone I said that.”

  “Why not?” Neal asked.

  “I climbed up the back balcony to view it. There is a sheer drop to the ocean. ’Tis na’ safe. You will na’ tell on me, will you?”

  “Of course not,” Neal replied.

  “Um. Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “You called me...Ainslee. Do you perhaps...ken my mother?”

  Neal shook his head. “You reminded me. Of someone.”

  “Ah. I’m told I take after one of my ancestors. A previous duchess. From a long time ago. She was half Irish.”

  Neal’s heart twinged sharply, as if someone had just stabbed him with a hot blade. He barely kept the sound of agony from leaving his lips.

  “They say she was verra beautiful. But I should na’ say that.”

  “Why not?” Neal asked.

  “My family would say I’m fishing for compliments.”

  Neal glanced up at her. She definitely bore a resemblance to Ainslee, especially since she was blushing. And then she tipped her eyes up to his and stunned Neal. She had silver-colored eyes! They were the exact match to the ones he’d viewed in the looking glass when he’d been in Niall’s body.

  Neal went to a knee before he fell. Bowed his head. Felt a smattering of raindrops against the back of his neck. He resembled the stable hands when they’d encountered Ainslee after he’d made her his duchess. A clansman swearing fealty. Neal didn’t care. He wasn’t shaking with cold, anymore. It was barely containable sensation, a rush of jubilation that damn near took his head off. He’d rarely encountered emotions before meeting Ainslee, and now he dealt with an emotional rollercoaster that sent him from euphoria to the depths of despair and then rocketed him back to the heights of elation and joy.

  Ainslee had borne him a child!

  This stunning young woman standing before him was proof.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Neal nodded, although ‘all’ and ‘right’ were lames words for how he felt at the moment.

  “Oh, dear. I did na’ bring any water or snacks today. But, I was na’ expecting tourists.”

  “It’s...okay,” Neal managed to reply.

  “Perhaps you should come up to the manor.”

  “The manor?”

  “That’s what we call it. ’Tis a bit more. That’s where the Straith family moved after the fire.”

  Neal gathered a breath. Stood back up. Turned to view the decrepit-looking tower. It looked pretty forlorn against a backdrop of dark gray clouds.

  “There was a fire,” he remarked. “That explains it.”

  “Aye. ’Twas a long time ago. 1860. They managed to save some things. Not a lot.”

  “The journals in the library?” Neal asked hopefully.

  “Nothing so wondrous. I wish they had. The family lost every record. Almost everything. They only managed to save items on the main floor. But that included a weapons collection from the great hall. It’s still extensive, although we’ve had to sell some it off.”

  Neal swallowed. Hard. “That’s...a shame.”

  “Oh, well. Time’s change. And life...is expensive. Would you like to see the collection? I can waive the entry fee, if you like.”

  Neal regarded her for a moment in surprise while raindrops started sprinkling his features in earnest. He hadn’t realized he looked so destitute. He didn’t even have his backpack with him.

  “I had heard somewhere...that the Duke of Straithcairn...owned a lot of stock in the New York Stock Exchange,” he prodded.

  “Oh. I heard that rumor, too. If so, ’twas sold off.”

  “Sold off?”

  “The duke at the time sold every holding he had to build the manor house. ’Tis a fine house. Large. Well-built.”

  “The duke at the time sold – did you say – every holding?”

  “Aye. The worst was the land over yonder.”

  “What land?” Neal asked.

  “Did you note a bay as you approached? There is a spit of land on the other side. With a big cliff.”

  “I saw it. I was...awed by it.” Just as he’d been that the first time he’d seen it over a week ago.

  “We had to sell, too.”

  “The Duke of Straithcairn doesn’t own it?”

  “We have na’ owned it for over a century. We can bu
y it back. The papers give my father first refusal if the owner ever sells...but that is na’ ever going to happen.”

  “He’ll never sell?”

  “Oh. Nae.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy expression. “My father received a letter just yesterday about intent to sale. ’Tis a pipedream. We could never raise the funds to purchase it.”

  Great job, Neal. Chalk up another variable to the mess he’d made by tampering with fate. Even if he’d written a letter and secreted it in a journal with instructions to be opened in 1870, it wouldn’t have mattered. The journal had burnt to ashes by then. No wonder his plan for the future had gone completely bust.

  “I’m sorry. I should na’ have said that. I am ever saying things I should na’. My grandmother calls me indecorous, whatever that is.”

  She flashed Neal a smile. He returned it. She had no idea how closely she resembled Ainslee. Nor how beloved that made her.

  “Would you like to see the weapons display?” she asked.

  “I...think I’ll come back for that another time, miss. Thank you for the mini-tour. And for all the information. Truly. Thank you.”

  “Oh. I didn’t introduce myself. How rude of me. I’m Annabelle Straith.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Straith. My name is Neal. Neal Straithmore.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “From the ’States?”

  Damn it, Neal. He’d been so caught up in her revelations, his mind racing on potential options, that he’d forgotten to use a pseudonym. “Um. Yes,” he replied hesitantly.

  She clapped her hands, the move lifting the horse’s reins. The horse nodded his head, as if in agreement.

  “Oh! You’re one of the American Straithmores, aren’t you? I thought you looked familiar. We’re related, you know.”

  Neal smiled. “Really?”

  “You certain you do na’ wish to come for a visit? It’s about to storm. And there aren’t many places to shelter out here.”

  She was right. The wind had grown to gusts that whipped her hair, the horse’s mane and tail. It also sliced right through his cardigan, sending bone-chilling cold. The raindrops had become a medley, hitting his nose. Cheeks. Hands.