The Topaz Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 10)

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  She’d lost hope of going home, but now that Sophia Orsini had thrown Billie a lifeline and the possibility existed, she was scared shitless it would be snatched away again. She reached for Lafitte’s hand for reassurance. Would he be there for her if the worst happened, or would he sail off for Galveston and continue living his life as a privateer?

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “If this doesn’t work out, Wilhelmina, I’ll search the seas looking for a way to get you home.”

  His words and tone hit her in all the right spots. “You’re reading my mind.” She hadn’t said anything about being worried, yet he picked up on a vibe she wasn’t even aware of sending. He got her like no one ever had, although sometimes he didn’t understand her at all.

  Figure that one out.

  She was still pissed about his two attempts to silence her with a kiss, and if he ever tried that again, she’d give him a swift kick in the ’nads. But even then, he knew he had to shock her to get her attention, and it worked. How’d he know that?

  They reached the second-floor balcony. The landing split the residence in half, with the balcony traversing the entire length of the building. “My spies said the parlor is to the right.” Still holding her hand, he turned and stopped at the first door, drew a pistol, and held it behind his back.

  She licked her bottom lip. “Do you think you need that?”

  “I never walk into any situation unprepared to fight.” He squeezed her hand. “Are you ready?”

  She took a deep breath, clasping the hilt of the cutlass. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He whistled, and shadows appeared above and below them. His men surrounded the three-building complex. “Everyone’s in place. Let’s go.”

  He dropped her hand and knocked. Time slowed, and it seemed like several minutes passed before the door opened, revealing a brightly lit parlor and a man as tall as Lafitte, younger, but just as muscular. He smiled, flashing a set of perfectly capped white teeth.

  He held the door open wide, sweeping his arm back, welcoming her in. “Captain Lafitte”—he nodded to Billie. “Commander Lafitte”—he nodded to Jean. “Come in. We’ve been expecting you.” His husky Cajun voice could quickly melt a girl’s resolve.

  Man, who is this guy?

  “I’m Remy Benoit,” he said, answering her unasked question.

  “Military?” she asked.

  “Army.”

  “Tatted up the wazoo, I bet.”

  He grinned. “I’ve seen yours. Nice.”

  “He’s seen your tattoos?” Lafitte growled. “I’ll kill him.” His pistol pointed straight at Remy’s gut.

  Remy’s hands went up, but he didn’t retreat. “I’m not a threat, man.”

  “Don’t kill him. He’s one of the good guys,” Billie said. “I have pictures of my tats on my blog—” When Jean gave her the one-eye, she quit trying to explain and said, “It’s all innocent. He hasn’t seen them in person. He’s seen pictures like my driver’s license from California. So put your gun back in your pants.”

  The pistol didn’t budge, and neither did Jean’s tense jaw. “How do you know you can trust him?”

  “How could you not? Look at that face.” She winked at Remy and his wicked grin. “He’s Army, and he’s cool.”

  The pistol lowered, but Jean didn’t put it away. Instead, his jaw cracked, either from grinding his molars or holding back the sheer force of the angry Boss of Barataria. “Is he a warrior like you? From another time?”

  She looked at Remy. “Yeah, I suspect he is, but I don’t know him, or how he knows me, or even why he’s here. So let’s give him a chance to explain himself before you shoot him. Ooookay?”

  Meeting Remy shoved her stress level into a manageable range. He had this time travel gig under control. She could sense it with every one of the hairs on her neck that had been giving her so much grief. Call it a woman’s intuition, but this wasn’t Remy Benoit’s first rodeo.

  A beat passed before Jean finally put away the pistol. And Remy’s grin spread across his face. “Come in, and I’ll introduce you to the others.”

  They followed Remy into the parlor, where an older woman reclined on a chaise lounge and a man, probably her husband, hovered nearby. The artist sat on the sofa and immediately stood as Billie drew close.

  “Hi, Billie,” she said. “I’m Sophia Orsini. I apologize for the unorthodox method of communicating with you earlier, but I didn’t know what your relationship is with Mr. Lafitte, and I didn’t want to…as they say…blow your cover. Since he’s here with you, I assume he knows who you are.”

  “You didn’t blow my cover, just my mind.” Billie gestured toward Jean. “This is Jean Lafitte, Commander of Barataria.”

  Jean took Sophia’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “As I’ve told Wilhelmina, women should never wear trousers. You are more beautiful dressed as you are now.”

  Sophia didn’t smile. She seemed almost immune to flattery. She gracefully turned to the couple. “And please allow me to introduce you to Philippe and Rhona Fontenot.”

  Billie stifled a gasp at the sight of Mrs. Fontenot’s skin rash and the bruises on her arms and neck. An accident or abuse didn’t cause the bruising, which meant something worse. She was very ill.

  Billie’s senior citizen group recently lost one of its members to leukemia, but the woman was able to attend dozens of functions while going through treatment. Mrs. Fontenot didn’t seem as sick as the woman in Napa had been, so her condition, if treated, should have a good outcome. But Billie wasn’t a doctor. If they had the means to return to the future, why were they still here?

  Mrs. Fontenot reached out for Billie. “I’m so sorry we pulled you into this…adventure.”

  Billie knelt beside her so she wouldn’t have to extend her arm. “I’m sorry you were too. I’m also sorry you aren’t feeling well. Is there anything I can do? Fix you something to eat? I have great recipes that are easy to digest and have lots of low-fat protein.”

  “Maybe later,” Mrs. Fontenot said. “I’m ready to return home, but we’ve decided to wait until after the battle on January 8. Philippe and I spent years participating in the Battle of New Orleans reenactment, so we want to be here for the real one.”

  Billie smiled. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m pretty sure we win, so there’s no reason to stick around for it, unless…” Billie stroked Mrs. Fontenot’s hand. The thin, bruised skin was so familiar to Billie, and she wanted to cry. “You want to go to Governor Claiborne’s ball, don’t you? I bet you already have a new gown to wear, and if not, I’m sure Marguerite can whip you up something special.” Billie stood and twirled. “Look what she made for me. It’s very Goth, don’t you think?”

  Billie got down on her knees again, and Mrs. Fontenot rubbed the fabric of Billie’s jacket between her fingers and thumb. “I designed and made this fabric last year on my loom. No one liked it. I’m so happy you do.”

  “Fu—” Billie covered her mouth. “No! That can’t be true. It’s exquisite. Why wouldn’t anyone want it?”

  “It was waiting for you,” Mrs. Fontenot said. “Marguerite has already made my gown for the ball. I’m looking forward to it. We used to go to the reenactment ball every year.”

  “If you’re going to be up for next year’s ball, you need to go home and see a doctor.”

  “Not yet. I have the best medical attention available in New Orleans,” Rhona said, smiling up at Remy. “Remy’s been monitoring my condition constantly since he arrived, and it’s unnecessary. He’s being overly cautious.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Billie asked.

  “Medic, and Rhona is being kind. All I can do is make sure she eats, and since she has a good appetite, I don’t have to scold her.”

  Billie wanted to ask what they were going to do once they returned to New Orleans since their administrator was liquidating their estate, but this wasn’t the time to address those concerns.

  Philippe brought over two additional chairs. “Would you like wine o
r whisky?”

  “Wine for me.” Billie looked at Jean. “What about you?”

  “Wine.” Jean glanced around the room. “Are all of you travelers like Wilhelmina?”

  “Yes,” Sophia said. “I’ve traveled several times.”

  “I heard you were in Paris in 1789 and brought Marguerite to America. Does she know where you’re from?” Jean asked.

  “I never told her.”

  “She’s not as naïve as she pretends,” Jean said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she suspects you’re lying to her.”

  “Why would she think that?” Sophia appeared to be somewhat offended, and her reply was icy.

  “A woman she knew briefly reappears twenty-five years later and doesn’t look a day older is a good place to start,” he said, undaunted.

  Without a smidge of doubt, Billie now knew the identity of Jean’s lover. “Did she say something about that to you, Jean, when you saw her…last night?”

  The look on his face could have sucked the oxygen out of the room, and a low, near growl, came from deep in his throat. Billie had crossed the line again, and she didn’t dare look at him. Why the hell was he so protective of Marguerite?

  “Is this the entire group, or did others come with you?” Billie asked.

  “My husband, Pete Parrino, came with us, as well as a man you know quite well…Rick O’Grady.”

  Billie almost spit out the sip of wine she’d just taken. Instead, it went down the wrong way, and she coughed. “Rick O’Grady? From Napa? How are you connected?”

  “Pete and Rick’s sister were partners at the NYPD, but he’s known Rick and his family since they were teenagers.”

  “But how…? Billie rubbed her forehead, feeling the start of another giant headache. “How did you and the O’Gradys get into the brooch business?” She shook her head. “No, no. Erase that. That’s not the right question to start with. How did you know what happened to the Fontenots and me? Let’s start there.”

  “We were in Kentucky when Rick’s office manager—”

  “Cate?” Billie asked.

  “Right. She sent a text and told him you’d disappeared from a hotel room in New Orleans. Pete has a Marine buddy who’s a detective in that city, so Pete called him to ask about the case. He told Pete you’d been to an estate sale and purchased china and a brooch and then disappeared.”

  “How did you figure out I was here?”

  “You know Kenzie McBain, right?”

  “She was Kenzie Wallis-Manning when I first heard of her at West Point, then we met in a PTSD group in Napa.”

  “She got an emerald brooch and disappeared. David McBain went back to London the week before D-Day to rescue her.”

  “She introduced me to her husband at the event I catered at the winery. So Kenzie was stranded during World War II?”

  “Right,” Sophia said. “And Charlotte Mallory received a sapphire brooch, and she and her brother went back to the last year of the Civil War.”

  “So the brooches take people back to wars? Why?”

  Jean whispered, “What are these wars?”

  “Can I tell you later? Once I tell you when and where you’ll have dozens of questions.”

  “Will I be alive?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then it doesn’t matter.” He sipped his wine. “But I’d still like to know.”

  “The trips back aren’t always in times of war,” Sophia said. “I spent two weeks with Leonardo da Vinci painting, but on another trip, I ended up in Paris the day Parisians stormed the Bastille. One of our cousins”—she made air quotes—“went to Colorado in the middle of the dinosaur and railroad wars in 1878. And another one went back to New York City in 1909. None of these trips have been easy for anyone.”

  “I fit that bill,” Billie said, without daring to look at Jean. “So how did you know we were here, and where are Pete and Rick now?”

  “Rick and Pete interviewed your friend Morgan, and she mentioned your conversation about the tour of the Chalmette Battlefield and the staff ride you did while at West Point. Then we discovered how involved the Fontenots have been in the reenactments. We thought all three of you might be here.”

  “Where have you been?” Mr. Fontenot asked. “We couldn’t find you in the city. And how did you meet Mr. Lafitte?”

  “I woke up in the swamp and followed a path that I hoped would take me to civilization. I stumbled upon Jean’s”—she glanced at him—“kingdom. At first, I thought it was a movie set, but then I decided I was on an island with a bunch of reenactors who lived like pirates. It didn’t become real to me until we had dinner with four British officers.”

  “Captain Lockyer?” Philippe asked.

  Billie nodded.

  “What did you tell him?”

  Billie studied the wine in her glass. “I screwed up.”

  Sophia put her wine glass aside and stood. “Before you start, do you mind if I get my drawing pencils and paper? But keep talking.” She rustled papers behind Billie. “I’ll sit back here at the desk.”

  Billie continued, “I thought the British officers were nuts or more reenactors playing a role, so I got cocky and smarted off—”

  “Imagine that,” Jean muttered.

  She ignored him. “I told the officers I wouldn’t be surprised if the Parliament of the United Kingdom had already approved a treaty and the Prime Regent had signed it into law. So even if they won the battle, they’d still have to take their wounded and go home without a victory. Then I told them to go back to their ship and wait six weeks until they received notification that what I said was true. They got pissed and left.”

  Jean squeezed her hand. “Tell them the rest.”

  “This will sound pretty crazy, but I was sick for three days after I arrived. Dominique gave me a sedative that caused violent dreams that freaked me out.”

  “What were the dreams?” Sophia asked.

  “I was in the middle of ancient warriors fighting a battle. I got a sense they were fighting over something evil. Now it all sounds silly, but when I thought about the British officers believing I could forecast the future, I became convinced that they’d come looking for me after the war. And my fears fed into the dreams.”

  “Have you had other dreams?” Sophia’s chair scraped across the floor, and her skirt swished as she returned to her seat next to Mrs. Fontenot.

  “No.”

  “Can you describe the warriors you saw?”

  “There were dozens of them—hundreds, maybe—with dark blue tattoos of mythical animals from the tips of their fingers to their necks. That’s about all I remember.”

  Sophia opened a journal and flipped through several pages then turned it around for Billie to see. “Do these warriors resemble the ones in your dreams?”

  Billie took the journal and became lightheaded as she stared at a picture of the warriors in her dreams. She must have swayed, because Jean put his arm around her, and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She handed him the journal, the blood vessels in her head about to explode.

  “This is a scene from my dreams,” Billie said.

  Lines furrowed across his brow as he looked from Billie to Sophia. “How is that possible?”

  Sophia took back the journal. “David McBain saw this in a vision on the same day you disappeared from New Orleans.”

  “So it’s real? They’re coming for us?”

  “Not right now,” Remy said. “But we’ll have to deal with them soon.”

  Billie sucked a quick breath, muscles tightening. “When the hell is soon? This week? Next week? Once we get home?” She shot a heated glance at Rhona and then softened it. “I apologize for my language.”

  Sweetness danced in Rhona’s eyes. “You’re upset. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  Maybe. But Billie should have better control over her emotions, and she shouldn’t be cussing in front of Mrs. Fontenot. She’d never cussed around her grandmothers or her clients, but lately, her mouth had spewed
fucks and hells and goddamns like they were the only words in her vocabulary. Being a grumbling jerkface was unbecoming.

  “When’s it coming for us, Remy?” she asked.

  “Could be several years, but compared to how long it’s been searching—”

  “For what?” she interrupted. “What’s it looking for? I don’t have anything.” Her voice quieted to a whisper. “I don’t even have a brooch.”

  “The topaz brooch was once attached to a torc. Once we find the torc and reattach the brooch, we hope the evil will go back to…wherever evil lives.”

  Jean tugged on his beard, his eyes far away. “When was it last seen?”

  “We believe it was in the early 1700s in Scotland, but we don’t think it stayed there. We doan know for sure,” Remy said.

  “Do you know what it looks like?” Jean asked.

  “It’s braided silver, large enough to fit a man’s neck with a secure clasp, and a pendant to hold the brooch,” Sophia said.

  “What do you mean by secure clasp?” Jean asked.

  “Once it’s closed, it’s almost impossible to open.” Sophia took the journal back and flipped a few pages then returned it to him. “This is close, I think.”

  “Is the pendant a smaller version of the necklace?” Jean asked.

  “That’s what we believe,” Sophia said.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it now. We have the battle to prepare for,” Billie said. “Where are Pete and Rick?”

  “They went searching for you. When we discovered you weren’t in the city, Philippe gave the guys maps showing all the surrounding plantations. They divided the list so they could hit all of them in the shortest amount of time. They should be home tonight or tomorrow. Rick will be very relieved you’re here.”

  “Who is this Rick to you?” Jean asked.

  “I met him a few years ago and did a catering job for the winery where he works.”

  Anger flexed in Lafitte’s jaw. “Was he your—?”

  “Lover? Are you serious? You’re asking me that after being so protective of your paramour’s identity? Good grief. Hell, no, he’s not my lover.” When she cut her gaze away from Lafitte, she realized the other four people in the room were staring at her. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at?”