IntoEternity

  Into Eternity

  Christina James

  Born in the past, raised in the future, Augusta traveled through time as a child. Leaving her life in the Scottish Highlands of the past and hiding in the future was the only way to save her life. But when an accident sends her tumbling back through time, she lands in the arms of a handsome Highland laird and finds herself thrust into the middle of a world filled with intrigue, murder and unparalleled passion.

  As Alexander searches the length and breadth of Scotia for his runaway young nephew he finds the lad traveling with a beautiful, mysterious woman. No matter that his mischievous relative actually found the woman—by her beauty and grace and her misfortune at having crossed his path this day, Alexander decides to make her his in every sense of the word. Little does he know it will take all his skills to hold on to her.

  A Romantica® time travel erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Into Eternity

  Christina James

  Chapter One

  Scottish Highlands

  “It is time for her to come home.”

  The old woman gazed into the large black caldron filled with water. The image that appeared in the mirrorlike surface was that of a young, black-haired lady with exotic golden eyes that slanted enticingly. She was a beauty in every way, comely of face and pure of heart.

  “Nay, ’tis not. Not yet.” The older woman’s companion splashed the shimmering surface with his cane, momentarily blurring the image she’d called forth.

  “Just look. She is ready. And we are running out of time.”

  “I know we are running out of time, old hag, but I tell you again, not yet.”

  “You hammer-headed old fool, if we wait much longer, it may be too late. We could lose the chance of bringing her over. The time is right and you know he is waiting for her. If we muddle it up this time, he might not be so merciful and it would be all your fault, just as our return journey was. That bungle was your fault as well.” She thrust an accusing finger in his direction as she glared at him.

  “Ha, you are an old woman, what do you know? Destiny will bring them together. If it is meant to be, it will be. All we need do is bring her over and Fate will take a hand in the outcome. But I say again, this is not the time.”

  “It is I say.”

  “Nay, it is not.”

  “Aye, ’tis.” She grumbled under her breath, not willing to concede defeat.

  “You could drive a saint to madness.” He threw up his hands and started pacing the floor of the small cottage, leaning heavily on his long staff.

  “A lot you know, most saints are mad to begin with.”

  “You are acting like a child, pouting when you don’t get your own way.”

  “All right, since you claim to know everything we will wait. But I warn you, this had better not turn out to be another one of your blunders. If he has to wait much longer, he will have our hides.”

  “Oh aye, you don’t have to remind me about that. This time there will be no mistake. I know the game we are playing here. But in truth it is Fate we serve. And she will be most appreciative.”

  Chapter Two

  Idaho, October 31

  A cold breeze nipped at Gusty’s exposed nose and cheeks. Her stroll through the park was not turning out to be as pleasurable as she’d first anticipated. As she stopped to flip up the faux-fur collar of her black leather coat to protect her neck and ears, two excited children dressed up as a small red demon and a little witch nearly bowled her over. The two raced down the walkway toward the next house, eager to collect more trick-or-treat favors.

  “Sorry, lady!” the boy shouted over his shoulder.

  Then they were gone. Gusty had to smile at their enthusiasm. She glanced around to see if there were any more children coming her way before she continued walking. The streets seemed to be teeming with youngsters of all ages celebrating this Halloween tradition, dressed in an array of colorful costumes. The cool evening temperature did not deter them from going door to door, demanding their ransom of sweet treats.

  As Gusty moved on toward her destination, her fingers were nearly frozen in the cold breeze. She had inadvertently left her gloves on the front seat of her car along with her wallet when she’d picked up the small bouquet of flowers she had brought with her. She had not noticed leaving the gloves behind until she had walked for two blocks and then she decided it was not worth the effort to go back for them. Luckily she had the habit of pocketing her keys whenever she got out of her vehicle so at least she was not locked out of her car.

  She had always loved autumn. The brilliant hues of gold and red, the crispness of the air, the scent of crumbling leaves under foot were all part of the uniqueness of the season. Halloween had always been a special time for her and her family. They had an uncommon way of making the autumn festivities come alive. Each year they dressed up in costumes from a different period in history and for one evening they re-enacted that particular era. She had always loved the make-believe aspect of the tradition and every year it had gotten more detailed.

  Last year, just before Halloween her grandmother had put together costumes that were exact replicas of what a Scottish Highland laird and his lady would have worn. Gusty and her brother Michael had promised to wear the costumes to their family’s annual Halloween gathering. But they never had the chance. Her whole life changed in the blink of an eye when a drunk driver broadsided the car in which she and her grandparents had been riding. She alone had survived.

  The police informed her after the accident that it was remarkable she had not been killed as well. Her memory of that night was still a distorted blur. The only thing she could remember was waking up in the hospital several days later with her brother at her bedside looking as bad as she felt. He told her the emergency room doctors had not expected her to live through the night. She had lain in the intensive care unit for three days before she finally regained consciousness.

  Today marked the anniversary of that fatal accident. Halloween had come to mean something entirely different for her. The holiday held painful memories and a longing for things to be the way they were before her grandparents passed away.

  Reflections of that day, a year ago, filled her head as she walked down the street toward the cemetery. She did not notice until that moment how well she fit in to the festivities of the evening with the dark outfit she wore. She looked as if she had dressed up in costume for the occasion, as a witch perhaps. With her black hair braided in a single plait down her back, wearing her black leather coat and ankle-length black skirt, she looked positively sinister under the lengthening shadows of the trees that lined the avenue. But then her outfit matched her mood.

  Michael was to meet her at the cemetery at 4:30 p.m. before the gates were closed for the day. He’d phoned to let her know he would be getting off work early so they could place flowers on the graves of their grandparents. She had planned the little speech about how she was not returning to therapy. He would not be pleased but it was her life and she needed to take control of it once again.

  Gusty stopped at the busy intersection and waited for a break in the traffic before crossing the street. The gate of the Rose Hill Cemetery was situated at the corner of the property. She took a seat on the stone bench at the entrance to await her brother. The location of the bench gave her a clear view of both streets that flanked the cemetery. The small park, through which she had just walked, took up the entire block to the west, while a residential neighborhood spread out to the north.

  As she sat watching a small group of kids, a sense of complete tranquility filled her mind. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When was the last time she had felt so calm, so peaceful?

  Or so cold! She cursed her absentmindedness at leav
ing her gloves behind. She clasped her hands in her lap and vigorously rubbed them together, trying to warm them. Suddenly she paused. Frowning in consternation, she glanced down at the antique ring on her finger. It felt unusually warm, almost hot. Gusty raised her hand and studied the smooth metal band, twisting it around. How strange. She thought back to the day her grandmother had given her and Michael their rings. They were unusual in design and her grandmother told them they had been passed down from one generation to the next. They had in fact belonged to their mother and father.

  “Oh, Grammy, how I miss you.”

  The thought of wearing something that had once belonged to her mother left a warm feeling in her heart and she smiled.

  “Gusty!”

  The sound of her name distracted her. She glanced down the sidewalk to see her brother walking toward her and she gasped at the sight of him.

  Michael was dressed in the authentic Scottish costume their grandmother had fashioned for him last year for their Halloween party. He waved and she automatically raised her hand in response.

  Her handsome brother looked magnificent in his plaid kilt, and the feathered beret covering his overly long black hair. His long, muscular legs were bare from the knees down to the tops of the high Argyle stockings he wore. And he was probably freezing his butt off. Gusty could not help but grin, even as her eyes filled with tears. She never thought to feel the manifestation of her grandparents’ spirits again in this life but here was her brother, big and bold, bringing back the revelry the old couple had instilled in their grandchildren.

  Gusty wiped away an errant tear with a quick swipe of her hand as she rose to meet him with a smile. His steps quickened and an answering grin lit up his face. The past year had been hard on him as well but not in the same way it had been on her. She had been truly lost since the accident and he worried about her and what her future held for her. But she’d felt much better lately. Was it possible she was finally ready to join the living again, at long last? Michael reached for her and drew her into a warm hug.

  “You look good, little sister. I’m glad you called.”

  Gusty wrapped her arms around the solid weight of her brother and held him tight. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him these past weeks while he had been out of town on business.

  “Thanks for coming, Michael. I wasn’t sure you would get here before they closed the gates. God, how I’ve missed you.” She looked up at him and smiled.

  Michael smiled back, bent, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I would not have missed today, you know that. It’s been a long, hard year for both of us. But I worry about you. I know how much you miss them.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. Michael raised his hand and brushed the wetness away.

  “Hush now. Don’t weep. Maeve and Hagen would not want you to grieve so. Come on—let’s go put these posies on their gravestone. Then I’m taking you out to dinner at that new place over on Vista. A beer or two to cheer us up as we revisit the memories we have of our grandparents.”

  As Gusty let her brother turn her toward the gate of the cemetery, her attention was momentarily distracted by a movement in her peripheral vision. She turned her head to get a better look and saw a small boy riding his two-wheeler bike at a reckless speed, heading right for the busy street in front of them. No doubt distracted by images of all the treats he would be getting, he paid no attention to the traffic-filled avenue ahead of him.

  “Oh. My. God!”

  Michael glanced around. “What is it?”

  Gusty pulled her arm from Michael’s grip and took a step toward the curb. “There.” She pointed. “The boy riding his bike through the park across the street. Oh, my God.”

  “What is it, Gusty?”

  “That boy! He’s about to get hit.” She stepped off the curb and dashed into the middle of the traffic.

  “Gusty. Stop! Damn it, Gusty, get back here!”

  “Stop!” Gusty cried out, trying to get the boy’s attention, but he paid her no heed.

  The child moved steadily toward the danger of the busy street. Cars swerved, their tires squealing on the roadway as drivers attempted to miss him. Ignoring her brother’s shouts behind her, Gusty raced after the boy. She had to reach him, had to stop him before it was too late!

  She did not know at what point she became aware that everything around her slowed down to move as if she were caught in a dream but suddenly she felt as if she had heavy weights in her boots. Even the traffic moving beside her slowed to a crawling pace. She looked back at the boy and blinked. He was dressed in a kilt and tunic, similar to the costume Michael wore. The garments were extraordinarily authentic looking and she had to admit the clothes went rather well with the long red hair the boy sported and the horse he was riding.

  Horse?

  No! Surely she was seeing things! But the large animal did not disappear, nor did it turn into a bike. The boy rode on the back of a huge dapple gray and they raced for the busy avenue, apparently not noticing the dangers posed by the passing vehicles.

  For a moment Gusty thought she might not get to him in time—her legs moved too slowly. As she reached him everything around her suddenly sped back up to normal and she jumped forward to pull him from the animal’s back just as it leaped in front of a speeding car. At the same moment she felt the excruciating pain of a vehicle slamming into her. The impact threw her against the curb. Pain exploded through her body and the air was forced mercilessly from her lungs as she hit the concrete. The world grew dimmer and dimmer, a mist surrounded her and the sounds of the honking horns and screeching tires faded.

  Just before her world turned completely black, Gusty heard Michael in the distance, screaming her name, begging her not to leave him. She tried to reassure him she was all right but she was unable to open her eyes, unable to speak. She couldn’t summon the strength, it was as if her body was not hers to control anymore. But no matter, she would tell him later.

  She wasn’t going anywhere very soon.

  Chapter Three

  She plummeted downward. A whispering voice sounded in her head, growing louder and louder the farther Gusty fell until the annoying murmuring seemed to be right next to her. Suddenly she could make out the sound of a child whimpering in fear, calling to someone. Why didn’t anyone come to comfort him? Surely his mother could hear how insistent the high-pitched voice was.

  Answer him!

  The words seemed to fill her head and she was not sure if she had shouted them or someone else had. The boy needed help, why wasn’t someone answering him? And then she decided she was dead and the boy had died with her. It was the only possibility that made sense. But if she was dead, would her head throb so painfully? Would her body feel as if it were one big bruise?

  The whimpering had to be coming from the boy she had knocked off the bicycle…or had it been a horse? Her mind really was having a hard time functioning properly. She had managed to pull the young boy out of the path of the speeding car. But had he been hurt? Why couldn’t she hear police sirens? It was so quiet. Too quiet! Where were the sounds of street traffic or the people on the sidewalk? The whimpering was the only thing she heard and it continued until she could stand it no more.

  Where was Michael?

  She remembered him bellowing at her from the curb but his voice had faded away as she had succumbed to the blackness that claimed her. Gusty moved her head and a low groan broke from her lips. She must have hit hard when she fell. Cautiously, tentatively, she moved first her hands and arms and then her feet and legs. With a sigh of relief she found she had no broken bones. She raised her hand and found the goose egg on her throbbing forehead. With that and a few bruises, she had managed to survive being hit by the car without any serious injuries.

  “Lady, wake up! Please, lady, wake up! We have to hide!”

  The boy again. He was there, kneeling at her side, pulling at her arm frantically. The urgency in his tone had her opening her eyes and in that moment she realized two very importa
nt things. The first, she was not on the cold, hard pavement of a city street. She was in fact lying on the grassy ground in a small clearing of a forest, staring up at the green foliage of trees and the darkening blue of the sky above her.

  The second thing she noticed was the young boy at her side was indeed dressed in Scottish attire and his clothing was somehow vaguely familiar to her. Though she did not recall the youngster having that wicked-looking dagger sheathed at his belt when she had shoved him out of the way of the speeding car. But then again, she had not been taking in such minor details when she flung herself into the street to save him.

  His clothing was a good replica of a costume representative of the Scottish Middle Ages, but she wondered why a child of his age would choose such odd attire or be permitted to carry such a weapon. His mother must not have been paying attention to her son’s choice of accessories when he left home.

  Gusty had seen many pictures depicting period costumes in the history books her grandmother owned. Grammy had used them to reproduce the costumes for Gusty and Michael last year. The books had been part of an odd collection of items stored away in her grandparents’ trunks. She had spent a lot of time going through their possessions after they died and she had found many things that puzzled her. Some had her staring in stunned disbelief, items she could not bring herself to discuss even with Michael, not sure if she should take them seriously herself. The only thing her brother had been the least bit interested in were some Gaelic documents she had unearthed and shown to him.

  A small hand suddenly clutched at her sleeve, trying to pull her up. Gusty came to her feet but dizziness nearly flattened her. She stood for a moment on shaking legs, trying to get her eyes to focus. The boy grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward. She stumbled along after him, listening to his mutterings, not understanding a word he said. All of a sudden, beneath her feet the ground began to vibrate. The sound of thunder brought her head around and she attempted to see through the underbrush that surrounded them. The noise sounded like…hooves. Horses’ hooves, beating on the hard ground.