One Scottish Lass A Regency Time Travel Romance Novella

Chapter 8

Sorcha tried to return to her reading of Robert Burn's poetry. Normally the words soothed and enriched her. However, when she found herself reading A Red, Red Rose for the eight time without comprehending the words, she gave up and put the book down. Clearly her encounter with Jonathan had affected her deeply, and she needed to clear her head.

The thought of the tiny, mewling kittens came to mind, and her heart warmed. Surely her mother would not mind if she just checked in on them for a few minutes. They were kittens, after all. Even her mother's calloused heart might warm when seeing their adorable little bodies.

She popped the last piece of cheese in her mouth, then stood. She gave a long stretch before moving out into the hallway.

The festivities were apparently quieting down – the chatter from the surrounding rooms had subdued to a hum of gentle conversation. The piano player seemed to have called it a night, or perhaps he was just taking a well-deserved break. And around this corner –

Sorcha pulled back with a start. Huddled in beneath the stairs was Julia and that ill-omened man she had seen in the main room. Her mind searched for a name. Felton, that was it. The second-in-line for the throne, as it were.

The thought came to her of how wives were always instructed to pop out the "heir and a spare" – and apparently in this case Lady Davenport had failed in her mission. For if something happened to Jonathan, the wealth and title would pass away from Florentia and straight into Felton's eager hands.

Sorcha carefully peered again around the corner.

Felton had pressed Julia up firmly against the back wall. He was kissing her hard, his body resolutely pinning hers in place.

Sorcha had certainly seen enough kisses in her years. It seemed every time she went past the local tavern there was some couple or another passionately embracing behind the stables. But this was different.

Felton's kisses weren't tender, or enraptured, or even passionate. It was more like he was wholly unaware of the woman beneath him, and was simply using her as a shape to push his hips against, to bring him as much pleasure as possible.

And Julia's eyes ...

Sorcha shuddered. Julia's eyes were cold and calculating. She could have been plotting out an assault on the Tower of London, for all the emotion held there.

At last Sorcha pushed Felton off of her, brushing down her dress. "Not here," she insisted in a low voice. "We might be seen by someone. We can't jeopardize things now. Not when we're so close to everything we've planned for for all these years."

"Who cares if we're seen," growled Felton, reaching for the skirts of her dress. "It's been hours, for God's sake."

"And it'll be hours more," she snapped, slapping his hand away. "Lord, Felton. You know what's at stake as much as I do. We have to be patient."

He spat on the floor. "I've been patient for twenty-six years," he growled. "First, my parents hoped the Davenports wouldn't bear any children. Then, when Lady Davenport got pregnant, they prayed it would be a girl. Later, when that horse almost trampled him to death, their chance was within reach. But now?"

Julia patted him on the arm. "Patience, my darling. After all, tonight is the night. The moon is full, and Samhain is upon us."

He scoffed. "You and that damned witchcraft stuff. I want real results."

"And you shall have them," assured Julia. "Samhain is the night when the portals open. The line between the dead and the living becomes hazy and thin. And, more than that, it is the end of a cycle. It is the beginning of a new era." She moved closer to him. "Our era."

He scoffed. "I don't need no dead coming back to bother me," he snapped. "Or is there a way you can hustle the living off through that portal of yours?"

Her eyes gleamed. "Maybe."

He gave a barking laugh. "You leave that kind of stuff to me," he ordered. "Wish the damn guy had died back when he was wrangling that wild horse. Wouldn't that have been nice? He could have been trampled flat into jelly and all of our troubles would have been over."

"They nearly are," assured Julia. "We are nearly there."

Felton turned his gaze to glare down the hallway toward the murmur of the party. "It makes me sick, seeing all of their smiling faces everywhere I turn. When I gain control of this house, I will take down all those portraits and watch them burn in the fires, one by one."

Julia nodded. "The Samhain fires. It is part of the cleansing ritual. We will burn them all, and cleanse the way to a new start."

"You got that right," he snapped. "Burn them all away. Every last trace. After all, it was my family who should have been the one to get the title and lands."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Do you know that my father was born a mere five minutes after Lord Davenport? Five minutes! If my father had just wrestled for position in that damn hag's womb, it would be me with all the glory now."

"And you will be the one, soon," murmured Julia. "We just need to persevere a little while longer. After all we've been through, we can do it. I know we can."

"Not too much longer," growled Felton. "I don't know how much of those smiling fools I can take."

He rolled his shoulders. "Well, I suppose I better go find my mother. By now she'll be too drunk to walk and I'll have to carry her home. Again."

Julia smiled, then leant forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. "You do that. I'll come find you later."

"You'd better," he growled, and then he slipped down the corridor.

Sorcha stepped back into the shadows, her heart pounding. Now if Julia would just follow Felton ...

Julia spun right – and practically ran into Sorcha. She staggered back in shock.

Sorcha flushed and waved toward the kitchen. Her voice was tight as she spouted out the first thing that sprang to mind. "I ... I was just coming to the kitchen to ... to check on the new kittens."

Julia's brow creased, and her eyes bore into Sorcha. "What kittens?"

Sorcha's cheeks warmed. She suddenly remembered that it was Julia's carriage that had orphaned the poor little creatures. Her throat went dry. "Just ... just some kittens that the cook is taking care of."

Julia's gaze drilled into her. "Oh, and you're hanging out in the kitchens now?"

Sorcha paled, and she found herself stammering, "I just ... well, see ..."

"Fine," Julia snapped. "Go see those kittens of yours."

Sorcha knew one thing with all her heart, as she hurried the length of the hallway toward the kitchen.

She had to find Jonathan and warn him.