One Scottish Lass A Regency Time Travel Romance Novella

Chapter 9

Sorcha sat by the fireplace, staring down into the box at her side, watching the kittens snore away in a contented tangle. The sprawl of limbs and tails was too cute for words. She wondered how long she should remain here, in order to reassure Julia that her reason for being in the hallway was plausible.

And then Sorcha had to go find Johnny.

Biddy's quiet humming soothed Sorcha's soul, and she glanced back again toward the carefully orchestrated chatter of the party. Maybe, if Sorcha was lucky, Johnny would come in here and find her first. And they would have the peace and quiet resume their conversation from the library – the one Julia had cruelly cut short.

Sorcha smiled. The thought of sitting by the fire with Johnny, watching over the innocent kittens, warmed her heart.

She wanted to ask him about his dreams. She wanted to find out which distant countries he would wish to visit first. She wanted to share her ideas and goals, her fears and desires.

She just wanted to hear the sound of his voice.

Biddy chuckled, bringing over another cup of wine along with a plate of fresh bread. "Ah, lass, you have it bad, don't you."

Sorcha blushed. "Have what bad?"

Biddy's eyes sparkled. "You can't fool me, dearie. I've been around for fifty years and I've seen it all. You might think that what you have is new – that no generation before you has felt it. But believe me, lass, we have. The Egyptians felt the pangs of young love. The Romans tossed and turned at night, thinking about someone special. Each generation thinks they're the ones to invent love and heartache. And then another cycle comes."

Sorcha blushed. "That's not true. I'm not ... I'm just ..."

Her voice trailed away as she found she could not find a suitable response.

Biddy just smiled. She turned back to the sink, humming merrily as she washed each dish with tender care.

Sorcha leaned back against her chair, soothed by the bundle of furry bodies. She reached her hand down to pet their soft little heads, and several of them nestled into her fingers, using them as small pillows. It was almost too perfect.

Surely Johnny would come in soon, when he realized she wasn't in the rest of the house. She could just wait here for him. And then they'd be together. They could talk for hours, and she could tell him everything.

The fire lulled her ... soothed her ... her eyes closed ...

...

Footsteps sounded in the hall, jolting Sorcha sharply awake. Hope flooded through her body, and a warm smile lifted her lips.

She looked up –

Her shoulders slumped. It was just a young, brown-haired maid bringing in an empty silver pitcher.

The maid perked up when she saw Sorcha. "Are you Miss McClintock? At last, there you are. I never thought to look for you in here! I've been seeking you for quite a while."

Sorcha blinked in surprise. "Looking for me? Why?"

The maid's lips grew into a conspiratorial smile. "Oh, Miss, I have a private message for you."

Sorcha's heart buoyed with hope. "For me?"

The maid nodded, her eyes twinkling. "I have it right here in my pocket."

She reached down to the side of her dress and drew out a small, square piece of folded paper. She handed it over to Sorcha with a smile. That done, she placed her pitcher down on the butcher-block table and then headed back down the hallway.

Sorcha turned the paper over in her fingers, drawing out the moment as long as she could. It was ivory, of the finest linen weave. The folds were crisp and even.

At last she carefully unfolded the paper. She leant forward, reading the elegant hand by the shimmering light of the kitchen fire.

Miss you already.

Must see you.

Meet me by the well.

Sorcha looked up at Biddy. "Is there a well in the back yard?"

The cook's eyes twinkled. "Aye, there is, lass. It's considered an enchanted well. You be careful out there, with the full moon and Samhain and all. It's the time when rules are broken and lines are crossed. You never know what might happen if you go out there now."

Her grin widened. "Might be you'll fall in love."

Sorcha's face was glowing with heat, but she couldn't hold back the grin. She stuffed the note into the fold of her sleeve, then stood, finishing off her wine.

She looked back toward the door the maid had left through, and a nervous tremor ran through her. Who knew how long that maid had taken to find her – Jonathan might have been out there for a half hour or more!

A thought occurred to her, and she bit her lip. "If my mother comes looking for me –"

Biddy nodded her head knowingly. "I haven't seen you all night, lass. Don't you worry. Now get on out there and don't keep the man waiting."

Sorcha smiled her gratitude, then pressed open the door.

Bright moonlight sent a shimmering glow across the garden, turning its depths into a magical fairy wonderland. An arched wooden entry way stood before her, its sides latticed with thin crisscrosses of elm. Beyond it were tumbling roses, a blossom of marigolds, and countless other late-autumn flowers. From somewhere in the far distance an owl gave off a curious hoot.

As she moved forward into the depths of the garden the ground gave crisp noises beneath her feet, evidence of the frost that was moving in. Even her breath came out in glistening, ever-expanding clouds. It made her feel as if she were entering another world – one where anything could be possible.

Even her and Jonathan.

There!

Ahead of her, tucked into the shadows, she could just make out the shape of the well. She carefully made her way over to its side. It had a waist-high wall around it, and then a small pitched wooden roof above it to keep out debris. A worn bucket lay to one side of the stone, a rope tied to its handle.

Sorcha peered around the grounds into the darkness. She risked softly calling out, "Jonathan? Are you here?"

There was no answer.

Had she really gotten out to the well before him? Maybe his parents had wanted to talk with him and he hadn't managed to pull himself free of them yet.

She'd be willing to wait. She'd wait all night if she had to.

She stepped up to the well and peered down into it. It must have been very deep – even with the bright moonlight she couldn't see a hint of the bottom. Out of curiosity she reached down and dug a small rock out of the hard ground. She leaned over the edge of the wall, dropping in the rock.

She waited for the splash.

Nothing.

She blinked in surprise. That was curious. Surely, even if the well were dry, she should at least hear the noise of it hitting bottom.

There were footsteps behind her, and she spun, a smile on her lip. He had come at last –

Her greeting died on her lips.

It was Julia.