Free A Slip In Time by Kathleen Kirkwood Page A

chair, his leg outstretched on an
ottoman, surrounded by half the females in the room.
    One thing was clear to her. Aunt Sybil
may well have contrived to situate her in a room far distant from
the others, but certainly not near at hand to Lord Eaton’s. Julia
also now understood the disapproving looks of Mrs. McGinty and Mr.
McNab.
    Julia moved woodenly
toward the fireplace. She must speak with
the butler yet again. In her surprise, she had forgotten to request
new lodgings.
    “You are still so pale, dear Julia.”
Lady Charles clucked her tongue, coming to stand beside her. “I
fear your humors have yet to revive. Here, a sherry is what you
need. That and the warmth of the fire.”
    Julia settled into a comfortable chair
and sipped the drink as she waited for Mr. McNab to reappear.
Several others joined her, including an attentive Mr. Dilcox. She
listened to the surrounding conversation, her gaze wandering from
time to time to where Emmaline stood surrounded by
admirers.
    An inordinate fatigue overtook her.
She laid it to the toddy and sherry and her long wanderings
out-of-doors in the sharp Highland air. Yet, this lethargy seemed
disturbingly familiar . . . a bone-deep tiredness that had dogged
her since morning . . . when she first awoke . . . and again, when
she found herself on the lawn . . . outside the keep . .
.
    Her thoughts trailed off into sweet
oblivion.
    »«
    Julia came hazily aware of
someone lifting her. She caught a whiff of men’s cologne and thought of Sir Robert. Nice man. Emmaline seemed
to think so, she thought fuzzily. Julia
drifted off again, then felt the softness of a mattress beneath her
and Betty’s voice as she helped her from her clothes. Through the
groggy mist of fatigue and drink she felt the silky fabric of her
nightgown whisper over her skin, then the weight of sheets and
covers piled atop her. She mumbled her thanks to Betty and asked
her to find Emmaline to come share the room.
    “Whatever you say, miss.” Betty’s footsteps
faded across the floor.
    Julia burrowed into the downy bed,
confident Betty understood her, despite a few slurred
words.
    »«
    Julia floated on a thin
layer of sleep, dreaming of the poetic little cottage gardens of
Hampshire. She admired one in particular abounding with
hollyhocks, Sweet Williams, and mignonette hemming the cottage door.
    The air stirred and she lifted her face to
the sun, anticipating a light breeze to feather her cheek. Instead,
the atmosphere grew heavy as iron, weighting her down and choking
off her breath.
    Panicked, Julia fought her way to
consciousness. Hauling open her lids, she lay gulping the air.
Awareness unfolded through her in increments as she focused on the
shadowy canopy overhead. She lay abed in the tower chamber once
more.
    Julia groaned and turned her head to
glance at the hearth. A lively fire crackled in its confines,
bathing the room in shades of gold. She watched a moment, then
dragged her gaze from the flames and settled it inadvertently on
the bed hangings. Red.
    Julia stiffened, her gaze skipping to the
foot of bed. There in the shadows stood the elusive Scotsman, fully
dressed, his eyes boring into her.
    Julia squealed, her arms flailing
gracelessly as she bolted upright and threw herself back against
the headboard.
    “W-who are you?” she gasped out,
snatching for the coverlet and yanking it to her throat. “What are
you doing in my bed chamber?”
    A swift shadow of surprise
swept across the man’s features. “Sassenach!” The word escaped his
lips, the sound deep and rich, mixed with incredulity and
disapproval. He stepped from the end of the bed and rounded the
side, his movements smooth, purposeful, dangerous.
    “‘ Tis my bed ye are warmin’, lass, and
I didna invite ye there. I know no’ wha’ mischief ye are aboot, or
who sent ye. But I dinna take kindly t’ trickery.”
    Rae Mackinnon gazed down
on the girl, wholly mystified. How did a sassenach come to be in his bed? Or
in his castle for that