IN THE SHADOWS OF ANGELS

BY

KISS CARSON

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopying, recording, or by any

information storage and retrieval system, without

permission in writing from the author, except in the

case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Publishers Note:

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places,

and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is

coincidental.

Put the kettle on, make your coffee and be prepared to be blown away. Don't expect to come home anytime soon - or to finish that coffee while it's still hot.

~ Zoe Younger, Editor

A sweeping time-travel story wrapped up in fantasy and wonder, Ms. Carson's storytelling shines and you can't help but be drawn in from the first page. If you want a read that will stay with you long past the last page, then you need to read In the Shadows of Angels.

~ Wendi Zwaduk, Author

For my BFF Rachel who threatened to do me harm if I didn’t dedicate this book to her

For Zoe whose faith in this story kept me going

For Jonelle who pre-ordered the book before I even finished it

And of course, for my husband Cameron who can get familiar with me anytime

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I’d like to thank Wendi Zwaduk, Claire Ashgrove, Lisa M Campbell and Carmen Stefanescu for their tireless words of encouragement, countless suggestions and cyber pats on the back.

Here’s to another year, girls!

Chapter One

Drawing in a deep breath, Ella Jeffries wiped tears from her cheeks. Her gaze moved to the window of the solicitor’s office and the hazy Sydney skyline beyond.

She spoke to her grandmother last Thursday, and then on Friday she received the message that shattered her world. Your grandmother passed away last night from heart failure. Turning away from the window, she brushed away more tears.

The leggy legal secretary set up her laptop on the desk and placed a disk in the drive. “Cora recorded a video will a few weeks ago,” she said with a kind smile. “Ella, I’m sorry for your loss.” She placed a red-leather bound book on the desk beside the computer and turned away, the click of her heels on the tiled floor slowly fading.

Ella faced the computer her bottom lip quivering. Cora’s face filled the screen, her shiny grey and deep copper tresses neatly curled. Ella fingered her own copper curls as new tears formed.

Cora smiled. “Now lovely, you need to stop crying. I know you’ll miss me. Believe me; I’ll miss you, too.” She glanced left, then right and leaned closer to the camera. “I’ve left you a present. The book may not look like much, but it’s all yours.”

Ella’s gaze shifted to the book on the desk. It belonged to her grandmother. Therefore, it meant the world to her.

“Pick it up, lovely.” Cora’s face glowed with excitement. “Go on. Open it.”

Ella took the book from the desk and balanced it on her lap. A musty odor rose from the dusty pages. Not a blemish marred the red leather. She glanced at Cora’s image on the computer screen. Her grandmother looked as though she would explode with enthusiasm.

She flicked through the 800-page book, stopping halfway to read the first paragraph. The name Cora caught her attention, but before she could read further the words blurred and scrambled. Beads of ink trickled down the page and dripped from the paper, dissolving before they splashed onto her lap.

“Did it happen?” Cora asked. “Did the words disappear?” She clapped her hands and sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, my darling, the book is very special. You choose your own adventure. Now, I want you to think of a romantic story with a dashing hero, and a romantic setting with the works. A story that will whisk you away.”

Ella smiled. She had played this game with Cora many times. “I want to go to Scotland,” she whispered to the room. She glanced around, hoping no one could hear her inner desires.

“If I know you, and that I do, you would want to go to Scotland. How about the Scottish Highlands 300 years ago?”

Ella nodded. Cora knew her better than she knew herself. The book would never take her back to the eighteenth century but the thought brought a tingle to the pit of her stomach. “I want to fall in love with a Scottish laird,” Ella said, triumphant she could think of such a wonderful thing.

“Think very hard,” Cora said from the computer. “Do you want a mystery, murder, or danger? Maybe loch monsters and ghosts tickle your fancy. Tell the book. Say the words out loud.”

“Ghosts! I want to see ghosts. I want the other stuff, too. I want an ancient castle with hidden hallways and lots of family secrets hiding in the shadows.”

“Have you finished?” Cora asked. “Oh, I wish I were there to hear all the things you want. Now, what about your gorgeous Scotsman, does he have a name?”

Ella frowned. Bob? She shook her head. Dan? Her frown deepened.

“You’re probably struggling to choose a name so let me help you. What do you think of Lucius Benedict?” Cora suggested.

Ella’s heart skipped a beat. The image of chiseled features, a square jaw and dark, mysterious eyes entered her head. She envisioned an over muscled wild man standing on the edge of a cliff. He stared over a choppy ocean, hands on hips, his blond hair tossing in the strong breeze. The mere thought made her smile.

“Be very careful what you wish for,” Cora told her. “Now, before I go, the book comes with warnings. Once the page turns, you can’t go back until the end. Take care of your characters and above all take care of yourself.” Her smile turned wistful. “You go and read your book. Make sure you keep a candle handy, there’s a storm on the way.”

Ella glanced at the window. The weather channel hadn’t mentioned anything about rain. Wait a minute! Her gaze snapped to her grinning grandmother. How would Cora know that?

“I know you don’t believe me, lovely, but there’s a storm on the way and you’ll be caught right in the middle of it.”

Ella flicked the kettle on and leaned on her kitchen bench. Grief sat like a brick against her heart. Cora had been her best friend, her confidant, her only family. Now, she felt alone.

Life would be very dull without the feisty 70 year old. More tears threatened as a sigh escaped and she concentrated on the coffee. She expected her phone to ring, to hear Cora’s voice. You’re 25 years old, Ella. Get out of that salon for a while. Travel the world. Meet the man of your dreams.

“Oh, Nana,” she whispered. “I miss you, already.”

Coffee cup in hand, she moved through her one bedroom apartment to the living room and sat on the sofa. She stared at the television but didn’t see a thing. Her favorite show wasn’t the same without Cora beside her. Her gaze shifted to the book.

Intrigued, she pulled the heavy combination of leather and paper onto her lap and read the dedication on the first page.

How do you love the man of your dreams? Very slowly.

Ella smiled. That sounded like something Cora would say. She turned the page, the smile falling from her lips. Print lined the page. But, the words had disappeared at the solicitor’s office. How could they reappear?

She laid down and adjusted the cushion under her head, wriggling until she became comfortable and began to read the book.

Scotland—August 1709

Darkness loomed across the surface of Loch Moibeal, almost smothering the light of torches clutched in trembling hands. The flames flickered in the bitter breeze and cast shadows across those brave enough to endure the frosty Highland night.

With solid oak beams ten feet high and three and a half inches thick, the Scottish Maiden mocked all those present, especially Lucius Benedict. His dark eyes swept the structure with disdain. No one, least he, thought the mighty gibbet would be his end. The ropes binding his wrists rubbed ferociously. The more he attempted to remove the restraints, the tighter they became. His captors had bound him with a relish he had never witnessed before, wrestling him to the ground and striking his head until his eyes rolled.

Now, he stood before his fate, his punishment…

Ella stopped reading. How could the hero’s name be Lucius Benedict? She pushed the strange coincidence from her mind and lowered her eyes to the book again. Cora obviously knew the story.

“Her screams chilled my blood,” the woman said and squeezed the crucifix around her neck for emphasis. “May the Lord strike me dead if I’m lying, my daughter, my beautiful Roslyn, screamed Luke’s name.”

Luke…Ella liked the way the author shortened Lucius to Luke. Realizing she’d skipped some of the story, she turned back, stunned when a blank page greeted her. Once the page turns, you can’t go back until the end. What if she missed something important?

Luke expected Evelyn Gaynor to fall to the frosty ground, dead. She lied. He didn’t kill her daughter. Each detail of Roslyn’s body remained etched into his mind. The memory of her blood soaked chemise and the slice in her belly sent a shiver down his spine. It could only be a violent act of malevolence yet he couldn’t think why a person would want to…

The light bulb in the 50-year-old light fixture above Ella’s head flickered. She studied the small frosted glass chandelier before glancing through the window. Storm clouds swirled and crashed across the sky plunging the afternoon into early night. Thunder growled in the distance.

A distinct chill spread through her apartment. She wrapped the shawl from the back of the sofa around her shoulders and groaned, annoyed, when she accidentally turned a page. What had she missed?

A beefy hand shoved his back. He stumbled forward, eyes rising to the blade suspended above the oak beams. He knew the upright posts stood twelve inches apart. He had measured the distance himself when the carpenters built the gibbet only two years before. He also knew the plate of iron gauged three and three quarter inches in thickness, and sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone.

A faint cry carried across the loch. The crowd gathered around the gibbet stirred, their nervousness more than apparent. Whispers of the loch monster trickled through the air. Luke’s gaze moved to the inky waters of Loch Moibeal. To him, the cry sounded like a baby or a woman weeping, but if Moibeal crept through the shadows, he would welcome her with open arms.

His beloved Aingealag Castle loomed behind him, primitive and solid. Wisps of mist fluttered across his ancestral home and dipped into the moat before crawling along the damp grass towards him. For centuries, his family had lived, loved, feuded and died on the grounds of Aingealag. Now, when the bright dawn once again illuminated the ivy covered stone towers he would cease to be.

“Lucius Benedict, Laird of Aingealag…”

Ella stared into space, infatuated by the hero already. Laird of Aingealag. How romantic. Outside, the wind picked up, battering her window, bringing the storm closer. A low rumble of thunder shook the glass. She pulled her knees up and snuggled into the sofa, drawing warmth from its worn velvet cover before concentrating on the book again. She turned the page, cursing quietly when she missed the last few lines of the page before.

Luke glared at Evelyn’s toady, Connor Bowden, and scowled. “Thou shall not murder,” he said, his deep voice calm and clear.

Connor regarded him with contempt. “That is something you should have considered last eve.”

“I speak about you.” Luke met the beady blue eyes with an even gaze before turning his attention to the restless crowd. He would suffer his fate with the honor of a Benedict and the fury of an innocent man.

“I heard her!” Evelyn Gaynor’s sharp voice rose above the harsh whispers. “I heard her scream your name. Her blood covered your hands and leine. Your dirk sliced her open. Take your punishment like a man, instead of the swine you are.”

Evelyn stepped into the flickering torchlight, her grey eyes alive with malice. She then slapped Luke, her thin hand dealing him unexpected pain. Anger rose hard and fast in his chest as he glared at the woman who had tormented him for seven years. He stepped forward to dwarf her bony frame within his shadow. He wanted to wring her neck. Unfortunately, the rope around his wrists prevented him from performing his final whim. If he hurt the woman in front of so many witnesses, he would never escape the accusations.

Luke straightened. Cold fingers circled his upper arm. His unease increased with each step closer to the gibbet. “Someone here knows something,” he called to the crowd.

The masked executioner pushed him, chest first, onto the hard wooden bench, the cold hostility of the wood filtering through his shirt. As his chin rested over the edge of the oak bench, he stared at the basket positioned to catch his severed head. A shudder wracked his body. They hadn’t even blindfolded him.

Noisy splashes came from the direction of Loch Moibeal.

“Perhaps Moibeal will save you,” Connor whispered in Luke’s ear.

“Just get on with it, will you?”

Metal scraped against wood. Luke’s nerves tightened. His bones ached. The back of his neck turned cold. The gibbet rarely cut straight through on the first drop. Wouldn’t the crowd delight in watching his body flop on the bench like a marooned fish? Consolation came in the thought of his Da waiting for him in the afterlife, of his baby sister. He pushed images of his mother from his head.

A bright beam of light erupted from the ground and reached towards the sky like a shimmering pathway to heaven. Luke drew back. His end had finally come.

The lights snapped out. Icy, unmoving darkness surrounded Ella. She clutched the book tightly, her breaths loud in the still air. The temperature lowered more and she hugged the shawl around her shoulders. Had the storm blown the fuses?

Standing, she placed the book on the table and felt the darkness ahead of her as she made her way through the living room into the kitchen where she kept the candles. Lightning flickered. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder. The atmosphere in her small unit didn’t feel right, and she smelled seaweed.

Ella burrowed into her pantry, fumbling around in the tins and boxes of food until she found the candle and matches. The first match didn’t light. Striking another, a flame flared to life.

Water gently lapped onto a shore. Low mutters came from behind her, a crowd of people murmuring. Curious, she turned towards the noise, holding the candle high. A pale glow surrounded the book. As she watched, the light grew in intensity, a shaft of mystical radiance stretching towards the ceiling. She moved closer, her eyes wide. Her hand trembled so much she almost dropped the candle. There, inside the light stood the gibbet with Luke Benedict lying at the bottom. Ella’s mouth dropped open. How had Cora achieved this?

Her grandmother’s words echoed through her head. Think of a romantic story with a dashing hero and a romantic setting. A story that will whisk you away. She stared at the scene inside the light, her mind floundering for an explanation. It couldn’t be possible. Books couldn’t come to life.

She glanced over her shoulder. Everything normal stretched behind her. Ahead, the adventure of a lifetime waited in a beam of fluorescent light, an adventure her grandmother wanted her to take.

Ella sucked in a deep breath, and hoped she wasn’t going insane as she entered the warmth of the light.