Page 29 of Beyond Dreams

She was startled from her inspection of this most wonderful find by a curt voice behind her.

Twirling around, her hand at her throat, she encountered one of Thallane’s soldiers, wearing a helmet with a long tongue that extended down over his nose. He frowned with such drama at her, looking her over from head to toe, Holly was compelled to look down as well. Was her dress on backward? Was it disheveled and caught up around her waist?

Maybe his shock was only that he didn’t know her, maybe he’d not heard that Duncan had married. Whatever the case, he got over it pretty quick. He pointed at her, clearly exhibiting displeasure, in both his manner and the gruffness of the words he began to spew at her.

“I don’t understand,” she said, holding up her hands in a helpless gesture.

“Ye can nae be up here,” he said then in stilted English.

“I can’t? I’m sorry.” She began to turn, but recalled Graeme’s words to her,everyone must answer to you. She was still inside the wall and wasn’t causing any trouble. “Who says I cannot be up here?”

The soldier looked perplexed. “Ye are...ye’re nae part of the guard.”

“No worries. I’m just here for the view.” And she turned her back to him, meaning to enjoy something of Thallane.

The young man skittered away quickly enough, and Holly was sure he was going to tell on her, to whichever person needed to know that she had dared to trespass.

Chapter Nine

So the view of thebeach was lovely, breathtaking even, but honestly, she could only stare at it for so long. She decided after a while that she would explore Thallane, every nook and cranny. She might as well make the best of it. This was, if she looked at it properly, a dream come true. Her career presently was as a volunteer coordinator at a historic house in Pennsylvania, so landing here at this ancient house should be thrilling.

Obviously, and as grand as it was, in no way did the Elijah Chamblit Estate compare with this, a fourteenth century castle in the Highlands, but still, her love of her job and all things historic might mean she was just perfect for this calamity, crossing through the planes of time, being immersed in all this real-life history.

She’d started as a docent at the Chamblit estate, run by a non-profit conservancy, wanting to be a part of the efforts to save and restore the fabulous, early nineteenth century lakeside estate, which sat high on the bluffs overlooking Lake Erie in Northwestern Pennsylvania. She’d thought that volunteering at the property would only be a short-term engagement, one that would look good on her resume when she applied to college. At the time, in her senior year of high school, she’d been certain she wanted a career at a museum, either as a registrar or research associate. She’d gotten her degree in museum studies, with a minor each in history and English literature

But then she’d never left the Elijah Chamblit Estate, informally known as The Bluffs, having grown to love the place as if it were her own. She felt more at home inside the walls of that old house than she did in her own apartment, and took pride that she played such a large role in keeping its spirit, and that of the original family, alive. She herself trained the docents nowadays. Mostly they were retirees, people with disposable income who donated to the nonprofit and liked to be involved in its day-to-day operation. Only rarely did she receive applications for the volunteer program by people as young as she’d been when she’d started. In fact, when Holly had become a volunteer docent at seventeen, she was the youngest the organization had ever had, and at the time she’d been thirty-three years younger than the next youngest volunteer.

So often when she was at work, certainly when she was the last one to leave the rambling estate every day, when she had to go around and turn off all the lights in the big house and lock all the doors and gates, when she was alone in the big mansion, she felt suspended in time. She loved the old smell of leather and beeswax, she loved the way the railing of the grand staircase’s banister gleamed under the golden light of the six-foot wide chandelier in the foyer. She loved the history of the Chamblit family and the stories each room told.

Funny how that experience, working day after day in that historical atmosphere, had not prepared her for the richness of the real thing. Granted, Thallane was five hundred years older than The Bluffs and in a different country, but still, she was in awe of how little she knew and how surprised she was by what it felt like to walk within this place, so ancient but so alive.

She took Graeme’s words to heart.Roam as you please, he’d said, and so she did, not discouraged by any closed door, though she did encounter several that were locked against her curious pursuit.

She’d started her self-guided tour at the ground floor but circumvented the kitchens for now, and other related and occupied rooms, what appeared to be a larder, a pantry, and a scullery. She would rather investigate them when no one was around. Even just passing through the narrow passageway that connected all those rooms, she’d encountered enough suspicious glances and more than once some feral glares, that she knew she’d need to get her feet more firmly under her before she advanced into any of those rooms, with those people.

Having already seen the hall, she faced the northern wall, where four openings were, two on each side of the raised table. The two doors on the right side at the top of a set of six steps, went right back out to the kitchens and that warren of chambers, she knew. Another opening left of the high table appeared to go below the castle, a cellar she might presume, the passageway dim and foreboding. The fourth opening, furthest left, showed a staircase leading up, that corridor lighted better than any other. Holly went next in that direction, climbing those stairs only to have to descend the same number of stairs after only ten feet or so and opening and closing two doors, finding herself in a room made completely of stone, its windows tucked into arched alcoves that narrowed as they extended out from the room, thins trips of the North Sea available to her gaze. There was a four-poster bed on one wall and a console with an ewer and basin as she had in her own room. The stone floor was partially covered in a huge rug, a tapestry she guessed it would be, the wool thick and cozy under her feet. On one of the outer walls was a privy, as she’d seen at Hewgill House, a seat fashioned into the stone, an uninviting hole cut in the center. Since there were no personal belongings here, since it was so close to the public hall, she might believe this was a guest room.

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