I'm partnering WITH a host of other YA authors for this amazing scavenger hunt! This is a chance to meet some new authors, grab a bunch of free books, and sign up to win a whole bunch of epic prizes! In addition to the $500 grand prize, each of the authors will be offering free books and other prizes.
OPEN JUNE 1ST ~ JUNE 7TH
Also, my book The Highwayman Incident is free for the month of June.
THE
HIGHWAYMAN INCIDENT
By
Kristy Tate
A
TIME-TRAVEL ROMANCE
Celia Quinn's business lies in ruins at
the hands of Jason West, the latest in a long line of scoundrels. As she seeks
to restore her family's livelihood, Celia stumbles upon lore about the local
Witching Well, whose water is said to cause hysteria and psychosis. When a
mysterious stranger slips Celia water from the well into her drink, she’s
transported to Regency England. Her timeless adventure spans miles and
centuries from modern-day New England to Merlin's Cave in Cornwall, England.
Only Jason West can save her.
But Celia and Jason must tread
carefully, as what happens in the past can reverberate through the ages. Their
lives, hearts and futures are caught in time’s slippery hands.
Copyright
2014, Kristine Tate
CHAPTER
ONE
At any wedding, protocol demands that
all attention should be focused on the bride, even if the bride happens to be
your sister, and even if your sister designed a horrid dress. But Celia defied
conventions and refused to look at Mia. Celia knew her funk bordered on lunacy,
but she couldn’t shake it. Not even for her sister’s wedding.
The lone man sharing her table looked
familiar, although she couldn’t say why. Like someone she knew from a long time
ago—but a faded out version. Gray at his temples, thick head of hair, wrinkles
around his eyes—handsome for his age—and yet, something tingled in the back of
her mind, trying to tell her something.
Celia sat back with a humph and crossed
her arms over her chest. The putrid pink dress had a bunchy bodice, giving her
a va va voom that, when she first saw it, made her complain first to Mia and
then to her grandmother.
“It’s her wedding,” Grandma Claudette had
said. “If she wants you to dress like a cat, you better get used to whiskers.”
And in the interest of peace in the
family and not wanting to upset her mom, Celia bit her lip about the dress and
vowed that when it was her turn to marry, she would do it on the courthouse
steps.
And Mia would have to wear a clown
suit.
Complete with a red nose.
She caught the man looking at her. His
glance slid away. Celia considered leaving, but where would she go? Join her
friends on the dance floor? No, her shoes pinched her toes. The dessert table
for more cake? No, her stomach was already churning. A drink from the bar? No,
she needed to stay sober. She slumped back in her chair, wishing the stranger
would leave or her friends would return.
As if he read her mind, the man pushed
away from the table and left.
Perfect. Now she was alone. And this
should have made her happy, because she wanted him to leave, but it didn’t. She
sighed and used her fork to poke holes in the frosting roses on her slice of
cake. The blush pink roses matched her dress, which matched her shoes, which
matched the ribbon on the bridesmaid bouquets. Celia smashed the cake and
watched the frosting ooze between the fork tines.
Beside her, someone chuckled. Looking
up, she saw the man had returned. He carried a goblet and a slice of cake.
“I asked for a piece without icing,” he
said as he sat in the chair beside her. He slid the cake toward her. “For you.”
She thought about refusing it, but
instead said, “Thank you.”
Without saying a word, he placed the
wine flute in front of her. “It’s just water,” he told her.
“Thanks. Too much—”
“Too much sugar makes your teeth hurt.”
He finished her sentence with a smile that sent another warning jolt down
Celia’s spine.
“How did you know I was going to say
that?”
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug.
“Just a guess. I could tell that you don’t like frosting by the way you were
mutilating that cake.” He offered his hand. “My name is Jason.”
“Celia Quinn.” She put her hand in his,
and a zing started in her fingers and spread to her center. She left her hand
in his longer than necessary, before pulling away. She couldn’t be attracted to
this man. He was older than her dad.
“I know a Jason.” She studied him for a
moment before her gaze slid to the other Jason across the room. Dark hair,
tall, lean—why were the hot guys the most lethal?
“And you dislike him.”
She met the older Jason’s warm gaze and
sniffed. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to say something for it
to be true.” He settled back in his chair. “Just like you didn’t say anything,
but I can tell you don’t like your dress.”
Celia blew out a sigh.
“You probably think it’s a poor
advertisement for your grandmother’s shop.”
Celia gave a defeated shrug. “It
doesn’t matter. The store’s dying anyway.”
“Why do you say that?”
Celia shot the Jason across the room a
glance. She hoped her look told him all the things she wished she could say to
his face. He lounged against the wall between the wedding arch and an enormous
swan ice sculpture. The black suit accentuated his blue eyes and dark hair.
Even the hideous pink tie looked good on him. He caught her gaze and lifted his
glass, acknowledging her.
She wished she had something other than
her bouquet and a dirty look to throw at him.
“Just because you’re losing the lease
doesn’t mean you’re losing the business, you know.”
Celia swiveled her attention back to Jason
her tablemate and put puzzle pieces together. “Are you related to Jason West?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You…look like him.”
The older Jason smiled. “I’m not his
dad or uncle…”
He was probably too young to be his
grandfather, and he couldn’t be his brother. “What do you know about my
grandmother’s shop?”
“Delia’s Dressy Occasion? It’s a great
shop.”
“It was
a great shop.”
“But this dress…” He nodded at the
sateen fabric bunched around her like a deflated balloon. “Pepto-Bismol Pink.”
“Mia calls it pearl pink.”
“And you call it putrid.”
She stared at him.
“Maybe not out-loud, but I bet it’s
what you think.”
“How would you know that?”
He propped his elbows on the table. “Tell
me, what are your plans for the store?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, since you lost your lease—”
“I didn’t lose the lease.” Her attention shifted back to the younger Jason. “Someone
persuaded my grandmother it was time to leave.” She slumped back in her chair.
“We were doing fine.”
“Maybe now you can do better.”
Celia picked up her fork and stabbed at
the cake. She thought about joining her friends on the dance floor. Becca and
Lacey had both kicked off their shoes. They bounced beneath the sparkly lights.
Celia wanted to be happy, too, but she felt like she carried the weight of her
grandmother’s store on her shoulders.
“You’re afraid that losing the store is
like losing your mom.” The older Jason leaned close. “She’ll be fine.”
“How can you know that? Do you know my
mom?”
He nodded.
“You’re a friend of my mom’s?” Celia
blinked back a sudden tear.
Jason touched her hand, just briefly,
and the tingle returned. “The cancer won’t last. She’ll beat it. She’s strong.
Like you.”
“You don’t know me,” Celia said. “You
might know my mom, but you don’t know me, and there’s no way you can know my
mom is going to be okay.” She stood to leave. Her toes screamed in protest, but
she pushed to her feet, ignoring the pain.
Unless. She turned back. “Are you a
doctor?”
Jason looked down at the goblet. He
picked it up and swirled the water. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m good at
that…at offending people.”
The band began a slow song and couples
formed. Lacey and Becca both found partners. Mia and Brad danced in the center,
directly beneath the disco ball. Lights twinkled across the room. It would have
been a perfect day, except for the putrid pink dress, and Jason West.
“Do you know my sister?” Celia
considered him. She was sure they hadn’t met.
He nodded. “And the groom. He’s an…old
family friend.”
“Are you from Stonington?”
“Not originally, although I lived here
for many years.”
She waited for him to elaborate.
“I’m from Darien.”
“Oh. Is that how you know Jason West?
He’s from there, too.”
“He’s a good guy, just doing his job.”
Celia couldn’t help it. She made a
face.
“I know you don’t think so now, but you
should forgive him.”
Celia held up her hand. “I don’t know
who you are—”
Squealing cut her off. Becca and Lacey
both ran to her side.
“Come on, Cee,” Becca said, taking her
hand. “Mia’s going to throw the bouquet!”
Celia let her friends pull her away
from the table and lead her across the room. Mia stood on the wide steps,
several feet above the clustered bridesmaids and single women in the crowd.
Celia’s mom sat in a chair at a table with Claudette, Celia’s grandmother. Both
looked tired but happy. Celia edged toward the back, close enough to be a part,
but too far to be in danger of actually catching anything.
Mia gave her a wicked smile, turned her
back, and flung the bouquet straight at Celia. Flinging up her arms, Celia
protected her face from the flying flowers.
People around her cheered, and Celia
opened her eyes.
Becca, aloft in Jason West’s arms,
clutched the bouquet. Becca wiggled as Jason set her down and turned to face
him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Becca kissed him full on the lips. She
held the bouquet in her hand, and it poked above Jason’s head, looking like a
large, floral hat.
“I owe you!” Becca said, pushing away
from Jason.
He didn’t respond to Becca but met
Celia’s gaze.
She felt shaken by him, although she
couldn’t say why. She felt as if his look was trying to tell her something.
Something he didn’t know how to say.
He’s
a good guy. Just doing his job, the older Jason’s words floated back to
her.
Becca disentangled herself from Jason
and smiled into her bouquet. “I love weddings,” she said to no one in
particular. “They’re such a happy beginning.”
Celia’s gaze wandered back to her mom
and grandmother. A beginning always comes
after an ending, she thought. Celia gave Becca a tight-lipped smile,
ignored Jason, and headed back to her table. The older Jason had disappeared,
and Celia gratefully sank into her chair. Swirling the wine flute, she watched
the water form into a small tidal wave before she took a drink.
And the world turned dark.
CHAPTER
TWO
Her body hummed with energy. She found
the quiet dark relaxing and rhythmic motion hypnotic and soothing. Crickets
chirped and a breeze stirred the trees. Somewhere, an owl called out. The
clip-clop of the horses…
Wait.
Horses?
Celia’s eyes popped open. She sat in a
carriage. An obese woman draped in satin and furs sat directly in front of her,
snoring, her mouth ajar.
Celia’s own mouth dropped open. She sat
up and took note. Same putrid pink dress. Same pinchy shoes. But the wedding,
Mia, her mom and grandmother? All gone. Replaced by a grotesque snoring thing
wearing a satin tent.
She ran her hands first over the velvet
seat cushion, then the burnished wood walls, and finally the black, smooth
drapes. It all felt real.
But she must be drunk. Or
hallucinating. Had she had too much champagne? No. That drink! That Jason
person! He must have put something in her water! But it had looked and tasted
like water. Celia ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to find an aftertaste,
or a hint of something dangerous.
She drew back the curtain and peered into
the dark. A brilliant, star-studded sky gazed down on her. No street lights. No
lights at all, except for the one bobbing on the front of the carriage. Leaning
forward, she craned to see the driver, but saw nothing but a horse’s butt and
its swishing tail. As if the animal knew she was watching and he didn’t
appreciate her stare, he lifted his tail.
Celia sat back, closed her eyes, and
let the cadence sway of the carriage lull her back to sleep. When she woke,
she’d be at home in her bed, and she’d never have to wear this dress again.
Crack!
Celia’s eyes flew open. She sat up
straight and glanced at the woman across from her. The woman snorted and
nestled her double chin into her fur collar. What was that sound? Was the
carriage breaking beneath the woman’s weight?
Crack!
Was it gun fire? The carriage lurched,
stopping so quickly that the portly lady slid off the seat.
“What the devil?” the woman moaned, righting
herself. She gave Celia a narrow-eyed look as if Celia had knocked her off the
bench.
Crack!
“Gunshots!” the woman hissed. She
pursed her full lips, yanked off an enormous emerald necklace and shoved it at
Celia. “Hide this.”
Celia stared stupidly at the jewels. If
they were real, she could use them to buy the shop! Wishing she had a pocket,
her mind sought options. In her bra? No. The stones were too big and the bodice
too tight. Not knowing what else to do, she lifted her skirts and tucked the
necklace into the lace garter Mia had insisted all the bridesmaids wear. She
patted her skirts back into place just before the door flew open.
“Stand and deliver!” A deep and
somewhat familiar voice demanded.
Deliver what? And how could she stand
inside of a carriage? Celia crouched on her seat. Slowly, she lifted her head
and saw nothing but the silvery end of a gun pointing at her forehead. None of
this is real, Celia told herself. It’s the champagne asking her to stand and
deliver something.
“Come, come, ladies.” The familiar
voice sent a tingle down her back.
The man stepped out of the shadows and
his gaze met hers, but not an ounce of recognition glistened in his eyes. She
thought she knew him, but since a black mask hid half his face, she couldn’t be
sure.
“My lady.” He swept his arms in a low
bow.
Celia gave the gun another glance. It
looked real enough.
He lifted one eyebrow and the corner of
his lips in a slow and lazy smile, but continued to point the gun at her
forehead.
She tried not to think about the
emeralds pinching her leg. She couldn’t look at them. She couldn’t adjust them.
She couldn’t call his attention to them in any way.
His gaze traveled over her horrid dress
and stopped at her mid-thigh as if he could see through the layers of sateen
and frilly slip to the garter smashing the emeralds against her.
“Are you in need of assistance?” He
held out his hand—the one not holding a gun—to help her out of the carriage. Again,
that trill of recognition poured over Celia. She knew him. Somehow.
She shook her head, knowing she
couldn’t touch him. If she touched him and he was real, tangible, then she
would…well, she didn’t know what she would do. Nothing like this had ever
happened to her before.
“Are you mute?” he asked, cocking his
head. His grin deepened. “Or is my charm rendering you speechless?”
“Have you considered that maybe I’m put
off by the gun you’re holding to my head?”
“Ah, so you can speak after all. Pity
that. I do love a quiet woman.” He placed his hand on his heart. “Please, my
dears, join me.”
But Celia refused to budge, and since
her companion cowered behind her, they both stayed in the coach. She stared at
his mouth—the only part of his face she could see—other than his eyes. She
found both his eyes and lips hypnotizing. Her gaze traveled from one feature to
the next, wondering which one she liked the most.
He’s
a highwayman! Her inner voice of reason told her. And a figment of your imagination! Those are the best kind of men, she told
her reasonable voice.
“I’m sure you understand this is not a social
call.” His gaze flicked over Celia and rested on her va va voom bodice. “At
least, not entirely, although I do enjoy mixing business and pleasure.”
“Where’s Eddie?” the woman barked over
Celia’s shoulder. “What have you done with Eddie?”
As she leaned over Celia, Celia’s foot
caught on the door’s lip. She would have tumbled and fell if the highwayman
hadn’t shot out his arm to steady her. His hand tightened around her, and in
one fluid movement, he lifted her out of the carriage and placed her on the
ground.
She felt breathless and warm from his
sudden, brief contact. Her breath came in ragged huffs. Not knowing whether she
was grateful or disappointed when he stepped away, she hugged herself to keep
warm.
A snapping twig drew her attention to
three men in the shadows. They stood as silent and watchful as the trees. All
three had weapons drawn.
“Where’s Eddie?” the woman barked out
again.
“Have you hurt the driver?” Celia
asked, with a hiccup catching in her throat.
The highwayman flicked his head toward
a cluster of trees. “He’s unharmed, except for, perhaps, his sense of self-worth.”
“What is your name?” the woman whispered.
“My name?” Celia asked, her voice
coming out in a surprised squeak.
“Not your name, you goat head! I know
your name.”
Celia wondered what her name might be,
or her role, or position. Was she a maid? A paid companion? A relation? She
shivered, and told herself that she needed to wake. This dream had gone on way too
long already. She should have come to as soon as she saw the gun. That’s what
normally would have happened. Nightmares typically ended with a major scare.
She tried pinching herself. It hurt,
but not enough to wake her.
The woman fixed her attention on the highwayman.
“Who are you?”
“Why would he tell you that?” Celia
asked, more than a little stung at being called a goat head.
The man chuckled. “You do not need my
name, but I do need your valuables.”
Quiet descended, and Celia took note of
the clamor of crickets, the hooting owl, and a nearby tumbling river. Country
night sounds, usually masked by the roar of constant traffic on the parkway.
“Do you really need them, or do you just want them?” Celia asked.
“What difference should that make?” he
asked.
“It makes a very big difference—it’s
the difference between greed and—”
He waved his gun in her face,
effectively silencing her. “That ring, if you please,” he said to the woman.
Celia watched, wondering what her
companion would do.
Slowly, the woman climbed from the
coach.
The horses stamped their feet
impatiently and shook their reins. For a second, Celia thought about jumping on
one and riding away. But then she remembered that she knew nothing about horses,
their massive size terrified her, and getting one loose from the carriage might
be tricky. Besides, even if it wasn’t real, that gun looked like an actual gun,
which meant that the bullet might possibly feel real, and she didn’t like
pain—real or imaginary.
The woman drew the ring off her finger.
“I have a reticule in the carriage,” she told the man. “If you’d like, I’ll
give it to you.”
The man barked a laugh. “Not likely.”
He motioned to one of the henchmen, his gaze never leaving the two women.
“Search the carriage. Tell me if you find any hidden pistols.”
Celia slid a quick glance at the woman,
wondering if she was cunning or just stupid.
The second man passed by. He smelled
unwashed and earthy. The woman reached out and shoved Celia into him. “Take
her!”
The man stumbled under Celia’s sudden
weight, but the highwayman reached out and caught her in his arms. He drew her
to him and held her close. She felt safe there, although she knew that she
shouldn’t.
“Hold her hostage! Kill her if you
must!” The woman clambered into the coach and slammed the door.
Celia fought to breathe. She knew she
had to leave, she knew that staying pressed up against the highwayman was
stupid. He had his hand on her belly, his fingers splayed across her. He
smelled of cloves, and when he spoke, his breath warmed her.
“That was most unkind.” He sounded
surprised and disapproving.
The second man scrambled after the
woman and flung open the door. Amid the screams, the carriage rocked back and
forth.
“I won’t harm you,” the highwayman
whispered, his lips brushing against her hair.
Celia glanced at the gun. In the
moonlight, it looked very real and very lethal. Almost as devastating as the
man holding her in his arms.
He shifted, bringing her in front of him.
In one quick moment, he captured her lips.
Celia’s knees buckled. Her thoughts
raced back to all those Regency romance novels of her grandmother’s that she
had read as a girl. Georgette someone. Hideous, Horrendous, no, Heyer. Yes,
that was it. Georgette Heyer. What would Georgette call this? A seduction? A
ravishing? Oh my gosh! That was it! She was being ravished by a rake!
Wake
up! her mind screamed. No
more kissing!
Oh, but it felt so good. So very, very
good.
Panic gripped her. Breaking loose, she
ripped off his mask.
Jason West stood in a pool of moonlight,
gun dangling at his side. Surprise filled his eyes. He touched his lips,
clearly dazed. Taking two steps back, his gaze shifted to the dark, shadowy
woods. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “I have erred.”
And with those parting words, he turned
and disappeared into the dark.
#
Celia lifted her head off the table,
dazed. She must have fallen asleep. How embarrassing. She checked the
tablecloth to make sure she hadn’t been drooling. It felt dry. What if she had
snored? She cast a nervous glance around.
The party continued as if she had never
left/slept. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the band was even playing the
same song. That wasn’t possible. The dream seemed longer than a few seconds, more
than a few minutes even. But no one was looking or staring at her.
Becca was chatting up some guy over by
the bar. Lacey had her arms wrapped around someone wearing a purple bow-tie and
they moved to the music. Celia twisted and caught the gaze of Jason West.
Flushing, she looked away. Touching her
cheeks, she tried to quell the heat flaming her
face. So grateful no one, and by no one she meant Jason West, could read her
thoughts, Celia slipped off her pinchy shoes and fled.
Later, she would have to try to explain
her sudden departure to her mom and sister. But there were some things she
would never be able to explain. Or understand.
Like the garter pressing something
sharp into her upper thigh.
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