The Sapphire Brooch by Katherine Logan (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

Monticello. In 1790, they probably needed protection.”

Charlotte hopped over another mud puddle and around the next one. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

David drew a long breath, and his shoulders squared beneath his well-fitting jacket. “Thought I’d leave it up to ye.”

“Well, thanks. I guess.” She hadn’t given much thought to meeting Sean MacKlenna. To her, he was a necessary stop on the way to Washington. Although she was interested in meeting him, she didn’t want to delay their departure. A cup of tea, a friendly chat, then they’d ask for transportation to the train station. “I’ll tell Mr. MacKlenna I’m a friend of Braham’s.”

David stepped aside to let Charlotte climb the portico stairs ahead of him. “Braham might have told him about ye.”

“Probably. Or maybe he just mentioned a doctor. He had to explain how he came from the future somehow.”

Reaching the front door, David clanged the big brass door knocker. “Shall we see who’s at home, then?”

Charlotte fingered a bullet hole. “These look recent.”

“Aye, they do. Looks like they repaired some of the holes but left others. Wonder why?”

A butler dressed in fine livery opened the door, and Charlotte forgot all about the holes. “May I help you?”

“Aye, is Mr. MacKlenna at home?” David asked. “We’re out-of-town acquaintances and have business to discuss.”

The butler opened the door wider and invited them inside. “Sur. You’n wait in ’a parlor.”

Other than stains on the hardwood floors which seemed lighter, and the paint on the walls more vivid, the residence hadn’t changed. The same or similar eighteenth-century antiques filled the rooms.

David studied the painting hanging over the fireplace. “I wonder what happened to this painting. As many years as I’ve been visiting the mansion, I’ve never seen it.”

A man shorter than David with lanky brown hair and intelligent eyes entered the room and noticed David admiring the painting. “Eilean Donan Castle close to—”

“Dornie,” David said.

“From yer accent, I’d wager it’s not far from yer home.”

“Not far,” David agreed.

“I’m Sean MacKlenna.”

“I ken yer name. I’m David McBain. As a lad I spent time at the MacKlenna estate”—he paused—“with yer niece Kit.”

Sean glanced from David to Charlotte, then back to David. “Ye came through the time portal, then?”

Charlotte extended her hand. “I’m Charlotte Mallory.”

A line furrowed between Sean’s brows as he searched her face.

She gave her beard a little tug. “You’ll have to excuse the disguise. We thought it would be safer for me to travel as a man.”

A devilish spark rallied in his eyes. “Ye’re the surgeon who saved Abraham’s life.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded. “Yes, sir. I didn’t give him a choice in the matter, and then he wasn’t pleased when I wouldn’t take him back.”

“He also said he wasn’t in love with ye, but ye could see the denial on his face as easily as the scratch on his nose. He kens the stone’s power, but he’s fighting against it.”

She looked at Sean wide-eyed and interested. “It’s true, then, what Elliott said about the stone and finding love?”

“Aye, lass, ’tis true. The stone will lead ye to the one of yer heart.”

She pursed her lips with disappointment. The sapphire brooch might have led her to Braham, but it had no power to hold them together. She eased her shoulders with a little sigh and placed thoughts of hearts and stones on the back burner to simmer indefinitely.

“We’re in a hurry to get to Washington,” she said. “I hope it’s still 1865.”

“The date is May 5, 1865,” Sean said.

She glanced at David. “It’s soon enough, right? Nothing’s happened in the trial yet.”

David nodded. “Nothing yet.”

“Thank goodness. Oh, here,” she said, dropping the brooch into Sean’s hand. “You can put this back inside the desk.”

“Elliott is going to wear it out. I just popped it into its wee box, and here it is again.” Sean placed the brooch in his jacket pocket. “I’ll return it shortly. Elliott might decide to pay a visit, too.”

“When his son is older,” David said, “Elliott will make the jump. He misses Kit. I do, too. Have ye heard from her lately?”

“Aye, a telegram last week, but Cullen arrived this morning from Chicago. He’s on his way to Washington.”

A warbling whistle came from down the hall, beautiful music from a talented whistler. The tune might have been Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry, Be Happy. Charlotte cut a quick glance toward David. The corner of his lip tilted up. The whistling preceded a man’s appearance in the doorway. “Did I hear my name, Uncle?”

Charlotte blinked at the tall, dark-headed, John Kennedy-esque man who entered the room, smiling. His powerful presence wasn’t just because of the Kennedy look. It was charisma. She couldn’t explain it or define it, but it oozed from his pores. She wasn’t easily impressed by looks, fame, fortune, or celebrity status, but Cullen certainly got her attention.

“I was telling our visitors ye arrived this morning.”

Cullen approached her, extending his hand, studying her with eyes which held her enthralled. “I’m Cullen Montgomery.”

“I’m Charlotte Mallory,” she finally managed. So this is the ghost of MacKlenna Farm. David had told her all about Cullen’s hauntings. At first, she found it hard to believe, but why not? The farm was enchanting. It might as well have a ghost, too.

Staring at her oddly, Cullen’s outrageously long dark lashes fluttered as he blinked several times. Obviously, he didn’t trust what his eyes were telling him.

She tugged on her beard. “I don’t look like a Charlotte, do I?”

His laugh was almost musical—full and vibrant and contagious. “Aye, my wife wears trousers, too, but she has no facial hair.”

Charlotte grinned. “You know what they say. You can take a girl out of the twenty-first century but you can’t take the twenty-first century out of the girl.”

Sean and Cullen exchanged glances then both threw back their heads and laughed.

“I’m sorry Kit isn’t here to meet ye.” Cullen wiped tears from his eyes. “Ye came through with the brooch, aye?”

Charlotte removed the wig, shook out her hair, and then slowly peeled off the