10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Read online

  Fiona by PL Parker: In the past, she found her future.

  Somewhere My Lass by Beth Trissel: Neil MacKenzie’s well-ordered life turns to chaos when Mora Campbell shows up claiming he’s her fiancé from 1602 Scotland. Her avowal that she was chased to the future by clan chieftain, Red MacDonald, is utter nonsense, and Neil must convince her she’s just addled from a blow to her head–until the MacDonald himself shows up wanting blood.

  Going Back For Romeo by LL Muir: Alone with a Highlander, in his castle, on a cold dark night...Okay, so it wasn’t that cold. Jillian is duped back to 15th Century Scotland to rescue a plaid-clad Romeo and Juliet. The monster in her way, however, is a handsome Highlander who may just be her own Romeo.

  Swordsong by Skhye Moncrief: He's arrived to help her create the perfect bride. His ticket home relies on a lonely woman haunted by more than apparitions. If time-travel duty, romance, and a bit of magic don't help them realize their destiny resonates in mysterious fairy SWORDSONG, all known history could change.

  Highland Mystic by Sky Purington: Caitriona is not who she seems. Her fate was foreseen long before birth and so important it will impact all future MacLomains. When dreams of Alan Stewart begin, she knows the time has come. But how to convince a Highland laird from another century that he must die for her? Especially when she couldn't bear his death.

  My Honorable Highlander by Nancy Lee Badger: Bumbling present day herbalist, Haven MacKay, gets more than she bargains for when her love spell goes awry, is cast back in time, and meets her true love -- Laird Kirkwall Gunn. Kirk’s plans go slightly off course when he falls in love with a woman wandering through the Scottish Highlands. After all, he has pledged to marry another, from an enemy clan, in order to end a century-old feud.

  Out of the Blue by Caroline Clemmons: Police Detective Brendan Hunter wants answers. Who shot him and killed his partner? Why? And why does Deirdre Dougherty know details of the event? He can’t let her out of his sight until she confesses to how she learned details no one but he and his late partner knew.

  A Train Through Time by Bess McBride: Ellie awakens on a train to Seattle to find herself on a bizarre historical train full of late Victorian era reenactors. When handsome Robert convinces her the date is 1901, Ellie presumes she is in the middle of a very interesting dream—a dream she doesn’t want to awaken from.

  Captive Hero by Donna Michaels: Test flying an invisible plane—unreal. Time-shifting to WWII—unbelievable. Capturing a hero—unavoidable. When test pilot Samantha Sheppard accidentally flies back in time and inadvertently saves a WWII pilot, she changes history and makes a crack decision to abduct him back to the present, but convincing him it’s another century proves tough.

  Desires of the Heart by Linda LaRoque: At a cottage in the UK, recently divorced Loren Fairchild rebuilds her life. A simple-minded woman appears and triggers an event that hurls Loren 60 years into the past. During WWII, Miles Chapeau’s wife is hurt in an air raid. She now has the mind of a child. One day she disappears. That very night a strange woman appears. Caught in a web of confusion, Loren and Miles struggle with the direction their lives must take.

  Contents

  Fiona

  Somewhere My Lass

  Going Back for Romeo

  Swordsong

  Highland Mystic

  MY HONORABLE HIGHLANDER

  Out Of The Blue

  A Train Through Time

  CAPTIVE HERO

  Desires of the Heart

  10 Timeless Heroes Boxed Set

  COPYRIGHT © 2014

  Fiona by PL Parker

  Somewhere My Lass by Beth Trissel

  Going Back for Romeo by LL Muir

  Swordsong by Skhye Moncrief

  Highland Mystic by Sky Purington

  My Honorable Highlander by Nancy Lee Badger

  Out of the Blue by Caroline Clemmons

  A Train Through Time by Bess McBride

  Captive Hero by Donna Michaels

  Desires of the Heart by Linda LaRoque

  Cover Art by Angela Waters

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of these books may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published in the United States of America

  Fiona

  By

  P.L. Parker

  There it was again…

  There it was again, Fiona thought, I definitely heard something this time. She slowly turned around and gasped. She was definitely hallucinating now. It appeared to her muddled mind that horsemen were standing in a line behind her. Because of the sun’s positioning and her injured eye, she wasn’t able to really see them clearly, but from their outline, they almost looked like Indians. But, no, the sun glinted off what appeared to be shades of blonde, red and brown hair. Perhaps they were from the Festival, they certainly looked the part. It was all just too confusing and she couldn’t grasp the significance of what was occurring.

  Kellach’s men recoiled. The crone’s visage was a nightmare to be sure. The left side of her face was a mass of purplish bruises and her left eye was swollen shut. Dried blood covered the right side of face and her lips were swollen and cracked. She appeared to be ancient, so bent over was she. A shawl covered her head, and strands of dirty white hair hung around her face. Her clothing was filthy and torn in a good number of places. From a quick perusal, Kellach could see that she had tied her left arm to her body and was leaning heavily on the stick she carried.

  Fiona dropped to her knees, “Thank God,” she croaked, “I had almost given up. What took you so long?” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice; it was so hoarse and gravelly sounding.

  Kellach looked around the group, “Do any of you understand what she said?” They all looked blank.

  Fiona

  COPYRIGHT 2007 by Patsy L. Buker

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my husband, Jack, for motivating me, Elena and Karlyn for their input and encouragement, my parents, Kevin and my children for their belief in me, and my guinea pigs Susan, Claudia, Dana and Jeri.

  Prologue

  The sands of time shift in ever-changing motion, uncovering the past and then burying it under the weight of thousands of years.

  In the northwestern province in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region of the People’s Republic of China, in a vast expanse known as the Tarim Basin, there exists a great desert called the Taklamakan.

  Excavations into the region have unearthed significant numbers of Caucasoid-appearing mummies, 3,000 to 4,000 years old, perfectly preserved by the saline content of the desert sand. One such mummy,
a young blonde woman, with gouged out eyes and partially dismembered body, is thought to have been a sacrificial victim. The mummified body of a baby boy was found in the same tomb, perhaps buried alive, tears still streaking his tiny face.

  One

  Fiona barreled down the steps barely avoiding a head-on collision with Laurette, another nursing student.

  “This is just beautiful,” Laurette reverently touched Fiona’s soft wool gown. “Where’d you get it?”

  She brushed dust from her skirt, smiling. “It’s another one of Mom’s creations. Pretty cool, don’t you think?”

  “What’s it for?”

  “Oh, I promised her I would help in the booth today. She showed up yesterday with this, so I guess I’m stuck wearing it.” Secretly, she was pleased. The costume was a beauty, even if it was wool, and she could tell Mom had spent a lot of time and effort on it. The soft moss color brought out the light green of her eyes, giving them a dimension not usually noticeable. It didn’t hurt either that the lines were really flattering. The bodice fit closely, hand-embroidered with knots, spirals, circles and, her favorite, a Celtic Cross.

  According to Mom, these were all good luck symbols and, from her point of view, it never hurt to have a few of those around these days. Maybe she was having good luck anyway. After all, her mother could have designed wool underwear to go along with the dress. The shoes were the most comfortable, soft, white leather pull-on boots with decorative stitching on the upper edge. Several bronze and copper bracelets and a necklace of bronze beads added to the costume’s authenticity. A hand woven plaid shawl in muted shades of green and purple completed the ensemble.

  “Well, you look fantastic! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had just stepped out of a history book. Talk to you Monday.” Laurette waved as she headed out the door.

  “Where’re you off to, Fiona,” the dark haired nurse at the front desk called.

  “Another festival. Just once, it would be nice if one could actually be in this city…and I’m late! I was supposed to meet Mom at noon, but there’s no way I’ll get there in time. She has a booth set up already, so it won’t be hard to find her.”

  “Pretty outfit. Looks expensive! I’d be careful if I were you. The news said there’s a lot of traffic on the road.” The nurse gave her a high five as she hurried out the door.

  Stepping on the hem of the gown, she staggered and almost fell. Thank you Mom for remembering how tall I’m not! Why can’t I just wear something normal? You know why, she thought. Mom of course! A brief flash of amused resignation flitted through her mind. Mother Maeve was a dyed-in-the-wool, honest to God descendent of some ancient Celtic clan whose roots, she claimed, began somewhere in Europe, migrated to Ireland and finally to Michigan where the present branch resided. Maeve O’Brien Sutton lived for her Celtic roots and, because the matriarchal relationship was one not easily ignored, so did Fiona. Every single day of her life she was reminded by Maeve, in some subtle or not so subtle way, of their stellar heritage. Even my name’s Celtic!

  Better “Fiona” than some she had heard. Heaven must love her or perhaps Mom had experienced a brief moment of uncommon clarity. Otherwise, she could be running around with some name only a drunken sailor could pronounce.

  Maeve’s life revolved around her heritage, but who really cared that somewhere, someplace, sometime, someone in her family had been a Celtic warrior? I certainly don’t. Cripes, a lot of those early guys fought naked...like that was something to brag about!

  Truthfully, about the only thing Celtic about Fiona was Maeve and perhaps her long blonde hair. On a good day, with heels, she broke five feet five inches tall and tipped the scale at one twenty. On the other hand, Maeve was the epitome of her Celtic ancestry―tall, full bodied, and blessed with a wealth of strawberry red hair accentuating eyes so vividly blue, she was often accused of wearing colored contacts―which she didn’t. She would kill for Mom’s looks and her height, but at twenty-two, she was pretty certain all her growth spurts were behind her.

  She scratched the back of her neck. Even though it was beautiful, the wool dress itched from collar to hem. Thank goodness she wasn’t stuck wearing wool every day. You’d better believe there was a God somewhere!

  She ran to her car, wrenched the door open and leapt in. After several near starts, the old Gremlin finally sparked to life―amazing. “You’ll get me there and back, I just know it,” she said, as she patted the aging dashboard. “Mom can’t seem to get it through her head that you’re a vintage antique,” she muttered. “Oh well…here we go again―tonight’s the night I meet the Warrior King,” she added, full of hope.

  The drive to the festival was short and she planned to get there before Mom really had a chance to get too hot under the collar, or did Mom’s costume have a collar this year? Who knew what Mom would show up wearing? Whatever it was, it was sure to be exquisite and by the next festival, all her friends would have a reasonable facsimile. She had to admit her new outfit was a vision. Mom had outdone herself with this one. I look good!

  She swerved around a corner and slammed on her brakes. Traffic was bumper to bumper as far as she could see. Oh, great, just what I need! She eased into traffic and slowly moved forward. Cool air wafted through the driver’s side window. Fortune was with her as it was still only April and the temperature was pretty mild. Thank goodness for small favors! The air conditioning hadn’t worked since the summer before and the old car was well on its way to being salvage yard material if it didn’t get fixed soon. Maybe with a little luck or divine intervention, that lottery ticket she bought the other day would pay off.

  Where’s those old Celtic gods when you need them?

  People with Celtic backgrounds or Celtic wannabes flocked to the festival each year. The town square was barricaded and vendor booths lined the street. Fiona pulled off into an area reserved for parking, paid the attendant and edged into a space. She wrapped the plaid throw around her and headed on foot into the town square. I love these festivals! Excitement and high spirits charged the very air and from the antics of a number of revelers, large quantities of “high spirits” had already been consumed by the wandering crowd, even so early in the day.

  Musicians, dancers and hawkers grouped in the center of the square. She passed a small group of cultural musicians, led by a smiling girl playing a lively tune on a hammered dulcimer. She pushed her way to the front and dropped a dollar in the donation box. Her stomach rumbled, tormented by the enticing smells wafting from the various food booths. Jostled by the crush of roving gawkers, she moved quickly along, hoping to catch sight of her mother’s booth. Mom said her booth was by the fountain at the north end of the square, she remembered, moving in the direction she hoped was north. She pushed by a group of mimes. Did mimes mime in the old times?

  “Fiona, over here,” her mother called. She turned and there was Mom, waving her arms and looking like some high priestess of old. Long red hair hung in a mass of tightly woven braids interlaced with ribbons of every color. She looked terrific! Mom always looked terrific. No wonder Dad as well as every other man within a thousand miles loved her. The only thing bad about Maeve was her shameless tendency to put her nose into every aspect of Fiona’s business. No matter, I love her dearly anyway.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Oh, you know him. He always has some lame excuse for not coming with me. This time, he said he had to mow the lawn. It’s only early April. How long could the grass be anyway?”

  Dad was a professor of ancient history at the University. His one true passion, other than Mom, centered on the ancient Celts and their spread throughout Europe. During a research project on Celtic traditions, he met Maeve and as he puts it, the research ended there. He was a sweetheart, but his interests did not lie with attending festivals on a regular basis. He left that to Maeve and they were both happy with the concession.

  “How are you today?” Maeve asked as she offered Fiona a chair.

  She took the chair, glad to be able t
o relax after having to fight her way through the crowd. “I’m okay, a little rattled. Had to work longer than I expected this morning and I’ve been going crazy ever since.”

  Mom looked sympathetic. “Did you bring your stuff to stay overnight? Delia and I brought the camper and there’s plenty of room. Would save you having to go home in the dark.”

  “No, and I need to get home. I locked Sykes up in the garage and he’s going to be very unhappy if I don’t come home tonight. I doubt his food bowl will last that long anyway.”

  “You worry more about that fat old cat than you do about yourself.”

  “I know, but what would I do without him? Who would I wait on hand and foot, day and night, if I didn’t have him? It’s almost like having a husband.”

  “I know you’re young yet and have lots of things to experience before you settle down, but someday I’d like one or two grandbabies.” Truthfully, whatever faults Maeve had, she’d make a wonderful grandma and Maeve managed to bring the subject up whenever they were together.

  “Sykes is about the closest thing you’re going to get for awhile. Give it a rest, Mom, I just got here.” Here we go again! Fiona heaved a sigh of resignation.

  “Well, just so you know, I’m not giving up.”

  Like I thought she would!

  Maeve handed her a jar. “Try this new hand lotion I’m working on. It smells like lemons and vanilla.”