Into the Lure of Time: Irish Time Travel Romantic Suspense (Always and Forever Book 2)

Chapter One

An Enticing Offer

Neave, November 20, 1563, Ulster, Ireland

“Six thousand pounds!” Aedan pursed his lips to halt a snort. “Six...” He held up a hand, which did nothing to curtail his growing merriment.

I hid my face in my cup at the burst of his catching laughter. Still, my unseemly giggle escaped into the council hall.

Aedan wiped at his eyes, breathing hard. “And Lady Neave...oh...you’ve a rival, from the looks of it!”

The giggle died away though I kept a smile pasted on my face.

“The English queen would play a matchmaker!” He slapped the calfskin parchment on his knee. It reeked of scheming and the detestable heavy perfume of roses on the verge of decay.

“She’ll have a suitable match for me upon my arrival. Enticing, indeed!”

I forced a wider smile. May the gods take a liking to the Tudor queen, and soon.

Aedan turned to his secretary. “Write, Bradan.”

The council hall fell silent.

“Your Grace’s keen notice of Ulster’s unrivaled prosperity under my rule warms my heart,” he dictated in his perfect English.

I twisted my Claddagh ring, my hands cold and stiff at the sound of it.

“Indeed, my towns are plentiful, trade—foreign and domestic—grows every day, and houses and schools increase steadily in number. So booming a place Ulster has become that scores of farmers flee the Pale to dwell here and tend my lands. Thus, I regret to inform your Grace, I am presently rather engaged at home, and on the account of my duties being first and foremost to Ulster, haven’t time to spare for faraway travels.”

He made a derisive noise in his throat.

“This is not to say I cannot be enticed when the timing is favorable—say, with a castle, such as Balgriffan. (Your Grace may remember it belonged to my late father, Earl I of Tyrone.) And while I thank your Grace for your generosity, my previous conditions remain: eight thousand pounds for the expense of my journey and a safe-conduct guarantee for my person, my guard, and my retinue, written in your Grace’s hand and sanctioned with the seals of Ireland and England.

“As to the moonlight raids in the Pale, it is with heavy heart I learn of their persistence.” He snorted, not even trying to suppress it this time. “But upon my word, your Grace, I shall work tirelessly to uncover the culprit. And should any of my subjects be discovered the miscreants, I will myself ensure that such persons are punished to the highest degree.”

Kian drained his cup and elbowed Fillan, who chuckled into his hand.

“I’d pay half my requested amount to look upon the Tudor bitch when she reads this.” Aedan switched to Irish, taking a large swig from his cup.

“Regarding your Grace’s most gallant concerns as to the matters of my matrimony, engaged as your Grace must be in your plentiful matters of state, my private affairs must have escaped notice. As such, I am glad to advise your Grace I am wed—” He winked at me. “And not seeking a new wife.”

I shivered against a piercing chill, swayed at the precipice of an unfathomable abyss. A woman’s sharp, metallic laughter trilled in the mist—her self-satisfied glee of triumph, ringing beyond the confines of the council hall, foretelling of doom and ruin. Cold all over, I pressed my hands to my ears, but she only laughed harder.

“That said,” Aedan continued, “should my circumstances change, I will be certain to apprise your Grace outright. For who better to teach an Irish savage your Grace’s refined ways than a noble English lady? An enticing offer indeed.” He widened his eyes, eliciting a few knowing laughs. “Your most obedient servant, Prince of Ulster...”

The air was gone. All of it. An iron brace gripped my chest. I fought to draw a breath against it.

At the edge of my vision, the parchment flittered between Aedan’s fingers. His hand faded, then he receded from view, along with the map-covered table and the council hall—all of it falling into a bottomless void.

The woman’s laughter shuddered to a halt. Your wife’s bed is getting cold...

“Christ—” Aedan grabbed my arm. “My Neave, are you unwell?”

I hugged myself to thwart the plummeting darkness, thick and heavy.

Aedan shot to his feet. “This meeting is not yet adjourned.”

He carried me from the council hall, up the stairs, to our bedchamber. Unblinking, he laid me on the bed and placed his hand on the slight swell of my belly. “Is it the babe, a rún?”

“Give me...” I choked out, my voice hoarse and shaky. “Give me your word, a chroí... Swear to me you’ll not go to London. Never. Never, my Aedan.”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. “A fainting spell. I’ll send Betha to tend to you.”

I bolted upright. “I’m not ill!” My breath emerged in swift huffs, fluttering and hot. “Cease these...these billets-doux with the queen. Say you will, my Aedan.”

“Billets-doux!” He released a long sigh, the sides of his mouth dimpling with mirth. “By God, you had me worried, my Neave. I must return to the council hall. The lads will be waiting.”