LADY EVER AFTER: A Medieval Time Travel Romance (Beyond Time Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Tamara Leigh Novels

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Excerpt DREAMSPELL: Book One (Beyond Time)

  Excerpt (Durand's Tale): Book Six (Age Of Faith)

  Tamara Leigh Novels

  About The Author

  For new releases and special promotions, subscribe to Tamara Leigh’s mailing list: www.tamaraleigh.com

  LADY EVER AFTER

  Book Two in the Beyond Time Medieval Time Travel Series

  TAMARA LEIGH, USA Today Best-Selling Author

  THE WARS OF THE ROSES

  England, 1464. As civil war rages, King Edward IV besieges the northern barons who support the dethroned King Henry VI. Among the last strongholds to fall is Strivling Castle, whose lady gives her life defending her home against the usurpers.

  A LADY OF LEGEND

  As foretold by her dreams, Lady Catherine Algernon is determined to defend Strivling Castle to the death. But when a besieger saves her life just as her nightmare unfolds, a future is forced on her she never dreamed possible—with a man who believes she is someone else. Who is this enemy who defied fate by averting the mortal blow? And how is she to keep him from laying siege to a heart more guarded than her home?

  A MAN OUT OF TIME

  Successful businessman Collier Morrow has everything he could possibly want, including a priceless, unfinished portrait of the legendary Catherine Algernon. When a lie costs him the woman he loves, he finds himself in the midst of the siege upon Strivling Castle, face-to-face with its defender who is the very image of the love he lost. Given an opportunity to redeem himself, he soon discovers the fiercely rebellious Lady Catherine is not who she appears to be. Should he return to his own time? Or risk the life he knew for another chance at love?

  TAMARA LEIGH NOVELS

  CLEAN READ HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  ~ THE FEUD: A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE SERIES ~

  Baron Of Godsmere: Book One

  Baron Of Emberly: Book Two

  Baron of Blackwood: Book Three

  ~ LADY: A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE SERIES ~

  Lady At Arms: Book One

  Lady Of Eve: Book Two

  ~ BEYOND TIME: A MEDIEVAL TIME TRAVEL ROMANCE SERIES ~

  Dreamspell: Book One

  Lady Ever After: Book Two

  ~ STAND-ALONE MEDIEVAL ROMANCE NOVELS ~

  Lady Of Fire

  Lady Of Conquest

  Lady Undaunted

  INSPIRATIONAL HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  ~ AGE OF FAITH: A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE SERIES ~

  The Unveiling: Book One

  The Yielding: Book Two

  The Redeeming: Book Three

  The Kindling: Book Four

  The Longing: Book Five

  (Untitled—Sir Durand’s tale): Book Six

  INSPIRATIONAL CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  ~ HEAD OVER HEELS: STAND-ALONE ROMANCE NOVELS ~

  Stealing Adda

  Perfecting Kate

  Splitting Harriet

  Faking Grace

  ~ SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT: A CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE SERIES ~

  Leaving Carolina: Book One

  Nowhere, Carolina: Book Two

  Restless in Carolina: Book Three

  OUT-OF-PRINT GENERAL MARKET TITLES

  Warrior Bride 1994: Bantam Books (Lady At Arms rewrite)

  *Virgin Bride 1994: Bantam Books (Lady Of Eve rewrite)

  Pagan Bride 1995: Bantam Books (Lady Of Fire rewrite)

  Saxon Bride 1995: Bantam Books (Lady Of Conquest rewrite)

  Misbegotten 1996: HarperCollins (Lady Undaunted rewrite)

  Unforgotten 1997: HarperCollins (Lady Ever After rewrite)

  Blackheart 2001: Dorchester Leisure

  *Virgin Bride is the sequel to Warrior Bride

  Pagan Pride and Saxon Bride are stand-alone novels

  www.tamaraleigh.com

  LADY EVER AFTER: Book Two (Beyond Time) Copyright © 2016 by Tammy Schmanski, P.O. Box 1298, Goodlettsville, TN 37070, [email protected]

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-942326-23-6

  All rights reserved. This book is a copyrighted work and no part of it may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or any information storage and retrieval system) without permission in writing from the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the author’s permission is illegal and punishable by law. Thank you for supporting authors’ rights by purchasing only authorized editions.

  Cover Design: Ravven

  That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past. ~ Ecclesiastes 3:15

  PROLOGUE

  Strivling Castle, Northern England

  May 1464

  She had seen her death. Though the dream had come to her every eve this past sennight, that from which she now awakened had been this-worldly—so real she momentarily considered this was the dream.

  Chemise damp with the sweat of fear, Catherine turned onto her stomach, reached beneath the bed, and patted a hand over the floorboards until she found what she needed.

  “There you are,” she whispered and started to uncurl her fingers from around the hilt. But she could not.

  Every night before attempting a few hours of sleep, and each time she came up out of the dream to find the dark still upon her, she felt for the dagger to be certain it could be brought to hand. This night was different, the memory of her death so vivid she needed more than reassurance.

  Clasping the sheathed dagger to her breast, she dropped onto her back. As she fingered the jewels set in the pommel to form the cross of crucifixion, she prayed and pleaded for sleep devoid of dreams. And was refused when fatigue once more pulled her into that vicious, bloody world.

  Her enemies were before, behind, and beside her—all faceless, though she need not
see their coarse jaws, gleaming eyes, and grinning mouths to know them for the traitors they were.

  Their stench made her swallow hard and taunts stirred the fine hairs across her limbs, but she held. Though her defense of the gatehouse would be for naught, never would she surrender, meaning she must be felled. And the enemy who had abandoned the winch believed he was the one to do it.

  Wrists straining beneath the weight of a sword whose point sought to be more intimate with the floor than the air, Catherine tightened her two-handed grip and once more hefted the blade as the enemy drew so near he was faceless no longer—whiskered jaw, leering eyes, moldering teeth.

  Strengthened by fear, she swept the sword high, then down, and sliced into his sword arm.

  His blade clattered to the floor, then came the silence of disbelief, followed by a roar of anger.

  As he lunged at her, she stumbled back against the portcullis winch and tried to raise her sword again, but too late. Ever too late.

  He wrenched the weapon from her and, without a pittance of hesitation, turned it on her.

  She could never remember his face upon awakening. But now she saw clearly his contorted features as he drove the blade through her, barked triumphantly, and brandished steel whose silver was terrifyingly more beautiful varnished in crimson.

  Catherine dropped her chin. That same crimson spread across the bodice of her cream-colored gown, but where was the pain?

  She almost laughed when it answered like a child eager to assure its mother it was here. Oh, how it was here! And just as torturous as she imagined a hot iron branding flesh would feel.

  Opening her mouth, she tried to drag in breath to voice her agony, but there was no air to be had.

  ’Tis good, she told herself and embraced what was to be her last pleasure—denying these traitors the satisfaction of hearing her scream like a lamb put to slaughter by one incapable of delivering a mercifully swift death.

  Accepting her battle was lost, grateful it was finally over, she slowly slid down the winch to the floor.

  Lord! she called ahead of what she prayed was her ascension. If this is all there is to my tale, would that I had my life to live over.

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, England

  Present Day

  Collier Morrow ended the call, dropped the cell phone on his desk, and dug his fingers into the back of his neck.

  “Bloody rotter,” he growled, envisioning his brother smiling that maddening smile, feet up on the desk, cigar clamped between his teeth.

  And James had every reason to wallow. His latest acquisition was no minor conquest. Indeed, there was none beyond it.

  He dug deeper, pushed and pulled at the muscles.

  Rivalry between the brothers had been encouraged by their father, who had seen it as a means of increasing his empire and ensuring it could never be said he had produced weak sons. But the lessons Winton Morrow had taught them had not died with him six years ago. His will had made sure of that. If it wasn’t Collier scrambling to snatch a property out from under his older brother, it was James returning the favor the next go-around. Always a higher stake. Always a way to better the other. Until now.

  It had been their father’s greatest desire to recover Strivling, the castle held by the Morrows from the fifteenth century until the nineteenth when it was sold to raise the family out of debt. Having failed in that endeavor, his sons regarded it as the ultimate prize, the victor never to be outdone.

  And Collier’s defeat was all the more painful for the company it kept with reminders of the injuries he’d sustained a year ago. Neck, arm, and ribs aching, he choked down air and slowly exhaled. But he found little relief.

  Knowing where he was heading, he struggled against the need—told himself it would pass and he had only to wait it out. But for how long? An hour? A day?

  He released his neck, thrust a hand in his pocket, and clamped his fingers around the vial.

  Two, he promised. No more than three. And if it gets bad—

  “Your home is beautiful.”

  He snapped up his chin.

  Short auburn hair framing a lovely face, blue eyes wide, Aryn Viscott stood in the doorway of his office. “Not the reception I was hoping for,” she said and gave a half-hearted laugh.

  Telling himself he felt neither pain nor anger, Collier drew his hand from his pocket and strode from behind his desk. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Are you?”

  “You know I am, darling.”

  Her eyebrows peaked. “You were going to meet me at the airport.”

  And would have had he not been derailed by one call after another. Though stabbed with guilt over sending a driver for her, Strivling was at stake. Rather, had been at stake. “I apologize. An important business matter required my attention.”

  “Problems?”

  Ignoring the invitation to elaborate, he said, “Nothing I can’t handle,” and drew her to him.

  She dropped her purse and pushed to her toes to gain a few of the inches needed to reach her mouth to his.

  Collier bent his head, pressed his lips to hers, and felt his aches ease as he was wonderfully and uncomfortably stirred by being so near her.

  Thinking that if he could lose himself in her arms, that other part urging him to lose himself in the vial would be quieted, he was tempted to lure her beyond the place he had moved her past only once—much to her whiter-than-white regret. However, he had agreed to her terms, and for it would not have all of her again until the ring in his desk was on her finger. Soon though, and for that he had moved their eighteen-month courtship to England where they would begin their life together.

  The phone rang.

  Grateful for the interruption that made it easier to pull back from the line they were not to cross, he lifted his head. “I’d better take that.”

  Face flushed, she said, “Under the circumstances, I agree.”

  He retrieved his cell phone. “Morrow here.”

  “Hello, baby brother.”

  Relieved he had turned his back to Aryn, Collier fixed his gaze on the clouds gathering outside the window. “James.”

  “Have you heard?”

  “I have.”

  “Then I won’t keep you.”

  Were he alone, Collier might have yielded to the temptation to slam his phone down, but he would not have Aryn see what teemed beneath his skin in such abundance his longing for her shifted to the vial in his pocket.

  He placed his phone on his desk and turned.

  “What did James want?” she asked.

  Her knowledge of the discord between the brothers was limited to the little she had pried out of him. And that was enough. “Nothing you need worry about.” He returned to her and took her arm. “How about I show you around?”

  She pulled free. “Whatever this thing is between your brother and you, it has to stop. Look what happened with—”

  “It’s under control,” he said and more strongly felt the press of the vial against his thigh.

  She narrowed her lids. “Are you sure?”

  Until three weeks ago, his dependence on painkillers had been under control, aided by natural, adrenaline-fueled highs from his resumption of extreme sports, among them rafting and mixed martial arts. But not rock climbing. Not yet. Perhaps never.

  Unfortunately, when the bid for Strivling started going James’s way, the pain had climbed up out of him. For days he had struggled to reject the easy path to relief, but then that long, excruciating night…

  But he could quit. He had done it before.

  “I’m quite sure, Aryn. Now would you like a tour, or should we continue where we left off?” He looked to her lips.

  Though suspicion continued to fill the space between them, she said, “A tour would be safer.”

  The strain about his mouth gave way to a smile that felt almost genuine. “In some things, you are much too proper—like the English of old.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, who knows? Maybe t
his American’s roots were pulled from your English soil.”

  Staring at her, he impressed her face on his memory, though it was hardly necessary since he would soon awaken to it every morning, happen on it every day, and kiss it every night. But always this feeling it might be the last time he looked upon her…

  “What is it, Collier?”

  He blinked. “You’re right. Who knows?” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  The final stop on the tour. Probably one they should have skipped, Collier mused as Aryn stepped ahead of him into his bedroom.

  She halted before the fireplace and tilted her head back to study the portrait to which he awakened when he resided at his London house in Knightsbridge. “How unusual. It’s a woman, isn’t it?”

  He drew alongside her. “It is.” At first glance, the jumble of colors made little sense, looking more like a piece of modern art than a portrait commissioned in the fifteenth century. But it did belong to that distant past, as did the lady revealed here and there through the landscape painted over her during the sixteenth century.

  “Who is she?”

  “It’s believed to be Catherine Algernon. The picture was removed from Strivling Castle—”

  “Strivling?” Standing nearly a foot shorter than his six-foot-four, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “Didn’t it once belong to your ancestors?”

  Once and now again, but not to Collier. Forcing down anger, he said, “It did,” and returned to the safer topic. “The picture was believed to be merely a landscape.”

  “No one knew what was underneath?”

  “Not until it had hung for years in the library of my family’s home with the morning sun on it. Then the top layer of paint began to peel away.”