Karen Michelle Nutt (2 page)

"I'm fine," Arianna answered, surprised that her voice sounded calm. "But I think I'll skip the fortunetelling, if you don't mind?” She didn't wait for Carlotta to say anything, but stood and hurried toward the exit.

"Arianna," Carlotta called.

She halted and whirled around. "How did you know my name?"

“Does it matter?”

She arched her brow. “Yes, I believe it does. Is this some kind of hoax?”

“You don’t belong here.” Carlotta dropped her fake accent.

“Excuse me?”

“There are souls out there…wandering… lost, but time always has a way of sorting out the mistakes. You belong to Blue Run. Your destiny intertwines with his.”

“What are you talking about?”

Carlotta walked around the table to face Arianna. "You must listen, for you don’t have much time. You will think you have met your end, but it won’t be over. You’ll return to where you belong, and another woman will take your place of doom.”

“Is this all a part of your theatrical presentation because if it is, I don’t like it?”

“In this other era, you will meet a very strong man with the blackest of hair.”

“Did you hear me?”

“His eyes will be green, clear and sharp like a cat,” Carlotta continued. “He is called …” She chewed on her lower lip, but then her eyes lit up. “The Scotsman. He is called the Scotsman. Trust him, for he will protect you. He may feel mistrust for you because of the other woman's black heart, but in time, he will see you for who you really are. He’s your soul mate. It will be his child you carry."

Terror had kept Arianna frozen in her spot, enduring Carlotta’s eerie premonition, but now the woman had finished and Arianna took a step back. “You’re crazy.” She pointed her finger at her.

Thunder rolled shaking the rafters. Dust and debris fell around Arianna and she held up her hands to protect her head. Coughing, she turned and ran for the door, but a sharp pain to the back of her skull brought her to her knees.

“Watch out!” Carlotta warned.

Arianna looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened in horror as she watched the wood beam hurdling toward her.

*****

Carlotta finished what she set out to do here and packed her belongings. A crowd had gathered in the cramped foyer as the young paramedic frantically worked on Arianna, but in the end, he turned toward her friend, Megan and shook his head.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe it. She can’t be gone. She can’t.”

Carlotta heard Megan’s heartfelt cry and stepped forward, placing a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “She’s not dead,” Carlotta told her.

Megan sniffed and wiped away the stream of tears running down her cheek. She turned toward the paramedic as he pulled a sheet over Arianna’s face.

“Listen to me,” Carlotta insisted and Megan looked back at her again. “Listen to your heart. Arianna didn’t die here tonight. She went back to where she belonged, back in time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t take my word. The proof is on her finger. Your friend wasn’t married, am I correct?”

Megan nodded, her brows furrowing. “I don’t understand what her being married or not has to do with it.

“Check the woman’s finger for the proof of what I tell you. Trust me, Megan,” Carlotta insisted.

“How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Who I am is not your concern. I only tell you what I know because Arianna would have wished you to know she is safe.”

Megan held the fortuneteller’s gaze for a moment longer before she knelt down. She reached beneath the sheet for her friend’s hand, surprised of how warm her flesh still felt. She stared at the huge sapphire wedding ring set in gold. “This isn’t hers.” Her voice was thick and unsteady. She whipped back the sheet and stared at the woman who had lost her life. “Oh my God!” She covered her mouth with her hand. The woman’s haircut was slightly different without the streaks of pale-blonde. Her lashes were void of mascara, and she didn’t have a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. “This isn’t Arianna,” she said aloud knowing how ridiculous she sounded. How could this be? She looked up wanting answers but Carlotta had already vanished.

CHAPTER TWO

Blue Run Plantation, South Carolina, 1814

Keldon looked up from his desk as Leighton threw opened the study doors, his gray hair windblown, his face wrinkled with worry. "Ye better come quick, Keldon.”

"What seems to be the urgency?"

"It be Annabelle," Leighton answered. "Horse must have thrown her. She's out cold and her mount is grazin’ in the garden."

Keldon showed a brief moment of concern, before his features turned cold. "What mischief is she aboot now?"

"Looks like, she may really be hurt. I left Samuel with her."

Keldon was reluctant to leave his long neglected paperwork for one of Annabelle’s theatrical ploys. He sighed with indecision as he rubbed his chin. Leighton was probably more skeptical of Annabelle than he was. He’d better check on her. "Come on then.” He rose from his seat and grabbed his hat. "Show me where she is."

They led the horses down toward the water's edge where Samuel waited.

"She ain’t moved none," Samuel informed Keldon, as he took the reins from him.

In slumber, Annabelle looked like a beautiful angel, but Keldon knew her true demeanor. “Deceitful and selfish witch,” he mumbled, reminding himself of her worth. She’d faked a fall before and he’d be damned if he’d let her play the game again.

He knelt down next to her, moving her head from side to side. She didn't respond in any way. She was obviously taking the ruse to the fullest.

He stood and strode over to the small pond and filled his hat with the cool water, before returning. Without hesitation or delicacy, he threw the water in her face. She immediately sat up. Her eyes popped open with her gaze wild and confused as she sputtered like a drowning rat.

Keldon bit back a chuckle, thinking he gave the witch exactly what she deserved.

"What happened?" Arianna gasped. Through the strands of her dripping hair, she stared at the three men who were in turn eyeing her just as intently. She flipped the wet strands back, clearing her vision. She didn’t know these men, did she? She wasn’t sure. Her head was spinning, making her feel as if she wanted to throw up. She blinked and focused again, trying to discern if she should fear for her life.

The man farthest from her had skin the color of strong dark coffee and his course black hair was pepper-gray at the temples. He wore tan pants and a cream-colored linen shirt. Her eyes lingered on his feet and frowned. He wasn’t wearing shoes.

The man standing next to him was attractive in a weathered kind of way. His hair was long, light colored mixed with gray strands. He wore dark pants, which tapered at the knees and were tucked into his boots.

Her gaze slid to the man standing over her like a redwood tree. He had rolled up his white shirtsleeves exposing tanned forearms and he wore dark formfitting pants tucked into knee length boots. Against the glare of the sun, she took in his dark hair, which framed his rugged attributes. A shadow of a beard darkened his defined jaw line and a scowl penetrated his features. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded against her ribcage at the way the man stared at her. Just her luck, gorgeous, but lacking in the personality department. She tried to stand and winced, sitting back down again. "Who are you, and where am I?” Her voice croaked as she fought her way through the cobwebs of a nightmare-filled sleep. She tried to remember what had happened to her, but failed to recall anything before she woke up. “Why am I soaked?”

Like his expression, Mr. Personality’s deep voice held no warmth. She managed to meet his gaze and found herself lost in his alarmingly green eyes.

"What is this aboot, Annabelle?”

She detected a slight lilt to his speech; about sounded more like
a boot
. He seemed irritated with her, but she didn’t know why. Did she know him? He spoke to her as if he did. What did he call her? "Annabelle," she said testing it, but it didn’t roll off her tongue the way it should. Annabelle simply couldn't be her name, but for the life of her, she couldn't think of what it was. "Wait, wait.” She did know. She was Ari... yes, her name was Arianna. Arianna what? What was her last name? Her head pounded in time with her pulse and panic struck her. “Oh God, I’m having an aneurysm.”

"Weel?" Mr. Personality questioned with no compassion for her dilemma. "What game is this Annabelle?”

"Game?” The man was obviously thick in the head. "I'm not playing a game.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "And why are you calling me Annabelle? My name is Arianna."

Keldon exchanged a troubled glance with Leighton. Maybe Annabelle wasn’t acting. He knelt down beside her again. She opened her eyes, flinching as he ran his hand down the back of her head. His fingers glided over raised skin at the base of her skull. Her luminous blue eyes stared up at him with a gentle gaze he didn’t recognize. He blinked and shook his head at the absurdity of his revelation, "Ye’ll be fine.” Keldon moved from her, only long enough to speak to Leighton. "Bring Doc Hathaway back to the house. He’s out at the Draytons."

"Aye.” Leighton nodded and went on his way.

Keldon turned his attention back to Arianna. "Are ye able to stand?

Arianna paid attention, hoping Mr. Personality would say something she’d recognize, but he only blurted out names that meant nothing to her. Like the older guy Mr. Personality sent away, he had an accent that was similar. They pronounced some of the words with long
e’s
like in well, sounding more like
weel
and other words with the rolling
r’s
and soft dropped g’s. They were Scottish, she thought. "Scottish," she said aloud. That one word seemed important. She was on the verge of remembering why, when Mr. Personality interrupted her thoughts yet again.

"Annabelle, do ye need help gettin’ to yer feet?"

Arianna wasn't sure. Furthermore, she wasn't sure she wanted to go anywhere with this man. She didn't like his attitude. Maybe she didn’t know him and yet... his eyes, clear and green with a slight tilt at the outer corner reminded her of cat. A memory flashed. Someone warned her about a dark-haired man with green eyes.

"Annabelle?”

The concern in his voice drew her attention.

“Ye look as white as a ghost. Are ye goin’ to swoon?”

Arianna remembered something else. Trust the... Her gaze locked onto his. “Are you the Scotsman?"

Her announcement must have caught him off guard for he froze as if a chill settled over him, but then his eyes narrowed blazing with mistrust.

“You’re angry with me. Why?”

Mr. Personality didn’t answer, but held out his hand. "Come on, Annabelle."

Not knowing what else to do, she reached for him. She held on tight, but once on her feet, the world around her spun on its axis. She closed her eyes, hoping the spinning would stop. It didn't. Her legs wobbled like Jell-O and the earth came hurdling at her, but Keldon saved her from falling, pulling her into his arms.

Her eyes fluttered open. Her hand came up to rest on his rugged cheek. "Trust, the Scotsman," she whispered, before she succumbed to the darkness.

CHAPTER THREE

Arianna choked as she inhaled, tears burning her eyes. What in the world did they stick up her nose?

“Doc Hathaway is going to take a look at ye,” Keldon told her.

She blinked and stared at the portly man with the bulbous nose.

Doc Hathaway sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked over his shoulder at Keldon who hovered over him. “Why don’t you wait downstairs?”

“I should—”

“It would be for the best.” Doc Hathaway insisted.

“Fine.” He marched out of the room shutting the door behind him.

“Who is that man?” Arianna asked. “Do you know him?”

Doc Hathaway opened his mouth and closed it again. “Mrs. Buchanan, he’s your husband.”

“My what?” Arianna shook her head and regretted the effort. Her head felt like it would explode. She stared at the doctor. Any minute now, he’d laugh and say he was only joking, but he didn’t even crack a smile. “I couldn’t possibly be married. I would remember something so important.”

Doc Hathaway cleared his throat. “How much do you remember?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “I’m Arianna Ward.” Her gaze locked onto the doctor as she grabbed his arm. “I’m Arianna Ward! See, I couldn’t be Mrs. Buchanan.”