Portal to Loch Doon (Time Travel Historical Romance)

By Sherry Boardman

Marcella Conner loves her high school students. They fill the days of loneliness after tragedy visits and a marriage fails. She escapes the present when teaching England's noted authors such as Shakespeare, and Chaucer. She is fascinated by the verses of Scotland's poet laureate Robert Burns. Her wish is that perhaps one day she can visit Burns' homeland to roam the hillsides where he received the inspiration to pen the words that brought him national fame. Why not? After a difficult year, she needs a vacation.

Robert MacKerra's peaceful outing of fishing at the loch is rudely interrupted when a young woman suddenly appears from the ruins of a castle to ask for directions back to her home. She seems addled and is dressed in a garb like he has never seen. He has no idea where Florida is and assures her it is nowhere in his region near the banks of Scotland's Loch Doon.

Marcella is torn between locating the portal to return her to her century or remaining in the 17th century because of the attraction to the handsome Scot. Robert worries daily at any moment the forces that brought her to him will as quickly snatch her away. But, lest we forget, fate has the final word.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherry Boardman
• Release date: Jun 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466129191

Sherry Boardman

After retiring from education and wanting to stay busy, I dug out all the manuscripts written through the years and began a new career, that of author. Smashwords has been amazing in its assistance in preparing for final publications. I was born and raised in Texas. Although I have lived in other states, I always return home to my roots. My books are written from the heart with my readers always in mind. I hope you find much enjoyment in allowing your mind to wander to other times and places and will return to my site often to see the latest creation available.

Book preview

Chapter One

Present Day

Marcella rubbed her temples. Just one more class set of exams to grade, and she would be through for the year. The time since the holiday break had flown, as it usually did the second semester. So much material was required to cover, plus students were readied for their college entrance tests. Being one of the faculty members to help with graduation also took up a great deal of time in May. Class meetings, invitations, caps and gowns...the list went on and on. Yes, she was ready for the year to end. She would miss her students experiencing their rites of passage to the next phase of their lives, but knew many would drop by to let her know how they were doing.

Leaning back in her chair, she stretched her arms, fingers reaching for the ceiling. Her body ached from sitting so long. An end-of-the-year buffet luncheon had been served in the faculty lounge, and she enjoyed the time to visit with some of the teachers and discuss summer plans. Now, she was anxious to finish her duties and be gone.

The last stack of papers was pulled in front of her. It had not been an easy final exam. The students grumbled when they were told a section of poetry would be included. Once again, she heard all the questions of why must they learn to read the formal writing style they were assigned when it didn't make sense and would not be used in their lifetime. Most of the more difficult text was from the 18th century and covered in class. Yet, there were some who just couldn't grasp the old English language and other dialects. She smiled remembering the expressions on faces and hearing groans when they read the instructions to summarize the symbolisms in various verses.

A rap on her closed door disrupted her thoughts. She rose and massaged her back while walking across the empty classroom. An office aide smiled when she opened the door.

Hi, Amy, Marcella said. No last minute memos are there?

The student frowned. I don't know, Miss Conner, she said. Mr. Jefferson asked me to deliver this to you.

Marcella reached for the envelope offered. Thanks, Amy. She studied it for a second and looked back at the student. I hope you have a great summer.

I plan to, she said. It's been a long year.

Chuckling, Marcella said, It always is for the students, especially the juniors. Just one more year, and you'll be out of here.

I can hardly wait! She turned to go and turned back. By the way, I've signed up for your class next year.

Thank you, Amy. That's a nice compliment.

Well, the kids talk about your classes a lot and say it's not easy, but you make learning more exciting than some of the other teachers.

I appreciate the kind words. Just remember, it's not all fun and games. We do quite a chunk of work in between.

The girl laughed. I hope you, too, have a good vacation. I like your hair that way.

Marcella reached behind her head and wagged the ponytail. Casual day style, she said. Teachers enjoy the comfort of their jeans and tee-shirts on work days.

Looks good on you, she said as she started back down the hall. With a wave, she turned the corner and disappeared.

Marcella studied the envelope as she walked back to her desk. The school logo and address were imprinted on the corner, but her name was printed in ink in the center. She had already received her paycheck and deposited it with some cash back for incidentals, so there should be nothing else from the office. Well, open it and see what it is, she told herself.

It was the schedule for the fall term. Shaking her head, she really wasn't ready to think about August. She just wanted to get through this day and the last set of grades recorded on the computer. Studying the details of the missive, her assignment was for four regular English classes and one advanced. She winced. That meant she would be studying and gathering supplemental material during the summer because she had never taught the higher leveled classes. A penned note was at the bottom.

Miss Conner, Your class appraisals of lessons presented and the manner in which you relate to your students have been exemplary for the five years with the district. I believe you are more than ready to move up a notch. Hope you agree. If not, please see me before you leave. If so, accept my good wishes for a pleasant summer vacation. LJ

She folded the paper and replaced it in the envelope. The accolades were appreciated. However, with the compliments came more work. Tossing the missive into her tote bag, she made a mental note to obtain a copy of the advanced curriculum from one of the other teachers to have on hand for review after she had taken off a little time for herself. Plans had not been finalized for anything special, but a trip of some kind was certainly on the menu. Since her parents' tragic deaths two years ago and being the only child, it was necessary she not find too much time on her hands. Grief had a way of revisiting without warning. Plus, there was still the sting of her brief marriage. Now, she knew it was only a way to try to deal with the loss of her loved ones. The union was barely consummated before divorce papers were filed. She massaged her temples once again. A headache was not how she wished to begin her time off. Taking a breath, she excused the tingling sensation as end-of-the-year stress.

Once again, she turned her attention to the task at hand. The deadline for grades now loomed above her head. Thankfully, it was one of the smaller classes, so fewer papers to mark.

Within the hour, she clicked the icon to shut down the computer. How great it was to have the technology to automatically compute final averages. She was fairly pleased with the end results. It was apparent, however, some had put forth more effort than others to prepare.

She busied herself with returning reference books to the shelf, filing papers, and cleaning off her desk. Her mind repeatedly returned to one section of the exam the students truly had difficulty answering. She thought she had covered the material adequately. Reviewing her notes wouldn't take but a moment to be certain she had done her job. She pulled the file from the cabinet and retrieved the recently shelved British literature text.

Flipping the pages to the section on The Age of Sensibility, she reread the 1783 poem by Scotland's national poet Robert Burns, and then searched her teaching notes. Nodding, she knew she had translated every line of The Banks O' Doon from Scottish dialect to plain English. It was difficult for 21st century students to grasp, but she interpreted every word. Looking up and staring across the room at his poster she had displayed on the wall, she didn't know how she, or they, missed the mark. It was simply a lyrical poem of unrequited love, supposedly composed to commemorate the river Doon that runs into a huge loch, or lake, in southwest Scotland. Feeling satisfied it was presented in the best possible method, she closed the file and returned it to its place, thinking perhaps she would have been more successful with Loch Lomond. Students could have sung their way through that poem, but still the symbolism of the high road and low road would have confused them.

Sitting back at her desk, she reached to close the textbook, but instead pulled it to her. For some reason this period of literature interested her. She was fascinated with the writers of the era and the one before. Authors rarely made a living wage with their craft. She didn't know if it was for a personal outlet or to entertain others that they continued composing. Many were not honored with publications of their works until long after their deaths.

She twined her fingers in the casual ponytail, subconsciously thinking her thick hair needed a trim and the frost job could use a touchup. She smiled when she thought of her mom's words to cut her hair in the dark of the moon if she wanted it to grow faster; the light of the moon if not. The Farmer's Almanac was always nearby for helpful hints. While shopping the night before, she had noticed the last sliver of the moon before tonight's new moon. Guess she would forgo the salon visit until the next quarter.

Those thoughts disappeared as she began reviewing the Burns biography and the few poems in the text. She had just deciphered the final one when the classroom door opened and a colleague entered.

Just wanted to say goodbye and wish you a grand time, wherever you decide to run off to.

Marcella smiled as she closed the book. Somewhere far away, Lynn. But I haven't had time to make that decision. There certainly was nothing to keep her here. What about you?

The older teacher, Marcella's mentor during her first year of teaching, shrugged. "I believe my husband is thinking about Colorado, but he has several maps spread on the dining room table. So, who knows? I'll be ready whenever he makes up our minds."

Marcella laughed. "That's the easy part. Most likely, your duty will be to see to the packing.

You know him well, Lynn replied. Anyway, take care and stay out of trouble.

That's no fun. See you in a few months. Then she remembered the schedule. Lynn? She heard her friend's footsteps returning.

Yes? she answered, poking her head in the door.

I received next year's assignment which includes a new one in advanced.

Lynn nodded in approval. That's great, Marcella.

I suppose, but I need a copy of the curriculum sometime this summer if you have one.

Sure do. It's in my room of school stuff at home. I'll mail you a copy.

Thanks, Lynn. You have always been there for me.

Not only my duty, but a pleasure. If you ever need anything, you know if I don't have it, I'll find it for you.

I appreciate you, Marcella said, and she truly did. There had been some rough spots, and Lynn had always been there. Again, enjoy your time away from here.

With a wave, Lynn was off once more.

The door was left open and no sounds could be heard from the hallway. Better get out of here, Marcella said to the empty desks. "No way do I want to be locked in this building until the end of August.

She slung the now heavy tote's strap over her shoulder and pulled her purse out of the drawer. Then she picked up the English book to return to the shelf. "Well, Robert, ma boy. I suppose I'll be seen' ye on th' high road. Or th' low. Whichever one suits ye at th' time. Or e'en on the bonnie banks o' th' Doon. The book regained it place. Perhaps we ken discuss th' true love who spurned ye. Myself 'as Scottish roots, ye kno'."

Smiling at her antics, she shook her head and reached for her keys. She had been reading too many historical romance novels lately. But Scotland might be a place to consider. Perhaps someday.

The ring of keys clanged back to the desk when sudden shards of light shot through her brain. The pain was unbearable! Taking deep breaths, she stood stone still, thinking it would pass. But the darkness was closing in. Papers on the bulletin board were freed of the pushpins holding them in place as the swirl of ghastly wind sent books flying from the shelves and pulled at her. Clutching her tote bag and purse close to her body, she felt herself being dragged into the vortex suddenly formed. Her last lucid thought was that one of the numerous spring tornados popping up throughout the southeast had targeted the school and was about to ruin her summer vacation.

Chapter Two

Scotland, 1698

She forced her eyes to open. Bright. Extremely bright! And cool. Not at all the temperature when she arrived at school. At least twenty degrees cooler. When Marcella looked up, there was nothing but sky. The storm had obviously blown off the roof. She felt something on her forehead and reached up to check it out. When she brought her hand down and focused on her finger, she saw blood. She fingered the spot again and felt a small scratch just above her eyebrow. Debris, she rationalized. Her thoughts became clearer, and surveying for any other possible injuries, she realized she was on the ground curled in a ball. How far was she carried by the wind? No emergency vehicle sirens blared, so she surmised it had been some distance to hear nothing.

It was time to discern if anything was broken. Slowly, she straightened her body. The tote and purse were yet clutched to her. How they had remained with her with the force of the wind, she didn't know. She turned over and supported her body on her hands and knees. No pain. Hair fell into her face. The ponytail clip had disappeared. Pushing back on her knees, her body refused to follow the brain's orders to rise. A moan followed when muscles were put to use. The song Calling All Angels crossed her mind. And hurry, she demanded aloud Then she made an effort to smile. Angels were already about or she would be in much worse shape. She rolled over on her behind and just sat, assessing any external damage. Her clothes were in order except for being dusty. A toe wiggled in the air to indicate a tennis shoe had landed somewhere. No matter. She always kept a pair of flip-flops in her tote, just in case.

Her head still felt a little detached, but it was time to stand. She managed after some effort. Then, her eyes surveyed her surroundings. A small gasp escaped. Crumbled stone walls encircled her. And not from the elite part of the city. These appeared to be ancient. Jagged tops looked like a bad crochet job. Nothing was smooth or even. Where could she possibly be? There were no ruins such as this anywhere near her home. Or in her state as far as she knew. She counted the sections. A polygon. How unusual. What remained was well structured, with all eleven sections of the curtain wall evenly measured. Dizzy from turning to study it all, her eyes finally focused on a single arch leading to the outside world. She sighed in relief. Picking up her purse and tote, she walked toward freedom. But that feeling was short lived. When she passed beneath the arch, there was nothing but water surrounding the piece of land where the former building was situated. Panic edged closer. Another step reminded her she was yet one shoed when a rock mated with the foot without protection. Grimacing in pain, she berated herself for not taking care of that situation before this point.

She sat down and scanned the landscape of sloping green hills while digging in her collection of school items, make up bag, and other miscellaneous bits and pieces, feeling for her flip-flops. She felt the treasure she sought and removed the other shoe and both socks and stuffed them into the bag. The lost one might have landed nearby and with the ground conditions currently under foot, she would need them. Rising, she decided the only thing to do was to start walking, even if it was in circles. Rounding one of the sections she saw a small anchored boat. Glancing around, no owner was within eyesight, so she kept walking. After passing two more sections, she spied a man fishing on the bank. Thank you, Lord, she thought. A hero. With a boat! Her steps quickened, but the pebbles finding their way inside the unsuitable fashion for walking on rocky terrain slowed her down.

She became a bit less confident and hesitated as the fisherman became clearer. He was dressed rather strangely. Must have been to a costume party, and he didn't stop by home to change before his afternoon outing, she mused. Shrugging, she continued her short journey toward her rescuer. It mattered little what he looked like if help was available. Once again, she slowed and studied him. The long sleeved shirt hid obvious muscled arms she observed when he cast his line. A vest covered the shirt. He wore knee pants, but she couldn't remember what they were called in their day. And over his shoulder was a multi-colored length of material. Auburn hair ruffled from the breeze blowing across the water. He worked at his task with determination.

Hello, she yelled while waving at the stranger. Evidently he was deaf because there was no indication he