The Time Traveler's Revenge: The Secrets of Dohrten Keep, #1

By Catherine Giguere

Book 1 of The Secrets of Dohrten Keep series

THE TIME TRAVELER'S REVENGE

Falling through time…. And for each other.

Celeste Dorsheen's entire life has been ruled by blind ambition and intense sarcasm. Getting funding for her new shop for artisan crafts in Ireland from a mysterious donor, she is given the chance of a lifetime. The last thing she expects is to find a man who makes her wish that time would stop.

Ex-Fireman and Anthropologist, Tate Everson, made an agreement to help investigate a property in order to bring peace and clarity to the homeowners. Little does he know, that the woman who has captivated his heart might just make him believe in something non-scientific after all.

When Celeste finds herself losing time, does she choose love or self?

Will Celeste find herself in time to save someone else?

Who or what is stealing time?

Can love defy the odds before it is too late? Or will magic have to intervene to save them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Giguere
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533743718

Catherine Giguere

Catherine A. Giguere grew up in San Jose, California with two older brothers, a swarm of family members, and a wild and yet over-active imagination. She went to college in 2003 to study history and literature, and that is where she fell in love with Norse, Gaelic, and Greek mythology (as well as the history of their countries of origin). She often created her own worlds within her own reality, and lived vicariously through the characters in either the books she read or the stories she created. She fell in love with poetry around 1997, when she was only 13 years old and began reading and learning about word formations and how words could describe anything down to the most finite detail. After learning about English Literature and History in college, she studied the prose of old languages and older world writers.

Book preview

The Time-Traveler’s Revenge

(Book 1 of The Secrets of Dohrten Keep series)

Catherine Giguere

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

Cover Art Created by Sarah Anderson

Second Edition August 24, 2017 (First Edition Published May 1, 2016)

Copyright © 2016  Catherine Giguere

For a seven year journey, I have quite a ton of people to thank…

To Briana: for keeping my story and my love for Norse & Gaelic mythology alive in my heart. You have given me more than you’ll ever know.

To Patricia A. Green: for keeping me focused this last decade and helping me edit when you could and for keeping me sane and out of the nut house (mostly).

To Devon, my life wife: for making fun of me every step of the way and constantly egging me on. I made a romance novel. Suck it.

To Gina: for helping me stay sane and keeping me on point with my stories and always listening to me rant & rave about fictional characters. You were right (I won’t say it twice so don’t make me).

To Stacy and Gabe: for reading and re-reading my words, even when they didn’t make much sense to my sleep-deprived brain.

To Ashley and Bonnie: for all of the late night sessions of screaming in agony and crying because my characters weren’t working right and that I wanted to burn everything and start over. Thank you for bringing me food and wine and making me think it through before I cried for erasing it all.

Thank you to the loves in my life who made this series possible.

C hapter One

She walked in silence within the haze. The birds no longer sang in this place, as though the heavens had finally granted her silence and had given her the sights she had so anxiously wished for. The garden around her bloomed in beauty and excellence. Every sight and every smell felt like a long lost memory suddenly recalled in vivid detail. Rose bushes and tall cherry blossom trees lined the path  before her, branches and vines intertwining to form a perfect catacomb of color and vibrancy. Walking along the barely lit garden path, he was there, standing before her. She could see the freckles on his face and the wrinkles that lined the small corners of his almond-shaped eyes. She remembered the scar that marred his beautiful chest and shoulder and covered some of his neck. She remembered the slight curve of his full bottom lip and the harsh lines of his bold upper lip. His stubble was noticeable from this short distance, and his oceanic blue eyes bore into her soul. As the mist started to swirl around their ankles, she knew it was time. She just wanted one more second, one more moment with him. If only…

The alarm blared like sirens coming from hell and Celeste awoke with a start. Her pulse was rapidly firing beneath her chest while making her breathing ragged and shallow. She had dreamt of him again, and when she was finally able to have him within her grasp, he disappeared deep into the mist that lined the garden. Clutching her shirt, she fell back into bed, pulled up the covers, and sighed. I only wanted five more seconds… to finally see him. That's not too much to ask .  Holding her breath, she hoped to finally fall back into some type of rhythm and fall slowly back to sleep. Her shoulders slumped as she scowled. Sleep just wasn't in the cards for today. Today was another busy day in the life of Celeste Dorsheen.

Finally letting out the breath she had been holding in for the last five seconds, she pulled the covers off of her body and started to get ready for her day. Walking over to her closet, her fingers lightly brushed over the small black tags that fell beside each item in her wardrobe; each outfit had been tagged with a symbol and Braille tag  that described each shirt, pant, and jacket in short detail. No one understood why she needed this method, but it allowed her to know exactly what she owned and wore and what requires repair or mending. Her associate always saw to her laundry and made sure the tags matched with each outfit perfectly. Padding into the kitchen, she turned on the coffee pot and waited for her sanity to become clearer. With her clothes in hand, she carefully put on each item and then sat for a moment while her coffee brewed, still reminiscing over the mystery man that flooded her dreams.

The door opened quietly as Angelina Talerig stepped in, carefully balancing grocery bags, a coffee cup, cell phone, keys, and purse. She stood nearly like an Amazon compared to Celeste's short frame but was a typical athletic-model height. Her short pixie hair was dyed a vibrant fiery red with blonde highlights that balanced out her pale olive complexion. Her piercing green eyes darted around the room to land on her best friend and business partner while her slightly rounded hips pushed a chair open for her to sit on.

Good morning Angie, Celeste said as she rose to grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen.

Hey Cel, hope you slept well, she replied, as she placed the items on the kitchen table and clicked her cell phone into vibrate mode.

Sleep is relative. I slept, but I couldn't stop walking, she hummed.

Did you dream it again?

Sighing as she finished prepping her coffee, she closed her eyes and nodded. I don't understand. I've never sculpted anyone with his features. The kicker is, this time, I saw freckles.

An apple rolled off the table and onto the floor. Angelina stood for a moment before retrieving it and responding.

Freckles?

Nodding, Celeste continued to drink her coffee. That's the surprisingly funny thing. I don't care about colors of flowers or trees or anything. That was all there like it always is, but this guy, whatever his name is, was just --

A topless freckled god standing in the middle of your parent's garden in Ireland? interrupted Angelina.

Slightly choking on her coffee, Celeste twisted her mouth as if to say something but suddenly stopped herself as Angelina began to speak.

Anyways, dreams regardless, I have some excellent news. It looks like the office space you wanted to lease in Ireland just opened. I placed a bid, and we should be hearing from them shortly, her associate rambled onward. It has a gorgeous front window and a nicely arranged front room with a back room for while you're working on pieces, but it also has a viewing frame so customers could see you work.

Sounds perfect, Celeste responded quietly. When do we leave?

**************

Tate Everson walked into the small San Francisco mom-and-pop coffee shop early that morning, hoping to beat out the workday rush. His black hair slicked back and braided, hung down his shoulder and was still wet from this morning's shower, causing him to rub the nape of his neck. He thought that there was going to be more people getting up and out at this hour, but apparently, this neighborhood paid no attention to normalcies of the regular city. After ordering his latte, he walked over to the newspaper rack and fiddled for a moment before his phone vibrated. Retrieving it, he cleared his throat quietly before responding.

Tate, he calmly answered. Yeah, I have some time to view another property. Nodding a few times, he continued. Yes, but is there sufficient evidence? Uh huh… alright. What time does the plane leave for Ireland? Twenty hours? Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can.

Grabbing his coffee, he opened the door and rounded the corner just in time to walk right into the most gorgeous sight his eyes had ever seen. Her long legs were lean and curvaceous, her curves wrapping around her body like a snake on fire. Her height, relatively short but not overtly, made her curves look like a winding road in need of an experienced driver. Before any warning could escape his gasping lips, the woman in front of him seemed to be rained upon by a latte from the heavens. Coffee spilling everywhere and limbs flailing, his mouth was agape in sheer distress. Her hair, neatly piled on top of her head and her perfectly shaped face, seemed to have missed his coffee, but her arms and the remainder of her body was covered from top to bottom in scalding hot latte.

A short golden retriever was standing beside the enraged woman before him, his fur standing up on end. He was wearing a black vest with yellow stripes that adorned his back with a CAUTION: KEEP AWAY - SERVICE DOG sign blaring red on its side. His name tag on his collar swung back and forth as he tried to protect his owner and her friend. Upon closer inspection, as he was leaning forward to help the woman, he read the tag: WOMACK - THE BEAST.

Oh ma'am I'm so sorry-- he started.

Womack growled and snapped his jowls. Patting his head, Celeste aimed her anger towards the man who threw his coffee so unceremoniously.

What the Hades? You've got to be kidding me. Are you blind or something, Celeste snorted as she shook her arms, so furious she began to laugh. Angelina busied herself by running inside and fetching some towels while Celeste continued to kneel before this stranger in shock. Are you going just to stand there and keep breathing on me or are you going to help me? she scolded him.

Fumbling over his words for a moment, he spoke. I am so - I mean to say - Jesus.

Christ, she chuckled.

Beg your pardon, ma'am? He raised an eyebrow and continued to look at her, as her friend raced back with a mass of towels.

My name is not Jesus or Christ. Although, goddess will do quite nicely. Extending her hand, she patiently waited for him to reciprocate her handshake. The stranger chuckled lightly and reached to shake her hand in return.

Tate. Tate Everson.

Shaking his hand slightly, she smirked. Well, pleased to meet you Tate, and thank you kindly for the complementary coffee rain this morning. I'm not sure I needed it, nor did my associate, but I do appreciate the thought.

Look Ma'am--

Holding up her hand, she placed it directly in front of herself and waited. I'm not a lady, and I am most certainly not a ma'am.

It was not my intention to upset you in any fashion. Tate sputtered.

Sighing, she nodded. Right. I didn't mean to sound so … sour.  I know. Good goddess, I'm sorry. I feel mortified. I shouldn't have just jumped down your throat like that. She placed her hand down her face and then moved her foot backward searching for a chair as latte still dripped from the hem of her shirt. Sliding her hands against her jeans to smooth out the wrinkles, she sat on the chair that was located against the outside wall of the tiny coffee shop.

Tate sighed as he sat opposite to her on the other chair. No, it's quite alright, he drawled in his southern accent.

I know, I just feel awful. That was, by far, the worst first impression, she sighed.

No, ma'am - I mean, miss. It wasn't. I've seen far worse from where I'm from, he chuckled heartily.

Arching an eyebrow up, she smirked. So where you from, cowboy? Obviously not here.

He chuckled and threw his coffee cup into the bin across from them. Yes, ma'am, you're quite right. I'm from a tiny little town in Texas that not a ton of people even know it exists. I reckon it's so small, I've driven past it on the interstate a time or two and had to double back just to get home.

That sounds… charming, she smiled.

Well, how about yourself? You live near here? He smiled back at her, smirking just a little more than normal.

No, um, kind of. I own a shop just down the road. I make sculptures and tea sets, and other pottery items. Celeste shrugged as she reached down to pet her companion lying beside her feet. I guess you could say I'm just naturally good with my hands.

You don't say? Well, I bet you would have gotten along great with my cousin Myrtle… he began a long-winded story in his thick southern accent as she began to aimlessly tune him out.

She smirked as she aimlessly pet Womack, and smiled inexplicitly. Man, does his accent sound like a hot knife cutting butter. She licked her lips and bit her bottom lip. I wonder what color his eyes are? Probably gorgeous…

He snapped his fingers quickly as she was jolted back to reality, -- and just like that we were covered in mud! He laughed as he hit his leg.

Confusion etched on her face as Angelina returned with two coffees and an armload of paper towels. So, what are you two talking about?

Fumbling over words, she coughed slowly as Womack nudged her leg. Shrugging her shoulders, she slumped forward and leaned on the palms of her hands under her chin. Nothing really, just chatting. Did you know that Tate here lived in Texas? In a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere? She blew out a solitary hair that was right in front of her mouth.

You don't say? Angelina sighed as she patted down Celeste's shirt and pants with the slew of paper towels she acquired.

Uh huh… and then he said something about mud…? Celeste trailed off as she heard Tate clear his throat.

Yes. Miss, uh, I still never caught your name, he whispered.

Standing quickly, she grasped her coffee in one hand and Womack's leash in the other and winked through her glasses.

I never gave it, she chuckled.

She turned abruptly, grabbing onto her associate's arm, and walked in absolute silence past him as he stood there and watched her stride past.

**************

Is he still looking? Celeste whispered. Her hair was blowing in the breeze, having tumbled out of her perfected coiffed up-do, as she walked slowly to their studio shop a few doors down.

Yes, Angelina sighed, annoyed. Still.

Celeste gripped her associate's arm tighter as she slowed her pace. Clearing her throat as Angie worked with the door to open it in time for the store's opening hours, she asked again. Is he cute? Is he handsome? What does he look like?