No Home in Time

By Cait Perez

Glenna Munroe is about as tired of meddling family as she can be. She decides to escape herself and flies to Scotland just before Christmas. On the flight she meets a man who will be her destiny, but not in the traditional sense.

She visits a Scottish castle, she meets a Scottish lord, but what happens next throws a new dynamic into Glenna's life. She is thrust from a cliff and falls back into time nearly 800 years.

Conall Kilgour lost his bride to childbirth a month ago. His son lives, however. He is in mourning but has the support of his cousin and his staff. He begins to dream of a woman he must rescue from a dangerous cliff on his lands. When his horse begins to feel Conall's dream, he also begins to visit the cliff.

Time and language have no boundary in the draw that Conall immediately feels for Glenna Munroe, even if her clan is the enemy. What will it take for the language barrier and clan conflicts to be overcome and lead these two toward love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Byron Rider
• Release date: May 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310768248

Cait Perez

About Cait Perez. That is a big story. Born in the 1960's, she was taught to be a housewife and mother. She was creative most of her childhood, although her talents lay in visual art, painting, coloring, and drawing. By the time she was a teenager she read everything she could get her hands on. She also found out she was quite the convincing storyteller. Writing has never been a problem for Cait. She was quite good at putting words together on paper. She loves different styles of writing, from adventure, to academic, to fantasy and historic. Using her vast tastes she decided one day "What the heck?" and wrote a book. From there another and another. Currently she has completed many books and has been told she is prolific if nothing else. Her life is full of change and diversity,too. As a shy and understated child, she kept to herself and was only pulled out of corners by others who wished to spend time with her. Low self-eseem made her think very low of her own value, but it seemed that other children and adults saw something in her that she didn't see in herself. No matter her own low self-image, Cait understands how intelligent and capable she is. She is kind of an oxymoron in that way, bu it's alright--it works for her. She enjoys history so much that her genre is Historic fiction adventure with a bit of love and romance. She tries to use historically correct landmarks and names as much as is possible, but of course with the literaray license she can use. Scotland is her love. She has never been, but one day will go, only because she's never been. The Highlands, with the rough mountains and rougher people,compels her. Writing books is now something she does a lot. She gets up and writes. Comes home from work and writes. She takes most of her time reading for ideas and then writing. Her hope is that you will enjoy what she writes. After all, Cait is a giver, above all things.

Book preview

No Home In time

By:

Cait Perez

Copyright 2015 Byron Rider

Published by Byron Rider at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Disclaimers

The locations, movies, products, and such, are mostly all real. I looked up much of these using internet search engine, Google. The active story characters, however, are not. If I accidentally managed to make any one of my characters seem like you, it was not intentional, and I hope they are the good guys.

**

The language used in this historical fiction book comes from Medieval times. During this historic era, there were no standards regarding spelling. Many people used the same words in different ways. Due to the lack of standardized spelling, the reader may find that my word choices do not coincide with other works. That is our literary license as authors, to do our best with the information that we have. Unfortunately, there are no people still alive who lived in Medieval Europe to ask for appropriate reference.

Dedication

If time travel existed, I would definitely love to go through time, although I doubt I would go, first, to Medieval Scotland. The land is rough and the people are strong. I honor all those brave warriors and their ladies throughout time that took to their environment with enthusiasm and good intentions.

Each of them, and each of you have helped to create the world we live in today. Let’s all make the most of it.

Acknowledgements

First, I would like to thank anyone who has given me a chance to share my words with them. I love to write and hope that my stories resonate in the minds of my readers.

Second, I would like to thank my relatives. Those who supported me have been invaluable. Those who chose to turn their backs on me? Without you I would never have been able to say Watch me.

Other Titles by Cait Perez

The MacRae Series

The Silver Eyed Warrior

Amber Flame

Highland Beginning

Other Titles

No Home in Time

Taming the Free Spirit

A Simple Thank You

A Maiden’s Beauty

Fourth Time a Charm

The Unwilling Groom

Which Love to Choose

To Conquer the Viking

Table of Contents

Title Page

Gaelic Language Glossary

Disclaimer

Dedication

Other Titles by Cait Perez

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

To My Readers

About the Author

Language:

Gaelic is a Germanic language spoken in ancient Scotland. Some still speak the language but it is not as dominant now.

The Highlanders in this story are speaking Gaelic as the heroine, who is from 21st century America does not know the language at all.

I have done my best to give most of the translations within the story, but if you miss out on some of them, here are the phrases you will read through the story.

a bheil are you

a màireach tomorrow

a-nis now (opposed to previous)

agam mine

àiainn beautiful

ainm name

air a bheil uallach airson ann? Who is responsible for this?

air falbh away, gone

Alban Artahn subhachas Winter Solstice celebration

Alba Scotland

a bheil is there

am bheil do you

am faod may I

an cha cron ort I won't hurt you

an làthair here

An t-Samhain November

aodach clothes

àrd-sheirbheiseach high servant

athair sire, as in father

banag ord New Years Log.

bean woman

bean-cheile wife

bean-uasal Lady (noble)

beannachd goodbye

Beurla English (language)

bha was

bhiodh tusa air mo shealbh-s you will be mine

biadh food

biorach sharp

bràthair brother

breacan plaid

brògan shoes

brònach sad

buisreach witch

bùtais boot

C’ ainm a tha ort what is your name

caileag lass, damsel

càite is / where is

caraid friend

carson why

ceangail gu 'r mheadhan tie to your waist

ceap catch

cha bhi beud ort you will be fine

cha ruigear a leas there is no need

chan no, not

chan eil an corr ann there is no more

cia fhada? how long?

ciomach prisoner

ciùrr hurt

cleit quill

co' a thu who are you

co-ogha cousin

cobhair orm! help me

cràidh ache

creag cliff

creubhag small woman

cridhe briste broken heart

cridhe slánaichte healed heart

cuidich cuir aodach ort Help you get dressed.

cuine? when? At what time?

cuir luach air appreciate, like

dad as leat yours

dannsair dancer

dé seo a tha what is this?

dé na tha iad? how much does it cost

dé rud a tha ann what is it?

Déanadh what are you doing?

Déanadhan làthair What are you doing here?

dée deudach God's teeth

deoch drink

dirich mount (horse)

dlùth near

do mac your son

duilich sorry

dùisg awaken

F my dear

faigheam bráigh let me get rope

fàgmaid let us

fàg beannachd aig Jamesina I bid Jamesina goodbye.

fallas I am

feum need to

fo gheasaibh bewitched

foirfe perfect

fuirich air d' ais hold on.

gabh udail aingeal a seinn don't take angel who sings

gallaidh hot

geàrd guard

geilt-ghlaacte afraid

glic smart, wise

gortach hungry

greadhair stallion

gu bràth forever

Höðr God of winter. Killed by Vali.

inc ink

ith eat

kist coffer: money stash

leabhar-latha is cunntas tighearna Conailbhe Kilgour

Journal and Account, Lord Conall Kilgour

lion replenish, satiate

madainn mhath good morning

maiseach handsome

Marcas e sin as ainm dha   Marcas is his name

mil honey

mo gràdh my love

motha more than, larger

muinghin trust

na biodh sgàth ort don't be afraid

na can an corr don't say any more

nigh wash

nuadh modern

o from

o dhiol My god

oidhche mhath leat good night

oilltichte afraid

oir because

pàipear-craicinn parchment

piuthar sister

rànail crying

riut against you, toward you

s it is

rud briste broken things

s duilich leam gun I am sorry

s e do bheatha you're welcome.

saighead rush forward

Sasannach English (nationality)

seabhasachd tired, weary

seanmhair grandmother

seo guna' mheudachd cheart dhut this gown is the right size for you

sinn chan we can't

sitheadh violent attack

siuthad go on!

slàinte cheers!

smealach a beautiful

suaineag she sleeps

siùrsach whore

tapadh leibh (polite) Thank you

teaghlach family

tha an uair comharraich it’s time to celebrate

tha fhios agam ciùrradair I know it hurts

tha i a-muigh tamall she is outside of time

tha mi glan I am fine

tha mo ghion ort I love you with all my heart

tha thu you are

thu you

thugad! watch it!

tighearna Lord/Laird

tilgeil calpa throwing a rope

tìodhlaicte a gift

tiubhair give up, grant

tog ort dhachaigh go home

toilich please

trobhad come

uilebheist monster

uisge-beatha whiskey

Prologue

Jamesina screamed as another pain seared through her abdomen. The old healer and a few maids all stood around her and tried to give her as much comfort as possible, but Lady Kilgour was not doing well. The healer knew it, but would not offer any information to the woman in her birthing bed.

Lunete, what is taking so long? The bairn doesnae seem to wish to be born. Jamesina asked.

Dinnae ye fash, M’ Lady. The bairn will come when he wants to come and nae a mo’ afore. The healer told the ailing and weakening mother-to-be.

The maids stood around wringing their hands and looking like they would rather be anywhere else but in the chamber with their beloved Lady.

Ye there, fetch another bucket of water. Lunete told one of the fretting maids. To the other she said bring me a cloth to wipe the sweat from the lady’s brow.

The maids, thankful to have something to take their time bustled through the tasks that were given them. Lunete looked from one maid to the other and hoped they could not read the worry that crossed her brow as Jamesina screamed again.

Lass, ye could wake the dead with those bellows the healer told the lady, trying to distract her from the constant pain.

I ken that bairns bring pain to the mothers but this doesnae seem right. The lady panted.

Aye, ‘tis a large bairn, ‘tis all. If ye can give us a wee push, mayhap we can help him along. Lunete offered.

Jamesina looked at the haggard old woman who was helping her and nodded. She was lifted by the maid who was washing her brow and she screamed enough to crack the glass in the window as the baby finally entered the world.

Lunete was pleased and smiled at Jamesina. ‘Tis a boy, M’ Lady. She said and put the babe on his mother’s bosom.

He ‘tis a bonny lad. Jamesina said and closed her eyes.

The maid with the bucket rushed to the hall to get Conall and tell him the good news. He had an heir.

The men who sat with him in the hall all cheered and clapped Conall on the back. He smiled with relief, after hearing so many hours of his lovely wife screaming in pain he thought she would never make it through.

And how is me bonny bride? Conall asked the maid.

I dinnae ken, M’ Lord. She said and curtseyed. She closed her eyes as I left the chamber.

I dinnae wonder why. His cousin, Drust Kidd, smiled as he lifted his mug to toast the new arrival. To…What is his name to be?

Marcas. His name be Marcas Jameson. Conall smiled.

To Marcas Jameson Kilgour, heir to the Kilgour lands and all that they hold! Drust said.

Conall kept looking to the door of the hall. He wanted to be with his wife, tell her how much he loved her and to thank her for what she had gone through to give him a son.

As all the men looked toward the door a great shriek rang through the entire keep. Conall dropped his mug and ran toward the chamber he shared with his wife.

When he and the others reached the door to the chamber Lunete was standing at the door. Ye cannae come in. she said to the other men. M’ Lord, please follow me. She said, somberly.

Conall took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he might see when he entered his room. Lunete was very careful to block the others from seeing into the room and closed the door in their faces.

Conall looked around and saw his newborn son in the arms of the wet nurse that was secured a month past to help his Jamesina to nourish what was certain to be a very large baby from the way Lunete explained it.

He looked joyously upon his young son and then to the figure lying limp in the bed. He turned from the baby and walked to the bed. Jamesina was not moving. Is she asleep? he asked.

Lunete put her hand on Conall’s arm. M’ Lord, please sit down. She said.

Fear welled up in Conall’s chest. I dinnae wish to sit down! he cried out. Jamesina! Please talk to me! he cried.

The men outside of the door heard the anguish in the lord’s voice. Drust entered the room but did not allow anyone else to come in. He walked to the side of the bed. Conall was kneeling, resting his forehead on the still forearm of the woman he would have died for.

Conall. Come with me. Ye have a fine young son that will need ye. Drust said, trying to get his cousin to stand.

Nay. I cannae go on! Me world, me heart, me verra life is gone afore me eyes. ‘Tis me fault! I killed her with the size of me own heir! he cried out.

Conall, ‘tisnae yer fault. ‘Tisnae Marcas’ fault. ‘Tis fate and the gods’ will. Drust said.

The gods be DAMNED! Conall shouted. They took me love, they took me life. Conall cried and tried to will his wife back to the living. Come back to me! he begged once more, and then was not able to say another word.

Drust finally got Conall to stand and he guided him from the chamber. Lunete shut the door behind the men and worked to clean the blood and death from the chamber. She also wanted to be certain that the baby was healthy.

Conall walked down the hallway to his wife’s solar. He opened the door and looked around at all that was Jamesina Kilgour. Everything in this room was her. He tore through the small room. He ripped tapestries from the walls, he destroyed her embroidery, ripped the gowns she was sewing for when she returned to her before-pregnancy shape. He cried as he tore through the cushions she had sewn and embroidered, and he destroyed the loom she used to make beautiful rugs and blankets. His bride was dead and he wanted nothing that would remind him of her.

Drust stood at the door and watched his cousin release his anger and frustration and prayed that he would be able to forgive himself, but more so, forgive the innocent babe that he was now completely responsible for.

Conall Kilgour just lost his wife and his child was all he had left. He walked silently to his solar and opened his journal book. He flipped the pages until he reached the end of his writing. He chronicled the birth, that he had lost his beautiful wife and that he had a son.

He signed his entry, ‘Alba, Kilgour, An t-Samhain 18, 1237.’ Then he flipped the page, thinking to make this his very last entry of the year, as his life might as well be over. He wrote "Cridhe briste."

Shutting the book, he laid his head on the desk and cried for the wife who died giving him an heir. His heart was truly broken this day.

Chapter 1

Glenna Munroe walked around the library looking for another book on psychology. She was determined to get through her schooling and make it in the world that she usually hid from. She was content in the life that she had chosen.

At twenty years old she was already beyond her years in maturity and knowledge. As intelligent as she was, she found it difficult to relate to those she was forced to associate with. Holidays and family outings exhausted her. She loved to sit and read or draw and did her very best to avoid the prying questions regarding why she was always alone. She especially liked the library because none of her family would be caught dead with all those books.

She smiled as she looked up more terms for theories of behavior. It was like she was in a candy store of knowledge. There was not enough she could integrate into her knowledge base. She was thrilled with books on any subject.

Escaping her world did not seem like something she would ever be able to do. Deep in debt and looking for nothing in her future, she continued to look to the past. When she was not looking for theories she would lose herself in the past.

Glenna loved anything from the past. History was her passion as much as psychology was her future. She slept in her small studio apartment each night and dreamed of times long lost. Times when men were heroic and not full of politics and fancy words. When women were gentle but strong, and could keep their brawny husbands in line.

She began to feel tired in the warm and dark library. The books seemed to take on a life of their own as the night darkened the wooden shelves in the old building. She pulled three books from the shelves. She thought they might be able to help her with her current essay on Albert Adler and his theories regarding reality and how it influenced behavior.

As she perused the shelves an odd breeze blew her hair. She looked up to see if there was a vent or fan that might have blown through but all she saw was a false ceiling and a hundred books. She smoothed the back of her hair and went back to the books.

After she filled her arms with as many texts on behavior as she could carry, she stumbled back to her laptop and the book bag that she left on the table. No one was in the library to tamper with her things. No one ever went there anymore. The internet was much too convenient. Glenna preferred to touch the words, the pages.

The books were all stacked in a neat pile. The larger ones under the smaller ones, making for a very neat pyramid of text. She continued manipulating the books in order to see how square, then how linear, then how centered she could make each one as it set on top of the one below.

After wasting more than fifteen minutes of time on this indication of an obsession she shook her shoulders, rolled her head on her neck and closed her eyes tightly, preparing for a torturous journey into technical manuals and professional texts.

She opened the first book and laid it out in front of her. She used the index to find Adler’s theories and then turned the page. She rested her lower cheeks on her fists and began reading.

Glenna was thankful that there were desk lamps on each table to help illuminate the pages. Her eyes got tired too quickly from reading so much. She flipped from page 253 to 255 and a piece of paper fell from the pages of the book. It floated to the floor unnaturally slow; almost as though someone set it on the floor instead of it falling.

Glenna bent down to pick up the paper. It said very little. The words said ‘Alba, Kilgour, An t-Samhain 18, 1237’. She turned the paper over in her hand. There were a few words in an odd language on the other side. It said ‘cridhe briste’. She frowned at the odd handwriting. It looked absolutely ancient! The paper the words were written on was not like any paper she had ever seen.

Glenna continued staring at that paper as though it was some kind of a clue or message to some information that was somehow important to her, but she could not figure it out. Hmm, I wonder who Alba Kilgour is? What is this other thing, isn’t it an ancient holiday? she said to herself. "and what is this cride brist?

" ‘Tis not Alba Kilgour, miss. ‘Tis Kilgour of Alba. Means Scotland. Cridhe briste means broken heart."

What? Glenna asked, jerking in surprise at the elderly man who walked up to her.

Gaelic, lass. The clan name is Kilgour, and the country is Alba, or Scotland.

Do you know what this number is, then? Glenna asked, skeptical.

Aye. ‘That other is a date, November 18, 1237. The old man told Glenna. Then he told her more of the history of the Kilgour. Lord Conall Kilgour nearly died of a broken heart. His bride lost her life giving him an heir. He threw his life away. He tried to refuse to go on living when she died.

I am sorry that happened. Wait! Do you mean to tell me this bit of paper is nearly 800 years old?

Maybe ‘tis, maybe ‘tisnae. The old man said shrugging. ‘Tis only the information I can attest to.

Glenna blinked several times, trying to figure out if this man was trying to pull her leg or if he was serious. Using all the knowledge she had acquired in her courses she looked at the man. If he did not truly believe it he was a great actor. She smiled at the kind old man and held out her hand. My name is Glenna, sir. Glenna Munroe.

Och, Monroe. ‘Tis verra happy I am to meet ye, lass. I be Kenneth Kinnaird, at yer service, lass. he bowed and took her hand and kissed it.

Glenna scrunched her nose up but she smiled at the old man. He must live in a time long ago. She thought to herself.

Where are you from, Mr. Kinnaird? she asked.

I be from Alba, Mistress. Scotland. He winked at her. I know all about the Kilgour clan. They be part of me own history. I also ken the Munro.

You know of Munroe?

Aye, lass. The Munro are part of what ye needs for yer journey. Kenneth told Glenna.

Journey? I’m not going on a journey.

Aye, ye are. Ye just don’t know it yet. The old man winked. Ye will see, another time. Kenneth said and left Glenna to wonder what he meant.

She looked back at the bit of paper, wondering what it meant. Alba was Scotland. I’ve always wanted to visit there. She said to herself. I wonder if I can find this Kilgour man in a book.

She put the bit of paper into her book bag, checked out two of the books she had found on Adler, and left the library.

When Glenna stepped outside she felt the chill immediately. It was late November, tomorrow was Thanksgiving. The blustery days of fall were over and winter was coming in with a vengeance. She was thankful she had worn a jacket but even it was not suitable for the biting wind outside of the library. They don’t call Chicago the ‘windy city’ for nothing! she said. She pulled her collar up around her shoulders and rushed to her car.

When she reached the car she pulled out her keys and clicked the alarm. Her lights flashed twice and she heard a small tone, telling her that her alarm was disengaged.

She pulled open the door of the car, balancing her laptop, books and purse in one hand as she tried to maneuver around the steering wheel. One of the disadvantages of being a short woman; she had to sit very close to the front of her car, leaving very little room to maneuver any packages in her hands.

Before she even started the car she made certain her doors were locked. After all, one cannot be too safe in a big city. You don’t know who may be lurking around the next corner.

When she drove away from the library she did not see the bright flash of light that emerged from the roof of the building. It floated several yards above her car and seemed to be following her. Reaching her apartment, she parked in her designated space and rushed in. She looked to the sky, thinking that the stars were oddly bright this night.

Glenna dropped her things on the couch as she entered the studio apartment and rushed to the kitchen. Removing her jacket she hooked it on a small dowel near the door. She rushed to her tea pot and turned on the stove. It is a great night for some hot chocolate. She said as she absently reached down to pet the cat she used to have.

Poor Buttons. You were a good kitty. She said to the memory of the large calico cat that had frozen to death the winter before when she was caught outside in a December snowstorm. She still missed her fluffy best friend, but did not dare replace her. She just did not have the time to dedicate to a small, dependent, being.

When the teapot steamed, screaming into her reverie over the loss of her treasured pet, she jumped. She regained her composure and poured the hot water over some powdered chocolate mix. Adding four large marshmallows she blew the steam away and sipped the hot concoction. The sugar should have kept her awake but instead the hot beverage lulled her to sleep.

I suppose I can finish my research in the morning. She told herself as she stepped toward the couch and moved the books and bags. She bent over and unfolded the studio loveseat and pulled off her clothes. When she put on her night gown and curled under her afghan she thought This is the life. Quiet living, quiet life. She smiled, cupping the hot mug in her hands and drinking it. When it was gone she lay down on her small bed and closed her eyes.

Chapter 2

Nay. I dinnae want to look at him. Conall shouted to the nanny again as she tried to give his newborn son to him.

But M’ Lord, ‘tis yer son, yer heir. Ye needs care for him. If ye dinnae, imagine how he will care for these lands when ye are gone! the nanny insisted.

"I willnae care for the bairn. He killed me bride, me heart. I suffer, Meg; cridhe briste!"

I ken ye suffer, M’ Lord, but when the dead are gone the living needs keep on doing so. Meg, the nanny, scolded him.

I ken yer words are fair and true, howbeit ‘tis been only a fortnight since she was taken from me. I dinnae think the bairn cares nor kens who I am. Conall said.

I put ye o’er me knee enough when ye were a bairn, Conall Kilgour. Dinnae think I willnae do it now. Meg scolded him.

Conall furrowed his brow and gave the old nanny a look of complete disbelief. Lord Kilgour was well over six feet tall and was a strong, capable warrior. His broad shoulders, powerful arms and legs, and stout torso were more than Nanny Meg could budge, let alone turn over her lap. He smiled at her.

Nanny Meg. I ken ye fancy yerself braw, but ye cannae turn me o’er yer knee any more than I can lift this keep with me bare hands. He laughed and Meg smiled.

"Well, I suspicion ‘tis a start, for ye to jest so. Just recollect, Lord Kilgour, I amnae afeared of ye and ye will care for this bairn." She commanded.

Conall dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He had manly business to attend to. Caring for wee bairns was work of women, not castle lords. He shook his head when she was out of sight.

Drust looked on with disbelief. Cousin, if that bonny wee lad were me bairn, I wouldnae be able to turn away from him. He told Conall.

Ye can have him, then. Conall said. I havenae use for a wee bairn. He cries and makes … Conall could not even discuss what came out of the child, from either end. The wet nurse was having trouble supplying the babe with enough to eat, so voracious was his appetite.

I willnae be taking yer bairn. If ye e’en looked upon him once, ye’d love him as much as ye loved Jamesina. Drust Kidd told his cousin.

Conall’s eyes began to cloud over. He squeezed them tightly and moved from his cousin’s reach. "I dinnae wish to