DREAMS OF TOMORROW: A NEW ADULT TIME TRAVELING ROMANCE (Ravenhurst Series) Read online

  DREAMS OF TOMORROW

  A Ravenhurst Series Novel

  Book Four

  LORRAINE BEAUMONT

  Text Copyright © by Lorraine Beaumont

  Dreams of Tomorrow Copyright ©2013 Lorraine Beaumont

  Ravenhurst Series Copyright © 2012 by Lorraine Beaumont

  The Ravenhurst Series Copyright © 2012 by Lorraine Beaumont

  All rights reserved. Except permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976., no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Owlet Press

  First Edition 2012

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copy Edit/Proofreader: Second Look Editing, L Jones Copy Edit/Proofreader: Ivy Post

  Beaumont, Lorraine,

  Dreams of Tomorrow: a novel/by Lorraine Beaumont‑1st ed.

  Cover design-By L3 Designs llc.

  Summary: This is the fourth book in the Ravenhurst series. Raven becomes more deeply embroiled in a centuries old legend. Marguerite thinks she has finally found happiness but is in for a rude awakening. Morrigan continues to scheme and plot to take out Marguerite And then their worlds collide. Will any of them find happiness?

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Anita—

  Thanks for all the support and input.

  You are the best!

  Prologue

  THE AGE OF CHIVALRY * ARTHUR’S CASTLE

  MERLIN harnessed his power, lifting his arms from his sides, making the wind howl. Dark clouds roiled above, gathering, whipping his robe… the length billowed out like the wings of a hundred birds in flight.

  A surge of blood pulsed through his body as he pushed back. Lightning crackled, skittering across the sky, splitting the air. Tightness encircled his chest, squeezing, like a band. He was being pushed to his limit, but he would not quit. There would be no reprieve for her this time if he failed. He kept chanting and pushing back until the winds died, vanishing as quickly as they had begun.

  The air was completely still; the clouds dissipated. His light gray eyes reflected the bleakness in the sky as a single snowflake drifted from above.

  It was done.

  He lowered his hands and turned his palms upward, his skin blistered, the creases filled with red angry lines. He did not feel the burn…it was not his pain to endure.

  He turned away with a heavy heart, walking slowly back into the keep, his long robe dragging behind.

  Would she never learn?

  Wicked is as Wicked does

  THE AGE OF CHIVALRY * RAVENHURST

  THE winds howled outside the donjon walls as he brought the wrath of his fury against all in his path.

  “FIX HER!” he roared, dashing an angry arm through the air, pointing at the bed.

  Morrigan braced herself against the force of his rage as she entered the room fully. It was stifling; she found it hard to take a breath. Her gaze drifted to the bed. The girl that was the crux of all her problems lay out in the middle.

  Morrigan looked at Darias, his dark eyes filled with desperation, but there was also something deeper etched on his face, marring his perfect brow. Her body began to shake uncontrollably even though it was smoldering in the chamber. “Open the windows,” she yelled, fear making her voice harsher then she intended.

  Darias strode across the room, ripped the tapestries from the wall, and threw them to the floor. A frigid breeze wafted through the opening, cooling the room.

  Morrigan took a shaky breath, welcoming the crisp air into her lungs. She had never seen Darias react with such unbridled emotion. It made her tremble even more.

  “Can you fix her?” he asked again, this time his voice quieter, almost begging as he turned towards her.

  Morrigan stumbled forward. The deep concern he had for the girl was unnerving. It made her want to vomit. How did one battle against this kind of devotion? She instantly hated the helpless girl even more. “I need my herbs and salves,” she answered and then turned to walk back out of the chamber.

  “What has gotten hold of her?”

  Morrigan stopped in mid step, her shoulders tensing. “I do not know.”

  Darias crossed the room, reaching her in two strides. He looked down into her face. “You are a healer aren’t you?” he asked through gritted teeth, his face mere inches from hers.

  Morrigan took a deliberate step back. “Yes milord, I am a healer, but not a mind reader. How do I know what has befallen this girl”…she gestured to the bed. “I don’t even know where she came from? You should hope she did not bring a sickness upon this donjon. I know you do not need me to tell you what effect it will have on the occupants. I am no sorcerer. I only have so many remedies at my disposal.”

  “Well, we can find a sorcerer, can’t we? You know of one, don’t you?” he prodded, gazing down at her, his eyes piercing.

  Morrigan schooled her features, not wanting to admit to an association with Merlin. He was a proverbial thorn in her side and he did not need to know what she had done. Of course, he would know, too. A simple glance at the girl, and he would know she had been spelled. “I will look into it.”

  “You will do more than that. Find him,” he demanded.

  Morrigan gulped and her throat constricted. “Of course,” she said and bowed her head, not able to look at him any longer. She backed slowly out of the room, her shoes scuffing loudly on the stone floor. She stole a quick glance over at Milford. He stood off to the side of the chamber, religiously crossing himself, mumbling some kind of prayer. Like that would help. She would have laughed at the fool if it were not for the terror coursing through her from her own handiwork. If Darias found out she was the one who did this to the girl he seemed so taken with, she knew without a doubt her head would be loosened from her shoulders before another sunrise.

  ***

  Gaitland d’ Mezerach pressed his lean frame against the rough wall, using the shadows to conceal himself as Morrigan left Darias’ chamber. She turned towards him; his breath caught in his throat. Even though he knew she could not see him, the expression on her face made his blood run cold. He was no stranger to spurned women. He had seen his fair share of those types of women in his own past. He was a blackguard… a scoundrel …or at least he was until he met Evangeline. His stomach twisted with the remembrance of her.

  “Oh Evangeline,” he sighed, and ran his hands over his face. He left the confines of the shadows and tried to focus on the here and now, instead of the past. It would do no good anyway. He made a mental note to stay close, in case Morrigan got other ideas in her head. For some reason he knew she was up to no good, he felt it to his bones. Now it was up to him to get Darias to see that as well.

  He sighed heavily. “What am I doing?” He had been asking himself this question quite a bit lately and still did not have the answer he sought.

  If he stepped in to do the right thing, he would be right in the middle. It would be a bloody mess. He shook his head, tried to get his senses in order, and decided.

  No. Gaitland was not that man. He was tired of putting his neck out for a cause that was not his to fix. The king had taught him that lesson all too well.

  Strange Relations

  RAVENHURST * PRESENT DAY

  HOT water splashed against the bottom of the claw-footed tub. Steam roll
ed out of the open doorway as Raven quickly stripped out of her clothes. She wiggled out of her jeans. Little red lines trailed down her legs from where the seams had been. She tried to rub the lines away. It was no use. “Damn washing machine.”

  Obviously, it had shrunk her favorite jeans. Raven was a skilled player in the game of blame. Heck, she was a master at it. Especially since she would never admit, even for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, the only reason her fav-jeans were too tight now was from having eaten too damn many sweets.

  Sweets were her go-to food when she was sad, happy, or bored. They were her little friends, filling her body with their feel-good yumminess—and of course, her little friends wouldn’t stab her in the back like that—and make her fat. No, it was totally the damn washing machine.

  She kicked the offensive constrictors across the room. They could keep the rest of her clothes company that were already strewn across the floor. The maids were apparently slipping, too. She laughed out loud. She was on a roll today.

  It was probably Reed’s fault.

  Yep, it was totally his fault.

  Thinking about him only made her wish she had a box of her little buddies, a bottle of wine, and a good romance novel to read while she soaked in the scented waters of the tub. She looked over at the telephone …wondering… could she simply press the button and ask one of the maids to bring them up? She shook her head. It probably wouldn’t be the best move. Letting out a sigh of defeat, she walked into the bath and climbed in the tub.

  The warm water soothed her aching muscles. Not that she had really done much, but she was on her feet a lot longer than normal. Right, like that was the reason. Good grief, she really was in full denial. Well there was nothing to do about it now. So instead, she closed her eyes and simply enjoyed her bath, as the lyrics from Pit Bull’s “Give me everything tonight” filled her mind, accompanied by visions of Reed.

  ***

  Reed stumbled into the house nearly breaking his neck on a stack of luggage just inside the door.

  “MILFORD,” he called out, pushing his way further inside, past the heaping mess.

  Milford walked around the corner, a warm fresh biscuit in the palm of his hand that he had just snuck from Geordie, the resident cook. He pulled up short, hearing his name and was about to backtrack, but it was too late. Reed had spotted him.

  “Milford, what is all of this?”

  Milford frowned and looked down at his biscuit. He sighed audibly, knowing he was not going to be able to enjoy it any time soon. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and gently laid his delicious biscuit in the folds and tucked it into his pocket. Stepping forward from the shadows he tried not to roll his eyes. “Yes, may I help you with something?” he asked casually. Tapping his pocket, he could feel the warm biscuit inside—it would be ruined at any moment.

  “What the hell is all this?” Reed asked, stumbling past another large suitcase.

  “You may want to ask your brother, sir,” Milford supplied helpfully.

  Reed froze. His eyes widened as his face went pale.

  “Yes, why don’t you ask your brother, Reed?” Lucian said, leaning casually on the library doorframe and holding one of Reed’s precious crystal Baccarat glasses, filled to the brim. The dark liquid swirled in the bottom, before he finally tossed the contents back.

  Reed recovered quickly. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “Tsk. Tsk, brother. Is that any way to treat an invited guest?”

  “I did not invite you,” Reed gritted out, feeling his body tense.

  “Right,” Lucian laughed. “Let me rephrase. Is that any way to greet your long lost brother?”

  Reed stared into his brother’s eyes so similar to his own it was eerie. His twin was not identical to him, but to a stranger, it would be hard to see any difference. Their appearance was the only similarity that they shared with one another. Their personalities were as different as night was to day. Reed was the day, at least he thought his disposition to be: sunny, warm, inviting, and of course, he was responsible.

  Lucian was the night, as dark as it gets: cold, brooding, distant, and reckless.

  In Reed’s mind, they were polar opposites; he wished his brother had not returned. He raked his hand through his dark hair, making it stick out, and pushed his way past the rest of his brother’s luggage, while Lucian simply stood by the library smirking at him. Reed balled his hands into fists, wishing he could knock that look right off his brother’s egotistical face. He deserved it. “So Lucian, what is all of this?” he asked, inclining his head to the luggage strewn across the floor. “On your way out, I hope?”

  Lucian laughed. The sound reverberated loudly through the foyer. “You’re good, I’ll give you that,” he added with a heavy dose of sarcasm and pushed off the doorframe. “And to answer your question: NO, actually I was just arriving, but of course you already knew that.” He shrugged indifferently.

  “So what does that mean exactly…are you on your way to somewhere else?” Reed asked hopefully, glancing back down at the stack of luggage filling his foyer.

  “Actually, not quite, I am thinking about sticking around for a while.”

  “What?” Reed stumbled over his own feet and had to grab the hall table for support.

  Lucian laughed loudly. “Watch your step brother.”

  Reed straightened and glared at his brother. “Why are you here—really?” He narrowed his eyes at his brother…what was he up to?

  “Ah… I missed you,” Lucian hedged, as he turned to look down the hall.

  What a crock. Reed watched his brother do the dodge and weave. It was a maneuver they had mastered at a young age. It was a dead giveaway he was not telling the truth. “Try again.”

  “Fine,” Lucian said and shrugged his shoulders, switching tactics. “You don’t want me here. I should have stayed away,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. He sounded mortally wounded.

  Reed began to feel bad as he contemplated what his brother had said, and then laughed, at the ludicrousness of the statement. “Please, do tell me another lie. Really, why are you here?” Reed prodded, again.

  Lucian sighed audibly, his shoulders slumping.

  Guilt attacked Reed. He felt it down in the pit of his stomach. Lucian was his family, his brother. “Oh you know that is not true and under normal circumstances I would love for you to stay, but I need to clarify that I am terribly busy. There is so much to do, I wouldn’t be able to catch up or be a proper host…” Reed forced out, lying baldly.

  Lucian smiled broadly, relieved—round one Lucian. “Well Reed, never fear, although I would love to sit around and while away the hours with you, talking about our childhood-or lack thereof, I do understand you have matters that take precedence.” Trying to gage his brother’s mood, he eyed him warily. When he didn’t respond, he added, “Not to worry though, I will stay out of your way. We can catch up when you get a moment. This place is like a few houses unto itself. If you do not wish to see me, I can keep out of your way… you know, so you may take care of things.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, his long dark hair falling forward covering most his face.

  Milford darted his eyes back and forth between the two. He eased backward slowly. “What?” he called out, cupping his hand to his ear and turning his body towards the kitchen. “Coming” he yelled loudly. “Sorry, Geordie needs me. I mean… um… cook… she is in need of my assistance.” He smiled sheepishly and backed away from them both.

  Turning he took off down the hall back the way he came. Once he was a safe distance away, he slid into the shadows and pulled his biscuit out to eat in peace while he listened.

  Reed frowned at Milford’s retreating back …Deserter.

  ***

  An hour later Raven opened the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around her red-pruned body and one in her hair. She stopped in mid-step—her room was clean. Her mouth dropped open. “Wow,” she mouthed. Apparently, the maids were bringing their “A” game. They were not only quic
k but stealthy as well. She hadn’t even heard them at all.

  Glancing over at the door, she noticed it stood ajar. She walked over to close it, but stopped when she heard voices drift into her chamber. Gripping the doorframe, she leaned out into the hall…listening intently. They weren’t just any voices—they were male voices.

  Not one to miss an opportunity to spy, she quickly shut her door and ditched her towel. She grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on and quickly dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. She was halfway out the door when she realized her hair was still in a towel. She ripped the towel off, tossing it on the floor and then took off down the hall barefooted, the carpet soft underfoot.

  Just like the night before, she stopped at the top of the stairs and caught her breath. Instead of leaning over the railing, she squatted down and peered between the wooden banisters. She looked down into the foyer, trying to see what was going on. She spotted Reed instantly. Her stomach did a flip-flop at the sight of him. He was talking with someone, and he looked pissed. He was raking his hand through his hair, in an aggravated gesture, making it stand on end. Her hands itched to fix it. She let out a breathy sigh, he may be a dick but he was certainly nice to look at, at least she thought he was, until she spotted whom he was speaking to. Her mouth popped open. It was not just any guy, he was devilishly handsome with long shoulder length hair, broad shoulders, and an even nicer backside tucked nicely into a pair of faded blue jeans. He wore a black t-shirt, the fabric straining over his muscular back. He was laughing…at Reed. She smiled.

  Well now, she felt herself warming to him immediately. He turned around and her breath caught—Holy Crap! He looked just like Reed, but not clean cut Reed, this was a dangerously hot Reed.

  She leaned forward, trying to get a better look and ended up smacking her head on the banister. Lifting her hand, she tried to rub the pain away and lost her footing. Her arms flailed in the air—her body in a free-fall. She hit the floor hard and her head thudded loudly on the only part of the floor that wasn’t carpeted, making her see stars. “Ow,” she whined, rubbing her sore head.