Read Beyond Time (Highland Secret Series) for Free Online Page B

Grace, you’ll work it out.”
    “Work what out, Harry?”
    “All of it Grace. It took me many years to understand.”
    “But you do now?” asked Grace, her mind racing with excitement as the natural historian in her took over.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Can I see it? The portrait, I mean?”
    “Of course,” he said, solemnly. “It hangs in the hallway, just before the ladies toilets. I put it there so that it wouldn’t be missed if the lady... err... oh, forget it, just come with me and I’ll show it to you.”
    Grace followed him out of the kitchen and through the main section of the building. He swiped a half-finished bottle of whisky off the bar as they moved past it and on toward the hall.
    It was a narrow dark space with uneven plastered walls but she could see the frame of the picture as they approached. An excited bubble grew in her stomach as the canvas came into view. It was him, Robert Hamilton, his eyes sparkling, a broad smile on his face and beside him... was his wife.
    Grace’s knees buckled and her legs gave way as the room swam around her. “It’s alright, girl, I’ve got you,” he whispered aching to end her pain.
    Harry instinctively raised his right hand and made the sign of the cross praying as he did that his Jessie had been right. He, Harry Hamilton, had given up too much to fail at this stage because of a lack of faith. He had to see this through, no matter what the cost.
    Limp in his arms, Grace tried to speak but her throat was too tight, her pulse raced and tiny beads of sweat formed on her face. Harry lowered her to the ground and sank down beside her on the carpeted floor of the hallway.
    “You have got to be... kidding! Is... this... some sort of joke?” she stammered turning white faced to the man beside her.
    “No, Grace, this isn’t a joke. That portrait is as genuine as you and me. Have it checked out yourself, if you want. Any expert will tell you.”
    She was no expert but had seen her fair share of genuine seventeenth century portraits and Harry was right. This was either a damn good forgery or the real thing. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her rising panic. It didn’t work. She shook fiercely, her head swam and the room around her swayed as she lifted her knees and dropped her head onto them. She felt him rest his hand gently on her shoulder.
    “It’s OK, Grace,” he whispered reassuringly, “I’m here.”
    “Tell me, Harry, how did this happen?” she wailed hysterically.
    “I don’t... I’m sorry... I...don’t know,” he lied.
    “You must know! You must!”
    Terror clung to her soul as she stared at the portrait.
    “How did you know, Harry?”
    “How did I know what?”
    “That his wife wasn’t from his time?”
    The ageing man lifted the bottle of whisky and spun the metal lid off the glass top. She could smell the heady fumes of liquor as he lifted the open bottle to his mouth.
    “Look closely at the portrait, Grace. Look at her wrist.”
    She scanned the image, fighting the rising panic inside her.
    “It’s my watch,” she whispered.
    Harry put out his arm and dangled the bottle in front of her.
    “Here, have some of this.”
    Grace shook her head, wrinkling her nose at the smell.
    “I don’t drink spirits.”
    “It’s time you started then girl,” he said, lifting the bottle to his mouth again and taking a large sip.
    “Harry, I don’t understand. How could I have come to be in this portrait?”
    “That is the mystery we must solve.”
    “That portrait must be almost four hundred years old. That’s not a mystery in my book. It’s beyond possible.”
    He nodded, taking another sip from the bottle.
    “Can’t argue with you there, girl.”
    “What am I going to do, Harry?”
    “Well you’re not going to panic, for starters.”
    “How can I not panic? I’m sitting here on the floor of a pub, in a city I’ve only been in a week, looking at a portrait of me that was painted nearly four hundred years ago.”
    “I can’t tell you