Read Online Beyond Time (Highland Secret Series) by Elizabeth Marshall - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Marshall
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included a trip to York Castle Museum. She didn’t know why, only that it seemed a good idea. Life had become so complicated that reason and logic were long since forgotten.
The museum was mercifully quiet as Grace made her way slowly past each exhibit. She savored each one, trying to read as many of the information plaques as she could but the afternoon drew quickly to an end and the time fast approached when the museum would shut. She made her way quickly to the seventeenth century exhibits and displays. Most of the information was fairly generic but she scanned it all, eager not to miss anything. She was drawn to a small display cabinet tucked in the corner of the museum. It held a few items, none of which looked terribly unique or particularly interesting except for a pair of lady’s shoes which caught her eyes. They looked old but their design was modern. They might be four hundred years old but I wouldn’t mind a pair of shoes like that, she thought to herself. Curious about their origin she searched the cabinet for the appropriate information tag.
‘A pair of seventeenth century shoes worn by Grace Hamilton, wife of Robert Hamilton.’
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Instinct told her to run. She felt exposed and afraid that someone would know who she was. Breathing deeply she told herself that she was being silly. No one was going to believe the ridiculous notion that she was Robert Hamilton’s wife. The man had lived four hundred years ago. His wife was dead and buried alongside him. The thought made her stomach lurch, fear rippled up her spine and the memory of the headstone with the missing inscription burned in her eyes. She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully, wondering if there might be more information on Robert Hamilton in the museum. Her search was quickly rewarded. A pewter mug stood proudly in a display labeled ‘Pubs of York’ .
‘A pewter mug, believed to have belonged to Robert Hamilton.’
She ran her fingers over the glass of the cabinet, tracing a slow line around the mug. She pictured his broad hand wrapped around the handle; his lips as the rim touched his mouth. She ached to touch him; to have him take her in his arms, as he had in her dream. But the ancient mug was a pitiful reminder that the man was long since dead and that her mental stability was very much in question.
She had read about people whose minds created their own reality. Again she considered the possibility that she might be schizophrenic. Were Harry and Kate even real? Did that information card really have her name on it? She guessed that it was perfectly possible that she had had a breakdown of some sort after arriving in York. Perhaps this was her mind’s way of coping and none of this was real. She had to admit that the idea of a fabricated reality made more sense than anything else she could think of. Grace shook her head in frustration. She wasn’t sure she cared too much anymore. If she were indeed going insane then she wasn’t about to die. Her dreams of Robert Hamilton were exquisite. She longed for the light they brought to her life, the happiness she felt when she was in them. The only thing that was destroying her life was her attempt to make sense of it all.
Grace completed her tour of the museum in considerably better spirits than she had started it. Relenting to her madness had proved liberating and she embraced every mention of Robert Hamilton, allowing her heart to leap with excitement with each new discovery about him.
She learnt that he was born in York and that he had two brothers and one sister and that at least one of his brother’s descendents still lived in York. She wasn’t surprised to discover that the descendent owned the same post house that Robert had. Of course, it was Harry. Her mind connected the dots and, as it did, her spirits lifted. Life had become a lot easier since she had ceased to question her sanity.
She didn’t care if Harry or Kate were
The museum was mercifully quiet as Grace made her way slowly past each exhibit. She savored each one, trying to read as many of the information plaques as she could but the afternoon drew quickly to an end and the time fast approached when the museum would shut. She made her way quickly to the seventeenth century exhibits and displays. Most of the information was fairly generic but she scanned it all, eager not to miss anything. She was drawn to a small display cabinet tucked in the corner of the museum. It held a few items, none of which looked terribly unique or particularly interesting except for a pair of lady’s shoes which caught her eyes. They looked old but their design was modern. They might be four hundred years old but I wouldn’t mind a pair of shoes like that, she thought to herself. Curious about their origin she searched the cabinet for the appropriate information tag.
‘A pair of seventeenth century shoes worn by Grace Hamilton, wife of Robert Hamilton.’
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Instinct told her to run. She felt exposed and afraid that someone would know who she was. Breathing deeply she told herself that she was being silly. No one was going to believe the ridiculous notion that she was Robert Hamilton’s wife. The man had lived four hundred years ago. His wife was dead and buried alongside him. The thought made her stomach lurch, fear rippled up her spine and the memory of the headstone with the missing inscription burned in her eyes. She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully, wondering if there might be more information on Robert Hamilton in the museum. Her search was quickly rewarded. A pewter mug stood proudly in a display labeled ‘Pubs of York’ .
‘A pewter mug, believed to have belonged to Robert Hamilton.’
She ran her fingers over the glass of the cabinet, tracing a slow line around the mug. She pictured his broad hand wrapped around the handle; his lips as the rim touched his mouth. She ached to touch him; to have him take her in his arms, as he had in her dream. But the ancient mug was a pitiful reminder that the man was long since dead and that her mental stability was very much in question.
She had read about people whose minds created their own reality. Again she considered the possibility that she might be schizophrenic. Were Harry and Kate even real? Did that information card really have her name on it? She guessed that it was perfectly possible that she had had a breakdown of some sort after arriving in York. Perhaps this was her mind’s way of coping and none of this was real. She had to admit that the idea of a fabricated reality made more sense than anything else she could think of. Grace shook her head in frustration. She wasn’t sure she cared too much anymore. If she were indeed going insane then she wasn’t about to die. Her dreams of Robert Hamilton were exquisite. She longed for the light they brought to her life, the happiness she felt when she was in them. The only thing that was destroying her life was her attempt to make sense of it all.
Grace completed her tour of the museum in considerably better spirits than she had started it. Relenting to her madness had proved liberating and she embraced every mention of Robert Hamilton, allowing her heart to leap with excitement with each new discovery about him.
She learnt that he was born in York and that he had two brothers and one sister and that at least one of his brother’s descendents still lived in York. She wasn’t surprised to discover that the descendent owned the same post house that Robert had. Of course, it was Harry. Her mind connected the dots and, as it did, her spirits lifted. Life had become a lot easier since she had ceased to question her sanity.
She didn’t care if Harry or Kate were
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