ROBIN BAYNE, Romance Author: THE WILL OF TIME preview at The Romance Club http://www.theromanceclub.com

MonaVie

Drink It ~ Feel It ~ Share It

Leia McGarland is only thirty days from losing her home. . unless she marries within the month to meet the terms of her grandfather's will. Trapped in 1863. . .after slipping through a time portal in her cellar, Leia meets Brant Douglas, a Union soldier with a hidden agenda. Could the McGarland home's portal to the future be the final stop for slaves traveling the underground railroad? The more she learns about Brant's secret, the further Leia falls for him. If only she could fall back to the twentieth century, with Brant as her husband, but is that the will of time?

Having been witness to history unfolding for over a hundred years, the brick house sat encircled by pines as old as its own walls. Trimmed in forest green, the house appeared to blend right into the trees, a guise that had helped it survive the scarring of the Civil War.

Leia had never encountered a more fascinating house, and she had seen many houses in her career as an appraiser. Almost as if the walls held a secret, and like a good friend, she needed to be near. She couldn't believe she might lose this place over a ridiculous, old-fashioned will.

Anger pulsing through Leia's hand slammed the Camaro's gearshift into PARK. Immediately she regretted the abuse. Martin stood a few feet away, and his onyx eyes bored into her, reminding her she was not one to take out her emotions on her car or anything else. Leaning back, she rested her head on the car's plush headrest for support. The drive over two-lane country roads, most of which were barely paved, had done nothing to ease the grief or resentment she'd felt since Grandfather's death.

Her eyes popped open as the car door did the same. A tall black man, elegantly dressed in a three-piece suit, was waiting for Leia to alight.

"No. You were right, as usual. Grandfather's still gone and I still have to be married to inherit the house," she admitted, swinging her bare legs out of the car. She accepted Martin's hand as her sandaled

"Who now?" The house had been scattered with callers for the three days since the funeral. Leia's kitchen table was blanketed with casseroles and cakes donated by well-wishers. They all must have thought

Grandfather had done all the cooking for the household, and now Leia would be in danger of starving.

"Jason Maxwell." Martin's deep voice was flat, not indicating the poor opinion Leia knew he held concerning Jason.

"Is Sara with him?" Leia asked, brightening at the thought of her best friend's red-headed, bubbly presence.

"Mmm hmm," Martin said, walking along side Leia. His back remained ruler-straight; the large man was a formidable escort.

Leia smiled, knowing that without her grandfather around, Martin would become even more protective. Having been partners in accounting for so many years, both men had come to believe Martin was family. She pushed a wisp of stray hair from her dry, puffy eyes, and turned away from Martin. He wouldn't be amused to see her doting expression.

"He's waiting by the fountain," Martin told her, nodding toward the right of the house.

She watched his rigid back retreat to the house, through the fog of pines. Then, drawing a deep breath laced with honeysuckle, Leia walked toward the opening in the trees. Equal to a tennis-court in size, the

garden area's central figure was a rustic cherub perched on a pedestal topping a fountain. During her childhood, water had splashed continuously from the happy angel's mouth. To a six-year-old, the

fountain's figure was an angelic guardian sent by her parents after their death. As she'd grown older, the cherub had decayed past the point of such fantasy.

Today, Jason waited for her, on a dull wrought-iron bench in the cherub's sight. He'd sat there before, but always with his girlfriend Sara nestled next to him. Today, something about him was different,

something more than the absence of his better half. The fountain cast a shadow around Jason today.

"Jason, what a surprise," she began, nearing her visitor. "Where's Sara?" Leia stood in front of the strawberry-blond man, noting that he had softened physically, as well as darkened in hair color, during the

"She's at school. You're keeping her really busy with this charity show business. But she loves it, puts one hundred and ten percent into every costume." He stood to greet her, then resumed his relaxed pose on

"We've both invested a lot of time in this show, and Sara needs the credit to graduate. Grandfather wanted to sponsor it, and I'm sure he'd have wanted it to go on, even without him." Leia sat on the far end of the bench, wedging her back into the armrest to face Jason without touching him.

Leia remained silent. Everyone knew about the will by now, even Jason. She didn't feel he'd been generous with his granddaughter. A twinge in her stomach silently told her she felt betrayed.

"I know you did so much for him, Leia. You were just like a daughter, taking care of him and this place for all those years. How many dates did you turn down to keep him company?" Then he softened his

voice to ask, "Didn't you know what was in his will?" He propped an arm on the back of the bench and rested his head on the back of his hand.

"Only that I had to be twenty-five to inherit, just as he had." Leia sighed. "I didn't know that I had to be married, too. That part was a surprise. Is that what you came to ask me?" Her abrupt question drew

"Go on," she said, eager to finish their impromptu meeting. Her black cotton skirt, though loose fitting, had finally started to cling.

"Well, I have an idea that may help your predicament. I've given it a great deal of thought." He spoke slowly and stared into Leia's eyes. "Oh?" He'd only had a day or so, how much time was that for thought?

"You only have a month to find a husband, Leia. You don't want to lose this house, this land. I don't want to see that happen. So what I'm proposing, is, marriage."

She laughed. "And you're going to zap this bridegroom out of thin air? Really, Jason, what are you thinking about?"

"Me. I'm thinking about me. And us. I'll marry you immediately. You'll inherit your home, no law suits, no legal problems."

Leia stared at him now, her mouth gaping. She made a physical effort to close it. "Are you nuts? What about Sara?"

"Sara is your best friend. She'll understand. We both know how you adore this old house. It's your whole life. Sara's loving, caring, a wonderful person. She'd want me to do this for you."

"Oh no she wouldn't. Friendship only goes so far." Leia shook her head vigorously, shaking strands of hair across her forehead and into her eyes. As she pushed aside the wisps, Jason's full intent hit her even like a blow to the gut. Her stomach muscles cinched tighter.

"And you get half of it all someday?" Her voice shook more than it had at the reading of the will. "Is that your plan?" Wondering which investor had showed interest in the property, and how much Jason hoped to sell it for, she noted that he at least had the grace to look uncomfortable at her accusation.

He shifted his weight and looked down at his well-manicured hands. "I hadn't thought everything out, Leia."

She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, it doesn't take me as long to think. No thank you, Mr. Maxwell," she said, trying to drip her voice with sarcasm. What nerve!

He rose. "Half of the property is better than none. If you change your mind as the deadline approaches..." The statement was left unfinished, and he headed for the front yard. His pace was slow, as if

he were thinking hard and couldn't walk simultaneously. As he reached the line of trees, he turned back.

"I can take care of myself, Jason. I really have for a long time now. And I'll take care of my house, too."

The sound of footsteps nearing made Leia twirl. Martin appeared, having entered the garden from the path that curved around from the back door.

"Speaking of taking care of the house," he began, coming to a halt next to Leia. "I'm afraid I've broken one of your favorite flasks. I'm terribly sorry. Would you please come inside, so I can show you the one?

Perhaps we can search for a replacement." His normally stern face was pinched and sincere.

Leia nodded, acknowledging acceptance of yet another loss. Turning toward the front yard, she saw Jason flash a patronizing smile before disappearing into the pines.

The reading of Grandfather's will had cast an air of anxiety over her entire day. First the anticipation, which had made her stomach uneasy. And then the fateful moment when Mr. Sanders read the conditions

Grandfather had stipulated for her to keep the house. Grandfather, an old-fashioned Irish man, had never fully accepted that Leia had grown up.

On her sixteenth birthday, Grandfather had presented her with a white velvet box containing her mother's wedding ring. Considering it a miracle that it was recovered from the accident, he suggested she wear it to keep her mother alive in her heart. He told her she'd always be somebody's little girl, his now, and someday, her husband's. She had let the statement go unchallenged, and now it was too late. He'd died

Leia went back to the house to consider the damages, and slipped her sandals off. The grey slate floor cooled her soles, but not her growing anger as her thoughts returned to Jason. She should have slapped

him, would have enjoyed the marks of her rings impressed on his smug face. It would be especially satisfying to mark him with the sapphire friendship ring Sara had given her on her twenty-first birthday.

"Hi Leia! Martin told me I could wait for you here." Sara appeared from the kitchen.

Her bright smile told Leia that Sara was unaware her boyfriend had just been lurking nearby. An invisible hand grasped Leia's heart. Knowing the right thing to do was very different than following through, and when it came to hurting a sweet friend, it was near impossible.

"Absolutely. I'm going to go change clothes." Leia led her friend up the wide staircase, caressing the polished banister, relieved for the moment to not meet her friend's trusting gaze.

Leia looked up and tried to smile, but could only manage a nod. Sara always came into Leia's room to talk when she stayed there, and always flopped on the canopy bed.

"Did you have any idea what your grandfather's will said?" Sara plunged directly into the matter at hand, plopping characteristically on the bed beside her prone friend. She smoothed the folds of the silk comforter with her hand, making aqua blue ripples like those on a small pond.

"Of course not," Leia replied. "I'm the only family he had left. I just assumed, and I know that's a stupid thing to do, that when he died I'd get to keep our home." She rose from the bed and walked over to the bay window, its tiny panes of glass distorting the view. "Look out there, I mean, I just can't imagine him wanting this place to be auctioned off. What was he thinking?"

"He was thinking that by now you should be married, that's all. And you know, he probably made his will a long time ago, way before you were old enough to be married. And he probably wrote it just how his father had written his own will. That's what my parents did, you know, they simply took their parents' will and changed a few words. He probably had that all set up way before he realized how good you'd turn out. Maybe after your parents died he figured you'd be a basket-case."

The perfectly logical question obviously put Sara at a loss for words. She rolled onto her stomach, the bed's silky covers moving like liquid with her. Finally she said, "Your parents married really young, didn't they? And didn't you tell me you'd been conceived on their wedding night?"

"Yeah, Mom was young, in love, and very fertile. But that was back in the sixties. It's just not fair," Leia continued, louder. "These are the nineties! I mean, I might have expected this in the nineteenth century, when everyone was so predictable and boring. But I have a career. I practically raised myself. And another thing. . . oh, sorry. I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you."

"It's okay. I've been thinking." Sara's voice softened, "Jason has a brother. He's great looking, and if you two got together, we would be sisters someday."

"Okay, okay," Leia smiled finally, "You can stop that. Sara, I'm happy for you, if you are. But I do need to talk to you about something Jason said." If Sara knew that Jason had proposed to her best friend, even if it was strictly for financial reasons, there would be no more relationship. Could she be the one responsible for breaking Sara's heart? Leia looked at her friend, red hair spread out across the comforter in contrast with the ocean of blue material. If they weren't such good friends, she would be envious of Sara's beauty and height. Leia avoided her own reflection in the room's Federal style mirror. She had no desire to see the tension lurking under her thick brown eyebrows and fly-away blonde bangs.

"We'll talk more later, Sara. C'mon, let's go see what kind of damage Martin did to my collection." They started down the oak paneled hallway, Sara running her hand along the chair molding.

Leia led her down the carpeted staircase, through the two-story foyer and into a small parlor. The room was used only as a showplace, as was obvious from the immaculate white carpet, white sofa and love seat.

Each time she entered the room, Leia took a moment to focus on each object. The focal point of the room was the Chippendale satinwood commode, about the size of a small dresser, decorated with marquetry and

ormolu rings. Above it hung a mahogany china cabinet, its glazed doors covered in Chinese fretwork. The two pieces, valuable antiques from the eighteenth century, made the perfect display area for Leia's bottle and glass collection. She opened the cabinet door slowly, and immediately knew what was missing.

"Oh, no," she whispered, staring into the cabinet as if the item would reappear. "Oh, no."

"Why? What was so special about a whiskey flask?" Sara examined the other bottles and dishes.

"It was my father's. He got it from his father, I think. It had a baseball and bat embossed on it. A really rare piece. My father loved baseball, but that's all I really remember about him." Leia sat on the

Sara closed the cabinet door, slowly, not rattling the contents. She remained silent for a few moments, then sat beside Leia. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, then sat up straight. The tears that had blurred her vision trickled down her cheeks, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. Just another loss.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into this, Sara," Leia said, swishing through racks of designer dresses. "Wouldn't Grandfather have just loved me wearing this one to dinner?" She held up a bright orange

dress splashed with white polka-dots. "This one looks like a creamsicle." A picture flashed in her mind, of Grandfather handing her one of the frozen confections as she played on the back porch. Her throat tightened and she shoved the dress between several others.

"Ooh, lovely." Sara laughed and held up her own discovery-- a red organza cocktail dress with a white net tutu. "Or this one, you could go appraise a house in this little number." The dress in question was a

"Not quite. Mine was better. Wait 'till you see the nineteenth century collection I'm working on. It's more trendy than these duds. Say, do you have a costume yet for the charity show?" An approaching

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Say, what about this skirt?" Leia held up a floor-length black, silk skirt. The zipper was on the right side of the waist, and was nearly invisible in the narrow silhouette.

"Yea, and black, too. Perfect for my mood," Leia said, and pulled a size four from the rack.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear. Is it for a funeral?" the saleslady asked, accepting Leia's credit card. "You know, dear, once the wake is over things will really begin to seem better." The woman punched numbers on

her cash register, chatting on. "This time next month you'll feel a bit better, I'm certain."

Leia fought the urge to cry; her heart pounding as she considered exactly where she'd be this time next month if she hadn't figured a way around Grandfather's will. She scribbled her name on the sales slip.

"She'll be back for her honeymoon clothes soon," Sara said, nodding toward Leia.

"Well, whenever you wear it," the saleslady said, "this outfit is versatile. And the fabric will last you a century."

Leia dressed carefully for her dinner with Sara and Martin, though her heart was not in it. She put on the new black skirt with a silk blouse. It didn't feel like she was preparing for a family dinner, because of the unappealing matters she needed to discuss with her friends. Leia sighed as she pulled on the black stockings Sara had found in Victoria's Secret.

She decided to wear no jewelry, except for her mother's wedding ring. After only a few trips to inspect strange houses, owned by even stranger people, she'd learned the value of a wedding band on her left hand. She wanted to look nice, but still be comfortable tonight, so she added her black leather granny boots instead of the previously planned heels. She descended the back stairs, having decided to wait for her

guests in the kitchen. She'd given MaryBeth, the part-time housekeeper, the night off.

The menu was lasagna and green salad. Simple, homey food that she had prepared that morning. Her sense of fairness told her to give this discussion a chance, to listen to whatever suggestions were made, and

not be hampered with intricate food preparations. She set the dining room table with the white family china, and added her three antique flint glasses for wine. Having only been able to obtain a trio of goblets in this Huber pattern, Leia only used them for tiny dinner parties.

"Hello, Leia," Martin said, entering the kitchen and causing Leia to jump. He carried a long, flat white box in his arms. "I met Sara in the driveway, loaded with boxes and bags. She said this one's for you." He delivered the box into Leia's oven-mitted arms. "A new dress?" he asked, examining the oven dials.

"Yes, but it looks like an old one. It's my costume for the charity show. Sara went home and brought it. She wants a Polaroid snapshot, too, for the lobby poster."

"And I've got my camera, whenever you want to model it," Sara announced, breezing into the kitchen.

"Are you kidding? I don't want to model it at all. I heard they got some famous model to pose for the flyers they sent out." Leia said.

The late June historical revue was timed perfectly. After Grandfather had agreed to sponsor the show, Sara's design class had sent out flyers using the mailing list of the Civil War re-enactors who would

participate in the July 1 Gettysburg battle. More than half of the participants had purchased tickets for the charity show, which was being held only a few hours drive from Gettysburg.

"You'd better get an 'A' for this," she said, and found a clean spot on the counter to open the box. From under a layer of modern white tissue paper she pulled an old-fashioned black gown with white lace trim, some torture device that must be a corset, a white nylon crinoline hoop that popped out of the box almost by itself, a pair of baggy split bloomers, a full-length petticoat and an ivory lace camisole.

"My goodness, they certainly wore a lot of clothes back then," she said. "And I thought the girls got to wear really low-cut dresses. Maybe this is more modest because of the war."

"1863," Sara said, answering for Leia and fussing over a loose thread. "Leia's our female Civil War model, and we have a half-dozen males to portray soldiers."

"Something smells real good," Martin said, pulling the oven door open to peek. "What is it?"

"Why don't you go try the dress on, Leia, and I'll snap your picture before we eat. This needs to cool a bit. Besides, I know you always refuse to have your picture taken once you've stuffed yourself. Should I put this on the counter?" Sara laughed softly as she chattered.

"Ha ha. Okay. But let's go into the dining room. It's all set up," Leia said, pulling the crystal salad bowl from the refrigerator and leading them from the kitchen.

Martin whistled softly as he entered the dining room. The chandelier was dimmed, casting a warm glow on the china and crystal. Two white taper candles flickered in the center of the oval table, their light reflecting off of dark green pressed glass holders.

"This is beautiful. Looks too good to eat off of," he said, setting his casserole on a large table pad."

"Thanks. Be right back." She gathered the garments from the kitchen and went back to her room to change. It took her longer than she had expected to dress; the bloomers she started with were ruffled and had a mind of their own. She had the hoopskirt on before she realized that the petticoat probably went underneath, so she tossed it aside and put her silk skirt back on as an underskirt. The black dress would go on last, and she would keep her granny boots. They seemed appropriate to her, kind of old-fashioned.

"Only if you really expect me to wear this," Leia replied, holding up the corset.

"No problem. Turn around." Sara had her friend in the corset and tied up quickly.

"I couldn't have gotten into this after I ate," Leia gasped, struggling for air.

"Nonsense. It affects your lungs more than your stomach. Now, let's get this dress on you."

Leia noticed that Sara's usually perky smile was drooping, and thought she saw a cloud settling in her blue eyes. "You don't seem yourself tonight, Sara."

"You're perceptive, as usual. It's just Jason. He acted really strange this afternoon." Having finished dressing Leia, she turned to rummage in one of her shopping bags.

Sara sighed again, pulling what must have been a hair pin from her bag. "Nope. But you know, when I think back over the past week or so, he's been acting kind of distant." She twirled the metal object between

"I think I know why," Leia told her, taking the sharp object and setting it on a high dresser.

"Here, sit," Leia said, patting a space beside her on the bed. Sara sat, but before Leia could spill her guts, Sara blurted out her opinion.

"I can tell you one thing. I do know that Jason's father was in town this week."

"It's been more recent than that, but Mr. Maxwell doesn't see his son unless there's a reason. Financial reason, usually."

Leia plumped a satin covered pillow, turning it over easily in her lap. "That's such a shame. The only thing wrong with Jason is his ambition to get rich, I think. And that's his father's fault," she said, telling herself that was the case.

"Well, most of Jason's ambition, if we have to call it that, came from trying to get that man's attention most of his life. I wouldn't even go so far as to call him a father." Sara picked up the other pillow sham and punched its slippery surface. "Now what did I do with that pin I brought for your hair?"

She got up and dug through her bags again. "Remember high school graduation? Mr. Maxwell didn't show up as promised, he just sent Jason a new car."

"Expensive love," Sara said, producing another pointed hair torture item. "But he doesn't have the bucks anymore. He keeps calling Jason for help. Turn around."

"Then again, look how good you turned out, and your parents have been gone a long time. Why couldn't Jason be happy with what he's accomplishing?"

"My parents loved me a whole lot, Sara, for as long as they were alive. I don't think Jason's ever had that kind of security."

Leia used it to gaze at the back of her head in the larger mirror over her short dresser. "Very old fashioned. And painful."

"Jason would hate it." I think if we ever get married he'd want everything new and modern and shiny. No antique lace, no ancient traditions, you know?"

The mention of a wedding reminded Leia of the situation, and her dilemma. She had to tell Sara what happened. She walked to her desk and ran her hands over a framed photograph of her and Sara, taken when they were six or seven years old. Dressed in their mothers' clothing and heels, they each sported a large, floppy sunhat tilted lazily to their sides. Their arms were around each others's shoulders.

"Well, he said he wanted to help me out. Sara, I'm only telling you this because you're my best friend and I care. Today, Jason asked me to marry him so I can inherit."

"I'm serious, Sara. And so was he. You can ask him, but I said no, so he'll probably deny it. But you can't trust him like you thought."

Sara's smile faded. She stood, tilted her head and glared at Leia. "I don't believe you. Either you're lying or you misunderstood."

Shivers ran up Leia's spine from the ice in her tone. "Sara," she said, her voice a whisper, "why would I lie?"

"We've been friends forever. I wouldn't hurt you." Leia said, hoping for her friend to understand. She couldn't see the future without Sara, who had been there through every bad perm, fashion crisis and broken heart.

Back in the dining room, Martin whistled again, this time at Leia's appearance. "You look fantastic. Very historical. Sara just ran out of here; said she'd be back later. Oh, here, I found your driver's license

Leia was glad she had dimmed the overhead lighting. She wasn't used to blushing and wasn't sure if she was doing it now or not. She slipped the license into the sleeve of her dress.

"But I'll warn you, I'm no photographer." He arranged her in front of the closed rose mini-blinds to take her picture, in front of the parlor's fireplace, and then on the front porch.

"Okay, that should do it," she said, after half a roll of film and a dozen flashes. "If you want to take more pictures, you'll have to come to the show and plunk down your eight dollar admission. I guess I should go change. Why don't you sit down and start? I'll be right back, and the food's getting cold." She hoped Sara would return later, after calming down, and she could reheat the food and their friendship.

She'd never liked the basement door being in the dining room. Not only did it make the room less formal, it was an oddity she'd never seen in a house she'd appraised. Leia took a deep breath, always needing one before tackling the lowest level of her home. She hated cellars. But the cellar was where Grandfather kept the wine racks, so she had no choice but to yank open the door now and head down the steep stairs. Leia watched as her shadow grew from the naked light bulb's glow. The door to the dining room clicked shut behind her, causing goose bumps to pop out on her arms. Why did that sound so ominous today? She drew a deep breath, telling herself to relax and complete her task. The rack was to her left at the foot of the stairs.

She was amazed, as always, at the sheer number of bottles Grandfather had collected for his horizontal storage rack. Many were old, wearing blankets of dust over their labels. Leia lifted one, examining it only long enough to determine that the wine it contained was red.

"This will do," she said, and turned right, toward the stairwell. But it wasn't there.

A fresh row of goose bumps broke out, and Leia turned, spotting the stairs to her left. Of course, she thought, it must have been longer than I remembered since I was down here. Scurrying toward the stairs,

Leia chided herself for over-reacting, suddenly aware that the air around her was too thick. She had to grab for each breath. Before grasping the handrail, she wiped the perspiration from her palm on her dress, remembering too late that it was someone else's costume. The practical promise to have it dry-cleaned edged out the anxiety, giving her the push she needed to continue. She was being ridiculous!

Climbing, Leia thought there were more stairs going up than there had been going down, but dismissed the notion as silly. She just couldn't see very well. After all, the light bulb seemed to have dimmed, for she could barely make out the outline of the door at the top of the stairs. Nerves did that to a person.

Halfway up, Leia froze. Every ounce of light from around and under the door had gone, faded to black, to an inky well of nothingness, and she could see nothing above or below her. If she took a step, she knew

she'd plunge to the depths of the cellar and die. The wood rail she clutched was the only evidence she had she was not alreay floating in space. Her stomach swimming, Leia pushed back the nausea and lifted one

Her foot landed firmly on wood. She felt a ray of hope, and tried the next step, still using the handrail as her lifeline, pulling herself up, higher into the dark. With her free hand held straight in front of her, Leia took two more steps, refusing to look down at where she'd been. It was as if all time had stopped, and she alone existed in the stairwell.

She could make it! Leia's heart raced as she took another step, and the door, her wonderful door to the dining room, became outlined only a few feet in front of her. What a beautiful door!

With a burst of energy usually reserved for her exercise class, Leia dashed up two more steps and was through the door, bursting into the brightly lit room. Her exhaled breath of relief immediately reverted to an intake, a gasp, as her gaze was now falling on people she didn't know--a roomful of costumed strangers. She blinked--hard--but the vision didn't evaporate. The mysterious diners grew silent, the clank of silverware ceasing as they stared at Leia with undisguised curiosity. Several of their mouths dropped open. It was as if she'd interrupted a costume dinner party, for the ladies and men were dressed in nineteenth

Having always prided herself on being too tough to faint, Leia allowed her stomach to contract in alarm instead. Grandfather always said to take the offensive; show no fear. "What's going on here? Where's

Martin?" she demanded, her gaze fixed on one of the women, who appeared to be the oldest. She wore a low-cut gown of cameo-blue satin that puffed at the sleeves and nipped in at her waist, though the younger

When no answer came, Leia turned to the men at the table. The older of the two, who looked a great deal like Grandfather, was leaning back on his chair, either bored or sleepy. Next to him sat a young man in a Civil War uniform, his brown hair near on his neck, glaring at her with the most appealing grimace she'd ever seen. His dark eyes spoke out, but like the other man, his voice was silent. Despite their strangeness, the men didn't seem threatening.

Whoever these people are, Leia thought, they seemed to have brought their own interior decorator. She recognized the walls themselves, the layout of her dining room, but nothing else. The wall coverings, the

furniture, even the shape of the dining table were foreign to her. The mini-blinds were gone, replaced by heavy folds of velvet fabric. The painted walls had been covered with gold, flocked wallpaper. An antique

chandelier swayed above the table, tiny prisms dripping from its branches. She thought it looked beautiful, but it wasn't hers. She blinked again, harder, scrunching her face.

"Impossible," she whispered then, recalling the brief moments she had spent in the cellar, certainly not long enough for anyone to make the changes she was witnessing. Feeling a slight spinning behind her eyes, Leia looked down at the bottle still clutched in her damp hand. The thick cellar dust had cleared by itself, exposing a nearly new label on the cool glass. Had the dust disappeared or had she wiped it on her dress? She drew a deep breath, inhaling a heavy, greasy odor of good food cooked. . . differently?

"Who is Martin, and who on earth are you?" The older woman had found her voice first. "And why were you in our cellar?"

"I'm Leia, and this is my family's home." She didn't want it to sound like she lived alone. Who are you?" Leia's mind tried to process everything she saw, still not believing her own eyes. At least her voice sounded calm.

"Ah, Leah! I'm your Aunt Martha. How nice to see you have arrived ahead of schedule. This house is so far from the town, and so hidden in the pines, we were afraid you may be delayed. Especially with the Confederates advancing this way," said the lady in the cameo-blue gown, finally breaking the silence that had been as heavy as the humid air. Who had turned off the air conditioning, anyway? She rose and extended a hand, but not for shaking, as Leia expected. Instead the woman took the wine bottle and set it on the table, in front of the soldier, and said something to him Leia couldn't hear. Who was Leah, anyway, and why did Martha assume she was Leah? Maybe the woman was just messing with her mind.

The others resumed their conversation, keeping their eyes on the newcomer, and Leia stiffened her spine and strode toward the closest doorway. She needed to see if her own kitchen was there, and if Martin was in it.

Leia's ankle turned slightly as she stumbled into the kitchen. The floor was planks of wood, not the smooth linoleum she was used to walking on. Her entrance had stopped the conversation of two black women arranging food containers over steaming platters. Leia wondered what they were supposed to be doing, and how they were going to do it since her shiny, modern appliances had all been removed. She looked around the room, and sure enough, the gingham curtains were gone as well as the oak cabinets. The kitchen looked downright historic.

At Leia's continued silence, the two women nodded and returned to their task. Dressed like servants, their caps had wilted in the heat and their aprons were dirt-splattered. Huge shadows ringed their underarms, and Leia felt her own perspiration trickling down the sleeves of her costume.

Leia thanked her, saying no, that there was nothing she could put into words at the moment.

"Are you feeling well, my dear?" The cameo woman had followed Leia into the kitchen, and pushed her onto a hard, wooden-backed chair. "We were worried so when we heard that William's daughter was coming north almost unescorted."

"Yes, I'm fine, I think," Leia said, trying to take in her surroundings and get her bearings.

"He, um, turned back already." Okay, it sounded good to her. Maybe the woman should believe Martin had left, in case she meant them harm. "But I'm not alone."

"Of course he would, what am I thinking, the war is on. At least he delivered you here safely! We did not expect you until next week, Leah, if at all. Traveling now! I suppose Baltimore is not the most suitable

So Leah was someone they had been expecting. A relative? Martha's niece? At least, that's what they wanted her to think.

Martha went on. "The death of a mate is overwhelming, though, and I suppose we just can not judge the behavior of someone so newly bereaved. And of course you're not alone. All of your relatives are right here in this house." She patted Leia's hand in a motherly fashion, then leaned closer.

"You must not take to the spirits, my dear. Try to limit your drink to that which you take with meals for now." Martha wrung her hands. A gesture of concern? Her conspiratorial tone confused Leia momentarily,

"Oh, I. . ." Her voice trailed off from the automatic explanation. Why did she need to explain herself to this woman? She and others should be explaining their presence to Leia. Had Grandfather's lawyers or Jason arranged for this little charade? And why? Maybe these were some of Sara's charity show actors. That would make sense. Or maybe she was being set up for some scam, like she'd been warned about on television. Perhaps these people had drugged her, and done something to Martin. Where was Martin, anyway? And what were they after? Grandfather's money? Maybe they wanted the property to build a mall or hotel. Hadn't there been a TV movie-of-the-week just like this? Leia decided to play along for the moment; not to antagonize possible criminals. She had always thought television victims were stupid by refusing to play along with their abductors, at least long enough for an escape opportunity to present itself.

Ignoring her companion, Leia returned to the dining room. She smoothed the sides of her rumpled costume skirt, and wondered briefly if Donna Karan had ever encountered materials like the ones now in her house. Leia hadn't seen this much velvet since she visited the Velvet Elvis Gallery in Nashville. The draperies seemed fresh from Gone With The Wind. The two ladies remaining at the table continued their chatter, oblivious to Leia's gaze. The older man, who not only resembled, but also acted a lot like, Grandfather, was nodding off in his chair. A Heppelwhite chair, Leia realized, the kind with dainty legs that could snap under too much pressure. She took a few steps closer to the table.

"Forgive my manners, ma'am," the soldier said, rising at her approach. "Are you hungry?" Despite his attempt to be polite, Leia felt his gaze slide down her entire body, as if he could actually see her figure under what she wore. Not shy, she returned the look. The only thing soft on his body was the sash around his waist. Their eyes met, but he looked away as if startled.

"Just wine, please," she replied, ignoring the older woman's advice and taking the chair he offered. He said nothing at her request and poured Leia a small glass of the burgundy-colored liquid. Since he was

drinking from the same bottle, she assumed it was safe. She sipped and shivered.

"The air is damp. We need more wood for the fire," he said, and she smiled in appreciation. Only Leia knew that she wasn't cold--the heat was oppressive-- that her body shivered only from the tingling his

smoldering appraisal of her had caused. She had to remind herself that she was probably in danger, either physically or mentally. This was no time to enjoy the masquerade.

Brant tapped his fingers on the off-white linen table cover. He found it hard to believe the woman seated across from him was a McGarland, no matter how much Baltimore had changed after the riots.

Her dress was similar to Belle's and MaryKatherine's, yet it was different. He couldn't put a name to the difference, it was subtle, but different it was nonetheless. Although her face was lovely, she wore a light layer of paint. Was that acceptable now in Baltimore? It certainly was not in Pennsylvania, even among the more liberal society. And not only her paint was brazen-- she'd returned his assessment of her body,

Brant looked around, unsure of which lady had asked the question. So he merely said, "Torin?"

"Of course. I wouldn't ask about the others," Martha said, wringing her hands over her ample lap.

"It's been difficult for us both," Brant said, "but I've done what they would have wanted."

"Keeping that boy away from the real lines of fightin'--you mean?" Patrick suddenly perked up, shaking his head. "Damn foolish of you, boy, to take so much on yourself."

"And even while you made things easier for Cameron at the farm." MaryKatherine spoke up, after crossing her knife and fork daintily. She was the little sister he'd never had.

Brant swallowed. He hadn't willingly given up his heart for his older brother, but he'd been raised to support his family and accept what he couldn't change.

Little cannonballs went off inside of Brant as he watched. There was most certainly something about this woman. . . something unusual.

The kitchen maids cleared the dishes away, working around the people still at the table. Leia thought that in such a charade the "ladies and gentlemen" would have moved from the dining room before the

cleanup. But that was the least of her curiosities. By the time the table was spotless and the older man was smoking a cigar, Leia had ascertained the first names of all the diners. The stogey-smoking, half-asleep grandfather-type was Patrick, at least that was his name for this role. Cameo-blue was called Martha, who presumably was the hostess. One of the chattering ladies was Belle, and the other MaryKatherine or something like that. The character with the most promise, the tall soldier with the sandy-brown hair, was called Brant.

Brant sipped on an amber-colored liquid, perhaps brandy or sherry, from a tiny glass. In real life that wouldn't seem so masculine, but on this guy, it worked. The woman called Belle continuously asked Brant

questions about the war. War? There was no doubt they were supposed to be from the Civil War era, because Brant's uniform appeared to be that of a Union soldier. Dark blue, it had definitely faded from time or washing, and was entirely too heavy a material for a summer day in Maryland. A line of gold buttons marched up the front of the jacket, and gold epaulets decorated each shoulder. A sash of material Leia didn't recognize was wrapped around his waist, presumably covering a belt. She had seen the same sort of getup in scores of history books.

Keeping her silence, and watching Martha from the corner of her eye, Leia accepted another glass of wine from Brant. He smiled at her as he poured, carefully transferring the liquid without a single drop of

waste. His grace surprised Leia, because his arms were quite large due to either muscle or bulky fat. Scratch the fat. Actually, he looked muscular and hard, compared to the mediocre arms of Jason. Because Jason hadn't appeared in this scenario, Leia began to wonder if he had somehow arranged everything. She knew he wanted to marry her and take control of the house, but she thought he had feelings for Sara. Would they overcome his ambition? There couldn't be any other explanation, could there? Could any of this be real? Had she perhaps fallen down the cellar stairs and now lie in a coma at the bottom, with Martin hovering over her or calling 911? Then this would all be a dream? She swished the wine around, drinking very little now. Determined to keep her wits about her, she smiled a lot and paid very close attention to the ongoing conversations.

"So, Brant dear, how many troops do you think you'll be meeting in Pennsylvania?" This question came from Belle, who smiled and looked around the room. Leia thought she sounded phoney.

"All of this war talk lately has become dreary," Martha told her in response, then reached over to shake the older man's arm.

"Wake up, Patrick, you're nodding off again. We must be boring our cousin to tears. She hasn't said a word all evening."

"I am awake, Martha, you see? Please pass the wine, Brant." Brant lifted the black bottle and shook it lightly.

"Empty, sir. Shall I fetch another?" The mention of wine made Leia pay attention, and she was grateful that she'd had the last glass. Someone would surely have to go to the basement for more, unless they

were trying to keep her in the midst of the act. She rose to grab the opportunity, heart pounding.

The old man nodded at Brant's offer, and before the cellar door shut behind him Leah was slipping through it as well.

"It can be dangerous down here, ma'am. It's very dark, and a person might become confused," he began, lighting an oil lamp.

"You don't know the half of it," she replied, not quite loud enough for him to hear. As he descended the stairs, Leia turned and felt the back of the door. She touched each hinge, and prodded the wood panels.

"Yes," Leia said, grasping the wall. She was happy to be wearing her boots instead of heels, but the crinoline certainly got in the way. She clutched at the railing. If she wasn't scared, she would have been

angry that someone had put her in the position of needing to be in a cellar. Brant watched her from the wine rack. With damp palms Leia approached him, noting even in the dim light the outline of his body, masculine and sturdy. Proud.

"May I borrow the lamp?" She shuddered as the moist air settled on her face and neck.

"Here. Be careful with it, it's the only light source here." He handed her the small lamp, gently grazing her fingers before she raised it over her head and moved forward. She walked the perimeter of the cellar, checking carefully for hidden doorways. Every surface felt rough, slimy or gritty. The only door she found led to a tiny, closet-like room with hooks on the wall. A dank smell escaped, an invisible cloud that hovered in the humidity. She did not want to know what the room was used for, but peered inside just to make sure Martin wasn't in there, bound and gagged. The room was empty.

"Shall we return?" Brant's voice was patient, but not completely hiding his confusion over her actions. She didn't explain, but led the way back to the staircase. Why did she feel so disappointed when she really had no idea of what she hoped to find? She only knew she didn't find it.

"The Will of Time is a charming read, thoroughly engaging the reader. Robin Bayne is an author readers are sure to fall in love with." ----Diane Johnson, former Sr. Reviewer for Romantic Times Magazine

"Four Stars! Ms. Bayne has written a winner! The attraction between Leia and Brant send sparks flying and the story is so engrossing that I lost all track of time and read the entire book in one sitting. The supporting characters were magnificent especially Hattie and Martin. A most enjoyable read and I look forward to reading more from Ms. Bayne." ---- Scribesworld Reviews

"An outstanding time-travel romance, with an outstanding heroine and hero, written by an author who should soon be discovered by a large public." ---Jack Burns, author of The Big Angle

"An exciting ride into the past! Robin Bayne takes her readers onto the other side of history to show that Time, itself, can be fickle! Full of twists, action, and romance, this book will definitely please all us lovers of time travel romances!" ----Huntress Book Reviews

"THE WILL OF TIME is a thrilling Time Travel, set near Baltimore, MD, that will give the reader no rest until they finish the last page of this fast-paced, page turner! Robin Bayne weaves her special magic and conjurs up suspense, eternal romance, war issues regarding slavery, a full cast of characters with Civil War viewpoints, and a mystical portal that allows time travelers access to all sorts of adventures, in this world and in the past." ----Calico Trails

"In The Will of Time, Robin Bayne starts with a clever premise, interweaves touches of humor and sensuality with the history, and wraps it all up in an intriguingly intricate plot that compelled me to follow Brant, Leia and many other memorable characters, to an edge-of-your-seat climax and a heart-touching conclusion. I'm waiting impatiently for Robin's next romance." --- Linda
Shertzer, author of Mended Hearts and Cassie's Fortune

"The Will of Time was a heartwarming story that showed the power of love in the face of fear and old hatreds. Ms.Bayne has created a wonderful time travel device in this story, one that's believeable and interesting and incredibly poignant in the history of the setting--Civil War Maryland. I truly enjoyed reading this debut romance from a promising new author." ---Terri Brisbin, author of A LOVE THROUGH TIME, Jove Time Passages

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