Excerpt of Beyond Forever by Debra Dier

You’re the one, Julia.

The masculine whisper rippled through Julia Fairfield,
tingling her skin as though she had been touched by a
warm breath. She glanced over her shoulder, her heart
hammering. From the edge of the cliff where she sat the
ground sloped down to a wide expanse of open field before
reaching a dark expanse of woodlands. To the west the
rugged slopes of Ben Cuimhne rose like a great beast
awakening in the moonlight. No one was in sight. Nothing
stood near, except an ancient oak stationed like a lone
sentinel on the edge of the cliffs.

“Jet lag,” she whispered, shaking her head. She stood and
stretched, easing the tension from her shoulders.

Mist swirled in from the sea, climbing the rocky cliffs
until it curled around her feet like an affectionate
feline. Filmy strands of mist entwined the branches of
the oak, silken veils abandoned to the breeze. In the
distance to the southeast, gray stones rose, forming a
rugged structure at the edge of the cliffs. Countless
spires, turrets, and towers reached upward toward the
face of the full moon. Mist swirled in from the sea,
curling around the base of the castle, severing its ties
to earth.

Dunmore Castle didn’t merely look like something from
another century. It looked as though it came from another
world, where magic ruled the realm. The story of
Brigadoon came to mind. Julia could easily believe
Dunmore appeared for only one day every hundred years.
Why did it seem so familiar?

Although she had accompanied her grandmother on trips to
visit her friend Helen Bainbridge in the past, they had
always stayed at Helen’s estate in Devonshire. This year,
Helen had invited Julia, her grandmother, and Julia’s
niece to spend the summer with her at Dunmore. From the
first moment Julia had glimpsed the castle, an odd sense
of déjà vu had gripped her.

She frowned, taking note of how far she had walked from
the castle. The mist had already started swirling over
the path she had taken along the cliff top. Even though
the path was rough, littered with stones and clumps of
grass, the hike had been lovely—golden light from the
setting sun glinting on the rippling dark waves, cool air
kissed with salt brushing her face—a treat from the
summer heat of Illinois. The hike was exactly what she
had needed to ease the tension in limbs that had spent
too much time confined in an airplane, a train, a taxi,
and, finally, a boat. Getting to the Isle of Mist off the
coast of Scotland had required nearly every form of
transportation available to man.

She hadn’t really intended to stay on the cliff quite
this long. Her gaze plunged two hundred feet to the
shoreline, where rugged masses of rock peeked through a
thickening field of vapor. The crash of water pounding
the rocks carried on the mist, bringing the sound of
waves so close they seemed to crash against her.

Her throat tightened when she thought of the hike back.
More than once she had nearly tripped on a clump of
grass, and that was when she could see the ground beneath
her feet. She should have paid closer attention to the
incoming fog. She shouldn’t have lingered so long.

“You cannot go back that way. It’s too treacherous.”

Julia gasped and pivoted in the direction of that deep,
masculine voice. At first, she thought her mind was
playing tricks with her again. No one was there.
Moonlight shimmered on the mist, a glimmering column
piercing the filmy veil. Then the gossamer strands
swirled, as though caught in a slow exhalation of breath.
Moonlight shifted with the mist, a shimmering spotlight
on a darkened stage. Pale vapor parted, filmy curtains
drawing away as a man materialized from the mist.

Julia stared transfixed, unable to move in spite of a
small voice shouting in her brain Run! She was not a
child. She was not frightened, she told herself, though
the gooseflesh rising on her arms disputed that fact.

He moved closer, the moonlight revealing his features.
Dark hair fell in undisciplined waves to the white fabric
covering his broad shoulders. Dark brown eyes regarded
her with a hint of mischief, a blatantly male look that
kicked her blood into a mad dash through her veins. He
wasn’t merely handsome. The word was far too simple for
the complexity of his appeal.

An artist had sculpted the high blades of his cheekbones,
the slim straight line of his nose, the full curve of his
lips, the intriguing cleft in his chin. The mist glowed
around him, as if radiating the power of this man. A soft
scent of leather and sandalwood teased her senses as he
paused before her, so close she could have touched his
cheek. She didn’t, even though she wanted so very much to
touch him. She certainly did not go around caressing the
faces of strangers. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling
that she knew this man. She felt that truth reach deep
into her soul. Yet reason told her she had never in her
life met him before. No one would meet this man and
forget him.

“You will get yourself killed if you’re not careful.”

His words were colored with a deep Scottish burr. Not so
thick and slurred that she had trouble understanding, as
she had with several people at the train station, but a
soft lilt that could make a recitation of dictionary
entries as fascinating as Shakespeare. Recollection
nibbled at the corner of her mind, like a distant, half
remembered memory trying to work its way out of the
shadows. Why did he seem so familiar?

He tilted his head, black brows lifting over his stunning
eyes. “Did you fall, lass? Bump your head?”

It was then she realized she was staring. With her mouth
open. She snapped her mouth closed, then realized she
needed to reply. “No. I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

He frowned. “You’ll be perfectly dead if you keep running
about like a goose without a head. One misstep and you’ll
be explaining to St. Pete why he should be allowing hen-
witted females to be entering the pearly gates.”

Julia stiffened. “Hen-witted females?”

“That’s fair enough, considering where you’re standing.”

He grinned, and she nearly forgot her indignation.
Nearly. “I didn’t realize the fog was coming in.”

“At this time of night the cliff walk isn’t safe. Even
without the fog.”

“I needed to stretch my legs. I didn’t realize the fog
would be coming in. I was just thinking I might…” She
paused, angry at her own ridiculous need to explain
herself to this arrogant stranger. He might be one of the
most beautiful men she had ever met, but she didn’t need
to explain her behavior to this man, to any man, hadn’t
needed to for a long time. “This really isn’t any of your
concern.”

He shrugged, white cloth crinkling over broad shoulders.
“It appears as though it is. Someone has to make sure you
don’t get yourself killed.”

“I can take care of myself.” Julia pivoted and started
back the way she had come, only to halt a few feet away
when the path disappeared beneath a carpet of mist. Filmy
strands of vapor curled around her and stretched out
toward the ocean, the crashing waves hidden beneath a
blanket of fog drenched moonlight.

“Does your stubborn streak often get you into trouble?”

Julia could hear the roguish, all too self-assured grin
in his deep baritone. She closed her eyes and counted to
ten before turning to face the rogue. He stood leaning
his shoulder against the oak, twirling a sprig of clover
in his fingers, mist curling around his close fitting
knee-high black boots. She shouldn’t have noticed the way
his buff colored breeches molded the powerful lines of
his legs, but she did. The breeze ruffled the sleeves of
his white shirt. The garment looked like something out of
a movie, a shirt for a Regency rake—loose-fitting,
falling open at the neck, revealing a dark wedge of skin
and hair. Once again a slow simmer started low in her
belly and spiraled outward, heating every inch of her
skin. “Does your arrogance often get you into arguments?”

He laughed, a dark rumble that tempted her lips into a
smile. “I do apologize for teasing you. But it really is
not safe to be here at this time of night. There is a
path through the woodlands that leads right to the front
drive of Dunmore another that leads to the gardens. You
choose the path and I will see you home safely.”

She glanced toward the thick stand of trees spreading out
from the border of the field. Fingers of fog were already
spreading outward across the clover. Her chances of
finding her way through that small forest without him
were slim at best. She could risk spending a cold, damp,
thoroughly miserable night lost in the woods, which would
also cause anguish for Gram, or follow this inexplicably
familiar stranger.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and headed toward
the woods. “Come along. If we hurry, we can get you back
to Dunmore before the island is lost to the mist.”

She stared at his broad back, good sense warring with her
desire to show the rogue she could do fine without him.
Apparently he thought she would just trail after him,
like some grateful puppy. From the looks of him, she
suspected more than a few women trailed after this man.
The sound of waves crashing against the rocks below
shivered through her.

He paused and turned back to fix her in a steady gaze.
“If you are frightened to be alone with me—”

“I’m not frightened of you.”

“I’m glad. I promise I will see you back to Dunmore safe
and sound, Miss Fairfield.”

“How do you know my name?”

“The Isle of Mist isn’t a big place. The entire village
of Dunmore knows three Americans arrived late this
afternoon to spend the summer with Miss Bainbridge at
Dunmore.”

“You’re from the village?”

“As much as I would enjoy continuing this delightful
conversation, I think it best if we get started. I for
one don’t plan to be sleeping in the woods tonight.” He
turned and strolled down a gentle slope, leading to a
wide field that skirted the woodlands, leaving Julia with
a choice.

She cast one last glance along the foggy cliffs, and then
hurried to catch up with her intriguing guide. She fell
into step beside him, matching his long-limbed stride. He
didn’t spare her a glance. Using her own five-feet-eight-
and-a -quarter inches as a guide, she judged he was one
or two inches over six feet tall. Not extraordinarily
tall. Still, he gave subtle subtext to the simple word
commanding. “If the cliff walk is so dangerous at this
hour, what were you doing on it?”

He grinned. “I saw you and thought someone needed to
rescue you.”

Julia shoved a damp lock of hair back from her face. She
didn’t need a mirror to know the long, thick strands were
curling into a frizzy mess. It shouldn’t bother her to
know she looked dreadful, but it did. The fact she cared
added more fuel to her anger. “I really didn’t intend to
walk back along the cliffs in the fog.”

He looked at her, his dark brows sliding upward. “Didn’t
you?”

“I was going to head off in this direction, before you
showed up and made me so angry I couldn’t see straight.”

Moonlight caught the humor in his eyes. “Is that what I
did? And here I thought I was only offering to keep you
safe.”

In spite of her anger, and her humiliation at being
caught in such a foolish and possibly dangerous
situation, she managed a smile. “I assure you, I’m quite
capable of taking care of—” Her words ended in a gasp as
she tripped over a stone hidden beneath the swirling
carpet of mist. Even with her hiking boots, her toes
stung from the impact. She caught herself before she
fell, staggering a step before gaining control of her
balance.

He stood a few feet in front of her, grinning. “Be
careful. The field is littered with stones.”

She shot him a sarcastic smile, gritting her teeth
against the sting in her battered toes. “Thank you for
the warning.”

He inclined his head in a small bow. “At your service,
milady.”

She fell in behind him, deciding it was safer to use him
as a guide across the minefield than try to walk beside
him. The scent of crushed clover drifted on the mist
swirling around them. The pale vapor glimmered in the
moonlight, lending an odd preternatural glow to
everything it touched, including the man walking ahead of
her.

Larger than life. It was a term often attributed to
fictional characters, but in his case it fit. He was tall
and broad shouldered, each movement filled with a
patently male brand of confidence, the kind that led men
into battle and women into reckless choices. He moved at
a steady pace, as though he knew where every stone lay
hidden. She suspected he would be just as sure of himself
in a boardroom on Madison Avenue as he would in a field
in Scotland.

There was something about him, something aside from the
obvious male magnetism and her unfortunate female
response. For some reason she could not banish the
strange sense of familiarity. Why did she feel as though
she knew him? She was certain she had never met him
before. She would not have forgotten him. She defied any
female to meet this man and forget him.

They hiked for more than a mile in silence across the
field before turning into the woodlands. Wood chips
muffled their footsteps here. The path had been carved
out of the wilderness by the Dunmore gardeners. Moonlight
filtered through the leaves overhead, illuminating their
way. They came upon a clearing where a small lake
shimmered in the moonlight, before taking one of the
paths leading into another section of woods.
“Do you often hike on Dunmore property?” she asked,
resuming a place beside him.

“Aye. It brings me peace to walk the land.”

Moonlight pierced the darkness, a shimmering column of
silver spilling over his face. The wistful look in his
eyes made her wonder why this place should be so special
to him. Perhaps he was one of the servants. It wasn’t
unusual for the servants of large estates to have worked
on the same one for generations. Still, there was
something regal in his carriage, an overwhelming air of
command that made her doubt he had ever served anyone.
“It’s a long way from the village. Did you drive?”

“No. I didn’t.” He grinned in a way that made her think
he was enjoying a private joke. “Tell me, why are no
gentlemen accompanying three ladies from America?”

“My grandfather died several years ago. My niece lost her
parents five years ago.” On the same night and in the
same accident that had taken the lives of Julia’s
parents.