Sins of the Heart

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935-
726-6

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To my cousin,

Diane MacAfee Graber

Thanks for sharing

a love of Scotland with me

Acknowledgements

The first two people I need to acknowledge are my critique partners, Lizzie Walker and Melissa Stark. Without their encouragement, brutal honesty, and faith in me, writing would be a lot harder to do. I love you ladies!

To Debby Gilbert, my editor. Thank you so much for your patience and dedication to this story.

To Rae Monet, the cover artist, for another amazing cover.

Chapter 1

Winchester Kentucky

July, 2010

The light of Abigail’s laptop grew brighter as the computer came to life. The house was quiet except for the radio where Journey came through the speakers. A banana-nut-bread-scented candle flickered on the table next to her. Inhaling the scent, she sighed.

The instant message box she’d been waiting for popped up.

Abigail smiled, glad to see the familiar name that always brightened her day.

History_Buff: Hey there. I C U finally made it home.

Crossing her legs at the ankles, she took a drink of her sweet tea. Her black and gray Himalayan cat crawled up on her lap to make a circle and lay upon the keyboard.

“Zeus, you can’t lay there,” Abigail said as she patted his bottom.

Zeus stretched and jumped to the back of the chair to lay behind her head, his feet pawing at her blond hair. Reaching back to pet him, she focused on the computer. Zeus purred his thank you.

Celtic Lady: I’ve been home for forty min. but ate and washed dishes first. U?

History_Buff: I researched for an article all day. Same tmrw. U?

Celtic Lady: Going to local flea market. Some great finds to be found. Love em.

History Buff: I thought of U today.

Celtic Lady: Really? Good thoughts, I hope.

History Buff: Always.

Grabbing a handful of caramel corn, Abigail popped a few kernels into her mouth and rolled her head to ease the tiredness she felt. Staring off into the distance as Journey serenaded her, she let her mind go blank. A moment’s peace in a chaotic day.

The blue box in the corner of the screen flashed, bringing Abigail back to reality.

History_Buff: Good luck at the Flea Market.

History_Buff: Did u disappear on me?

Celtic Lady: Sorry. Zoned out for a moment. Thnx.

History_Buff: U ok? Do U need to talk?

Celtic Lady: No, thanks. Just tired. The store was very busy today. Think I’ll go to bed. Will log on tmrw night to tell u what I found.

History_Buff: OK Starshine. Sweet dreams. XO

Celtic Lady: xx

Abigail stared at the chat box, then closed it and opened the Excel spreadsheet, entering the totals for the store from her ledger to the file. After creating a new work schedule for the following week, she powered down her computer and set it aside. Staring off into space, she tried to form an image of History Buff in her mind. The picture was always different since she didn’t know what he looked like. Each time she did so left her wanting to ask him if they could exchange pictures. She never did, though. She told herself she would not get involved with anyone online. Besides, the mystery of him was exciting, too.

Chapter 2

Tossing her phone into the open purse sitting in the passenger seat, Abigail flipped on the turn signal and headed right off of Winn Avenue onto Main Street. She needed to get gas before driving the hour trip to the flea market.

The interstate would have been a quicker route, saving twenty minutes, and it would have been an easier drive, but the ride through the mountains could never be anything but spectacular. Driving through Stanton, she turned onto Cow Creek Road and wound her way through the mountain as it took her to the top of Chop Chestnut Ridge and back down again. The trees were thick, but every once in a while, she could peek between them to see the valley below. Houses decorated the sides of the mountain here and there, nestled into the side like a baby tucked into its mother’s arms.

The hills could be steep and the corners dangerous. The last thing you wanted to do was meet someone going too fast. The only place to go was over the side. No one got through the mountains in a hurry, which was fine with her. Today there was no rush, just a relaxing day of shopping.

The road into Brownsburg where the Flea Market sat was an old dirt road out in the country. A two-lane road, barely wide enough for two cars. Every year, a farmer left two acres of his farm ground untilled for the use of the Flea Market parking. Vendors came from all over to set up their booths around the little town, and Abigail never left disappointed.

White string lined the parking area and matted grass lay under her feet as she walked through the rows of vehicles toward the booths. The smell of dirt and freshly mowed grass tickled her nose. An attendant sat at a table not too far from the port-a-pot. Abigail waved as she walked past. Taking a ponytail holder form her purse, she quickly scooped up her blond hair and tied the unruly strands back.

Tents stood like soldiers in perfectly made rows, each one holding its own treasure waiting to be found.

Abigail strolled past the first three booths of socks, belts, and wooden signs. The next booth held handmade jewelry. Picking up an emerald necklace, she let the stone catch the light. Though she wasn’t born in May, she loved the stone. The faceted gem was held by a simple gold chain and lay in the middle of a setting of Black Hills gold leaves.

“How much for the necklace?” Abigail held it out for the attendant to see.

“Twenty dollars, ma’am.” The older gentleman rose from his folding chair and approached.

Abigail smiled to herself, wondering if the creaking noise came from the chair or the man.

“The color matches your eyes.”

“Thank you.” After paying, she thanked him again when he put the necklace in a bag and handed it to her.

After an hour and a half of wandering up and down rows of tents, Abigail glanced at her watch. Eleven-thirty. Turning the corner to the next row of tents, she came across a food vendor. Little bulbs flashed yellow and green around the top of the cart. Under the lights, the list of food items ran in order around the top.
Corndog, Cotton Candy, Tenderloins, Caramel Apples, Walking Tacos, Lemonade.

She took a deep breath. Summer just wasn’t the same unless you had a corndog from a carnival vendor. She loved them. Stepping in line, she watched the scene all around her while she waited.

Couples walked hand-in-hand along the booths, until one would see something and pull the other toward the booth, usually breaking their connection. People chatted everywhere, surrounding her in a cocoon of voices.

Reaching for a ten-dollar bill, she paid for her corndog and lemonade, added ketchup, then stepped off to the side and took a bite. Closing her eyes for a second, she enjoyed the taste.

Feeling disappointed at having been at the Flea Market for almost two hours and not really finding anything except the emerald necklace, she decided to stroll down one more row before calling it a day. Though she enjoyed shopping for herself, she was on a mission. Her antique store needed some fresh items.

Sweatshirts with embroidered designs were in the first booth. Mismatched treasures like Nascar items and large throw blankets were in the next.

“Doesn’t look very promising,” she whispered as she stepped out the way for a man driving a scooter. Taking the last bite of her corndog, she wadded up her trash and tossed it into a can nearby.

Standing in the middle of the aisle, Abigail turned slowly in a circle checking out the booths. Stopping, she zeroed in on one in particular.

“Bingo!”

Striding purposely toward the booth to her left, Abigail dodged a man walking a dog and a woman pushing a stroller to reach it.

A wooden sign hung across the top. ‘THE CELTIC SOUL’ was burnt into the grain.

The tent looked like something from an old Scottish movie. The maroon and gold faded floral print with gold tasseled trim looked positively ancient and stood out like a sore thumb compared to the plain white tents surrounding it.

Abigail parted the tent’s opening to allow another person to exit as she entered. The tent smelled like a mixture of grass and incense. She walked slowly along the aisles, rubbing her fingers along the edges of the tables, stopping almost every five minutes to study a new treasure. If she had a thousand dollars, she still wouldn’t have enough money to spend in here. Her heart soared. She was in her element. Abigail loved anything antique and everything Scottish.

A man and a woman in eighteenth-century clothing sat in the corner of the tent behind a table that held a bowl of fruit, pewter goblets, and a loaf of bread.

These people go all out.
Abigail smiled and nodded her head in acknowledgement to the couple.

“Might we be helpin’ you find anything, lass?” The woman stood and came around from behind the table to stand in front of Abigail. Her hair was a light brown and she had it done up in a multitude of braids. Some brought up on the sides to join a larger one in the back. Positively gorgeous. Her dress was a dark blue, form fitting, and she looked as if she’d stepped right out of a movie.

“Your accent is lovely.”

“I thank ye. Moved here three yours ago from Scotland, we did.”

“You must miss it a great deal?”

The woman smiled. “Nay, we go back home once a year to see our families.”

As the woman spoke, Abigail’s eyes roamed the items that hung on the walls of the tent. She zoned in on a shield and she could feel her pulse speed up.

The shield was round with a metal band on the outer ring. Raised triangles dotted the ring every three inches. The center held a large round metal disk with a Celtic symbol engraved in it. Across the disk of wood, lay two bands of metal making an ‘X’ shape.

Candlelight flickered off of the metal, giving it a mystical appeal.

“May I see it, please?” Abigail turned to the lady at her side.

“Graham, do come and get the shield down for this young lady.”

The man stood and maneuvered around their table to come stand next to her. He wore a tartan of red with green stripes going through it. His shirt was white with a V-neck and a small collar. The sleeves were baggy and had ruffle around the edges. A brown sporran hung at his waist. White socks reached his knees with black shoes rounding off the outfit. Reaching over the table that lined the wall in front of them, he grunted as he lifted the shield off its hook and brought it down.

Abigail stepped forward.

“Careful now, lass, tis verra heavy.” Green eyes smiled at her.

He handed it over, though he didn’t let go until he was sure Abigail had it. And she was grateful. He wasn’t kidding when he said the shield was heavy.

As she examined the shield, her heart skipped a beat at finding such a rare treasure. Though she hoped deep in her heart it was real, part of her knew it was most likely a knock-off.

Holding it by the handles on the back, Abigail lifted the shield just a little to examine it more.

“How much for the shield?” she asked without taking her eyes off her prize.

“Well, lass, I’m asking six hundred.”

Abigail turned toward the gentleman and pondered his statement.

“What do you know about it?” Abigail went back to examining the shield. Nicks dotted the edge as if it had actually been used.
Maybe it isn’t a knock-off.

He rubbed his chin in thought then answered her question. “Let’s see, this shield belonged to my cousin. He used to give fighting lessons, like in the old days with swords and such. You will notice the marks in the metal.” He pointed here and there on the shield.

Abigail nodded. “Why would you sell your cousin’s Scottish shield to a stranger in America?” She knew she shouldn’t have asked the question. It wasn’t any of her business, but she wanted to know.

“Well, I will never be able to use it, and we travel quite a bit, so it’s in the way. And we could use the money.”

“Well, I only brought two hundred with me in cash. Would you agree to let me give you a hundred dollars as a down payment? I will have my assistant bring me out the rest of the money within the hour.”

As the couple silently communicated between themselves, she stood still and anxiously waited for their answer. They turned to her and smiled, with the gentleman saying they had a deal.

Abigail dug in her purse for her cash, then handed it over to the man with a smile on her face. “Wonderful. Here is my business card so you will have my name and number. I’ll go and call my assistant.”

“I thank ye. Tis only two hours until the market closes and then we shall be leaving. I will give ye til then.”

Zipping her purse closed, she peered up at the gentleman. “Agreed.”

Abigail left the tent and headed toward the parking lot to make her call. As she waited, she turned on the radio and listened to the local country music station. A warm breeze blew in through her window, ruffling her hair. Excitement coursed through her at the thought of the shield. Never could she have guessed that she would have made such a find here.

As a familiar car pulled into view, she turned the radio off and locked the doors as she closed them. Susan parked her car three spots down from her.

“You made good time,” she said as she glanced at her watch.

“I’m anxious to see this shield.” Susan closed her car door and went over to where she stood putting her purse on her shoulder.

“Let’s go then.”

Walking back into the flea market was a lot harder than walking out with everyone preparing to leave.

A couple of times she found herself jogging to get to the other side where the tent sat. Susan jogged to keep up.

With the tent in sight, Abigail turned and pointed. Both jogged again, partly in anticipation and partly because the flea market was closing.

“Excuse me.” Abigail peered around for the owners.

The woman walked through the curtain from the back, smiled and nodded, then put a hand up telling her to wait. She disappeared then returned with the gentleman following her.

“Aye, I see ye made it.” He glanced between her and Susan. “This must be your assistant.”

“Yes, her name is Susan,” she said as she placed a hand on her shoulder.

He tipped his head in her direction, and Susan repeated the gesture.

“Ye’ll be wanting the shield then. Wait just a moment, lass, and I’ll fetch it for ye.”

She had Susan get the money out and passed the bills to the lady as she waited. When he brought the shield over, she took the treasure from him and admired it again as the lady brought her a receipt.

“I appreciate you holding this for me.”

“Tis our pleasure. I do hope ye will enjoy the shield and take care of our family heirloom.”

“Oh, yes, I promise.”

They said their goodbyes, then she and Susan headed back toward their cars, treasure in hand.

Graham and Christina watched the two women walk away. As soon as they were a good distance away, he turned around, facing John and Malcolm, who were at the back of the tent.

“It’s done.”

Malcolm raised his head in acknowledgement as he furrowed his brows in thought. “The two of you did well.” He patted Graham on the shoulder.

“John, go and follow the ladies. See where they end up.”

“I have a business card with an address on it.” Christina took a few steps toward him and handed the card over.

“Very good.”

“Do you still want me to follow?”

“Aye, I want to know what they drive, where they live, and where this store is.”

John left on his mission, and Malcolm turned to Graham.

“And so it begins."