Under the Same Sky

A dream made flesh
…

Suddenly Andrew knew the girl was there. He could feel her. He concentrated as hard as he could, harnessing his mind’s strength until he was able to visualize her. He focused on her eyes, which held his like magnets. He saw her soft lips and slightly upturned nose with the sprinkling of freckles across its bridge. He pictured the waves of brown and gold that framed her face.

The vision grew from his thoughts, becoming so clear it seemed she stood in front of him. Her eyes were round with wonder. She looked as surprised as he felt, and she reached out her hand, close enough to touch him. Andrew’s heart pounded and power streamed through him, fueled by the chunk of gray stone. He used all his strength to channel it through his arms so finally, impossibly, he reached her hand and gripped it between his own. He could feel the softness of her fingers, the warmth of her skin. He could smell her clean, earthy scent. And then he heard her.

“You can do this!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing like a bell in his ears. “
You
called!
me
…”

Under the Same Sky

G
ENEVIEVE
G
RAHAM

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2012 by Genevieve Sawchyn.

Excerpt from
Sound of the Heart
by Genevieve Graham copyright © by Genevieve Sawchyn.

Cover illustration by Gregg Gulbronson.

Cover design by George Long.

Cover hand lettering by Ron Zinn.

Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / January 2012

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Graham, Genevieve.

 Under the same sky / Genvieve Graham.—Berkley Sensation trade pbk. ed.

     p. cm.

 ISBN: 978-0-425-24523-1 (pbk.)

1. Americans—Scotland—Fiction. 2. Scotland—History—18th century—Fiction. I. Title.

 PR9199.4.G723U53 2012

 813’.6—dc23    2011036631

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

For Dwayne

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to say thanks:

To Dwayne, the love of my life, for reading my very first page and saying, “You know what? That’s not bad!” (and trying not to sound surprised). Thank you for putting up with this strange new lifestyle of “Author” and assuring our kids, “Mom’s
writing
, not playing.” For building my confidence and my office and for giving me plot ideas both brilliant and ridiculous. You led me back when I lost my way, put up with more than any man should have to, consoled me when I was inconsolable, and you were always my rock. My very huggable rock. I love you, Dwayne.

To our beautiful and incredibly talented daughters, Emily and Piper, who reminded me that dreams are to
work
for, not
wait
for. Thanks for being proud of me, and thanks for making me proud of you every day.

To my mom for giving me great books to read and inspire me. Dad, I wish you were here. I bet you would have loved all this. Especially the Scottish stuff.

To Diana Gabaldon for unwittingly helping me discover my passion for writing; to Connie Kostash for being my original critic; to the
amazing Rona Altrows for telling me, “Yeah, you’ve got it, kid”; to Guy Sheldon, Laird of all Knowledge Highlandish,
www.historichighlanders.com
; to Sabine Hope for her insights and warm friendship; to the man with Cherokee wisdom and patience, Iron Head Vann,
www.cherokeebyblood.com
.

To my fantastic new community of online writer friends—I learn every day from you.

To my wonderful agent, Jacques de Spoelberch, who believed in my potential as well as the story, and who did so much more than just “sell the book.” And finally to Wendy McCurdy and Katherine Pelz at Berkley, who took my hands and patiently led this rookie author every step of the way.

PART 1: MAGGIE

From This World to the Next

He has always been there. That fact is as important to me as my own heartbeat.

I first saw him when we were children: a young boy with eyes as dark as rain-soaked mud, staring at me from under a mane of chestnut hair. I kept him secret, invisible to everyone but me. He should have been invisible to me as well, because he was never really there, on the same windblown land, under the same sky. We never stood together, never touched as other people did. Our eyes met, and our thoughts, but our bodies were like opposite banks of a river.

When I was little, I thought of him as just another child. One with a slow smile and gentle thoughts that soothed me, as if he held my hand. When he didn’t fade with my childhood years, I began to wonder if he were a spirit, communicating through my dreams. In my heart, I knew he was more. His world was the same as mine. He was as human as I.

I was born in the year of Our Lord 1730 on a patch of grassland
in South Carolina. Our pine-walled house, dried to an ashy gray, stood alone, like an island in a sea of grass. Its only neighbours were a couple of rocky hills that spilled mud down their sides when it rained. They stood about a five-minute run from our house, just close enough to remind us they were there. The house barely stayed upright during the mildest of storms, and we had no neighbours to whom we might run if it ever collapsed. When winter struck, the wind sought out gaps in the walls, shrieking around bits of cloth we stuffed into the holes. The cold pierced our skin as it had the walls, and we wrapped our bodies in dried pelts that reeked of tanned leather. Our barn offered even weaker shelter to one aged horse and a few poorly feathered chickens who, fortunately, were good layers. My father owned a rifle, and he occasionally chanced upon a prize from the nearby forest. He also ran a tangled line of traps that provided most of our meals. Beyond that, we had little. What we did have we mended many, many times.