New Adult Historical Paranormal The Keys of the Watchmen by Kathleen C. Perrin.
Katelyn Michaels plans on hating every moment of her visit to Mont Saint Michel with her father’s new French wife. Once there, she is confused when she experiences sensations of déjà vu and hears voices as she and her younger brother explore the medieval village and abbey.
When the oddly-dressed but alluring Nicolas slips Katelyn a strange medallion, she is whisked back through time with him to the 15th century where her Watchmen hosts tell her she is the only hope to save Mont Saint Michel from the invading English armies. Even worse, she learns those armies are led by a fallen angel intent on learning the mount’s closely-guarded secret.
Katelyn is torn by feelings of anger at being taken back in time, inadequacy at finding a modern solution for a medieval problem, and responsibility for the mount’s starving inhabitants. She is also perturbed by her surprising attraction to the ill-tempered Nicolas. Will she stay to learn why she was chosen by the Archangel Michael and find a way to save his mount?
Kathleen has lived in Utah, New York City, France, and for eight years in French Polynesia. She has worked professionally as a language and music teacher, translator, interpreter and writer. She has published several non-fiction articles, academic papers, and a religious history about Tahiti.
Traveling and learning about new countries and cultures is a passion for Kathleen, but her latest passion is sharing the mysteries of France through her fiction.
The Perrins have three children, and currently reside in Utah.
WHEN I REGAIN CONSCIOUSNESS, I’m disoriented. It’s dark, and I’m lying on my side with my hands tied behind my back. My feet are also bound. I don’t know where I am or when I am. So much has happened in the past few days that I’ve started questioning each new reality. I think of a movie I saw in my old life. It was about dreams, and dreams within dreams. So many layers of dreams that the dreamer has no sense of what is real. That’s how I feel. I don’t know what is real and what is a dream.
Then I feel a gentle rolling motion and I remember floating in the ocean outside the Mont Saint Michel ramparts. Yes, where I’d gone to bathe in some distant past. But I’m not in water now. There’s something heavy on top of me, but I know it’s not liquid. My head is covered in a loosely-woven and very itchy fabric—like a gunny sack. Although I feel claustrophobic, I can breath. And I can hear.
Someone is talking nearby and for once, I can understand some of the words. They are in English. But it’s an odd and stilted English. I only understand about every third word. Slowly, like a camera lens, I zoom in and focus on what my reality is. It’s 1424 and I believe I’ve been captured by the English. They are not my friends. They’re my enemies.
Immediately, I remember that I’d been naked when I was bathing, and I begin to panic. I want to scream out, but I restrain myself. With my bound hands, I feel my body and I’m relieved that there’s some sort of cotton fabric covering me. I panic, wondering if I’ve been sexually assaulted. After all, I am a young female and I’ve fallen into enemy hands. However, other than a general sense of achiness and a few tender spots on my arms, I don’t feel any injuries.
I now realize it was completely foolhardy of me to leave the security of Jean’s home in the middle of the night in the middle of a war. Jean warned me not to do it. And then I remember how I felt compelled to bathe in spite of the dangers. And I remember thinking I was guided there by the Archangel, that it was all part of my destiny. There’s a reason I’m here, and I better find out what it is quickly, before I get hurt. Or worse. I must keep my wits about me. It’s time for me to begin the process of saving Mont Saint Michel. I pray for protection.
Surprisingly, when I complete my silent prayer, my panic subsides and is replaced with a clarity of mind. First and foremost, I must not let them know I speak English. Secondly, I must learn everything and anything I can from them, while still protecting myself. Thirdly, I must find a way to escape and return to Nicolas. He will think I’ve abandoned him because of the marriage. He’ll think I’ve betrayed him—and the Montois. My thoughts start swirling around in my head like the sands of the bay at the retreating tide. I must stop the flow of my sand thoughts, or at least sift through them. Why would I think of getting back to Nicolas instead of Jean? I hated Nicolas, didn’t I? I hold on to a single grain of sand. His eyes.
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