Love Beyond Time (Morna's Legacy Series) (2 page)

“I got the grant!”

I couldn’t help but smile at the excited expression on her face, “The grant to resume your work on Conall Castle? That’s great, Mom!”

She squealed as she continued, “Yes, Bri, that grant. It’s been nearly twenty years, but I’m finally going to get to go back and figure out what really happened.”

My mother, Adelle Montgomery as most people knew her, was a world-renowned archaeologist. Her big break had come while working on an excavating project near the remains of Conall Castle in Scotland.

The tragedy of Conall Castle was one of the most well-known legends in Scottish history, and the mystery behind the destruction of the Conall clan had remained unsolvable for over four hundred years.

Within weeks of beginning her first lead dig at the ruins, Mom had discovered an underground library that, due to the strong stone base of the castle, had survived the infamous fire. It took weeks for Mom and her team to dig their way into the library, but once inside, they found countless archaeological treasures that had brought Adelle into the forefront of archaeology. Dozens of journals, hundreds of letters, and countless documents detailing family lineage with birth, death, and marriage certificates were all found within the library.

The find had propelled her career into overdrive. While the documents found in the basement shed a great light on the mysterious clan, none of the documents had solved the mystery of who had murdered the Conalls, afterwards burning the ancient castle to the ground.

After years of unsuccessfully solving the mystery, she moved on from her work on the Conall dig to other projects that sent her all over the world during the past twenty years; all the while she had been hoping for a reason to resume her work on Conall Castle.

“And I haven’t told you the best part!” She squeezed my hand and bounced up and down like my kindergarteners before recess.

I sat quietly, waiting for her to tell me; knowing it would drive her crazy.

She stopped bouncing. “Aren’t you going to say, ‘what’?”

I laughed and indulged her. “What’s the best part?”

“You’re going to Scotland with me! I’ve already registered you as my assistant on the dig.”

I jerked up off the couch, hitting the coffee table and sloshing water out of the cup that sat in front of me. “What? You know I can’t. I have school. I teach kindergarteners. That’s like asking a substitute to walk straight through the gates of Hell!”

“Oh, hush! You exaggerate. You haven’t taken a personal day since you started teaching six years ago. I know you have a ton of days built up. Besides, we’ll only be gone a couple of weeks. And you have Mitsy. Your students will be fine. You know you’ve always wanted to go to Scotland.”

I reached up and squeezed the bridge of my nose with my fingers. Last minute travel plans did not appeal to me at all, but she was right about one thing. “I have always wanted to go to Scotland.”

“Great! I’m going to go book our flights now. We leave Sunday.”

Before I could put up a fight, she was on her way back to her car to grab her computer. Recognizing I’d been beaten, I walked back into the entryway and sank down beside the front door next to my school bag. Reaching inside, I grabbed my planner and tried to figure out what I was going to tell my principal.

Chapter 2

Scotland—1645

The eldest Conall brother paced back and forth outside his father’s chambers, reluctant to leave his father’s side but understanding the laird’s desire to speak to his youngest son alone. After what seemed like hours Eoin heard the door begin to creak, and Arran Conall emerged from their father’s room.

Standing at over six foot four, Arran was still at least two inches shorter than Eoin. With blond hair that fell to his shoulders and vibrant blue eyes, Arran was very popular with the lasses of Conall Keep.

Although Eoin knew his own good looks were a fair rival to his brother’s, he was careful not to earn such a reputation for frivolous lovemaking. His younger brother, however, embraced his reputation; it was a rare night that his bed was empty, and even rarer that the same woman was found there twice.

Arran’s carefree nature and love of life were contagious, and there were few times when Eoin had seen his brother without a smile. But this time, when he exited their father’s room, Arran’s smile was gone. The red tip of his nose and the strain in his eyes revealed that Arran was too proud to let the flood of tears flow.

Knowing any attempt to comfort would only embarrass him further, Eoin looked at the ground as he entered their father’s chamber. Eoin had been only five when his mother passed away while giving birth to Arran, and all Eoin remembered about her was spending afternoons in her beloved garden, watching her tend the plants with exquisite care.

His father, on the other hand, had been his constant companion. Eoin was the spitting image of his father: same long, dark hair and ebony eyes; same quiet-yet-confident demeanor, so different from his brother’s loud and boisterous way of life. As children, Eoin and Arran depended on their father for everything, and although his father had spent the past thirty years preparing him, Eoin had never expected to be laird of Conall Castle so soon.

He would have done anything to prevent his father’s fate, but as his gaze fell upon the laird, Eoin knew there was nothing to be done. While he had been thrown from horses many times in his life, the fall his father had taken that morning tossed his aging body onto a rocky hillside. The damage inflicted was too much for his body to heal. His father was dying, and all Eoin could do now was sit at his bedside and comfort him during his last minutes.

* * *

Alasdair prepared to impart his final wish upon his eldest son as he watched him enter the room. He tried to sit up as Eoin approached his bedside. The thought of his heir seeing him in such a weakened state pained him almost as much as the crushed ribs and deflated lung that forced his breath to come in short rasps. He was a warrior, built strong like both his sons. He found it difficult to believe that it would be a creature as gentle as a horse that would send him to his deathbed, but he supposed that was just another sign that while the body and mind age, the soul often remains oblivious to fragile bones, creaking joints, and moments of forgetfulness.

Despite grayed hair and failing body, Alasdair knew in his heart he was still the youthful, handsome lad who wanted nothing more than to steal another kiss from his beloved wife. It had been twenty-five years since Elspeth passed away, and he still couldn’t think of her without tears springing up in his dark eyes.

He pushed thoughts of her away, for he knew he would see his beloved soon enough. As his son sat down beside him, Alasdair allowed his thoughts to drift to the burden he knew he must place upon Eoin’s shoulders.

Alasdair would not tell his son the true reason for his insistence upon a marriage between Eoin and Blaire MacChristy. For while he knew the true nature of Morna’s predictions, Eoin had never known the witch. Alasdair knew if his dying wish for his son was based on some crazed long-dead aunt’s predictions, it would only make Eoin even more resistant to the marriage.

It had long been believed that his son’s betrothal to Blaire was to ensure the protection of the MacChristy territory. Donal MacChristy was laird over the smallest castle and territory in Scotland. With poor people and few provisions for safety, the MacChristy clan was ever in need of help from neighboring allies. It had been great fortune that Alasdair had always been good friends with Donal as it had made arranging the betrothal that much easier and more believable.

Alasdair knew that if Morna’s predictions and spell came true, Blaire MacChristy would soon be replaced with a lass from the twenty-first century, and he was certain Eoin would not remain oblivious to the strange happenings. To help ease his son’s shock, Alasdair had ensured that all of Morna’s journals detailing her prediction, spell, and wish could be found in the witch’s beloved secret room in the castle’s basement, along with the spelled plaque showing Blaire’s picture. He had also told the prediction and story to his beloved housemaid, Mary, but he wasn’t sure if she’d believed his outrageous tale.

After Morna’s death, Alasdair had discovered her journals detailing the enchanted plaque and how she planned for the swap to take place. The identity spell had already been set before Morna passed. Regardless of what happened, there would be a girl born many years from now, identical in appearance to Blaire MacChristy. The exchange of the two girls hinged upon the plaque Morna placed in the center of her sanctuary. If both Blaire and the identical girl were to see and read the words on the plaque out loud during some point in their lives, their paths would combine, and they would switch places in time. This part of Morna’s plan was entirely dependent upon fate, and Alasdair strongly doubted if any such fantastic occurrence would ever take place. Regardless of his misgivings, he refused to betray his sister’s memory.

“Son,” Alasdair’s chest began to weigh down on itself, begging him not to say anymore, but he refused to let his body fail before he said his peace, “I doona want ye and Arran to mourn me for long. I have had a full life. Everything I ever wanted, I have possessed.”

“I don’t want to hear ye say another word about that, Father. Just get some rest, and ye will feel much better come morning.”

“Ye can hold your lies, son. My body may be weak, but my mind is sharp. Ye know as well as I do that I am dying. I need ye to make peace with that as well. For I expect ye to continue with the wedding plans as if nothing has happened. Ye will be laird of Conall Castle within the hour. It falls to ye to watch over not only our territory but the MacChristy’s as well, by marrying Blaire.”

* * *

Dread crept up Eoin’s spine at the thought of going through with his marriage to Blaire, but he refused to dwell on such things right now. He had never argued or denied his father anything, and he certainly wasn’t going to start tonight.

“I want ye to send word to Laird MacChristy come sun up. Suggest that Blaire come to reside here at once, so that ye can make yer preparations together. I believe the wedding should be set for three weeks’ time. I know she tries yer patience, but I expect ye to treat and cherish her as I did yer mother.”

Eoin didn’t believe himself capable of showing anyone the kind of adoration that his father had shown his mother. He didn’t really think anyone other than his father was capable of loving that deeply, especially not himself. Despite having had significantly fewer partners than Arran, he was no less talented at lovemaking. But he had never met a lass who made him, even for a moment, dread spending the rest of his life without her.

He would not tell his father that, so instead, just as Alasdair Conall took his last breath and left this world to meet his beloved Elspeth once more, Eoin vowed, “I promise Father. I promise to marry her, and I promise to try.”

Chapter 3

Over the Atlantic Ocean—Present Day

“Bri, they’re about to serve breakfast. Why don’t you wake up and we’ll talk about our plans for after we land?”

I started at the sound of my mother’s voice beside me. I was in a deep sleep, and—as I tended to do when I slept sitting up—I snorted slightly as I came awake and threw my arms up to stretch, smacking the man sitting beside me as I did so. Only semi-conscious, I didn’t take notice of my mistake until I caught the man’s glare out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m so sorry.” By reflex, I reached over and touched the man’s arm as if he were one of my students who had fallen down on the playground. “Are you okay? I was still half . . .” I trailed off when I saw the man’s glare transform into a lingering smile, urging me to snatch my hand away with a little more force than was probably necessary.

“That’s alright, sweetheart.” The man’s eyes roamed over me as his grin spread.

I quickly faced my mother and scooted away from the man as much as was possible in the few inches that lay on either side of me.

“I was having the most horrible dream. I dreamed that Anthony, my ornery one, led a class revolt against the substitute. They had her tied to a chair and there was finger paint everywhere.” I cringed at the images of sticky wet fingers smearing themselves across the classroom rug and bookshelves.

Mom laughed as she took a cup of coffee for each of us from the flight attendant. “Honey, they’re five years old. They can’t even tie their own shoes. They won’t be taking the substitute hostage.”

“I know, but the finger paint is certainly a possibility. I really should’ve locked that up in the cabinet. I’m just exhausted. I was up at the school until one this morning planning lessons and getting materials organized and making sure Mitsy had a handle on all of the plans.”

“It’s all going to be fine, Bri. What did your principal say when you asked for time off?”

“He wasn’t thrilled, but I think more than anything he was shocked. The only personal days I’ve taken since I started were when I came down with pneumonia last winter, and then it was only because I truly thought I was going to die. He knew it must be important. He just asked that I try to be back by the Monday after Thanksgiving and to make sure that the substitute had adequate plans.”

“Well, that’s great. See? You have nothing to worry about. Just try and put all that out of your mind, dear. I really do need your help. I can’t let this grant money go to waste.”

“You’re right. I won’t mention it again. I’m here to help in any way I can.” I smiled when I saw my mother’s eyes lock on the food cart that was headed our way, and I knew our conversation was over. Mom was one of those few blessed people who could eat all she wanted and never gain a pound.

I watched as she inhaled the powdered eggs and cold croissant that sat untouched on my own tray and tried to focus my mind on something other than the pity I felt for the courageous substitute that was filling my shoes.