“Blaire, ye know we canna do this, lass. Ye’re marrying Eoin tonight. I canna be the one to marry ye. The contract was drawn between my father and yer own. It isn’t for us to be changing it, lass, as much as ye’d like me to.” He released his grip on her arms as she ceased trying to move closer. He stepped away as he watched her slowly turn her face so that it showed no emotion. He’d expected no less from the fiery, wild lass. He knew she’d rather die than show him a weakness.
“But ye canna tell me ye wouldna like to. Perhaps, the knowledge of that will be enough to keep me content in between our days together.”
“Lass, I can tell ye I wouldna want to marry ye. That’s what I’ve come to say. Ye are beautiful, Blaire, and I’ve enjoyed my time with ye as much as I have any lass. But once ye’ve married my brother, I’ll no be wanting ye anymore. There’ll be another lass in my arms tonight. It’s the way I am.” His heart pounded off rhythm in his chest, painfully denying his lies. He expected her to match his hurtful words with some of her own, but as he watched her silently turn and walk out the door, he knew just how deep the wound was he’d caused.
He gripped the bedpost of Blaire’s bed and slid himself onto the floor. Gripping his chest, he tried to stop the pain that built with each sob he held back, as he let the scars of his loss carve their way into his heart.
* * *
It had been all she could do not to burst into tears. Never in her life had speech so utterly escaped her. With each additional word that Arran spoke, an icy winter spread through her core, making her completely defenseless against him.
She hated it. Hated how much she cared for him. How quickly her feelings had built and made her doubt everything she thought she’d known about herself.
Eoin had been nothing but kind and attentive since he’d returned from his trip. But he would never make her feel the way Arran did. She’d known deep down that it was Eoin she would have to marry, but she’d held on to the hope that she’d have Arran’s affection as well.
With that gone, she didn’t think herself capable of going through with her marriage to Eoin. It would be torture to be locked in a loveless marriage. To be so close to Arran, watching him with other girls, would be like throwing her heart onto a pile of burning coals.
If only convention allowed it, Blaire knew she would be happiest making her own way in the world, dependent on no one but herself. If it were acceptable, she would be pleased with taking lovers, remaining single, and taking in stray dogs instead of raising children. But things weren’t different, and this marriage would be a prison. A prison filled with the expectations and ritualistic to-dos that would be required of the new lady of the castle.
The idea suffocated her. Each minute marked a minute closer to her wedding, and she could feel her spirit retreating farther and farther into itself. Her heart was breaking.
Stopping long enough to wipe the tears from her eyes, Blaire looked up and realized she had wandered into a part of the castle she’d never been before. She knew she was lost, but didn’t care, and continued to flee down the dark steps, choosing her path at random.
When the stairs downward came to an abrupt stop, she lost her footing and stumbled through the castle’s main basement and into the wall on the opposite side. When the wall gave way, she landed on her face with a thud on the cold stone floor.
The fall didn’t hurt, but it was the pain in her heart that kept her from pushing herself up off the ground. She lay there crying until her eyes ran dry and her nose was sore, all the while wishing she could just disappear. She would rather be dead, would rather evaporate into nothing, than live her life trapped like a bird in a cage forced to sing whenever called upon.
She had no idea how long she lay there, but when she had cried all the tears she had to cry, she decided it was time to get up and face the miserable life before her.
Standing, she brushed the dirt off the side of her face and turned her head in the direction of the sunlight streaming in from the small window in the far corner. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the lighting, she scanned the room and felt herself getting light-headed. Confused and frightened, she wondered if she had hit her head harder than she’d thought as she tried to make sense of what was in the chamber.
Hundreds of dusty old books, all circling a large oval desk in the center of the room, surrounded her. Books lay scattered and open on the desk, and as she lifted the page she felt a chill move down her spine as she began to read the words.
Spells. Some to bless, some to curse, some claimed to have the ability to move time itself. Fascinated, she rummaged through the pages, finding instructions on how to cast spells and cure various ailments.
Who could this belong to? Not Arran or Eoin. She glanced up from the dusty, yellowed page. Light reflecting off of something shiny at the back of the table caught her attention, and her blood ran cold.
There, propped up against the back wall, sat a round shiny plate with her likeness painted on the front.
Underneath were words scribbled in some unfamiliar language. With shaky fingers, she reached forward to touch the plaque. As she brushed her fingers over the shiny surface, some of the paint flaked off on her fingertips.
It was too old, she realized, to have been painted by Arran or Eoin. Who could have done this then? Not Alasdair. This portrait resembles me now, and I was a small child the last time he saw me. Not my father. Who?
Trying to form some sense, she sounded out the words written below her portrait. As she worked through the sounds, a strange energy began to build in the room. She could almost hear the walls humming, and despite something pulling at the edge of her brain, telling her to stop, curiosity piqued her interest and she continued to sound out the inscription.
Just as she finished sounding out the last syllable, an unbearable pain shot through her head. Gripping the edge of the table, she screamed out in agony. The entire world felt as if it were shaking, but when she looked around the room nothing seemed to be moving but her.
She spun around to the sound of someone’s voice and found old Mary standing in the doorway with a horrified expression on her face.
“Miss! Miss! What’s the matter? We’ve been looking everywhere for ye…” She stopped speaking as Blaire cried out once more.
Blaire tried to focus on Mary’s words, but the edges around the woman were blurring, and she saw the servant’s face swirl in on itself.
It was the most excruciating pain, and she couldn’t stop the agonizing screams that were escaping her lips. She was certain she was shattering into a million pieces.
When she looked down, she could no longer see the end of her dress, and she knew she was dying.
Her last conscious thought as she disappeared into the dust was that maybe she would get her wish after all.
Chapter 8
Scotland
Present Day
It took less time than we had expected to get to the castle ruins, and as I rounded the last corner of the road, I could see my mother fidgeting with anticipation. She started giving instructions the second I turned the compact rental onto the rocky road leading to the site.
“Okay. Just pull over here. We’ll walk the rest of the way. I’m going to go ahead and scan the area so I can decide how I want us to maneuver this. Meet me up there after you unload everything.”
I pulled over to the side of the road and watched as mom jumped out of the car to make her way to the base of the ruins.
Okay. Sure thing, Mom. You go on ahead. I got it. Really. I’ll have no problem carrying both of these backpacks. They’re only filled with enough supplies to last us a week or two. I rolled my eyes and continued my mental, one-way conversation with her as I stepped out of the car and walked around to the trunk.
I heaved the two backpacks out of the car and, balancing as best I could, I hung one around my right shoulder and one around my left, wobbling to the top of the hill to meet up with Mom.
Looking out over the expansive area, I couldn’t imagine
how anyone could tell one area of the ruins from the next, but as I walked up behind Mom, I noticed she was already mapping out the site.
She pointed to the far right corner of the ruins. “See over there, honey, that was the laird’s chambers, overlooking the sea. To the right was the grand dining hall, and where we are standing right now would have been the main entrance. Can’t you see how beautiful it was?”
“I’m sure it was, but I have no idea how you are able to tell what room was what from staring at these piles of rocks.”
“I’ve been studying this for years. I’m as familiar with these rocks as you are with your classroom, but I’m hoping I’m not quite as familiar as I think, otherwise there’s no way another room actually exists in the basement. I think we should go straight down into the basement and start poking around there.”
“I’m following your lead. But first, you have to take your backpack.” I shrugged the heavy pack off my shoulder and dropped it at her feet.
“Let’s get started.” She quickly picked up the pack and, swinging it onto her back, took off toward the ruins, motioning for me to follow.
I stayed close behind as I followed her to a spot on the left-hand side of the ruins.
“Is this where the basement is?”
“Yes, it’s right up here. It’s been locked up to keep visitors out. Not completely safe, you see, but I have the key.”
“It doesn’t look as if it has been opened in a long time.” I stared down at the metal door on the ground, closed with a lock that was covered in rust.
“I don’t imagine anyone has been in since we stopped our excavation on the site. No other archaeologists have worked here, and now it’s mainly tourists that come to look at the ruins.”
In unison, we dropped to our knees. I grabbed the side of the heavy lock, holding it up in Mom’s direction, so that she could insert the key.
“It’s really stiff. I hope the key doesn’t break off when I turn it.” She paused nervously before turning the key to the left.
Luckily, it popped open with ease. Lifting the metal door open was another matter entirely.
Grass had grown up around the edges of the door, nearly burying it in the ground. Mom was already ahead of me, slipping on her yellow gloves and grabbing her shovel before I had a chance to swing my backpack off of my shoulders.
Half an hour later, with enough dirt dug up around the edges of the door, we were able to grab the large handle and pull it out of place, flipping it onto its other side on the ground.
I wrinkled my nose at the musty smell that rose out of the hole and motioned for Mom to lead the way.
When we reached the bottom of the stairwell, I watched as Mom pushed open the creaky, wooden door that must have originally been the entrance into the basement. Its hinges were worn and decaying, but as it creakily opened, we made our way inside.
The first room was empty, all contents cleared out during the original excavation of the site. At first glance, it seemed impossible that there would be any sort of secret room. How could they have missed it when such an extensive search and clean-out of the space had been conducted the first time around? But upon entering, both of our flashlights caught a glimmer of the same crack running down the back right corner of the space.
I watched as Mom hesitantly crept forward, obviously trying her best not to get her hopes up. As she approached the crack, she reached behind to grab a chisel and hammer out of the side of her backpack. Cautiously, she placed the thin edge up against the crack and tapped the end with the hammer. Dust and small pieces of debris floated into the air. Gaining confidence at her suspicions, she worked her way down the crack, tapping every few inches. About halfway down the wall, she hit a latch, and with one hard smack the door came swinging open.
Mom took off exploring the room with her flashlight, and I stood back to scan the room with my own. Stacks of books surrounded us, and one half of the room had collapsed in on itself, blocking any source of natural light. I slowly ventured further into the room, pulling up the V-neck of my shirt until it covered my mouth to block the dust that was invading my lungs.
I shined the light up and down the room, almost dropping my flashlight when the light beam reflected off a metal object sitting in the middle of the room and into my eyes. I blinked to adjust to the sudden flash of light and stepped forward to get a better look. When I caught sight of what was propped on the center of the table I actually did drop the flashlight, and I screamed as it bounced off the floor.
It hit the hard stone with a smash, and I was immediately engulfed in darkness until Mom shined her own light in my direction.
“What on earth’s the matter? You scared me to death! Did you see a rat?”
My knees were shaking, and I couldn’t seem to respond as thoughts raced through my mind. Surely I saw that wrong. There was not a painting of me on that plaque!
I reached to place my hands on the desk in front of me, and my hands landed in a pile of dust and cobwebs that painted every surface.
“Can you hand me my flashlight, Mom? I think it rolled over near your feet.”
As soon as Mom located it and it was back in my hands, I banged on the end where the batteries were connected and managed to get the light to come back on. Slowly standing, I shined the light onto the center of the table again, and a chill ran down my spine as I looked at my own image peering back at me.
My fingers shook as I reached to grab the item. How? Why? When? A million questions swarmed through my mind as I tried to comprehend what I was seeing. The plaque was obviously centuries old. The metal was tarnished, the picture faded, and part of it had been chipped off, as if someone had inadvertently flaked part of it off many years after it had been painted.
Fear gripped my belly as I faced my mother.
“What is this? Is this some kind of joke, Mom? Have you been down here before?”
“What are you talking about?” She reached forward and grabbed the plaque out of my hands, letting out a low yelp as she looked down at the image.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
“Umm…this is just a coincidence, darling. No, I haven’t been down here before. I think it’s been a very long time since anyone’s been here. We do have Scottish ancestors, you know? You just look a lot like the woman in the painting.”
She continued to mumble comforting words, but I could see fear spread across her face. I tugged the plaque out of her hands and blew the dust off the top, revealing etchings underneath the painting of my picture.
I didn’t recognize the language, but slowly I began to sound out the words. From the moment I began to utter the strange syllables, I felt the room change.
The fear that had started in my belly moved up until it paralyzed me entirely. Small hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end.
Something pulled me toward the words, forcing me to utter them even as I tried to swallow the sounds coming from my mouth.
As I finished the string of sounds, I felt my body pull apart at the seams, spiraling me into agonizing pain. I cried out at the same time I heard my mother’s horrified scream in front of me.
I dropped to my knees as the room trembled around me. My skin was on fire, and I felt as if someone was stabbing me repeatedly.
“Bri! Bri! Oh my God, Bri!”
I wished I could see my mom. I could hear her terrified screams not far from me, but my vision blurred as pain continued to course through my body.
Just when I thought I could bear no more pain, I heard what I thought was my spine snapping, and I gladly embraced unconsciousness.
Chapter 9
Scotland
1645
Vision slowly made its way back to me as I waited for the blurry images to clear. I reached to grip the edge of the table and struggled to pull myself to my feet. I moved my hands to grip the sides of my head, only briefly registering that my fingers didn’t come away from the table’s surface covered in dust. I could hear the blood pounding in my head, and I couldn’t c
atch my breath. A voice from behind me started to penetrate my foggy brain.
On unsteady feet I spun toward the doorway, struggling to make out the form standing in front of me. I knew it had to be my mother, but it didn’t look like her. This was a short, plump woman, while my mother was tall and slim.
I closed my eyes briefly and opened them once more, hoping it would help me clear my sight. It did nothing to increase my vision, but I could now make out the woman’s words.
Why is Mom talking like that? I don’t understand what she’s saying. Am I injured? My head certainly feels like it. Did part of the ceiling collapse? What’s happening? Thoughts coursed through my mind as I listened to the woman’s ramblings.
“Oh God! Oh dear, sweet Mother O’ God! The old laird was right. What is old Mary going to do now? And with the lass just hours away from her wedding! Lassies picked a grand time to be messing with magic, they did!”
That’s definitely not Mom. Am I in the hospital or something? Wait! Wedding? What the hell is going on?
I struggled to process my surroundings as I felt the woman’s hands grip my shoulders and shake them.
“Lass! Are ye all right? Old Mary needs ye to speak.”
“Please, stop shaking me! It’s killing my head!” I gasped and reached to grab my head once more, realizing I could finally see the woman clearly. The pain that had nearly ripped me in half only moments ago had slowly eased into a migraine.
“Oh dear heavens, lass! Where’d ye learn to speak in such a manner? Ye must be from far away, dearie. Old Mary’s never heard any such speech in her life.”
I felt the shaking stop and looked into the gray eyes that were studying me fiercely.
Morna's Legacy: Box Set #1 Page 5
