Morna's Legacy: Box Set #1

by Bethany Claire

  “What do ye think ye are doing? Let go of me. I can undress myself if ye insist that I change my clothes.”

  “Just hold still. I need to check something.” She hiked the bottom of the dress up until the skin of her lower back was clearly visible. “Sweet Mary, Moses, and Joseph! You don’t have the tattoo. You’re not Bri, are you?”

  The girl stepped away so that the fabric fell loose from Adelle’s grip and in frustration faced her. “That’s what I’ve been tryin to tell ye, no? No, I’m not this Bri. And what is a ‘tatoo’?”

  “It’s this.” Adelle turned halfway and hiked up the back of her own shirt where the words we shall never part were delicately tattooed across her lower back. “Bri has one as well. We got them shortly after her eighteenth birthday.”

  Adelle watched as the stranger, whose face was so much like her daughter’s, slowly turned ashen, obviously remembering something she hadn’t thought of before.

  “What’s yer name, miss?”

  “Adelle Montgomery. I’m an archaeologist working on the ruins of Conall Castle. What did you say your name was, since although I have no idea what the hell is going on, I know that you aren’t Bri?”

  “Ye may call me Blaire. The ruins of Conall Castle? What year is this?”

  “What year is it? You really don’t know the answer to that? Why, it’s 2013.”

  Blaire slowly backed away until she steadied herself against the wall behind her. “I canna believe it. I knew they’d said she’d been a witch, but I’d never believed it was true. She left the portrait. It was her words I read.”

  At Blaire’s mention of a witch, an inkling of her prior research on the Conalls nudged at the edge of her brain, but it stayed just out of reach as fear coursed through her.

  “Slow down, sugar. I think it would be best if we made our way outside. Get some fresh air, maybe? I think we both need to figure out what’s going on.”

  Color filled Blaire’s face as the pitch of her voice rose. “I already know. It was the Conalls’ aunt, Morna. She was a witch, and I stumbled upon her spell room by chance. I found it just moments ago, although I dinna understand what I was seeing. I read the words on the plaque, and then I ended up in front of ye.”

  “Okay.” Adelle nodded obligingly. It was best to agree if she wanted the woman to help her find Bri, until she could remember what she needed so desperately to recall. “Well, why don’t you tell me about where you were before you ended up here?”

  “I was in this same room. But it was different, ye see? I was supposed to marry the laird of Conall Castle, Eoin, and I fled down here. I could no marry him. I’d only just been wishing I could disappear when I saw the portrait and sounded out the words.”

  Adelle’s eyes widened, disbelieving but fascinated. “Eoin. As in Eoin Conall, son of Alasdair Conall? Laird after his father died in 1645, for only a few short months until the infamous massacre?” The research came back to her in snippets. Her mind started to grasp the facts one-by-one as they presented themselves.

  Blaire’s face drained of color once again, “massacre?”

  “Yes. The entire Conall clan was murdered in late December of 1645. As to why, or who was responsible, no one has ever been able to find out. That’s why my daughter and I were here actually. We were searching for documents or evidence that could help solve the mystery.”

  “That’s why she did it, doona ye see?” Blaire moved forward suddenly, grabbing Adelle’s arms and shaking them.

  “Who? Did what?”

  “Morna. Alasdair and father told stories growing up about her. She could see things that were yet to happen. She must’ve known I would stumble into her spell room. She did her best to save them before her death. I’m meant to stop it, and ye can help me.”

  Something clicked in Adelle’s brain, and the icy pinpricks rushed down her spine once more. “Are you telling me that this is for real? The old legend about the witch was true? You expect me to believe that you really came here from 1645?”

  “Aye. I expect that’s where yer daughter is now. Ye said that we look alike, did ye not? And where else do ye expect she’d be? We’ve switched places, we have. Did she read the words below the portrait as well?”

  “Holy mother of Freddie! You’re right. She did. Oh, my God! We have to get Bri back before the massacre…” Adelle’s stomach turned over as the same icy grasp that had made its way down her spine gripped her around the middle; she wanted nothing more than to jump through whatever invisible void had taken her daughter and be there by her side.

  Her logical brain had no advice on what steps she should make next, but she knew she’d be damned before she left her daughter to die as she knew the Conalls would in just a few short months. Adrenaline kicked in, pushing away all doubt and logic, replacing it with an eerily calm sense of determination. “Blaire. I know you are probably as scared as Bri is—wherever she is—but we have to help each other if we’re going to get you two back where you belong. Let’s go to the car and get the boxes and dollies. We need to gather up every book and piece of parchment in this place, and then get you back to the inn while Jerry and Gwendolyn are gone and get you changed into some of Bri’s clothes.”

  Adelle turned, not waiting for a response, and only briefly registering Blaire’s question as she made her way out of the basement room.

  “Aye, but might I ask ye a question? What is a ‘car’?”

  Chapter 11

  Scotland

  1645

  Eoin stood at the edge of the rocky hillside that overlooked the ocean at the backside of the castle, waiting for his future bride. He scanned the crowd of townspeople all dressed in their finest, excitedly waiting for the wedding to begin.

  He would gladly trade places with any one of them.

  Any moment Blaire would arrive at the end of the aisle, dread simmering in her eyes as she glared up at him during her long march.

  He would take her hand in marriage as his father bid, but he would live each day guilt-ridden for being the source of such great unhappiness for any lass, even one as miserable as Blaire.

  He glanced toward his brother, who stood on his left-hand side. Arran looked as if he were having a hard time standing. His face was flushed and his eyes were bloodshot.

  He’d been drinking again.

  It hadn’t escaped Eoin’s attention that Arran hadn’t stopped drinking since their return to the castle. What was bothering him? Had Arran taken their father’s death harder than he’d realized? Whatever it was, he vowed that he would talk to his brother as soon as this wedding was behind them.

  A sharp intake of breath from Arran caused Eoin to jerk his head in the direction of Arran’s stare.

  His heart hammered wildly inside his chest, and his breath lodged in his throat as he locked eyes with Blaire.

  Standing at the end of the aisle, she was beaming back at him with a smile so wide and bright he couldn’t help but smile in return. It was the first genuine smile he’d seen from her, and it made him uneasy.

  Has the lass been drinking also? She looks pleased. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had been. But no, the lass was too certain in her steps to be drunk, and her eyes shimmered with clarity as she neared him.

  He stepped forward to take her hands in his as the ceremony began.

  * * *

  The entire ceremony had been a blur. I sat next to my new husband, watching the hordes of merry villagers dancing around the grassy expanse behind the castle. I knew I was dreaming; there was simply no other explanation for the whirlwind of confusion that had been the last two hours of my life.

  The swirls of color and boisterous laughter—combined with music that I was vastly impressed with myself for dreaming up—had my head spinning yet again. I tried to stop the pounding in my temples by thinking back on what I could remember.

  Meeting Mary; having not one, but two full-blown panic attacks; being tossed into a tub and dressed up like a Thanksgiving turkey; walking down the backside of the castle; layin
g eyes on the hunk now sitting beside me; walking up the aisle, grinning like an idiot. It seemed to me that I could recall everything that had happened since I woke up inside my coma. That is, until I had reached the end of the aisle. At that point, Coma Husband had taken it upon himself to grab my hands, and my brain short-circuited.

  No surprise, really. My brain was obviously working overtime just to dream up Laird Eoin, not to mention that it was trying to heal itself out of a coma.

  After he had taken my hands in his own, I could recall only two other things about the ceremony.

  The first was his eyes. I had been immediately hypnotized by them. They reminded me of a black stone that used to sit in a bowl at my grandmother’s house. When I was younger, I loved to hold it up to the light and examine all the different flecks of brown and gold that danced between the swirls of darkness. His eyes were like that stone. I wanted to examine every speckle of color that had stared back at me throughout the ceremony.

  The second thing I recalled was the kiss at the end of the wedding. You would think that since I was staring at his eyes so intently, I would’ve seen it coming. I didn’t.

  The impact of his lips on mine startled me so much that I tried to jerk away from him on instinct, but I was prevented by his hand, which touched the smallest part of my back and pulled me close to his chest. His right hand cupped the left side of my face as he moved his lips confidently against my own.

  Part of me felt I should have stopped the kiss; I was kissing a total stranger, after all. But this was my stranger, whom I’d created, and my body betrayed me as fire coursed through my core, sending heat down to the farthest ends of my fingertips and toes.

  I couldn’t breathe, and I parted my mouth to try and take in a breath, but his tongue deftly slipped inside, and instead of oxygen I breathed him in instead.

  Had it not been for the roar of the guests, I think the kiss would have gone on much longer, but the noise from the crowd caused the laird to jerk away. As he did so, a look of utter frustration, almost anger, crossed his face. It confused me even more than I was already. His face hardly seemed to coincide with the kiss he’d just given me.

  Thinking back on the kiss caused my temperature to rise, and my cheeks flushed as the sudden warmth of the memory washed over my body. I reached to lay my fingers against my cheek, hoping to cool them, when a voice to my left caused me to jump.

  “Ye look beautiful, Blaire.”

  I started to correct him, but quickly remembered that my name while I was in a coma was Blaire, not Bri. Instead I turned to him as he gently lay his hand upon my thigh and smiled as sweetly as I could.

  I expected a smile in return, but instead I was rewarded with the same irritated expression I had seen right after the wedding. He stared at me briefly, ice shooting from his eyes, and then stood abruptly, pulling me up with him.

  “Are ye ready to retire, lass? I know ye must be tired.”

  I nodded as he quickly led me away from the dancing crowd.

  I tried to keep pace with his stride, but the bottom of my dress kept getting in the way and instead I stumbled along, tripping with every other step. Each time I almost hit the ground, I found myself yanked up by his quick hands. Couldn’t a girl make herself graceful in her own coma? Not that it was surprising, I didn’t have much real-life experience when it came to grace, so I was certain my brain found it hard to dream up.

  There was anger in the way he gripped me, which I couldn’t understand. What could I have possibly done to upset him? This was surely not the best way to start out a marriage. Perhaps this Blaire had done something before I arrived for which I was about to receive the punishment.

  He continued his relentless pace, and as I blundered along behind him I realized that this didn’t seem like something I would dream. Scottish castle, yes. Scottish wedding, yes. Gorgeous husband, yes. Angry, Scottish brute…not so much.

  The realization frightened me, and once I knew we were far enough away from the crowd to no longer be noticed, I jerked my hand away with all the force I could muster, causing him to release his grip.

  “What are you doing?” I stopped walking and shook out my hand as I glared back at him, completely forgetting to speak in a Scottish accent. I didn’t care. My wrist was hurting, and I was frightened by the look in his eyes.

  I felt my back press into the stone wall of the castle behind me, and he was on me before I had a chance to protest. His hands gripped my shoulders, effectively pinning me to the wall, and his nose was but a hair’s width from my own as he growled into my face.

  “What am I doing? What about ye, Blaire? Ye have been moping about this castle since ye arrived, making no secret about how much ye detest me, and now ye show up at our wedding, smiling like a wee fool! Do ye think that ye can love me out of doors and then reject me when we’re alone? I already told ye once, Blaire, I’ll do right by ye, but I won’t be toyed with, Do ye understand, lass?”

  My head was pounding as I watched him rant. He was angry, but there was more than just anger in his eyes. Confusion? Frustration? I couldn’t tell.

  I didn’t understand much of what he was saying, and Mary’s story, the little she had explained, wasn’t coming to mind as I stood there with the muscles beneath his clothes pressed against my chest. His breath was sweet and warm against my face, and when he stopped talking I unthinkingly leaned forward and pressed my lips against his.

  His response was immediate. His hands moved from my shoulders to the sides of my face as he cupped my cheeks in an effort to get closer. He growled into my mouth as his tongue sought entry, and I willingly opened myself up to him. His teeth grazed my lips, and I got the feeling that he was struggling to control his anger.

  The painfully exquisite tug of his teeth on my lower lip caused my legs to turn to jelly as I melted against him, moving my lips against his in a furious dance of give-and-take. I heard myself moan as I pushed my body more tightly against him.

  Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving me wanting and confused. He slid his hands to my shoulders, effectively pinning me to the stone wall and holding me at arm’s length away from him.

  “Doona do that again, lass.” He paused to catch his breath and removed his left hand to run it through his hair. “Next time ye do something like that to me, I willna be stopping myself, and ye have already made it clear ye want nothing to do with me.”

  The words escaped my mouth before I had time to rein them in. It was my dream after all. I could do what I wanted. “Don’t then.”

  He stretched his arms out farther, locking his elbows into place and stared back at me. “What did ye just say, lass?”

  Blood ran to my cheeks as embarrassment set in. I looked down and tried to remember the accent before I continued. It was too late to back down now. “Then, doona stop.” The words came out breathlessly, and in an uncharacteristic show of courage I reached up to pull his hand from my shoulder as I placed it on my breast. I shyly glanced up at him, “Please.”

  He groaned and reached to grab my hand, pulling me swiftly along behind him once again.

  * * *

  The stranger slowly sat down his goblet, made his excuses to the villagers surrounding him and walked to the side of the castle, watching until he was sure the laird and his new wife had made their way up to their bedchamber.

  He’d been given only two orders as he’d left Ramsay’s quarters; not be found out as a stranger at the wedding and to wait until the appropriate time to set the fire.

  Pivoting his head, the stranger made sure all eyes around him were diverted elsewhere as he worked one of the flaming rods from their post and turned the flame so that it lay on the ground, slowly scorching and taking root over the grass that sat underneath its light.

  Once the ground slowly caught flame, the stranger turned and walked away, mounting the horse he’d tied far away from everyone’s sight and rode as quickly as he could away from Conall Castle.

  Chapter 12

  I stumbled along as we entered the c
astle’s main doors, cursing the length of my dress as I went. He was moving just as quickly as he had before, and taking the stairs at this pace proved impossible. I slipped, almost busting my lip against the cold stone steps.

  I yelped, but before the impact his hands were around my waist, lifting me off the floor.

  “Sorry, lass.” He bent his head to plant a quick kiss on my lips as he carried me up the staircase.

  Blushing once again, I allowed my head to fall against his chest. God, he smells good. I have to remember to write every second of this down as soon as I wake up. I could live off of this dream for years.

  “Doona fall asleep on me yet, lass.”

  I threw my eyes open and squealed as he playfully pinched my bottom. This man was impossible to keep up with. His moods seemed to change rapidly, and this Blaire person had obviously done something to displease him greatly.

  “We’re here, lass.” He carried me into the bedchamber, and I couldn’t help but inwardly chuckle at the fact that I was now living one of the covers of the various romance novels sitting on the shelves at my home. My subconscious was clearly pulling at things from previous fantasies.

  Coma Husband sat me gently on my feet as he turned to close the chamber door.

  I turned away from him to take in the room. Wood, stone, and furs surrounded me, all melding together to create the most sexy and masculine room I’d ever seen. I closed my eyes to breathe in the delicious scent of the room’s luscious materials just as Eoin flattened himself against my back, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  He nuzzled his mouth against my neck, and I could feel his hot breath on the exposed skin at the top of my dress. My heart was racing with anticipation as he touched his lips to my neck, trailing kisses from my collarbone up to my ear. He nibbled it gently, and I reached my hand up behind me so that I could run my fingers into his hair.