As they gathered up their mess and began the half-mile trek back to the castle grounds, Eoin thought of a few questions that he knew would help put his own mind at ease, and hopefully put an end to his brother’s ridiculous notions.
“Blaire, do ye remember the time ye shot me in the arse? Did ye really think it necessary? All I did was tell ye that you could no come down to the village with me and Arran.” He turned to watch her closely, hoping she would correct him. He knew why she’d really shot him. His father had spent what seemed like half a day explaining to him why he was never to speak to a lady in such a hurtful way ever again.
“Nay, Eoin. That isn’t why I shot ye, that day. I shot ye because ye told me I was the ugliest lass that ye’d ever seen, and ye’d rather kiss Griffin’s arse than be married to me someday. It was the summer we walked in on our fathers discussing the betrothal.”
“Aye. That’s right. I do apologize, Blaire. I was young and foolish. At that age, I’d rather have kissed Griffin’s arse than any lass.” He laughed, thinking himself foolish for giving Arran’s notion any thought.
As they reached the castle grounds and Eoin stashed their equipment away, he thought of one last question as Bri turned to make her way up to her room in the castle. “I canna remember which ear it is that yer father canna hear from. Which is it?”
“It’s his right.”
As she turned and walked inside the castle, Eoin felt his heart drop into the deepest depths of his stomach.
He knew it had always been her father’s left ear.
Chapter 20
Scotland
1645
Was it his right ear or his left? Dammit! I couldn’t remember, and I second-guessed myself a thousand times as I made my way back to my bedchamber. Why did Eoin ask the question in the first place? Was it really that he just couldn’t remember, or did he suspect something?
It had to be the first. What on earth could he suspect? Surely, even if he found my behavior different than Blaire’s, he wouldn’t immediately jump to the conclusion that I was someone else. From everything Mary had told me, I looked exactly like her.
It didn’t matter at this point. If he asked, surely he wouldn’t know whether or not what I told him was true. He wasn’t testing me; although, the way he went on and on about how great Blaire was with a bow and arrow, it did sort of seem that way. Luckily, I’d had a knack for it. Who knew? I’d never been coordinated at anything, and all of a sudden I was an expert archer. The entire situation was just too odd for words, and it made me even more anxious to get back to work in the spell room. I’d spent far too long here, and with each passing day I found myself more reluctant to spend hours searching through spell books. I’d much rather spend my time exploring the castle, visiting with Eoin, or actually cooking with Mary like Eoin thought I was.
And while I missed my mother, homesickness wasn’t setting in like I thought it should have. I loved it here—the lack of cars and modern technology, the way you didn’t hear car horns and sirens every time you stepped outside, the way everything was quieter and, as a result, more simple as well. People had to work so much harder for everything that there was an overwhelming sense of pride and work ethic that just radiated from every person I’d met while here.
I was also beginning to love everyone at the castle: Mary, Eoin, even Kip and Arran, both of whom seemed dead set against getting to know me. It was okay. I still felt more at home here than I did in my newly remodeled former bachelor pad of a home, where I’d spent so many nights alone. It was comforting to know that there were people just down the hall. It somehow made every second feel less lonely.
Yeah, it was definitely time to get back to work in the spell room. As nice as it was to escape reality here for a few weeks, this was not where I was meant to be. If that was the case, I would’ve been born here, hundreds of years ago. I was an unnatural imposter, and it was vital that I find the spell that would get me back home.
Estimating that I still had a couple of hours before everyone gathered for the evening meal, I made my way down into the kitchens to let Mary know where I’d be. Her hands were busy, pulling away at some nameless animal I was certain would be staring up at me from a plate come dinner, and as she nodded in acknowledgement that she’d heard me, I made my way into the secret spell room in the back of the basement.
Walking to the side, I scooted past a pile of books I’d already gone through, which were now serving as a secret hiding nook for my beloved normal clothes. Now an expert at laces, I whipped myself out of the heavy gown I was wearing and quickly slid on my jeans, bra, t-shirt, socks, and tennis shoes, smiling as I instantly felt more like me.
I’d methodically sorted out every book in the spell room and had separated them into piles according to language, age, and probable relevance. I was now on my last pile of books written in English, and I hoped with everything I had that what I needed would be in this pile. If nothing turned up, I was going to be forced to enlist someone who could read Gaelic to help me with the rest of the book. I knew that doing that would significantly increase the risk of Eoin discovering the truth.
I let my head fall loosely toward my chest and rolled it around in both directions, trying to release some tension and get myself into work mode. Crawling onto the old wooden bench that sat in front of the desk, I pulled both of my legs toward me, turning them in so that I sat crisscross on the bench.
The ability to move my legs freely after being trapped under heavy layers of fabric was so refreshing that I found myself sitting in odd positions every time I came down to the spell room to work. Throwing my arms high above me to stretch before reaching for the top book on the large stack, I felt the back of my shirt rise with the movement of my arms, exposing the lower half of my back. It stayed bunched there as I reached for the top book and opened it on the desk, bending to begin my examination of its contents.
I knew Mary would have keeled over at the sight of such skin exposure, but the coolness of the room felt nice on my back, and what did I care anyway?
I was alone in the room; and would be until dinner.
* * *
He was certain she hadn’t seen him peeking out from behind his own door as she exited her own and made her way down into the kitchens. He knew he was making a mistake by following her. What did he expect to find her doing? She was on her way to help Mary in the kitchens; the same as she did everyday around this time.
Still, she’d misspoken about her father’s ear, and it caused a sense of dread and unease to build in his stomach. Eoin couldn’t do anything, or think about anything else, with the last three words she’d said to him churning in his mind.
He knew Arran was wrong. He was married to Blaire, not a different-but-similar-looking lass. But he did now see what Arran had been trying to tell him the other day, something was different about her. She was keeping something from him and everyone else in the castle.
He paused and sat down in the small hallway outside the entrance to the kitchen, content to listen to their conversations as Mary and Blaire worked side by side. Perhaps she’d been more open with Mary, and listening to them speak would give him a better sense of what was happening with her.
But the lass didn’t go all the way into the kitchen, and as he heard her stop at the doorway to tell Mary she was going below to work, his blood ran cold.
Mary’s belated “Aye, lass. I’ll come and warn ye when the food is nearly prepared” did nothing to calm his growing sense of unease.
He waited until he was sure she was far enough ahead of him not to hear his footsteps. From the direction in which Blaire went, he knew there was only one set of steps that led below the castle.
Hesitantly, he made his way into the one-roomed basement. He hoped to see her working on some task for Mary, but when he saw the light flickering from the doorway at the back of the room, he knew he would find nothing good beyond that door.
There could be no good explanation for why Blaire was in his late aunt’s spell room
. She shouldn’t even have known the room existed. Besides their late father, Arran, Mary, and himself, no one else on the castle grounds had ever seen the inside of that room.
Slowly he crept toward the doorway, barely pulling at the crack so that it opened only slightly, allowing him to see inside. Confusion filled his mind as his gaze poured over the lass sitting, rather twisted, in front of his aunt’s old desk. The clothes that the woman had on were completely senseless. Why, the lass had fabric that went up in between the length of her legs! For a moment, he assumed the lass wasn’t Blaire but a lunatic that had made her way into the castle tunnels.
Then he caught a glimpse of something black and odd spread across a bare space on the lass’s back. Swirling and dark, the shapes seemed to spell out something, permanently etched into her skin. Surely something like that could only be accomplished with witchcraft.
When he heard the strange lass speak, as if trying to sound out something written within the book she was staring so intently into, he couldn’t help but swing the door open with a crash, the shock of all he’d seen reverberating through his veins.
“Christ, Blaire! Ye are a damned witch!”
Chapter 21
The first book I’d pulled off the top of the stack was one of Alasdair’s old journals, and while the majority of entries held nothing of great relevance, there was an entry at the end of the volume that had me leaning far over the desk in anticipation.
In it, Alasdair referenced his last conversation with Morna. And while most of it left out details of their conversations, he did say that it was vital to ensure that Eoin marry Blaire. He wrote of the spell his sister had cast and how Blaire and, I could only assume I, would switch places in time, and that I would help save them.
From what exactly, I wasn’t sure. And while I could feel a thought tugging at some part of my brain, I couldn’t think of any real reason for my presence here. Besides, I didn’t intend to stay long enough to find out and the further I got into the entry, the more excited I became. At the end of the journal entry he had spelled out the title of a book, three words written in Gaelic, prefaced with the words, “Morna said to remember this, if the time comes that it is needed.”
It had to be the name of one of the Gaelic books stacked on the other side of the room, and it had to have something to do with the spell. I just knew it. I stared at the three words. They sounded completely foreign as I worked to pronounce them as best I could.
I was just rounding the end of the last word when a crash from behind me caused me to whip around to see Eoin’s angry presence in the doorway, his thunderous voice screaming something about me being a witch.
Before I could get out a word in protest, he jerked me up by both arms and roughly dragged me away from the small room. He trembled with anger. I could feel it in the grip with which he held onto my arms. I would unquestionably be bruised tomorrow. As he dragged me up the stairs toward his bedchamber, screaming in Gaelic every step of the way, I found myself hoping that Mary would hear him. Perhaps, she could at least help me explain the situation. Not that I was very optimistic about him giving me the opportunity to do so.
He flung open the door and nearly threw me across his bedroom as he let go of his hold and slammed the door shut behind him.
He came toward me, seeming larger than he actually was, and stopped in front of my hunkered-down figure. I stood shakily, refusing to let him bully me until I’d told him all that I knew.
“Let me explain, Eoin. I’m not a witch. I…”
He immediately interrupted me with more words in Gaelic that I didn’t understand before he turned and walked over to the window seat to stare outside.
“What do ye expect me to do with ye now, lass? I should’ve left ye down in the dungeon to rot, but I expect ye spelled me so that I would relent and release ye, aye? What did ye plan to do, Blaire, place spells on us to do yer bidding and torture me for having married ye? I canna believe Arran was right! What a wicked bitch ye are!”
Anger flared within me, and I made no effort to continue the accent I’d tried so hard to use over the past weeks. “Are you crazy? Have I done or said anything to anyone since I’ve been here that would make you think that I wanted to hurt you? If you’d just stop all of your insane ranting and listen to me, I could explain what I was doing in the spell room.”
“How did ye even know about the room, Blaire? Ye had no business being in that part of the castle at all!”
“Mary showed me. It’s where she found me when I showed up here.”
“Ye are a damned liar, Blaire! Do ye no remember the day ye arrived? Ye insulted just about everyone in the castle, and ye nearly broke poor Kip’s back with the inconsiderate load ye piled onto him!”
“No!” I was no longer afraid, but I was so angry I was on the verge of tears. Each breath seemed painful in my chest. “I don’t remember the day Blaire arrived because I’m not Blaire! I don’t understand why or how I got here, but I’ve spent almost every minute since I showed up in this godforsaken place trying to get back home to Texas.”
“Not Blaire? Texas? God, Arran was right! How could I have been so blind? Well, I’ll no more be fooled by ye, and I’ll no have ye causing havoc here anymore.”
He reached as if to grab for my arm, but I evaded him, jumping quickly to the left and chunking the nearest object I could reach at his head. It hit him square on the nose. With a ferocious growl, he leapt in my direction once more.
If Mary didn’t get up here soon, I was seriously screwed.
* * *
Dusk descended over the castle, slowly covering every inch of the grounds, creating the perfect shade from which the two servants could hide. They stopped their horses nearly a mile away from the stables, tying them securely to trees far enough away so that they wouldn’t hear the sounds of the horses dying. It wouldn’t do for them to spook their own. They needed them to get back quickly to Kinnaird Castle.
“I thought ye said there would be over a dozen here. There’s only nine. The three stables at the end are empty.”
“Aye. There should be, but we only take what’s here. We doona have much time to begin with. We must do it quick, do ye understand? They’ll no be without someone in the stables for long. We must come while they are all at dinner. The old stable master eats with his wife in the kitchens, while the laird, wife, and brother dine in the grand hall. We shall only have a few short moments to accomplish the task.”
The youngest servant, a lad of no more than sixteen, reached to wipe the sweat from his brow. It was a chilly evening, but he felt strangled by the heat rising from his own body and breathed in deeply to try and still the frantic thumping of his heart. It was the worst kind of crime for which he was about to be responsible. The animals would not be used for food. They were not killing them out of mercy. These horses were some of the finest he’d ever seen, healthy and strong. It broke his heart to know they would be ending the horses’ lives for no great purpose.
As he watched his older brother raise his blade high above the first horse’s head, he reached forward to stop the swing downward, latching onto his brother’s hand. “Swing true and hard. Doona let the blade stop halfway through. I know we must do this to save Mother, but I willna have them suffer more than they must.”
As his brother nodded, the younger released his grip and turned quickly to shield his eyes, choking down the bile that rose in his throat as a spray of warm blood splattered across his back.
With tears streaming down both their faces, the brothers moved quickly, trying to finish their horrid task as mercifully as they could.
When the last horse’s head had been severed, and the stable floors were covered with a sticky sickness, and the walls dripped with fresh blood, the two boys fled into the night with their souls and minds heavy and their hearts filled with hate for Ramsay Kinnaird.
Chapter 22
The trip to get the horses had been shorter than expected, but Eoin had been right. He needed to calm down, and getting
away from the castle for a day or so with Kip helped tremendously. He had been drinking too much, and he was certain it had impacted his feelings about Blaire. She wasn’t someone else, someone trying to harm his brother. She was simply as lost as he was, trying to deal with her new marriage in the best way that she knew how.
It was time that he do the same, and with his mind set on doing just that, he smiled and pointed so that Kip would look out over the horizon where they could see Conall Castle off in the distance, bathed in moonlight.
He was feeling better than he had in ages, and he knew the last time he felt this good was before his father’s tragic death. Perhaps Blaire’s hold on him was not as strong as he thought. He only needed time to heal from the changes of the last few months.
The stables were only a short distance away, and it startled him that instead of picking up their pace in their anticipation of getting home, both horses reared up on their hind legs and tried to turn in the other direction. Both men steadied their horses, and Arran reached down to soothe Sheila as Kip did the same to Griffin.
Arran scanned the distance between themselves and the stables, looking for something that would have caused the horses to start. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw what could only be Angus, charging in their direction.
“Ach. Angus! I doona know how else to keep him in the stables. If he knows we’ve taken other horses out, he willna stay put. I expect he’s been loose since we left.”
“Kip, he looks frightened. I know he’s wild, but I’ve never seen him behave so.”
Angus didn’t slow his pace as he reached the two men, instead charging in wide circles around them, whining and making noise.
“It’s no too far to the stables from here. Let’s leave the horses here and take a look first. Aye?”
Morna's Legacy: Box Set #1 Page 12
