Love Beyond Reach: Book 8 of Morna’s Legacy Series

by Bethany Claire

  Alasdair always believed he knew more about what I needed than I did. Most of the time, he was right. The same age difference lay between me and Alasdair, as did between Alasdair and our father—sixteen years. Oftentimes, it seemed that while Father was Alasdair’s da, Alasdair served as mine.

  “Why do I have more need of her now than ever? Has something happened to me that I canna see?”

  Alasdair let out a frustrated growl as he stood and paced in front of me.

  “I knew he wouldna do it. He told me he would tell ye, but he’s said nothing of what he’s done, has he?”

  “Father? No, I spoke little to him while ye were away. ’Tis usually best for me to keep my distance.”

  “He’s sent for suitors, Morna. He expects ye to be wed by year’s end. While I’ve no objection to ye marrying if ye wish to, and blessings to Mother for what she made him promise before her death, I doona believe men of Father’s choosing should be pushed on ye.”

  Alasdair continued to stomp around in the field before me, speaking so quickly I had no chance to interject on any point.

  “Ye are different than other women, Morna. Ye are special. Father will choose fools. There is little I can do to stop him from forcing yer hand in the direction he wishes it to go. If I was laird, I would protect ye. Ye’d be free to practice yer magic as ye wish it, and if ye never wished to marry, ye would have a home in my castle.

  “I sent men in search of Grier in the hopes that she could return, and I could hide her away so that she could teach ye. That way, when ye are married, ye would at least have the aid of yer magic to ensure that ye lived yer life as ye wished it.”

  I thought back to that last day with Grier as Alasdair spoke. Though I spent little time thinking of marriage, I seemed far less frightened of it for myself than those around me.

  When Alasdair finally exhausted himself from talking, I spoke.

  “Is marriage so terrible? That day in the field—the last day we saw her—Grier warned me of the same thing.”

  With a reddened face and trembling hands, Alasdair joined me on the ground. Anger didn’t suit him. My brother was good through and through.

  “With the right partner, marriage can be a joy, but Morna, ye’ve been more sheltered than ye know by the life we’ve lived. Oftentimes marriage is a prison where women are abused and used and treated like property. And this is true for the plainest of women. For a lass like ye, for one with yer powers, the wrong sort of man would take advantage of yer abilities. If ye doona know how to control them, ye will be powerless to protect yerself from it. I suspect Grier knew that firsthand. What did she tell ye that day? And what was the spell Father interrupted? I’ve always wondered, though I think some part of me was too afraid to ask. While I know the goodness of Grier’s soul, I always sensed a hint of darkness in her, hidden just beneath the surface of her smile.”

  I knew just what my brother meant. Even though I’d adored her growing up, even though I’d graciously accepted any knowledge she was willing to bestow upon me, there was a complexity of soul about her that always made me more nervous than I was willing to admit. Something about her frightened me deeply.

  “I can scarcely remember, though I believe ’twas a love spell.”

  Alasdair’s voice was incredulous.

  “A love spell? At twelve?”

  “No. She dinna mean for it to take place then. She was worried about who Da would choose for me later, just as ye are. I doona know what she meant to do. I canna remember her words, only a verra vague image of a man. ’Tis evident though that Father’s interruption kept it from working. I’ve never seen the man in real life, and it seems ’tis too late if Father is inviting men of his choosing to the castle as we speak.”

  Alasdair nodded.

  “I expect the first suitor will be there when we return. Doona allow Father to push ye toward any man ye doona love. While I can do nothing to keep him from seeing ye married, he promised Mother long ago that the choice of whom ye marry would be yers. So wait until ye find a man worthy of holding yer heart—a man who will never misuse yer powers. Da may be many things, but he does keep his word.”

  I didn’t wish to think or talk about suitors. I knew nothing of love. How would I know when a man was worthy of holding my heart? My sheltered life had left me ignorant of so many things. While my discernment for the attractions in others’ hearts seemed engrained in my nature, I had no faith in my ability regarding my own love life. I had so much to learn.

  “Alasdair, will ye continue looking for Grier now that ye know she is not dead? I would give anything to speak to her now—to have her help in learning from her journals.”

  My heart sank as he shook his head.

  “I willna leave ye alone with Father once the suitors arrive. For now, ye must use the books and the books alone to learn.”

  “Where did ye put the books before we left?”

  It surprised me that I’d not spent every waking moment worrying over them until now.

  “I’ve a surprise for ye when we return. There’s no more need for ye to spend yer nights toiling over Grier’s spell books in yer bedchamber. I’ve readied a place—a safe place—where ye can learn as much as ye wish. I’ll make certain that Father never learns of its existence.”

  I threw my arms around him in gratitude. I never wanted to live in a world without Alasdair.

  If one of Father’s suitors could love me half as much as he did, I would consider myself lucky.

  Chapter 7

  Note from M.C.:

  * * *

  There is real magic in this world and not only the sort of magic that I possess. There is a greater magic, one that works in and around all of us—connecting us in a way that we may never fully understand.

  And the source of this magic—mysterious it may be—has a wondrous sense of humor. As I hugged my brother’s neck silently wishing that there might be one other man who could love me as much as him, something inside me didn’t believe it possible. My limited experience truly led me to believe that Alasdair was the only great man left. How foolish the naïve can be.

  Never doubt the abundance that’s out there for you. Our world is big, and great, and wonderful.

  When I thought all that lay before me was a life of mediocrity with a man perhaps only slightly better than my father, magic was already at work, all the while laughing at my lack of faith.

  While I squeezed my brother’s neck, the man I wished for lay only a few dozen yards away. Which brings me to the first part of our story where my husband decided that my voice simply wasn’t enough. I have to say…he was right.

  I’ve learned so many things about him through this process. For so long, I believed he detested me. In truth, he was simply scared to death by how much he cared.

  Fear makes such fools of us all.

  * * *

  Jerry

  * * *

  Four hundred and eighty-five days is a long time for a man to remain trapped in a time other than his own. If not for my unrelenting belief that there must be a purpose to the strange happening—a reason why I was meant to visit this time—I would have lost my mind long ago. It was my faith in some sort of divine plan that kept me from giving in to the despair I knew would come if I allowed myself to believe that I would never again see my friends, my family, or my home.

  With every passing minute, I inched closer to despair.

  My mouth was so dry from going over twenty-four hours without even a drop of water that even breathing hurt my parched throat. For three months, I’d survived rather easily as a vagabond. With more farming knowledge than most in these parts, I was always handy enough to find short-term work that would pay me enough to see me to the next village.

  Now, only one day’s ride from my destination, I lay stuck in a shallow stream with one arm trapped between rocks and my other arm dislocated so horrifically that I couldn’t move it at all. The pain was terrible, but it was my inability to move enough to get myself a drink of water that wou
ld kill me.

  While I was nowhere near death yet, if the travelers up ahead were anything like the last to come across me, I would be soon.

  They couldn’t see me. While I could tell they were speaking, they were too far away for me to make out any of their conversation despite the loud volume of their dialogue with one another. I knew they wouldn’t be able to hear my dry and quiet voice if I called for them. All I could do was sit, wait, and hope that one of them would venture in my direction soon.

  For the longest time, everything fell silent. I worried that the strangers had gathered their belongings and left in the opposite direction. Eventually, hours later, they stirred and proceeded to talk and laugh together for another series of hours that left me reeling in frustration. Had I the ability to speak, I would’ve screamed obscenities at them for being so careless.

  None of this was their fault, of course. I knew that. But thirst and fear makes all thought irrational. I needed help. I needed it badly. If they left here without seeing me, I would die.

  I couldn’t die. Not here. Not in this time. Not without knowing the reason for my sudden appearance in the seventeenth century exactly four hundred and eighty-five days ago.

  Exhaustion hit me in waves as I lay propped up in my immobile position in the stream. With water lapping over both legs, I would sleep for short periods on and off throughout the day. At some point, I drifted. When I finally opened my eyes, the scene in front of me was finally different.

  Rather than the same old stream, the most beautiful pair of green eyes I’d ever seen bore into my own. Her palms grasped either side of my face as she spoke in a whisper.

  “I canna wait to hear how this happened to ye. Doona faint. My brother is about to move yer shoulder into place. I imagine ’twill hurt. ’Tis hanging in an ungodly position.”

  Before I could brace for it, an unspeakable pain rushed up and through my arm as consciousness slipped away from me once again.

  I didn’t care.

  I was saved, and in more ways than I could have possibly known at the time.

  Chapter 8

  Jerry, the strange disheveled man riding between my brother and me, would be fine. Thankfully, color returned quickly to his dislocated arm. Although it would be tender for weeks, it would heal. The condition of his other arm was remarkable as well. Caught in a rock fall that sent him slipping into the middle of the stream, the rock that held his right arm hadn’t crushed any part of him. It had fallen in precisely the perfect position so that his arm fit snugly between two rocks. If not for the width of his hand, he would’ve been able to pull his arm through and free himself.

  He was of average height but looked small next to my brother. His dark hair was cropped shorter than that of most men. While the length of his beard made him look older, I suspected that he was at least five years younger than my brother. He was dirty, smelled awful, and was so weary he could scarcely hold himself upright on his horse.

  “Where were ye headed, lad? Were ye traveling alone? Why doona ye have any belongings with ye?”

  Alasdair asked each question in such rapid succession that Jerry had no opportunity to respond. Each time the man opened his mouth to answer, my brother would send another question his way.

  “Alasdair, why doona we see him to Mae’s inn, allow him to rest a while and then speak to him? He canna wish to speak of any of this just now. Look at him.”

  Glancing over at me for the first time since we began the ride back to Conall territory, the stranger gave me a thankful, shy smile before turning to speak to Alasdair.

  “Aye, forgive me, but the lass is right. My arm aches and I’m weary. If ye will see me to somewhere that I may rest for the night, I will answer anything ye wish to ask me come morning. I’ve little in means, but I’ll find some way to repay yer kindness.”

  Alasdair nodded and ashamedly looked down.

  “There is nothing to repay. O’course ye doona wish to talk. Forgive my rudeness. Can ye reach inside the pack to yer left? I believe there’s a strong ale within that will surely help with the pain. Every drop inside is yers.”

  My brows lifted as I leaned forward and looked over at my brother in surprise. Alasdair hated ale. I’d only seen him drink it in front of our father. Even then, he only did so to prevent Father’s teasing.

  Alasdair could see what I was thinking right away.

  “’Tis not mine. Rab stowed it away.”

  Jerry started in on the ale as if it were his first drink of water after we freed him.

  He would be sick with drink by the time we reached Conall territory.

  * * *

  Alasdair and I returned to Mae’s inn before the sun rose the next day. Wayward travelers were common in Scotland. While this wasn’t the first time someone in my family had offered help to one of them, Jerry piqued my interest more than most.

  It wasn’t just his short hair and the oddity of the predicament we’d found him in that intrigued me—there was a familiarity about his eyes that I couldn’t quite place.

  Even drunk, Jerry had remained kind and courteous to us both, and I suspected that it was this that made Alasdair as eager as me to check on him the next day. Accustomed to men growing boisterous and misbehaving after drinking, the man’s ability to maintain his dignity impressed my brother greatly. I’d even heard him speak to Kip about hiring the man on as the new stable hand if he was in need of work.

  When we arrived at the inn, Mae was already busy at work in the kitchen, though no guests were down from their rooms yet.

  “Is he awake?”

  She nodded and answered my brother in a whisper.

  “Aye, I believe so. I heard movement from within his room before I came down.”

  Following my brother, I stood back and waited while Alasdair ensured that Jerry was indeed awake and decent. When we walked inside, he looked as if he’d been expecting us for some time.

  Alasdair wasted no time before asking his first question.

  “Before the friendship between ye and my family continues, I must make certain that ye are not a man of ill-gotten means. Are ye a thief? Are ye on the run from anyone?”

  I knew Alasdair didn’t believe this man was any sort of criminal, but his question didn’t surprise me. Alasdair was fiercely protective of the land that would one day be his and the people who lived on it.

  “No, I survive by honest work and honest work alone. I held work at Creedrich Castle for the last year as a messenger for the laird. While I know that the circumstances in which ye found me doona speak to my talents, I know Scotland’s land as if it were all my own.”

  “Are ye on an errand for the laird now? Were ye meant to deliver a message when ye fell?”

  Jerry’s beard made it difficult to discern much emotion from his expression, but I thought anger flashed in his eyes.

  “No. I no longer offer my services to the laird of Creedrich territory. The man killed the…my…”

  He hesitated and Alasdair pressed him.

  “Yer what, lad?”

  “My wife.”

  For the first time since meeting Jerry, I suspected him of lying. The word didn’t flow from his mouth naturally. Instead his gaze dropped to the floor, and the word wife seemed to trip out of his mouth as if it had been pushed outward. The words hadn’t been easy for him to say.

  “Yer wife? Why would the laird kill yer wife?”

  Jerry hesitated then stood up from the edge of the bed where he’d been sitting.

  “I am sorry. I appreciate yer kindness in seeing me here, but I’m afraid ’tis not ye that I need to tell my story to. I must speak to the laird’s son, for he is the only one who may be able to help me. Do ye know how I might cross his path?”

  Casting me a careful glance, Alasdair crossed his arms and joined me against the wall.

  “The laird’s son? Do ye know him?”

  Jerry shook his head.

  “No, though my…my wife,” again he seemed to struggle with the words, “she knew him. I have
reason to believe he tried to seek her out before her death. I mean to find out why.”

  Every hair on my body stood on end. He couldn’t possibly mean Grier. Twisting to look at my brother, I watched as he tried to mask his thoughts. Alasdair was an open book—he looked as speechless as I felt. Silently asking Alasdair to stay back, I placed my hand on his arm and stepped away from the wall as I went to stand in front of Jerry. I wanted to look in his eyes as I asked him.

  “The lass ye speak of—she is not yer wife, is she?”

  He stared at me for a long, silent moment, and the same strange sense of déjà vu I’d felt while on horseback yesterday evening swept over me.

  “Ye can tell me. If ye lied about it, I know there must be a reason.”

  While I meant for my words to put him at ease, I could see in the way that his gaze hardened, I’d only aroused his suspicion. Leaning back to increase the space between us, he didn’t break eye contact as he answered me.

  “Lass, if ye are of the opinion that I owe ye any explanation, ye are wrong. While I’m thankful for both of ye, this here is not what I owe ye. Name yer price in regard to the work I must do for ye. As soon as strength returns in my arms, I shall complete it and call the debt I owe ye paid. Now, I would appreciate it if ye would both leave me. I shall find a way to speak to the laird’s son on my own.”

  Laughing, Alasdair stepped away from the wall. While Jerry’s response only infuriated me, I could see by my brother’s expression it only endeared the man to him even more. Alasdair would’ve behaved in exactly the same way had their roles been reversed. Jerry didn’t know that he was standing in the same room with the very man he wished to find. He only knew that the two people who’d provided him aide were questioning him as if he were their prisoner.