I only had the one rock, and as far as I knew, it would only allow me to travel once. Returning to my own time was now the furthest thing from my mind.
“’Tis too dangerous, lass. I willna be able to bear the waiting and the wondering.”
“And I won’t be able to bear living here with you knowing that you’re petrified every second that I’ll catch a cold or that lightning will strike me dead. This has to end, Monroe. For you, for your family, for us. You have to trust me.”
Two Weeks Later
* * *
Monroe’s delivery never came, which went a long way to explaining why the legends claimed that his body wasn’t discovered for many, many months after his death.
In the weeks that followed our decision, we built a boat that would get Monroe to the mainland where he could purchase a proper one, and we did all we could to prepare me for the next journey I would have to take.
I knew he worried for me, but I knew my love for him was enough to make certain I got back to him one way or another.
Still stranded on the isle—there was only room enough in Monroe’s makeshift boat for one—we could find no one to see us properly wed. Instead, we made vows to one another. It was special. And perfect. And as far as I was concerned, it was all the wedding we would ever need.
When the morning came for me to put Morna’s stone to work, all I felt was hope.
“Doona leave me here alone again, lass. I’ve grown accustomed to yer company. I canna go back to the way things were before.”
Monroe was terrified, but for the first time in his life he now understood that love is always a mixed bag of both of those emotions. So he was willing to take a chance on my faith that history could be changed, even if he was less sure of it himself.
Pulling the rock from my bag, I kissed him and whispered in his ear before turning to leave.
“I promise I’ll be back.”
And with that, I was gone.
Five Months Later
For the first time in his life, he was truly and utterly alone. Within a day of Eleanor’s departure, he’d watched the spirits of his loved ones break free from their chains upon this isle.
Nothing had ever brought him such joy. His mother, his father, his sister—they were finally and blessedly free.
Eleanor had been able to stop twelve-year-old Monroe from taking the witch’s poison. Somehow, she’d convinced him to disobey his father’s command and let his mother die.
Then, where the hell was she?
He knew too well what sort of horrors befell people from his time. What if she’d been murdered on her journey to find Morna? What if she was lost and afraid? What if she’d found Morna, but the witch refused to help her?
What if—worst of all—time away from him had caused her heart to change?
What if instead of returning to his time, she’d chosen to return to her own?
He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. He spent his days wandering the halls of his home or staring out at the water from the rocky cliffs.
“I thought I told you to keep that mess of hair cleaned up while I was away?”
The sound of her voice caused him to drop to his knees.
“Please tell me ye are truly here, lass. Lack of sleep can play tricks on one’s mind.”
He could hear her footsteps approaching. The moment her hand touched his shoulder, he began to sob. She stood in front of him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere else ever again.”
He sobbed as relief shook him.
Something about the way she felt in his arms was different.
“Thank God for that, lass. I’ve been so worried about ye, but I can see ye have fared far better than I.”
Her hands moved to his face as she lifted his chin so he could look at her.
“How do you mean?”
He knew he should stand and kiss her, but he wasn’t sure his shaky legs would hold him.
“Forgive me, lass, a wiser man wouldna say it, but I doona believe ye’ve missed a meal while ye were away.”
Eleanor threw back her head and laughed before giving him a quick thump on his head.
“You think this is food? I’m carrying your child, you moron.”
“No? Please doona tease me, lass. I doona think I can bear it.”
“I’m not teasing in the least. Now, please stand up and give me a proper kiss.”
The joy was too much—he thought he might burst from it.
Rising to his feet, he wrapped Eleanor in his arms.
“What took ye so long, lass?”
“Morna was more than happy to help, but she was still quite young when I found her. I had to wait for her to learn how to perfect time travel first.”
“So ye were safe and well cared for? Ye and the wee babe?”
She nodded.
“I spent the past months spoiled rotten in a castle even more beautiful than this. Your baby and I were more than fine. And now that we’re here, we’re even better.” She paused and kissed him before whispering into his mouth, “God, I missed you.”
He kissed her hair as he held her tight.
“Ye will never know how much I missed ye, lass.”
From now on things would be different. With Eleanor and the coming babe by his side, they would see Castle Dune returned to its former glory.
For the first time in decades, all was right in his world.
Epilogue
Morna’s Inn — Present Day
* * *
“Jerry! Jerry! Look at this! She did it. Oh, I knew she would.”
Nearly tripping over the end of her robe, Morna stumbled into her kitchen as she waved the now months old newspaper into her husband’s face.
“What is it, Morna? What are ye going on about even before I’ve had my coffee?”
“I had the strangest dream last night, Jerry. I dreamed that Eleanor was with me at Conall Castle when I was a girl. When I woke, I knew in my bones that it was true. Look.” She pointed at the paper to show him. “The paper has changed!”
She watched as Jerry excitedly read the words aloud.
“Castle Dune to open to the public for three months starting in June.”
She interrupted him as she excitedly bounced from foot to foot.
“It says the castle has been lived in by descendants of the same family since the seventeenth century, Jerry!”
She smiled contentedly as Jerry leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“What can I say, lass? Ye’ve done it again.”
* * *
THE END
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Love Beyond Destiny
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Sneak Peek of Love Beyond Destiny (Book 11)
Prologue
* * *
Morna’s Home - Scotland — Three Months After the Start of Our Story — Present Day
* * *
She wasn’t supposed to be here. She’d promised him. She’d promised him to stay where they’d built a life together.
But something had changed within her—he could feel it in every quick thump of his anxious pulse. She no longer cared about the promises she’d made to him and he no longer held a monopoly on her heart.
He’d known—hoped even—that in time she would come to love another, but why this man? Why another with magic? An ordinary man couldn’t hurt her, but a man with magic could do whatever he wished and his beloved would be powerless to stop him. How was he to know whether this stranger was worthy of her?
At least before, the distance between them wa
s great enough that he could remain oblivious to her choices. But now, he could feel everything—every emotion—every contradiction. It was misery.
The nearness of her would end him. Each moment his mind tormented him with agonizing memories of every decision that brought him here—standing at the end of a narrow road leading to the home of a witch he knew wouldn’t help him.
He had nothing left to lose. If she refused his request, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her.
His strength was failing fast.
Each day he cared less for those whose lives rested in his beloved’s hands.
“Morna, lass. There’s a man at the end of the road. He keeps pacing as if he canna decide whether or not he wishes to approach our home. I assume ye know him?”
She didn’t, but the lad certainly knew of her. Otherwise, he would’ve been unable to see their house.
“No, I canna say that I do. Nor, did I see that he should be coming. I must say, Jerry, sometimes it seems as if I am no longer as perceptive as I once was.”
Reaching for her coat next to the doorway, she looked over her glasses at her husband’s humored expression.
“What do ye wish to say, Jerry?”
“O’course ye are not as perceptive. ’Tis only right that yer powers wane somewhat with age. If aging dinna impact ye in some way ’twould be dreadfully unfair. Let me grab my own coat. I’ll walk with ye to greet him.”
“No.” Now that she was aware of the man’s presence, she could feel him acutely. “’Tis fine, truly. I doona yet know what this man needs but I know there is nothing ye can do for him. Go and take a bath in that new walk-in jetted tub of yers.”
Jerry stood and wiggled both brows mischievously at her.
“When he leaves will ye join me? There’s plenty of room for two.”
Laughing she reached for Jerry as he passed and gently pressed her lips to his.
“I’d love to, but I’ve the feeling this willna be a short visit. If ye wait that long, ye shall be wrinkled as a prune by the time I make it upstairs.”
“I’m already verra prune-like, lass.”
She laughed unwillingly, the sudden bought of laughter doing much to ease the knot that settled in her chest at the sight of the man outside her home.
Perhaps Jerry saw himself that way, but every time she looked at her husband she could still see the young man he’d once been. He was her favorite thing to look at in all the world.
“I love every wrinkle ye’ve got. Now go—one of us should enjoy the evening.” Morna waited until she could hear the water running through the pipes above her before opening the door and stepping out in to the brisk evening air. The stranger saw her immediately and stopped his pacing as he straightened to look at her as she approached.
“’Twill be dark soon, lad. If ye’ve business here, ’tis best ye come inside and see to it.” Under different circumstances, the stranger would’ve been handsome. But now, with his gaze sad and strained his dark blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen. He appeared as if he’d been awake for a week straight and that for most of that time he’d been crying.
“Are ye Morna?” “Aye.” Morna extended her hand to him. “’Tis me ye wished to see, is it not? Tell me yer name and follow me inside.”
Morna didn’t miss the man’s hesitation and she knew right away the name he gave her would not be the name given to him at birth.
“Bechard. Ye may call me Bechard.”
Morna smiled to herself as she turned her back to him and motioned gently for him to follow.
“’Tis not the loveliest alias ye could have chosen.” She sensed the man still behind her and she looked back over her shoulder to ease his fear.
“Doona worry, lad. If ye wish to keep yer real name to yerself, I suppose ye’ve reason to do so. Hang yer coat next to the door, and have a seat in the living room. I’ll fetch us some tea and then we will get about whatever business has brought ye here.”
Bechard slowly took one step inside Morna’s home.
“’Twas my father’s name.” The man—she couldn’t bring herself to think of him as ‘Bechard’ since she knew it was not his real name—carried magic not unlike her own in his being. The air around him was thick with it. Morna suspected that even mortal humans could sense it in his presence, whether or not they knew what it was they sensed.
The man’s magic—like the opposite site of a coin to her own—was of druid origin. It was easy at her age, after all her experience, to place where one’s powers came from. But while this man’s source was evident, his purpose was not. Most druids—indeed, all she’d ever known, were beholden to a purpose and this man seemed entirely alone. He had to be. For if there was anyone else he could’ve gone to for help, she had no doubt he wouldn’t be here now. Why go to a stranger for something that was clearly so personal to him?
Staring perhaps a little too long, she jumped at the sound of the pipes creaking as Jerry turned off the running water upstairs. Jarred back to the present and to the stranger’s last admission, she pointed to one of the two empty chairs next to the fire and spoke.
“Ah, that explains the odd choice of name. Well, pity to him, then. Go and sit. I’ll be just a moment.”
The use of magic for boiled water was a frivolous thing, but she allowed herself the indulgence. The man’s nerves seemed perilously close to shattering. She feared if she left him alone for more than a moment, she would return to see him collapsed on the floor of her living room, swallowed by his misery.
After first reaching for the smallest of her teacups, she thought again, and reached for the ones reserved for especially gloomy days. Gathering all she needed, she made her way back toward the man who turned at the sound of her approach. Morna looked into his eyes and sighed as a bit of the tension in her own chest relaxed just a little. A bit of the panic in the man’s gaze had subsided. He was ready to talk.
“I know that ye doona know me, but I am here to beg ye for help. I need ye to break the bond I share with another. ’Tis most urgent.”
Nodding toward the settled tray upon the table so that he might begin to prepare his own cup, Morna relaxed into her chair.
“A bond? Ye know I shall need more than that, lad. ’Tis it one of blood, or kinship?” She hesitated and then shook her head, the memory of his strangled gaze flashing into her mind. “No, ye needn’t answer. ’Tis a heart bond, aye?” The man didn’t stir or blow on his tea before slurping at the steaming cup he held in his hands. If it burned him, he showed no sign of it.
“Aye.” “Is it a bond of love or of marriage?”
Another slurp and Morna had to purse her lips together to keep from grinning at the way the man held his teacup. He cupped it like a bowl, as if there were no handle made just for holding on its side.
Something inside the man’s throat audibly caught and his answer was broken and choppy as he forced the words from him.
“Both. By God, ’tis both.”
“Why then, do ye wish to break yer bond with her? Does she no longer love ye?”
One last slurp and the man emptied his cup.
“She loves me still. And I love her more than I can bear. ’Tis why ye must help me to end this misery. ’Twas torturous enough when I only had my own grief to contend with, but now that she’s here, I can feel her again.”
His choice of words all but confirmed Morna’s first suspicions about the strange man—he was not from this time. It explained the kinship she felt with the man’s powers—they shared a gift for bending time.
“Ye mean in this time, aye?”
Setting the emptied cup down on the tray, he glanced up at Morna with weary eyes.
“Aye. The lass promised me she would stay. But she dinna do so. Now that she’s here, ’tis as if my verra heart is being slowly poisoned. There is another now and he slowly heals her heart in a way that should be my doing. If our bond remains, I willna be able to stay away. I will go to her. I will take her back. I canna stand for another to hold
her if I must be bound to feel it. Please Morna, rid me of her. I canna bear this.”
Morna sat quietly for a long moment, observing the man as he waited for her answer. Why would anyone voluntarily tear themselves away from someone they loved so much?
“I canna say aye when I doona understand. Ye must help me to see why ye would wish to do such a thing. Ye know that ending the bond willna truly take her from ye. Ye will still feel her loss, still grieve her.”
The man nodded solemnly.
“I know, but at least I willna be able to feel her heart alight when another man touches her. I willna be able to feel the way her breath comes short when she thinks of him. No one should have to endure such torture.” The man had chosen to ignore the first part of her statement, and she couldn’t allow it to slide by. She couldn’t in good conscience perform such a sorrowful act without knowing his motive behind asking her to do so.
“I’ll decide nothing until ye tell me yer story, lad.”
The man stood, and Morna could see that the warm tea had done much to revive him. His shoulders were no longer as slumped and there was some fire in his arms as he scrubbed both hands over his face in frustration. He spoke to her through the small slit in between his palms as he gripped at his face.
“If I tell ye, I know ye willna help me.”
Her curiosity rising by the second, she settled more deeply into her chair.
“I’ll not help ye unless ye tell me either. So ye might as well do so and take yer chances.”
Morna watched as the man took a deep, sorrowful breath before moving to sit back across from her. She waited silently for him to begin.
The Haunting of Castle Dune - A Novella: Book 10.5 of Morna’s Legacy Series Page 8
