Love Beyond Destiny Read online

  Love Beyond Destiny

  Book 11 of Morna’s Legacy Series

  Bethany Claire

  Contents

  Copyright

  Book Description

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  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Missed a Book in the Series?

  Sweet/Clean Versions of Morna’s Legacy Series

  Love Beyond Time - 5 Year Anniversary Edition

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  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright 2019 by Bethany Claire

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  License Notes

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Editor: Dj Hendrickson

  Cover Designed by Damonza

  * * *

  Available In eBook, Paperback, Hardback, & Large Print Paperback

  * * *

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-947731-71-4

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-947731-72-1

  Hardback ISBN: 978-1-947731-73-8

  Large Print Paperback ISBN: 978-1-947731-94-3

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  Secrets never keep for long.

  * * *

  After the sudden death of her husband, Silva struggles to find her way in a life that is now so different than the one she envisioned for herself. When offered the opportunity to start over in a new territory, she seizes the chance. But in order to truly start anew, Silva knows she must come clean about a secret she has held for far too long.

  * * *

  When she arrives at her new home, Silva is met by a man she was certain she would never see again, a man that threatens to heal the heart she was certain would never be whole again.

  Every day since meeting her, Marcus has thought of the mysterious woman he met at his best friend’s wedding, although it never occurred to him that she would end up as a resident of his castle. Having her near him every day is both a blessing and a curse. He wants nothing more than to win her love, but her grieving heart keeps him at bay. He knows that only time can heal her, and he’s resolved to wait as long as it takes, for one day he knows she will love him.

  * * *

  But his love for her may not be enough, for there is another with a secret that could tear her away from him forever. Will Silva be able to move on from her past grief and heartbreak, or will her world be turned upside down once again?

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  Today when you sign up for my mailing list, I will send you a link where you can download A Conall Christmas - A Novella (Book 2.5 of Morna’s Legacy Series) for FREE!

  A Conall Christmas is not a Christmas tale as much as it is simply a love story. Adelle, Bri’s mother, gets a second chance at love in this fun, uplifting book.

  If you have already read it, I hope you will still choose to sign up for my mailing list just for the other benefits. I promise to never spam you. I will send out mailings only when I have news or special opportunities for you. And if you haven’t read A Conall Christmas yet, you get it FREE today when you sign up.

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  For all of my readers,

  * * *

  For your patience. For your support. For reading.

  Prologue

  Morna & Jerry’s - Scotland - September - One Year 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 she’d said goodbye to him.

  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. 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 was 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. His mind tormented him with agonizing memories of every decision that had 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. Do ye know him?”

  She didn’t, but the lad certainly knew of her. Otherwise, he would’ve been unable to see the magical inn.

  “No, I canna say that I do. Nor did I see him coming.” She sighed before continuing. “Sometimes it seems as if I am no longer as perceptive as I once was.”

  Reaching for her coat next to the door, 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 gra
b 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 bout of laughter helping to ease the knot which had settled in her chest at the sight of the man outside.

  Perhaps Jerry saw himself that way, but every time she looked at her husband, she could only 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 into the brisk evening air. The stranger saw her immediately and stopped his pacing as he straightened and looked 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 sad and strained gaze, 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. 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 stop 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, 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. The air around him was thick with it. Morna suspected that even mortal humans could sense it in his presence, though few would be able to explain what they felt while around him.

  The man’s magic—like the opposite side of a coin to her own—was of druid origin. It was easy at her age, after all of 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. This man seemed entirely alone. He had to be. For if there were anyone else he could’ve gone to for help, she had no doubt he would be there 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. He 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 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 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. 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 on its side.

  Something inside the man’s throat audibly caught and his answer was broken and choppy as he forced the words.

  “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 had only 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 the motive behind him 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 slumped, and there was some fire in the way he scrubbed both hands over his face in frustration. He spoke to her through the small slit 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 across from her. She waited silently for him to begin.

  “I grew up in a time not too distant from yer own. And like ye, I was born with powers. I was aware of what lay inside me much earlier than most who have magic. But as I am certain ye know, druid magic is different than what ye possess. Ye have more free will, less destiny, attached to yer choices.”

  Morna wasn’t sure she agreed with the man’s assessment of magic. Looking back on her own life, it seemed as if she’d been only a small piece of something much bigger than herself—something which was written long before she ever breathed her first breath.

  “Less destiny, perhaps, but we still have a purpose we are bound to once we discover it.”