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

  “I can already predict what you are going to say about this room.”

  Laurel remained just outside the doorway as she awaited his prediction.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “You are going to say that out of all the castles and all the rooms you’ve seen, this is by far your favorite.”

  She knew he teased her. Regardless, he was bound to be wrong. The room that lay ahead of her couldn’t possibly beat the tower room they’d seen in the castle two days before.

  “Let’s just see about that, shall we?”

  Determined to come up with a reaction opposite of what Marcus expected, Laurel stepped inside, looked around, and found herself completely unable to do so.

  The room was perfect in every way. The things she loved most in all the world lined three of the four walls—books.

  “It drives me crazy when you’re right. This beats the tower.”

  “I knew you were going to say that. I knew it even before I stepped inside. I read about it in the guidebook and knew you’d love it. I can see by the happy, glazed expression on your face that you’ll be in here a while. I think I’ll go explore the dungeon while you do so. I’ll come back for you in a bit.”

  Marcus nudged her playfully before leaving her alone in the room. Once he was gone, she inhaled deeply and smiled. The smell of books gave her the same kind of energy coffee did for some. She thrived off them, lived in them, made her living from them. In a room full of books, she felt at home.

  She knew that the books lining the shelves didn’t quite fit the historical nature of the castle—the bindings and covers were enough to tell her that none could be more than a hundred years old. Still, that knowledge did not reduce her love for what surrounded her now.

  She moved to the far wall and slowly trailed her fingers along the spines moving row after row, bottom to top. It was a game she often played in libraries—letting her fingers trail the spines of many books until she felt something draw her to one in particular. As her fingers moved, she glanced to her left and took notice of a lone book sitting on a side table. Her fingers moved toward it instinctively.

  She only resisted sitting on the old piece of furniture for a few seconds. As she picked up the book, she sank into the soft, empty chair, eager to read.

  The chair was old and for a moment she feared it would collapse underneath her, but as she settled in more fully, it seemed to wrap her up in a way that invited her to do nothing more than read.

  Marcus would occupy himself for ages while exploring the castle grounds. It wouldn’t hurt anyone for her to take a moment to herself.

  She opened the book gently. While it surprised her to see that the words were in English, it was the handwritten note inside that piqued her interest in a way nothing else ever had.

  To whomever finds this book, you should know that it was meant just for you. Tuck it away in your bag, hide it beneath your shirt, but whatever you do, do not return it to the place it rested before. For many would read the pages contained within and dismiss my every memory and word as nothing more than fiction. But you, my first and last reader, will read these words and hear the truth in them.

  Read these words. Love them, tend to them, believe them, and then once you’ve made peace with the truth, come and find me. By my story’s end, you will know where.

  Until we meet,

  Morna Conall

  P.S. Those who know me well know I have a terrible habit of butting in pretty much whenever I feel like it, and I’m afraid I found myself doing the same thing with my writing. As I was preparing my story, I realized that in some instances my conversational voice—sort of like this letter—was needed to show you even more. These little intrusions are scattered throughout the book. Think of them as author notes, if you will.

  * * *

  P.P.S. My husband has also seen fit to throw in his two cents, so you’ll find parts of the book written by him, as well. It may all sound rather confusing now, but I have a keen sense of just how bright you are. You’ll have no trouble at all, I’m sure. Now, get to reading. We have no time to waste.

  * * *

  “Damn.” Laurel whispered the word aloud to herself, shaking her head at the book with mesmerized awe. Whatever the reason for such strange words, the author must have known that it would be impossible for the reader who stumbled upon them to do anything other than read on. She didn’t know anyone whose curiosity would allow them to do differently. Smiling at the wit and the wonder of it, Laurel happily flipped to the next page and continued reading, never suspecting for a moment how such an act would change her life forever.

  Chapter 1

  Note from M.C. (Morna Conall)

  * * *

  I told you these would be scattered throughout the book. Here’s the first one—right at the beginning.

  The summer of my twelfth year was one of the most tragic and difficult seasons of my life. Looking back, those dark days marked the end of my childhood in a way that forever changed the person I was destined to become. Had my grandmother lived longer, had Grier not been forced to leave, had my father not seen fit to upend my world by telling me a truth I never really needed to know, perhaps magic would’ve come more easily to me, perhaps I could’ve saved one of my dearest friends in the world, perhaps I would’ve been content to live out my days healing villagers rather than pushing my way into the love lives of nearly everyone I’ve ever known and loved.

  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…those questions never really get us anywhere, do they?

  Still, memories have a way of sneaking into our minds when we least expect them. Most especially—in my experience—when we don’t want them to. If I could tell you my story without reliving those few dreadful July days so many years ago, I certainly would. After all, this is a story of a young woman, not that of a little girl.

  But the effects of this time were too far-reaching for me to exclude them from my story. So for the briefest of moments, allow me to break your heart.

  I promise everything will work out in the end.

  * * *

  Conall Castle—Summer of 1613

  * * *

  “What do ye mean, what do I want in a husband? I doona want a husband. Not ever.”

  I collapsed onto the thick blanket spread out on the ground for our lesson and looked up at Grier with confusion. Even though I was still terrible at magic, I looked forward to our daily lessons. It was the only time of day I felt like myself. While my progress was slow, my skills improved with each passing day. I saw no need to waste my precious learning time visiting about something so entirely useless.

  Grier’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she moved to sit across from me on the blanket. Her gaze looked haunted and suddenly older. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if perhaps the rumors about her were true. Maybe Grier really was much older than she appeared.

  Despite the occasional weariness I sometimes saw in her eyes, Grier carried herself with an otherworldly confidence that enchanted all who knew her. I was fairly certain that everyone I’d ever known was at least halfway in love with Grier. Everyone that is, except my father. He detested my mentor. If not for Grandmother’s insistence that she stay and teach me how to use my magic, he would’ve sent Grier away long ago.

  It wasn’t that Father didn’t find her attractive. I knew that he did. Sometimes, I would catch him looking at her in the same way that Alasdair and every other male in the castle did. He simply hated that anyone might have more power than him. I suspected he hated me for the same reason.

  “Grier…how old are ye?”

  This time her smile was genuine, and my body released tension I hadn’t even known it carried. That was Grier’s power. In her presence, her mood quickly became your own.

  “Do ye know how often I get asked that? How many times do ye imagine I’ve answered it?”

  Grier almost always answered questions in this way. Never really answering anything, she could masterfully redirect a question.

&n
bsp; “If it has to do with magic, ye should tell me, even if ye’ve never told anyone else before. Ye are the only other witch I’ve ever known. Ye are the only person I have to learn from.”

  Her eyes shifted again—back to the saddened, distant gaze of before.

  “I’m verra old, though I’ll never tell anyone just how old, for ’tis truly of no importance. My soul is still twenty and always shall be. Aging, or the lack thereof, is not what we are discussing today. All I will say is this, witches doona age in the same way as everyone else. One day, ye will be able to decide just how old ye wish to appear, and ye will be able to keep yerself that way for as long as ye like.”

  Every day the new wonders of magic astonished me. How could I have been so fortunate to be blessed with it when no one else in my family had ever had magic before? My great fortune amazed me.

  “No. Ye canna mean it. If ’tis true, why canna we discuss this today? I’d much rather learn about this than discuss my getting a husband.”

  Grier sighed and the exhaustion in it washed over me, making my limbs heavy and tired.

  “Ye needn’t worry about getting a husband right now. Ye are only twelve. Even though many are wed at yer age, yer own father—bastard that he is—wouldna marry ye off so young. When ye are wed, he can no longer control ye, and he derives too much pleasure from that to rid himself of ye so soon. I only mean to make certain that the man ye do marry is the man ye wish to.”

  I smiled in awe. Everyone shared her sentiment about my father, but none save her would ever dare say so. She was the most fearless person I’d ever known.

  “If I am not to be married, why should we concern ourselves with this now?”

  “I’ll tell ye after we cast the spell. We’ve not much time. This is far too important to leave unattended. Now, while I believe that ye doona want a husband now, someday ye shall want someone with whom to share yer life. I’ve already seen the sort of man yer father would choose for ye, and I willna stand for it. Sit quietly and close yer eyes.”

  Begrudgingly, I did as she asked.

  “What am I meant to be thinking?”

  “Shhh.”

  Grier laughed softly as she silenced me. I could sense her moving closer. While my eyes remained closed, she took my hands. Slowly, she turned them over and began to trace patterns on the soft flesh of my palms with her pointer fingers.

  “Ye doona need to think a thing. ’Twill be easier for me to see what ye will need if ye quiet yer mind.”

  For a long while, Grier said nothing. Eventually, ever so slowly, my thoughts began to settle as I was lulled into a quiet, peaceful trance by Grier’s soft touch.

  When she spoke, her voice was soft and smooth. My entire body warmed through. I felt as if I could float away. I was as calm, safe, and happy as I’d ever been in my life.

  “Look how lovely ye will be. I wouldna have thought it possible for yer hair to grow any thicker. Do ye feel that stubborn fire rising inside ye? Ach, I’m glad to see that it remains after what is coming for ye soon.”

  Something at the edge of my mind prickled uncomfortably at Grier’s warning, but I was too comfortable underneath Grier’s spell to pay it any mind.

  “As I feared, yer father will do everything in his power to discourage yer power. Ye will need someone who encourages ye, who is not afraid of him, who gives ye a purpose to move forward.”

  In my mind, I stood in front of mirrored glass, but my reflection was different. I was older, more womanly in shape, and my face was less soft and childlike. I smiled and was secretly pleased to see that my teeth hadn’t twisted as I’d grown.

  “Morna, each of us with magic has our own special set of gifts. Mine is to teach. A rather boring gift in the realm of what we do. Ye possess a gift that is far more interesting and, indeed, far more rare. It is within yer skill set that I’ve found the man who can help ye.”

  I wanted to call out and ask her what she meant, what my skill set was, but I couldn’t move from the place inside my mind. My voice remained silent.

  “I’ve never done it before, but I believe I can. I’ll simply pull from the untapped power within ye. Allow me to stay here just a few moments more. I need to get a clear picture. I need to find him in time.”

  The image in the mirror swirled. Slowly my reflection was replaced with that of a man. Broad-shouldered and tan, he didn’t resemble any of the men I knew. While most wore their hair long, his was cut to just below his ears though the hair on top hung long and wavy. He had no beard, but stubble lined his jaw. His eyes were kind.

  The intensity of his gaze caused my breath to catch. I tried to look away, intimidated by his stare, uncomfortable with the feeling of intimacy that built between us. I couldn’t move. My eyes remained locked with the stranger’s as Grier spoke.

  “Aye…’tis not yet time for him to come, but in a few years ye will be ready for him. A few minutes more and the spell will be complete.”

  I didn’t want this man in my life. I could feel the chaos that his presence would bring, and it frightened me more than anything in my life ever had. I wanted to scream to stop her, but nothing would come.

  Instead, everything went black as pain ripped at me from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes. I tried to breathe. When no air entered my lungs, the darkness spun.

  I lost all consciousness as I faded into the nothingness that surrounded me.

  * * *

  I woke three days later, exhausted, confused, and totally unprepared for the hellish world that awaited me. Alasdair knelt beside my bed, both of his hands gripping mine tightly as he sobbed next to my bed.

  “Morna, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please wake up. I canna do this without ye.”

  He repeated the words over and over. The dread in his voice pulled me from my deep slumber too quickly. My head ached horribly, and I could only vaguely remember where I’d been before.

  The meadow. My lesson. Slowly, memory came back to me. I sat up and pulled my hands from Alasdair’s grip.

  “The spell…what happened? Where’s Grier?”

  His face was red, his eyes swollen from crying. Fear lodged itself deep in my chest. In that instant, I wanted nothing more than to be sleeping again, to lose myself in the darkness of my dreamless sleep.

  “She…she’s gone.”

  My brother was a grown man sixteen years my senior, yet he looked so young and broken that terror gripped me so tightly I trembled as I struggled to speak.

  “How long have I been asleep? What do ye mean she’s gone?”

  He rose from the floor and sat at the end of my bed, composing himself as best he could.

  “Ye’ve been asleep for three days. I was so frightened that ye wouldna ever wake. I doona know what Grier was doing to ye, but it dinna go as she planned. Father interrupted ye both. I followed after him but I couldna stop him.

  “When I reached him in the field where ye have yer lessons, Grier was standing over ye, muttering words neither of us could understand. She was pulling something from ye—a bright light poured from yer chest and ye were lifting off the ground. Grier was so lost in her spell that she dinna hear Father approach. Had she seen him, I canna imagine what she would’ve done to him.”

  He shook his head and paused, struggling for composure. In his silence, I frantically sorted through my memories of that day, searching for any recollection of what Alasdair described. I found nothing. I could remember a mirror and the hazy image of a man standing before me. Then there was only darkness.

  “What did he do to her?”

  “He pushed her to the ground, breaking her spell. Ye fell. Then he pulled ye up and threw ye over his horse. Ye wouldna wake. Grier screamed at him over and over, telling him to put ye down. She said that if she dinna finish the spell, ’twould damage ye, but Da dinna care. He said if it damaged ye enough to rid ye of magic, ye’d be better off for it.

  “He banished Grier. Dinna even allow her to take her things. He told her that if she dinna leave his land right a
way, he would have her burned for witchcraft.”

  I swallowed. My mouth was so dry I could scarcely speak, but I couldn’t allow him to continue to tell me something I knew couldn’t be true. Grandmother would never allow Father to send Grier away.

  “She canna be gone for long though, aye? Grandmother will see her back to the castle.”

  I saw it then, the deep well of grief in Alasdair’s eyes. Before he could say a word, I knew what he’d been trying to tell me all along. Of course Grandmother would never allow Father to behave in such a way. If Grier was gone, Grandmother was too.

  He opened his arms to me as I collapsed against him, my sobs lodging in my chest as I struggled to breathe against the shock.

  “She passed in her sleep. That was why Father went to the field—to tell ye. He’s been lost in his drink ever since. I havena left yer side, Morna. I’ve been so worried for ye. If ye’d died as well, I would’ve killed him. I know I would have.”

  I don’t remember how long he held me. I eventually fell asleep again, drained from a grief so deep that I feared I would never recover. When next I woke, I found the dark, angry, bloodshot eyes of my father staring down at me.

  * * *

  “Rise. Ye have spent too long abed.”

  I couldn’t move. Every time I opened my eyes, a fresh wave of grief hit me.

  I said nothing. I simply couldn’t bring myself to care that my inaction would anger him. My heart was too broken to feel anything other than loss.

  “Do ye think ye are the only one devastated by this loss, Morna? Everyone in this castle is hurting. We must all carry on.”

  “I only learned of her death today. Did the rest of ye carry on the day it happened? Are ye so cruel as to not allow me even a day to grieve the loss of my grandmother?”