Love Beyond Words Page 3

  “Would you like to know what happened between me and Marcus all those months ago?”

  She nodded and leaned back to sip her coffee.

  “So, we had a fantastic trip, but there was something that happened not long before the fire that I haven’t told you about. At one of the castles we visited, I came across this book. You know how I am with books—if there’s an interesting one just lying around, I can’t really keep myself from picking it up. It was the strangest book I’d ever seen. There was a note inside addressed to whoever found it, and it made the point of telling the reader that the story inside was true. Within the first twenty pages, any rational person would realize that the woman’s story couldn’t possibly be true. It was filled with witches and magic and love, and most surprisingly, time travel. I didn’t put the book down until I finished. And then…at the end, there was another note imploring the reader to come and find the woman who wrote it at the inn where her story ended.”

  I stopped and looked nervously at my sister. Her expression was entirely unreadable.

  She waited a long moment before saying anything. I could see by the way she kept pursing her lips that she was thinking through everything I’d just said.

  “Well, did you go and visit with the author?”

  “That’s the thing. The inn she mentioned was along a road that Marcus and I had passed many times. It wasn’t there, but the story implied that maybe the inn wasn’t always visible. That when we were meant to find it, we would.”

  “Was it there?”

  “I don’t know. I got the phone call from Mom about the fire on our way to see. When I got home, I looked for information about this woman, but all I could find was the historical info about a Morna who died back in the seventeenth century. While that would fit with the woman’s story, it couldn’t possibly be the same woman who wrote the book.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “Obviously, but you still have to get in touch with her. It’s just all too curious to let sit. I’m sure it’s been driving you crazy all these months—wondering what that conversation would’ve been like had you found her.”

  “It has. The thing is…” I hesitated. It embarrassed me to even say the words out loud. “I sort of believed her story. I know it’s impossible, but it just…it felt so real. I don’t know. If you’d read it, perhaps you would be able to say the same thing. Anyway, Marcus knew I believed it, and it worried him. When he saw how much time I was investing trying to get to the bottom of this after we got home, he confronted me. He called me crazy and told me I should drop my plan to return to Scotland to search for the woman once you were well. I think what upset me the most is that I was starting to feel a little crazy myself. I lashed out and pushed him away. I haven’t looked into the woman any further. But then Marcus showed up last night with some very interesting news.”

  Kate leaned forward in her seat as her voice lifted with curiosity.

  “Which was?”

  “He received a letter from someone named Morna, and she somehow knew that he talked me out of returning to Scotland to look for her.”

  Kate’s eyes opened wide.

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Completely. And it must’ve really gotten to him because he showed up here last night already having booked us on a flight out today. Which brings me to you. I know you can take care of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you should have to. Will you be okay here? I’m not sure how long we will be gone. If you want, I can call Mom. You know she’d be here by this evening if you wanted her to.”

  She reached out her hand and placed it on mine as if to stop me.

  “Oh God, no. Don’t call her. I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll call Maggie and she can come and stay with me a few days. Some time alone will be good for me. I miss my independence. It’s time I start practicing doing even more by myself. Just promise me one thing.”

  I smiled and leaned forward to hug her.

  “Anything. What is it?”

  “If all this does indeed turn out to be true…if the woman is some centuries old witch who travels through time, just give me a call and let me know before you go hurtling through to the past.”

  I laughed and pulled back assuming she was joking, but there was no humor in her eyes as I stared back at her.

  “You don’t actually believe that it could be possible, do you?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t any idea, Laurel, but isn’t it more fun to live in a world where it just might be? Most of what any of us believe about the world is delusional anyway. We might as well believe in delusions that make us smile. The thought of you getting to travel back and get a glimpse of all those wonderful things you write about makes me smile. So…like I said, if it is real, just promise you’ll call me.”

  It was the most ridiculous promise I’d ever made, but I couldn’t deny my little sister anything.

  “Okay. I promise to call you before I allow a witch to send me into the past.”

  She smiled as Mr. Crinkles crawled into her lap.

  “Good. I can’t wait to get that phone call.”

  Chapter 5

  Over the Atlantic Ocean

  *

  The downside of our last-minute flights—besides the exorbitant price that Marcus paid for them—was that we were unable to sit together for the journey. Sandwiched in the middle section, in a middle seat, it was the longest and most miserable travel experience of my life.

  The woman to my right smelled of dust bunnies and cheese, and the man to my left liked to spit when he talked. He really liked talking. He was a native Scot, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone as excited to get home.

  “I tell ye, lass, eight weeks is far too long to be away from yer own bed and yer own coffee maker. America is fine in most respects, but none of ye know how to make a proper cup of coffee, and yer breakfasts are terrible. I doona want cereal in skim milk for breakfast. Or worse, a couple of soggy waffles from the hotel buffet. Give me meat and eggs or nothing at all.”

  I wasn’t in an appeasing mood.

  “I quite like cereal with skim milk.”

  The man, who’d yet to introduce himself, threw up both hands to cover his heart, accidentally elbowing me in the side of my arm hard enough to make me wince.

  “Ach, doona wound me so. I thought ye were a lass with better taste.”

  “Nope. I’m afraid I have very bad taste indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I better try to get some sleep. I’ve got quite a long car drive once we land.”

  It was the absolute wrong thing to say. It gave him the perfect opening to question me.

  “Oh, is that so? Whereabouts are ye headed? I know Scotland like the back of my hand. I could tell ye some bonny places to stop along the way.”

  I could hardly say anything to him about the inn, so I decided to stick to the closest thing to it.

  “Conall Castle, actually. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

  This man didn’t need to know that I’d visited before.

  “Ach, aye, ’tis a lovely castle. There is actually not much to stop and see along yer way there, though the drive is quite beautiful. Where else in Scotland are ye planning to go?”

  “The Isle of Eight Lairds.”

  “Best be careful over there, lass. ’Tis cursed land. Only a few still reside there.”

  I’d heard this much from the documentary I’d watched with Kate, but I was fairly certain the castle was still open to visitors, and there was a ferry that went out to the isle twice a day.

  “I don’t believe in curses. Besides, wasn’t the original curse from the legend broken at some point? It must have been for the land to have been ruled by one laird at a time rather than eight for the last four hundred years.”

  The stranger clucked his tongue disapprovingly at me.

  “I know nothing of the legend, lass. I only know what I’ve heard all my life. My own grandfather wouldna step foot on the isle, and there are many in Scotland who feel just as he did. ’
Tis mainly foolish tourists like yerself that do.”

  “You do know that your insistence that this place is cursed has just increased my desire to go there tenfold?”

  He shook his head.

  “As I said lass…foolish tourists.”

  *

  Marcus was several rows in front of me, so by the time I deplaned, he was waiting for me just outside the gate. He looked rested and annoyingly fresh.

  “Were you on an entirely different flight than I was? You look great.”

  He winked and reached for my bag.

  “Well, thanks. I’ll take it. Rough night, huh?”

  “You could say that. I hope you’re willing to drive because I’m completely useless. I plan on being asleep five minutes after we pull away from the car rental.”

  “That’s absolutely fine. It’s not as if you haven’t seen the landscape before. Do you need to stop in at the restroom before we head out?”

  His question sounded much more like a suggestion, and by the look in his eye, I could tell that I was right.

  “Do I have something on me?”

  “No. I just thought…” He squirmed, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he wanted to. “I just thought you might want to splash some water on your face, freshen up a little bit. If the inn is there, I assume we will stop before we find a place to stay for the night.”

  “If it’s really an inn, I assume we’ll stay there.”

  He nodded. “Precisely. I know you. I doubt you want to show up looking so tired.”

  From most people, such a statement would’ve pissed me off, but I was close enough to Marcus to not take offense to him very politely telling me I looked like crap. I was tired. Of course, I looked that way.

  “Okay. You’re right. I’ll be right back.”

  I took my time in front of the mirror as I applied a bit of makeup and brushed my hair.

  It was always a bit of a strange experience for me to see myself in makeup. In truth, if I was really honest with myself, it was equally strange for me to see myself in real clothes. As a writer, most of my days were spent makeup free, and yoga pants were my work uniform of choice.

  Satisfied that I wouldn’t frighten anyone, I returned to Marcus and we made our way towards baggage claim.

  It took less time than either of us expected for our bags to arrive on the conveyor belt, and as he lugged them along behind us and we made our way out of the airport towards the rental car area, I noticed an old man waving at me from the corner of my eye.

  Unthinkingly, I waved back. It was then that I noticed the sign he was holding. Both of our names were written on the small piece of cardboard.

  Slapping Marcus’ arm a little harder than necessary, I gripped at his arm in my confusion.

  “He couldn’t possibly mean us, could he?”

  I watched Marcus’ face as he squinted to make out the names.

  “Of course not. No one knew we were coming. It’s just…it’s just a coincidence.” He didn’t sound all that convinced. “Let’s go.”

  Just as we turned to walk away from him, the old man called out to us.

  “Oy, ye two. Get yerselves over here before I freeze to death.”

  I stopped and turned toward the voice and pointed at the center of my chest in confusion.

  “Do you mean us?”

  The man nodded and waved us toward him with his free hand.

  “Aye, o’course I do. Laurel is not that common of a name, is it? Get over here so I might introduce myself. Ye willna be needing a car.”

  Baffled beyond comprehension, Marcus and I both looked at each other for a moment then obediently walked over to the stranger. Placing the sign between his knobby legs, he extended his right hand.

  “I’m Jerry, Morna’s husband. She dinna wanna risk either of ye not making it to our home this time, so she sent me to fetch ye. Come on now. We best get on. She’s not a woman known for her patience.”

  I took his hand and gripped at Marcus with my left hand to keep myself steady. It wasn’t possible that this man was the same one from the story I’d read, but his description matched that of the Jerry in Morna’s story exactly.

  Realizing that I was shaking his hand for an awkwardly long time, I quickly pulled it away.

  “Pick yer chin up, lass. This is only the first of many surprising things ye will learn this day.”

  I had absolutely no doubt about that.

  Chapter 6

  An Unnamed Village in Scotland—1651

  *

  He couldn’t make the rest of the journey home alone. His horse knew the path well, but not well enough to lead him home unguided, and he couldn’t see well enough to distinguish the paths in front of him. He would stop for the night and spend some time in the local alehouse. In any village, there were people looking for work. Anyone willing to guide him for the rest of the journey would be well paid.

  The tavern was boisterous and filled to capacity with both locals and travelers. It took some time for him to get the barkeep’s attention once he made his way to the counter.

  “Excuse me, sir. Might I ask ye a question?”

  Even with bleary eyes, Raudrich could see how weathered the man was. A ragged scar sliced down one side of his face, and the man kept his hair long and disheveled. He was one of the broadest men he’d ever seen.

  “Are ye a paying customer? If ye have no intention of drinking or eating here, I’ll not be answering anything.”

  Pulling the small bag from his kilt, he plopped three coins down in front of the man.

  “I’ll be doing both.”

  Quickly sliding the coins toward him, the barkeep twisted and hollered to someone in the back room to bring him some food.

  “Then I’m pleased to make yer acquaintance. Name’s Pinkie. What can I do for ye?”

  Raudrich had never heard such a strange name before. He couldn’t help but ask.

  “Is that yer real name?”

  “O’course it isna my real name, but ’tis the name I gave ye.”

  Raudrich liked the man already. He was as rough around the edges as many of the other eight.

  “Verra well.” He extended his hand. “I’m Raudrich, and I’m in need of a hired hand to lead me home. Do ye know of anyone in the village who is trustworthy, knows the country well, and is in need of work?”

  “Ye need a guide to take ye home? Are ye lost? Do ye not know the way yerself?”

  Pinkie’s questions were valid. He only wished he didn’t have to answer them. He was weakened in his current state. It wasn’t something that he believed he would ever grow accustomed to.

  “I’m not lost. I know the way verra well. ’Tis only that my eyes are failing me. They grow worse each day. I canna see the path to lead my horse.”

  The brief silence before the man’s response was filled with the one thing he loathed most in the world—pity. It was what he dreaded most about losing his sight—knowing that others would pity him.

  “I see. And where is yer home?”

  “The Isle of Eight Lairds.”

  The man’s reaction was exactly as expected.

  “’Tis a far journey. Ye shall have to pay someone much for them to agree to be away from their own home so long.”

  “Aye, I know. I would prefer to hire someone without family. If it is someone without work, they can set their own wage. If ye have someone in mind who already has work, I will double whatever they make now for as long as the journey takes.”

  The man who must’ve been in the back taking Pinkie’s orders suddenly slipped in next to him and placed a steaming plate of food down on the counter. He looked up to thank him.

  “Thank ye, sir. It smells delicious.”

  Pinkie leaned in close and whispered in his ear as he bent down to eat.

  “Ye best eat quickly. Old man Stuart will have ye thrown out on yer arse just as quick as ye can say gypsie the moment I tell him that ye’ve just hired me away from him. I’ll meet ye outside just as soon as I tell
him the news.”

  Raudrich turned to look at the man and spoke below his breath as he watched Stuart return to the kitchen out of the corner of his eye.

  “Pinkie, I dinna mean ye. I was asking if ye knew of someone who would be good for the job.”

  His new friend laughed and clasped him on the shoulders.

  “Too bad. ’Tis me that ye’ve got. Ye just said ye would be doubling my wages, and I’ll get to leave this hellhole for the foreseeable future. I’d sooner pull out my one good tooth before I let ye hire someone else.”

  “Verra well. Eating quickly shouldna be a problem. I’m starving. I’ll see ye outside shortly.”

  At least he knew the remainder of his journey home wouldn’t be a dull one.

  Chapter 7

  Morna’s Inn—Present Day

  *

  Writers live in stories. We spend most of our days vividly imagining the worlds we are creating when we write. It’s sometimes even worse when we read. With our imaginations already overactive and without the pressure of having to create the world ourselves, we read and are truly taken away to the world the writer has created for us. Pulling up in front of the inn in the same car as a man I’d read so very much about felt like stepping right into a storybook.

  It looked exactly as I imagined it would. With the unbelievable act of Jerry awaiting us in the airport, I felt the old hope and dreaming rise up inside me again. That little voice that whispered “what if” so many months ago when I’d read Morna’s story in one of the bedrooms of Conall Castle crept back into my mind.

  Marcus appeared bug-eyed with shock. Even with the letter, he’d been certain someone was playing tricks on us. He never believed for a moment that the inn would actually be here. The fact that it was had him more than a little rattled.

  As soon as Jerry parked the car out front and exited the vehicle, I turned to him.

  “Are you okay? You look like you might be ill.”