Page 9 of Love Beyond Reach (Morna’s Legacy #11)

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 na?ve 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.

J erry

F our 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 would 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.