Page 22 of Love Beyond Time (Morna’s Legacy #1)
Was it his right ear or his left? Dammit! I couldn’t remember, and I second-guessed myself a thousand times as I made my way back to my bedchamber. Why did Eoin ask the question in the first place? Was it really that he just couldn’t remember, or did he suspect something?
It had to be the first. What on earth could he suspect? Surely, even if he found my behavior different than Blaire’s, he wouldn’t immediately jump to the conclusion that I was someone else. From everything Mary had told me, I looked exactly like her.
It didn’t matter at this point. If he asked, surely he wouldn’t know whether or not what I told him was true.
He wasn’t testing me; although, the way he went on and on about how great Blaire was with a bow and arrow, it did sort of seem that way.
Luckily, I’d had a knack for it. Who knew?
I’d never been coordinated at anything, and all of a sudden I was an expert archer.
The entire situation was just too odd for words, and it made me even more anxious to get back to work in the spell room.
I’d spent far too long here, and with each passing day I found myself more reluctant to spend hours searching through spell books.
I’d much rather spend my time exploring the castle, visiting with Eoin, or actually cooking with Mary like Eoin thought I was.
And while I missed my mother, homesickness wasn’t setting in like I thought it should have.
I loved it here—the lack of cars and modern technology, the way you didn’t hear car horns and sirens every time you stepped outside, the way everything was quieter and, as a result, more simple as well.
People had to work so much harder for everything that there was an overwhelming sense of pride and work ethic that just radiated from every person I’d met while here.
I was also beginning to love everyone at the castle: Mary, Eoin, even Kip and Arran, both of whom seemed dead set against getting to know me.
It was okay. I still felt more at home here than I did in my newly remodeled former bachelor pad of a home, where I’d spent so many nights alone.
It was comforting to know that there were people just down the hall.
It somehow made every second feel less lonely.
Yeah, it was definitely time to get back to work in the spell room.
As nice as it was to escape reality here for a few weeks, this was not where I was meant to be.
If that was the case, I would’ve been born here, hundreds of years ago.
I was an unnatural imposter, and it was vital that I find the spell that would get me back home.
Estimating that I still had a couple of hours before everyone gathered for the evening meal, I made my way down into the kitchens to let Mary know where I’d be.
Her hands were busy, pulling away at some nameless animal I was certain would be staring up at me from a plate come dinner, and as she nodded in acknowledgement that she’d heard me, I made my way into the secret spell room in the back of the basement.
Walking to the side, I scooted past a pile of books I’d already gone through, which were now serving as a secret hiding nook for my beloved normal clothes.
Now an expert at laces, I whipped myself out of the heavy gown I was wearing and quickly slid on my jeans, bra, t-shirt, socks, and tennis shoes, smiling as I instantly felt more like me.
I’d methodically sorted out every book in the spell room and had separated them into piles according to language, age, and probable relevance.
I was now on my last pile of books written in English, and I hoped with everything I had that what I needed would be in this pile.
If nothing turned up, I was going to be forced to enlist someone who could read Gaelic to help me with the rest of the book.
I knew that doing that would significantly increase the risk of Eoin discovering the truth.
I let my head fall loosely toward my chest and rolled it around in both directions, trying to release some tension and get myself into work mode.
Crawling onto the old wooden bench that sat in front of the desk, I pulled both of my legs toward me, turning them in so that I sat crisscross on the bench.
The ability to move my legs freely after being trapped under heavy layers of fabric was so refreshing that I found myself sitting in odd positions every time I came down to the spell room to work.
Throwing my arms high above me to stretch before reaching for the top book on the large stack, I felt the back of my shirt rise with the movement of my arms, exposing the lower half of my back.
It stayed bunched there as I reached for the top book and opened it on the desk, bending to begin my examination of its contents.
I knew Mary would have keeled over at the sight of such skin exposure, but the coolness of the room felt nice on my back, and what did I care anyway?
I was alone in the room; and would be until dinner.
* * *
He was certain she hadn’t seen him peeking out from behind his own door as she exited her own and made her way down into the kitchens.
He knew he was making a mistake by following her.
What did he expect to find her doing? She was on her way to help Mary in the kitchens; the same as she did everyday around this time.
Still, she’d misspoken about her father’s ear, and it caused a sense of dread and unease to build in his stomach. Eoin couldn’t do anything, or think about anything else, with the last three words she’d said to him churning in his mind.
He knew Arran was wrong. He was married to Blaire, not a different-but-similar-looking lass. But he did now see what Arran had been trying to tell him the other day, something was different about her. She was keeping something from him and everyone else in the castle.
He paused and sat down in the small hallway outside the entrance to the kitchen, content to listen to their conversations as Mary and Blaire worked side by side. Perhaps she’d been more open with Mary, and listening to them speak would give him a better sense of what was happening with her.
But the lass didn’t go all the way into the kitchen, and as he heard her stop at the doorway to tell Mary she was going below to work, his blood ran cold.
Mary’s belated “Aye, lass. I’ll come and warn ye when the food is nearly prepared” did nothing to calm his growing sense of unease.
He waited until he was sure she was far enough ahead of him not to hear his footsteps. From the direction in which Blaire went, he knew there was only one set of steps that led below the castle.
Hesitantly, he made his way into the one-roomed basement. He hoped to see her working on some task for Mary, but when he saw the light flickering from the doorway at the back of the room, he knew he would find nothing good beyond that door.
There could be no good explanation for why Blaire was in his late aunt’s spell room. She shouldn’t even have known the room existed. Besides their late father, Arran, Mary, and himself, no one else on the castle grounds had ever seen the inside of that room.
Slowly he crept toward the doorway, barely pulling at the crack so that it opened only slightly, allowing him to see inside.
Confusion filled his mind as his gaze poured over the lass sitting, rather twisted, in front of his aunt’s old desk.
The clothes that the woman had on were completely senseless.
Why, the lass had fabric that went up in between the length of her legs!
For a moment, he assumed the lass wasn’t Blaire but a lunatic that had made her way into the castle tunnels.
Then he caught a glimpse of something black and odd spread across a bare space on the lass’s back. Swirling and dark, the shapes seemed to spell out something, permanently etched into her skin. Surely something like that could only be accomplished with witchcraft.
When he heard the strange lass speak, as if trying to sound out something written within the book she was staring so intently into, he couldn’t help but swing the door open with a crash, the shock of all he’d seen reverberating through his veins.
“Christ, Blaire! Ye are a damned witch!”