Love Beyond Time (Morna's Legacy Series) (7 page)

I closed my eyes briefly and opened them once more, hoping it would help me clear my sight. It did nothing to increase my vision, but I could now make out the woman’s words.

Why is Mom talking like that? I don’t understand what she’s saying. Am I injured? My head certainly feels like it. Did part of the ceiling collapse? What’s happening?
Thoughts coursed through my mind as I listened to the woman’s ramblings.

“Oh God! Oh dear, sweet Mother O’ God! The old laird was right. What is old Mary going to do now? And with the lass just hours away from her wedding! Lassies picked a grand time to be messing with magic, they did!”

That’s definitely not Mom. Am I in the hospital or something? Wait! Wedding? What the hell is going on?

I struggled to process my surroundings as I felt the woman’s hands grip my shoulders and shake them.

“Lass! Are ye all right? Old Mary needs ye to speak.”

“Please, stop shaking me! It’s killing my head!” I gasped and reached to grab my head once more, realizing I could finally see the woman clearly. The pain that had nearly ripped me in half only moments ago had slowly eased into a migraine.

“Oh dear heavens, lass! Where’d ye learn to speak in such a manner? Ye must be from far away, dearie. Old Mary’s never heard any such speech in her life.”

I felt the shaking stop and looked into the gray eyes that were studying me fiercely.

“Oh, by the Saints, lass! I never believed his stories, but ye do look remarkably similar; except Lady Blaire would never dress in such inappropriate attire. Why, ye look like the worse kind of tavern wench! I can see the shape of yer legs, lass! Not to mention . . .”

My head was throbbing too incessantly to concentrate. I scanned the room, while silently willing the woman to stop speaking.

I knew I wasn’t in a hospital. The space looked old and somehow familiar. Slowly, I turned my head back to the table I was leaning against now and saw the portrait of myself.

Memories of what I’d been doing only moments before came rushing back, and panic burst forth as I shot out of the woman’s reach.

“Where’s my mother? What happened? What? What is that?” My voice and fingers were shaking as I pointed to the portrait and stared back at the old woman.

“Oh, ye poor thing. Ye look quite frightened to death.”

I watched as the woman moved toward me once more and pulled me toward a stool in the corner of the room.

The woman was right. I was scared. Attempting to stifle my panic, I followed her urging and collapsed onto the smooth, wooden seat.

“Are ye all right now, lass? Allow me to explain to ye, Dearie.”

I simply nodded as numbness replaced the sense of panic, and turned to watch the woman as she spoke.

“I’ll no be sure about the where and when ye came from, dearie, but I can tell by yer manner of speech and dress, it is nowhere I’ve ever seen or heard about. Not that old Mary’s been or seen very many places.”

I watched as the woman paused and chuckled slightly. Then, seeing my confusion, she stopped laughing and pulled her face into a look of seriousness once again.

“But I can tell ye that today is the third day of November in the year sixteen hundred and forty-five. And it is yer wedding day.”

I started to refute the woman’s claims, only to find that my mouth was dry and my knees were shaking. I sat quietly instead.

“Ye are in Conall Castle, lass, and while old Mary knows ye won’t be the Lady Blaire, the rest of the castle won’t be able to tell the difference, and unless ye want to be locked up, I suggest ye doona let them find out the truth.”

As I listened to the woman speak about my upcoming marriage to the castle laird, laughter threatened to bubble up out of my throat.

I definitely hit my head. The room collapsed, and I am in a coma. I’m in a coma, and I’m dreaming that I went back in time to marry a Scottish laird. That’s what you get for daydreaming nonsense, Bri.

“And what was yer name before ye arrived here, lass? Ye canna be known by it from now on, but I’d like to know yer true name, all the same.”

The woman’s question seemed to throw me out of my thoughts, and I found myself answering automatically.

“I’m Brielle Montgomery. But call me Bri for short.”

“Well, Briforshort, Old Mary’s never heard of a name like that before. I’m pleased to meet ye, lass, but from now on, ye’ll need to answer to the name Blaire, do ye understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I’m Mary, and ye’ll be spending a lot of time with me. I’m the one to know around here, believe me. Now what’s yer name again?”

I relaxed a little as I noticed that my knees were no longer shaking, and my breathing had returned to normal. I smiled at Mary as I replied, “Blaire.”

“Verra good, lass! I could tell ye would be a quick learner by the looks of ye. Now, let’s get ye up to yer room before anyone else sees ye dressed in such a manner.”

Mary stood beside me and dusted off the bottom of her plain gray dress.

If I’m in a coma, I might as well try and have a little fun. It’s probably a good sign that I’m dreaming, I’m assuming that means I’m not brain dead. Maybe this dream will allow my brain time to heal. In the meantime, I guess I’ll just marry the Scottish laird I’d wished for.

I giggled inwardly at myself, deciding to enjoy the dream while it lasted. As I stood to follow Mary, I had to stop and steady myself on the wall to keep my head from spinning.

If only my head weren’t hurting so much. But, I guess it probably should be hurting, since a 400-year-old solid stone ceiling collapsed on my head. Wait! Oh, my God! The ceiling collapsed! What about Mom? Is she injured?

I tried to calm my breathing once again and sat back down on the wooden stool.
No. I saw her when everything started to shake. The ceiling above her wasn’t moving at all, and she was standing close to the entrance. She’s fine. She’s fine. She has to be fine
.

I continued to reassure myself until Mary’s hands touched my shoulders once again.

“Come on, lass. We must start preparing ye for the wedding. I’ll try and explain some more while we are getting ye washed up. Follow me.”

The old woman took off toward a castle corridor, leaving me with little option other than to follow.

As I walked behind Mary, I rationalized my worries away by concentrating on two pieces of information that stuck out in my mind.

One, if both my mother and I had been hurt in the collapse, I figured there would have been no one there to get help. If Mom hadn’t been able to get help, I would be dead rather than sitting in a hospital bed in the dreamlike coma I was in now. Mom was most likely fine. I just hadn’t elected to let her into my dream yet, I supposed.

Two, regardless of what had happened, there was nothing that I could do about it now.

Unnecessary stress wasn’t good for the healing process, so until I woke up and knew with certainty what had occurred, I was going to enjoy the surreal experience I was having now.

I looked up as Mary came to a halt in front of me and realized instantly that I had been paying little attention to the route we had taken to the door in front of which I was now standing.

It was a magnificent door. Strong yet feminine, the door was carved with precise detail that swirled in and around the wood with great craftsmanship. I thought it odd that I would be dreaming in such detail, but Mary interrupted me before I could explore the thought further.

“This is yer bedchamber, lass. Well, at least for a few hours anyway. After the wedding, ye will move to the laird’s bedchamber for the wedding night.” She paused to push the door open and gestured, nudging me inside. “I think ye’ll find the room quite nice. The laird’s mother used this as her own special sanctuary while she was living. Go on, dearie. Old Mary will be back shortly. I’ll have a hot bath brought up for ye.”

Before I could utter a reply, Mary was gone.

Alone, I stepped inside the doorway. My first thought was that it was far too large. My entire living room and kitchen could easily fit within this one room. Why did anyone need so much room to sleep? But as I continued to make my way through the space I realized the excess room made it easy to breathe.

The room exuded calm, and I allowed myself to fall onto the bed in the center of it. The bed was covered in the same shades of purple that were mirrored throughout the rest of the room. I was just snuggling deep down into the lush fabrics when the chamber door flew open and Mary rushed in.

“Come on, lass. Up ye go and into the tub.” She grabbed me by the arm, hauling me up out of the bed.

My head swam once again as I stood, and I gripped the wooden bedpost to hold myself up as I watched several young men carry a large oval-shaped basin past the doorway. Several steaming buckets of water were poured into the tub, and the servants retreated, closing the door behind them.

As soon as everyone was gone, Mary reached forward, fumbling with my clothes.

“What are you doing?” I pushed the old woman’s hands away from me.

“What does it look like I’m doing, lass? We doona have much time. Ye are to be at yer wedding promptly! Get yerself in that tub, dearie.” Mary’s voice was shrill and demanding as she placed her hands on her hips and glared straight at me.

“Ok. Alright.” I held up a hand to Mary and self-consciously stripped down, hopping in the water as fast as I could. The heat of the water certainly felt real and it briefly crossed my mind that I couldn’t remember ever having such a sense-filled dream before.

Mary’s face seemed to soften as she watched me hiss at the touch of the steaming water. “Lass, I’m sorry everything is happening so fast for ye. I was hoping I would have time to explain, but I’m afraid that will have to wait.”

I wondered what there was to explain in a dream. Dreams often made no sense. But as was becoming habit, I had no time to respond before Mary continued talking.

“Here’s what ye will be needing to know today.” Mary sank down onto the edge of the bed and crossed her arms with a look of exasperation. “Yer name is Blaire MacChristy. Yer father’s name is Donal, and it is yer duty to marry the laird, Eoin Conall, to help provide protection for yer father’s territory.”

I splashed water on my face, scrubbing my body with my hands as I listened to Mary’s instructions. Yes, the water was definitely hot. My skin turned pink as I lifted my arm out of it to scrub myself clean.

“Ye look just like Blaire, so once we get ye in yer dress and pull yer hair up, there’s not a soul in all of Scotland who would be able to say otherwise. That is, until ye speak, dearie. I’ve never heard anyone talk so plain. Old Mary’s not so sure what to do about that.”

Mary stood and paced back and forth around the room. The water seemed to help my aching head, and as I reached over the edge of the tub to grab a cloth and dry myself, I noticed my head didn’t spin with the effort.

“Perhaps, I can try to mimic your accent.” I began to dry myself, feeling refreshed and much more like myself.

“Accent? What do ye mean, lass?” Mary stopped pacing and pivoted to face me.

“I mean, that ye doona have to worry so much. I can try to mimic the way ye speak.” I smiled as I tried to tilt my words into the best Scottish accent I could muster. Thank goodness for all the books I’d read aloud to my kindergarteners. They always loved it when I used voices, so over the years I’d developed quite the repertoire of accents.

“Ah! That’s not bad, lass! Perhaps, ye can do it after all. That’s always what the late Laird Alasdair said: that ye’d be a blessing to us all. But I never believed his stories until this day.”

“What stories?” With my head no longer hurting, I found myself quite interested in what Mary was saying.

“Oh, I doona have time to talk to ye about that today, dear. Excuse me. I should have said, I doona have time to talk to ye about that today, miss. Old Mary has to start calling ye miss, if yer going to be lady of the castle.” Mary paused and chuckled. “I never woulda believed that today would turn out as it has, lass. Oh my, it’s been one turnip of a day for Mary. Not to mention yerself, dear. Ugh. I mean, miss. It’s been a trying day for ye as well.”

I laughed and listened to Mary ramble as I shrugged into the pale blue gown that she was holding up in my direction.

“Oh, Mary, it’s stunning!” I looked down at the bodice, quite taken with the image below me. It was the most elegant piece of clothing I had ever worn, and I wondered why women didn’t wear dresses more often. I couldn’t even see myself yet, with the way Mary had me turned away from the mirror, but I felt beautiful inside the flowing fabric.

“Yes it is, lass. But ye canna look yet. Ye may only look when I’ve finished yer hair, and ye are all ready for yer wedding.”

I smiled, deciding to enjoy my coma. “What does the laird look like, Mary?”

Mary chuckled, “Well, that’s a fine question, miss. Look, I said it! I called ye ‘miss,’ miss!” She paused to laugh. “I doona believe ye could be more fortunate in a husband, miss. I love those two boys as if they are my own bairns, ornery as they are.”

“Two?” I interrupted on reflex, and glanced backward at Mary, who was pinning pieces of my hair into place.

“Oh, yes. There are two Conall brothers. But ye are marrying the elder brother, Eoin. The younger brother is Arran. Most lasses would agree that there aren’t two more handsome lads anywhere in Scotland. Even I would have to agree, and I’m far too old to unlace my corset over such things.”

I let out a small yelp as Mary tugged especially hard on a tendril of my hair.

“Oh sorry, dearie. I mean, miss. Oh! Old Mary will fix her mind on it eventually. Doona be worried.” She continued to arrange my hair as she spoke. “Both lads are handsome, but in my humble opinion, I believe ye will be finding yerself sharing a bed with the finer brother.”

I should hope so.
It is my coma, after all. Why would I decide to dream up a marriage with some ugly old fart?

“Wonderful!” I replied and was rewarded with a smack on the head.

“Ye keep slipping into yer strange way of speaking, lass. It’s mighty important that ye doona do that anymore. If Old Mary can remember to call ye ‘miss,’ a young lass like yerself can remember to speak proper.” Mary turned me around so that I was facing the mirror. “There. All done, miss.”