Alasdair knew that if Morna’s predictions and spell came true, Blaire MacChristy would soon be replaced with a lass from the twenty-first century, and he was certain Eoin would not remain oblivious to the strange happenings. To help ease his son’s shock, Alasdair had ensured that all of Morna’s journals detailing her prediction, spell, and wish could be found in the witch’s beloved secret room in the castle’s basement, along with the spelled plaque showing Blaire’s picture. He had also told the prediction and story to his beloved housemaid, Mary, but he wasn’t sure if she’d believed his outrageous tale.
After Morna’s death, Alasdair had discovered her journals detailing the enchanted plaque and how she planned for the swap to take place. The identity spell had already been set before Morna passed. Regardless of what happened, there would be a girl born many years from now, identical in appearance to Blaire MacChristy. The exchange of the two girls hinged upon the plaque Morna placed in the center of her sanctuary. If both Blaire and the identical girl were to see and read the words on the plaque out loud during some point in their lives, their paths would combine, and they would switch places in time. This part of Morna’s plan was entirely dependent upon fate, and Alasdair strongly doubted if any such fantastic occurrence would ever take place. Regardless of his misgivings, he refused to betray his sister’s memory.
“Son,” Alasdair’s chest began to weigh down on itself, begging him not to say anymore, but he refused to let his body fail before he said his peace, “I doona want ye and Arran to mourn me for long. I have had a full life. Everything I ever wanted, I have possessed.”
“I don’t want to hear ye say another word about that, Father. Just get some rest, and ye will feel much better come morning.”
“Ye can hold your lies, son. My body may be weak, but my mind is sharp. Ye know as well as I do that I am dying. I need ye to make peace with that as well. For I expect ye to continue with the wedding plans as if nothing has happened. Ye will be laird of Conall Castle within the hour. It falls to ye to watch over not only our territory but the MacChristy’s as well, by marrying Blaire.”
*
Dread crept up Eoin’s spine at the thought of going through with his marriage to Blaire, but he refused to dwell on such things right now. He had never argued or denied his father anything, and he certainly wasn’t going to start tonight.
“I want ye to send word to Laird MacChristy come sun up. Suggest that Blaire come to reside here at once, so that ye can make yer preparations together. I believe the wedding should be set for three weeks’ time. I know she tries yer patience, but I expect ye to treat and cherish her as I did yer mother.”
Eoin didn’t believe himself capable of showing anyone the kind of adoration that his father had shown his mother. He didn’t really think anyone other than his father was capable of loving that deeply, especially not himself. Despite having had significantly fewer partners than Arran, he was no less talented at lovemaking. But he had never met a lass who made him, even for a moment, dread spending the rest of his life without her.
He would not tell his father that, so instead, just as Alasdair Conall took his last breath and left this world to meet his beloved Elspeth once more, Eoin vowed, “I promise Father. I promise to marry her, and I promise to try.”
Chapter 3
Over the Atlantic Ocean—Present Day
“Bri, they’re about to serve breakfast. Why don’t you wake up and we’ll talk about our plans for after we land?”
I started at the sound of my mother’s voice beside me. I was in a deep sleep, and—as I tended to do when I slept sitting up—I snorted slightly as I came awake and threw my arms up to stretch, smacking the man sitting beside me as I did so. Only semi-conscious, I didn’t take notice of my mistake until I caught the man’s glare out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m so sorry.” By reflex, I reached over and touched the man’s arm as if he were one of my students who had fallen down on the playground. “Are you okay? I was still half . . .” I trailed off when I saw the man’s glare transform into a lingering smile, urging me to snatch my hand away with a little more force than was probably necessary.
“That’s alright, sweetheart.” The man’s eyes roamed over me as his grin spread.
I quickly faced my mother and scooted away from the man as much as was possible in the few inches that lay on either side of me.
“I was having the most horrible dream. I dreamed that Anthony, my ornery one, led a class revolt against the substitute. They had her tied to a chair and there was finger paint everywhere.” I cringed at the images of sticky wet fingers smearing themselves across the classroom rug and bookshelves.
Mom laughed as she took a cup of coffee for each of us from the flight attendant. “Honey, they’re five years old. They can’t even tie their own shoes. They won’t be taking the substitute hostage.”
“I know, but the finger paint is certainly a possibility. I really should’ve locked that up in the cabinet. I’m just exhausted. I was up at the school until one this morning planning lessons and getting materials organized and making sure Mitsy had a handle on all of the plans.”