Page 11 of Love Beyond Words
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.”
“This inn was not here before. You know that, right?”
I nodded. “Yes. I do know that.”
“Then how is it here now? How do you explain this?”
“I don’t know. I can’t explain any of it any more than you can.” I reached out to squeeze his hand gently. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I have a feeling you better strap in. Everything so far is exactly how she described it. If this trend continues, we’re in for a bunch more unexplainable things.”
Knuckles rapped against the window, and I twisted to see Jerry smiling, his face all but plastered against the glass.
“Just what are the two of ye doing? I told ye that my wife is not a patient woman. Leave yer bags and come on inside. We can get those in a bit.”
