Chapter Five #2
When they entered, he noticed the antechamber was tiny. Simple. The space couldn’t hold more than eight people and that would be a stretch. A small pulpit that had been knocked over laid on the ground, the stone broken into two pieces.
Moira ran her hands along the walls. Tattered tapestries hung from rusted hooks. Some so threadbare, they’d broken from their hangers and fallen onto the floor. On the far wall, a stained-glass window let in faded colored rays of sunlight.
Errol held back as he watched Moira methodically search the tiny space. Moving around the fallen pulpit, she sought out the treasure but came back empty handed.
Straightening her back, she tucked her plump bottom lip under her teeth.
“It appears there’s naught here. Mayhap we should move to the main building,” Errol suggested.
Moira held up her hand. “No’ so fast. When I found the map, it was in an alcove carved into the stone. It would make sense that mayhap whate’er ’tis we search for would be the same, no?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. But dinnae ye think that such a thing would have been discovered already?”
“Look how long it took me to find the map? How many generations afore me had been in that same room? Stared at those same walls? They had ne’er found it.”
He couldn’t argue with her logic. And that irritated him further.
“Check behind e’erything that is hanging. Or places where it appears something was hung afore.”
Errol had to admire Moira’s tenacity. Her attention to detail. The practical way she approached the search.
They each took a wall and began searching.
He focused half of his attention on the wall, and the other half watching Moira out of the corner of his eye.
She was methodical, her brows creased in concentration as she searched, her hands running along the wall.
Her fingertips dipping into every crack and crevice.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Did he even ken if this hunt was not some far-fetched, elaborate plan to trap him? It was still possible. Moira and Anna’s relationship he understood. They were the same age and were naive when it came to clan matters.
The question at hand was if Moira was as naive about them as she was letting on? Or was she luring him into a false sense of normalcy so that he would let his guard down and then pounce?
All he kenned was that he didn’t have a choice. He would need to keep a keen eye out for what was happening around him.
“I’m no’ finding aught,” Seema announced and leaned against the wall she’d just searched.
Not wanting to give up, Moira asked her to move onto the next wall and search it the same way.
Errol spun to search another area, but the toe of his boot caught on something, and he lurched forward, steadying himself so he didn’t fall.
“What did ye trip on?” Moira asked, ceasing her search and scanning the floor where he tripped.
“A loose rock, methinks.”
But Moira was staring at the floor, shaking her head.
“Nay, not a stone at all.” She dropped to her knees and swept her hand over the ground.
She continued to sweep until the residue and dirt was cleared from the section.
“Look, the square is loosened and lifting at the corner.” She reached into her boot and withdrew a small blade. She stuck it under the lifted corner and tried to pry the heavy slate up.
Errol dropped down beside her and curled his fingers under the edge and pulled. Wiggling it back and forth a few times to dislodge it from the compacted dirt surrounding it, he finally was able to pull the slate away.
All three of them gasped in unison at what lay beneath.
“I’ll be damned,” Errol whispered, actually in awe that they found something. Mayhap Moira was being truthful about her quest. Mayhap. He still wasn’t fully convinced.
“It’s the same type of door that I found in Hartsmoor—only smaller,” Moira whispered. “And dirtier.” She yanked at the door, but it didn’t budge.
It was more than likely stuck or rusted shut after all these years. He grabbed his dagger and using the handle as a mallet, he struck at the latched handle. It broke and they cleared away the iron.
Moira tugged and the door gave away, revealing a small cupboard.
The space looked too small to house anything, but when she pulled her hand out of the space, her fingers were curled around a small bundle.
With a huge smile on her face, her eyes clashed with his. Her brow raised defiantly. Almost in challenge. As if she was telling him that she kenned something would be here.
“What is it?” Seema asked quietly, excitement lacing her voice.
Moira blew away the thick layer of dust covering the bundle, and Errol waved his hands through the air to clear it away.
Untying the delicate string, she set it aside, then carefully unfolded the material surrounding whatever was inside.
Her brows furrowed as she stared at what she’d uncovered, her lips dropping into a frown.
“Is it a dead wee beastie?” Seema asked, taking a step back.
Moira rolled her eyes. “Now Seema, why would someone take such care for something like that? Nay, ’tis two miniature coats of arms.”
She held them up so they could all see.
“Hart and MacLeod.” Errol said, recognizing the emblems of both clans. “Why the hell would someone hide away our coats of arms together?”