Chapter Thirteen #2
Nope. Absolutely not. Not thinking about that right now.
Her eyes drifted closed, and she hadn’t realized she’d dozed off for a second until the chair began to tip over backward.
Her eyes flew open, and she pinwheeled madly, trying to catch onto something.
Her hand caught a shelf behind her, and she grabbed it to keep herself from crashing to the floor.
But the shelf made an odd clicking nose and turned in her hand, the chair toppled, and suddenly she was dumped unceremoniously onto the rug.
She lay there for a moment, looking up at the ceiling.
Well, she was glad Phillip MacClelland hadn’t been here to see that.
She rose onto her elbows but then noticed something above her.
The shelf she’d grabbed hadn’t come away from the wall as she’d thought.
Instead, the wall it was attached to had swung open, revealing a cavity behind.
Elise blinked. What the—?
She scrambled to her feet and looked closer. It was a cupboard, built into the wall and then disguised by the shelf. Elise stuck her head inside, discovering a deep alcove lay within, lined with shelves.
And those shelves were filled with books.
Elise ran her fingers along the spines—and then snatched her hand back with a gasp. A sensation of cold tingled along her fingers, as though she’d plunged her fingers into an icy pool. The back of her neck prickled and goosebumps rode up her arms.
What on earth?
Doing her best to ignore the odd sensation, she reached into the alcove, pulled out the first book, then flicked it open.
Strange words and even stranger diagrams filled it, and as Elise flicked through the pages and realized what she was looking at, her eyes widened and her breath began to come more quickly.
A spell to predict the weather. A weaving to curse an enemy. An enchantment for protection against eavesdropping.
It was a book of magic.
One after another, she took out the others, flicking through them as she had the first. Some were written in languages she didn’t know but she didn’t need to read the words to recognize what these books were. They were all books of spells.
Her thoughts whirled as she struggled to make sense of this. Why would Phillip MacClelland have books on magic? And why would they be hidden behind a false wall? He would only do that if he didn’t want anyone to know he had them.
She pressed a hand to her forehead and took a deep breath, trying to still her racing thoughts. She put the books back where she’d found them, closed the door, and picked up the chair, trying to erase any evidence that she’d found the secret stash.
Her eyes strayed to the bowl of water sitting on Phillip’s desk.
It had been in here every time she’d visited but she’d never thought much of it.
The water was perfectly still, like a sheet of glass.
Then she noticed something lying in the bottom of the bowl.
Dipping her fingers into the cold water, she fished it out and examined it.
It was a lock of white-blond hair.
“Jamie,” she whispered.
She glanced back at the bowl—and froze. The water was shimmering, clouding over as though mud had been stirred up from the bottom. When it cleared, she saw images reflected on the smooth surface. But not images of the ceiling above the bowl or her own astonished expression staring into it.
They were images of Jamie.
He strode purposefully along a corridor before entering the great hall where a group of richly dressed strangers had just arrived.
With a jolt, Elise realized that this wasn’t a dream, or a vision, or a memory. This was now.
She went cold. The bowl. The water. And a lock of Jamie’s hair in the bottom of it.
This was a scrying bowl—a magical tool to see things over distances.
And it was being used to spy on Jamie.
They had never been able to figure out how the pirates always knew where Jamie’s cargo ships would be. Only Jamie and the ship’s captains had ever known the routes they were taking. Yet the pirates had been finding them all the same. As though they’d known exactly what those routes were.
As though somebody had told them.
A sick feeling formed in her stomach, a mix of dread and horrible certainty. Phillip had been pushing for Jamie’s marriage from the start. What better way to convince Jamie to accept than using these attacks to make him believe this alliance with the king was his only choice?
“Dear God,” she whispered.
Phillip MacClelland was a traitor.
She had trusted him—trusted his calm logic and endless patience. But who knew what else he’d been doing? The reports and documents he’d given her had led her nowhere. Deliberate? Had he been working to thwart her investigations all along?
She had to warn Jamie.
Yanking open the study door, she tore through the castle, pelting along corridors and darting around corners until she burst through the door to the great hall. Once inside, she skidded to a halt.
A crowd was gathered inside. Jamie’s advisors and captains, servants, guards, the group of well-dressed strangers she’d seen in the scrying bowl.
Jamie stood by the fireplace, facing the newcomers. Phillip MacClelland stood by his side.
One of the newcomers, a tall man wearing velvets in different shades of blue, stepped forward and bowed to Jamie. “My lord,” he said in a refined Scottish accent. “King James sends his greetings.”
The warning she’d been about to shout died on Elise’s lips. The king’s envoy! What was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to arrive for days yet.
Jamie looked a little sick but spoke some meaningless words of greeting. He looked like a hare trapped in the hunter’s sights.
The envoy held out a sealed letter. “Yer soon-to-be-betrothed, Lady Margaret sent ye this.”
Reluctance shone in every line of Jamie’s body as he reached out and took the letter. He broke the seal and read it. His expression didn’t change but his jaw tightened.
The envoy leaned closer. “As ye can see, Lady Margaret is well educated and is trained on running a noble household. She will make a fine wife.”
A fine wife.
The words were like hot irons against Elise’s skin. Around her, the hall seemed to blur and she swayed slightly, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Jamie didn’t even seem to realize she was there. He was staring down at the letter as though it was an execution order. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to march over there, to yell at Jamie to stop, that this was all a trick, a conspiracy that had been a trap from the beginning.
But she didn’t move. What could she say? What proof did she have beyond a bowl of water and a few books? And how could she explain any of this without it sounding like nothing more than jealousy?
With an effort, she took a step back. She needed proof. And she wasn’t going to find that here.
She hurried from the room and made her way outside into the bailey. The early morning chill struck her like a slap in the face and she leaned on her knees, sucking in deep breaths, trying to calm the mad beating of her heart.
The ground beneath her feet suddenly felt like quicksand. She was surrounded by lies and half-truths and couldn’t see a path through the maze.
But she had to find answers. Lir had brought her here to help these people. And Jamie… She could barely think of Jamie without a dagger of pain slicing through her gut. She needed answers. And fast.
The pirates, stories of MacFinnan War Weavers, Phillip MacClelland’s magic—there was something tying all this together and she was done waiting for anyone to explain it to her.
Whirling on her heel, she strode towards the stable. She would find the answers she needed. No matter what it took.