Chapter 12 #3
“That’s not what I mean.” He stood and came around the table, stopping close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “I mean I don’t want to leave you alone with whatever you’re not telling me that’s got you looking like the weight of the world just landed on your shoulders.”
“I’m fine.”
“That word again.” His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my cheek. “You know I don’t believe you when you say that.”
“I know.”
“And you know I’m going to keep asking until you actually talk to me.”
“I know that too.”
“So why won’t you just tell me?”
Because I can’t bear to love you and lose you.
“Because I don’t have all the pieces yet,” I said instead. “And I don’t want to worry you with half a story.”
“I’m already worried.”
“Then stop.”
“Can’t.” His thumb traced along my cheekbone, leaving a trail of heat. “Worrying about you is basically my full-time job. The pub is just a side gig.”
I laughed, but it came out watery. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So I’ve been told.”
We were so close. His hand was warm against my face, his eyes soft and intent. I could see the individual flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar on his chin from when he’d fallen off his bike at twelve, the way his pulse beat at the base of his throat.
I wanted to close the distance between us. Goddess, help me, but I wanted to rise up on my toes and press my mouth to his and forget everything—the curse, the secrets, all of this nonsense.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
I sucked in a breath, my pulse picking up a beat.
He leaned forward—
A deafening bellow shattered the silence.
I shrieked and stumbled backward, crashing into the table and sending papers flying everywhere. Graham spun around, fists raised, ready to fight whatever had invaded the archives.
Clyde stood in the middle of the room, looking enormously pleased with himself.
The ghost coo tossed his massive shaggy head and let out another bellow—quieter this time. I swore if a damn ghost coo could be smug, he would be. His translucent eyes twinkled as he looked between Graham and me.
“Clyde!” I clutched my chest, gasping for air. “What in the bloody hell?”
Clyde just snorted.
“I’m going to murder that coo,” Graham said, his voice shaking. “Can you murder a ghost? I’m going to find out.”
“He thinks he’s hilarious.” I crouched to gather the documents. “I think this is possibly his favorite game.”
Clyde ambled over and bumped his enormous head against my shoulder. The contact was cold and misty yet oddly comforting despite everything. He made a soft sound—almost apologetic.
“I don’t forgive you,” I told him.
He bumped me again and his coldness washed over me.
“Fine. I partially forgive you. But you have absolutely terrible timing.” Although, in fairness, it was probably the best timing. It had stopped me from making what was likely a huge mistake.
Clyde tossed his head, clearly unrepentant, and walked straight through the nearest wall.
Graham stared at the spot where he’d vanished. “I really will never get used to that.”
“Who could?”
“Bloody coo.” He ran a hand through his hair, then looked at me. The heat in his eyes had banked to something softer. “Agnes—”
“You should go.” I busied myself gathering the scattered papers, not meeting his gaze. “Your lad can only cover the pub so long.”
“The pub can wait five minutes.”
“It really can’t.” I gave him a look that told him I wasn’t giving him any other answers.
“Bloody hell,” Graham said with a sigh. “You’re going to do my head in, woman. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“Which conversation?”
“The one where you tell me what you’re really looking for. And the one where”—he gestured vaguely between us—“the one where we deal with this.”
“There’s nothing to deal with.”
“Agnes.”
I finally looked up. He held my eyes, steady as ever, and I sighed.
“I’ll tell you,” I said, relenting. “When … if … I find all the information. I promise.” It was a big promise, and my stomach twisted at the thought of what would come of it if Graham knew the real reason I’d been keeping him at arm’s length.
“I’ll hold you to that.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. “Will you be okay here alone?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got centuries of my family’s drama to keep me company.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”
“Go, Graham. I’ll text you when I’m heading home.”
He hesitated at the door, looking back at me with those worried eyes. I made a shooing motion with my hands.
“I’m fine. I promise. The castle is full of people.”
“Be that as it may, at least get Lachlan to drive you home, aye?”
He went, finally, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. I listened until the sound faded, until I was alone with the burden of everything I hadn’t told him.
Then I sank into the nearest chair and let out a long breath.
That had been close. Too close. Another few seconds and I would have kissed him, ghost coo interruption or not. And then we’d be right back where we were years ago, except this time I knew about the curse and about what loving him could cost.
For a moment, I closed my eyes and leaned back into the chair, letting the idea of kissing him wash through me.
How much longer could my poor wee heart ache for him?
And then I thought about my mum, and how she’d tightened her defenses, and locked down any chance of ever loving again simply because the pain of loss had been too great.
I would never survive losing Graham.
That much I knew. So what I needed to do was put my head down and do what I did best—research.
I pulled the membership lists back toward me and started reading more carefully, now that I didn’t have to hide my reactions from Graham.
Bookkeeper. The word appeared on page after page, always attached to a Wright name. Màiri, Ailsa, Isobel. Generation after generation, the same role, the same family.
And then, after 1745, nothing.
I found one more reference, a letter from 1746, addressed to the Order’s leadership.
Following the events of the winter solstice, it is the consensus of the remaining members that the position of Bookkeeper shall remain vacant until such time as the covenant may be restored and the bridge rebuilt.
The Wright line has broken faith with the Order.
We shall not record the specifics herein, for to write it is to give it power, but let it be known that what Isobel Wright did cannot be undone by ordinary means.
The Three Queens are divided. It is the only way to protect them.
The Three Queens are divided.
I read the words again, my heart pounding.
The three Wright branches—Na Trì Banrigh, whatever that truly meant—had been connected through the Bookkeeper.
And Isobel had severed that connection completely.
Her betrayal hadn’t just cursed our line.
It had scattered the entire family. It detached the Bookkeeper’s role from the Order. Broken faith with the Order.
But how? What had she done that was so terrible it couldn’t even be written down? Something bad enough that her own sisters fled rather than stay?
Isobel hadn’t just failed in her duty. She’d done something unforgivable—something that had broken the Wright family apart and cursed her descendants forever.
And now I was the last of her line. The last daughter of the Bookkeepers.
Which meant … I was the remaining member of the Order of Caledonia.