Page 55 of Dark Seduction

Claire had never been religious, but he was right. “The Brotherhood came into being when St. Columba founded the monastery here in the sixth century?” she asked.

He dimpled. “Nay. There ha’ been Masters since the beginnin’ o’ time. But the Sanctuary moved t’ Iona with the great Saint.”

She faced the shrine as MacNeil took a key from the ring chained to his belt and unlocked the reliquary, raising its lid to expose the Cathach. Claire stepped closer and gasped.

The Cathach on display in Dublin was a manuscript. She was staring at a bound book, its cover encrusted with hundreds of blazing gems—rubies, sapphires, emeralds and citrines. A gold lock kept the pages concealed. “It’s beautiful!” she said in a low whisper.

“Aye.”

Claire gazed at him, her mind racing. “The Cathach in Dublin—it’s a copy St. Columba had scribed. This is the real deal, isn’t it?”

MacNeil smiled. “The pages were scribed fer us on Dalriada, lass, afore Columba was even born.”

Oh, my God, Claire thought in awe. “And it was bound recently.” She wasn’t asking a question. Bound books were an invention of the Middle Ages.

“A century ago.” MacNeil unlocked the padlock and opened the book.

Claire’s heart went wild. Instantly she saw the pages were parchment, hide that was intricately treated in order to be thinned, softened and preserved.

MacNeil was lurking, because he said, “’Tis the hide o’ sacred bulls. The Ancients told the shamans how to cure it when they gave us their wisdom an’ power.”

Claire licked her lips. “The book won’t last forever. It needs to be placed in a very sterile environment with precisely the right amount of humidity.”

MacNeil grinned at her. “The book has been blessed by the gods, lass. It be eternal.”

Claire fervently hoped he was right. She stepped closer. Like the copy on display in the twenty-first century, it was written in old Irish Gaelic. There were no spaces between words, and it was decorated with trumpet, spiral and guilloche patterns, distorting the letters. She could not tear her gaze away. She was staring at a holy Celtic relic—one her peers didn’t even know existed.

Claire desperately wanted to read the book, but as she didn’t know Gaelic, she couldn’t. A translator would be the next best thing. “Read it to me, MacNeil. Just a page.”

His eyes widened. “’Tis forbidden—but ye have guessed that already.”

She slowly met MacNeil’s intense green gaze. “Historians believe the Cathach was used before battle to empower armies. If I recall correctly, a Scot carried it into battle and then it was fought over by clans.”

“They are wrong. A Master carried it into battle centuries ago. A demon fought him fer it.”

“Of course,” Claire murmured. History had been misinterpreted.

“Ye be wise, Claire. Ye dinna need the wisdom o’ the Cathach.”

She stared at him again. “I need power. I need the kind of power you guys have, so I can hunt demons—so I can hunt the demon that killed my mother.”

“I be sorry, lass, but I canna give ye such powers. Only the devil can.”

Claire shuddered.

Giving her a sidelong glance, he closed the bejeweled cover and locked it. Then he slid the book back into the reliquary chest, which he also locked.

Wisdom was even stronger than power, Claire thought. She wished to get rid of MacNeil and somehow open the chest and the book. As she couldn’t read it, she’d touch the pages and pray. Maybe it would give her the wisdom to find her enemy. Maybe it would give her the wisdom to defeat him, too.

But she wasn’t going to try to break the lock of such a sacred relic. She needed the key. She looked at MacNeil, wondering if she could seduce him and take the key as she did so.

He grinned. “Ah, lass, I’d love to be seduced, but ye’d still fail to steal the key. Yer entranced. Ye’ll feel better when ye leave the shrine.” He laid his large palm on her shoulder. “I need to speak with Malcolm. Stay here if ye wish. We trust ye, lass.”

She nodded. His green eyes were warm and amused as he dropped his hand and left.

She trembled. She had actually been thinking of violating a sacred shrine. She did not want to be entranced by the Cathach, but it was hard to think clearly. The power and grace in the chapel felt stronger than ever before.

Claire didn’t hesitate. She stepped closer and ran her hands over the gold-filigreed iron chest. She was going to find and kill the demon that had murdered her mother or die trying—with or without enhanced power and wisdom.