Page 72 of Dark Seduction

Claire gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”

Aidan handed the page to Malcolm. “Aye, Lady Claire, an’ I can see yer entranced. But the page be worthless.”

Malcolm untied the ribbon and unrolled the single page. Claire put her glass down and rushed to him. A page of beautifully but very stylized and heavily decorated script faced her, the letters even more distorted than in the Cathach. “I canna read the Latin. Lass?”

It was written in Latin, not Gaelic? “Yes,” Claire breathed, taking the page from him. Her heart was thundering and she felt faint. “Thank you!” She kissed his cheek and ran to the fire, sitting down on a velvet bench there. She stared at the words, realizing that only a single paragraph was written in Latin. The rest was in old Irish Gaelic. It was hard to read because of the stylized script and the lack of spacing between words. And then she understood. It was a prayer, but not the likes of any she had ever heard. A Celtic goddess of healing whose name she had never heard—Ceanna—seemed to be the subject matter. “I wonder why a Latin insert is in such an old Celtic manuscript,” she said, not looking up. The question was rhetorical, and no one answered her. “Are there Latin inserts in the Cathach?”

“There be two,” Malcolm said. “When the scribes put the wisdom of the Ancients on the pages, one scribe preferred Latin. ’Tis said he was a Roman.”

The Romans had conquered Britain, but not Ireland. On the other hand, a Roman could have easily crossed the Irish Sea. “This is an incredible discovery, with all kinds of implications,” Claire breathed.

She looked up at Malcolm. “Can you translate the Gaelic for me?”

He hesitated. “I nay be as learned as the monks an’ priests. I can try. It willna be easy.”

“We’ll do it together.” Claire smiled brightly at him. “There’s no rush. This page has to be translated. We have all night, don’t we? We are spending the night, aren’t we?”

His gaze held hers. It was a moment before he spoke. “Aye.” He turned to Aidan. “Lady Claire wishes t’ translate the page. She’ll need light, parchment, a quill an’ ink.” He spoke in the tone of one giving commands.

Aidan just looked at him, clearly not about to obey.

Claire had finally translated the first Latin line. She looked up, aware that her hands were shaking from her excitement. “How can you say that this is worthless?” she exclaimed. “This is some kind of prayer to heal. Why do you think this is worthless? Where did you find this, Aidan? It is priceless.”

He strolled over. “I found it in yer store, Claire,” he murmured.

Claire wished he would stop trying to remind her that he was sexy. “Where in my store?” she demanded.

Aidan started to laugh. “In a King James Bible.”

Claire stood up, stunned. There was one King James Bible in her inventory, and it had been published in 1728. She had acquired the Bible just a month ago from an estate in London.

“There was a hiding place in the back cover,” Aidan said. “I dinna ken how I found it. Sibylla had looked at the Bible first. I felt her prints on it. I be followin’ her trail.”

Claire stared at Malcolm’s half brother. He could feel fingerprints? She focused. “This is a huge find,” she stressed. She turned to Malcolm. “The sooner we translate this page, the better. But how did this page get into my store? Was it hidden in the Bible all along?” She didn’t look at Royce now.

“It could ha’ been in that Bible fer centuries, Claire,” Malcolm said softly.

“And fate brought me to the Bible—and the page to my store?” She finally looked at Royce.

His gaze skidded aside.

“I can take ye back if ye wish t’ do some searchin’,” Aidan said, grinning.

Before Claire could politely refuse, Malcolm barked, “Ye’ll take Claire nowhere, Aidan. Nowhere.”

Aidan shrugged, his eyes gleaming. “’Twas only a suggestion.” Then he sobered. “The page doesna have power, Lady Claire. I can read well enough. ’Tis prayers an’ a blessing to keep the mortally wounded from dyin’, if the wounds be inflicted from a sword or a similar cuttin’ weapon. My squire impaled himself. I tried to protect him from dyin’ and I failed. There’s no power in that page.”

It took Claire a moment to understand what he was telling her.

But Malcolm looked at Aidan and spoke. He said, “Yer half Deamhan. The Deamhanain destroy. They canna heal. Yet ye tried to heal?” He was scathing.

Aidan clearly did not wish to speak, but he said coldly, “I may be half Deamhan, but I be Faola’s grandson. An’ I have healed, Malcolm, with these two hands an’ a great white light.” He held up his hands, which were shaking with his anger.

Royce walked over to stand between them. “I be pleased ye can heal a bit, Aidan.” He glared at Malcolm. “Ye need set aside yer privy battles now. There be more important matters to attend.”

Claire sat back down on the bench. Aidan had some ability to heal and Malcolm did not. That was interesting enough. Did it mean that the various Masters inherited traits in the same manner that people did?

Aidan’s mouth was hard. “The power be new to me. I healed a very sick lass once. I didna ken it well an’ it made me weak.” He flushed, looking at Royce. “I didna think t’ use such a weakening power again.”