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The woman’s eyes widened and filled with tears. Her chin shook like a child’s; her lips pouted and trembled. She broke into tears, turned around, and stormed out of the chamber, finally granting him his wish.

Only the relief Andor had hoped to feel did not come.

Instead, he found that he wanted to go after her and offer her comfort.

“Loki’s hairy balls,” he muttered.

CHAPTER SIX

Andor was not Brad.

If Cathy’d had any doubts in the beginning, after his hurtful words, she knew it. Brad wasn’t capable of hurting her like that. Not her, not anyone.

Andor was.

Cathy went for a long walk after their chat because she could not stay in the same room with him anymore. He made her feel awkward, different. But not different in a good way. Different in a disgusting loser way.

Just like the surf localists had made her feel, just like her Hollywood agent dad, her beauty queen mom and her social-media influencer sister.

Like a drunk elephant in a china shop.

But Andor was worse. Because she had actually risked her life to save his.

Because he looked just like Brad, she had assumed she could trust him.

But she was wrong. Clearly.

And yet, she needed him. If the old lady really had sent Cathy back in time to save him, Cathy had accomplished the mission and needed to find a way back to LA. If she didn’t get back in time, Brad’s parents might get permission to disconnect his life support. Her shoulders tightened, fear rooting her to the spot.

She needed to find out if Andor had any idea how she could get back. She wouldn’t risk anything for him anymore, though.

When Cathy returned to Andor’s chamber after her walk, the young monk, Brother Aethelred, was there, changing the dressing on Andor’s wound.

Cathy stopped at the doors, watching Andor’s furious face and bulging eyes with horror. He looked as though he was about to tear the poor monk apart.

“Brother Aethelred,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

The monk turned around. “Ah. Cathan.” He returned to his work. “Your friend’s wound looks well so far. I am impressed he has not screamed while I was redressing the wound.”

Cathy cleared her throat and made an effort to deepen her voice. “It is not the first time he got injured.”

“Ah, well, I can imagine, with him being a Northman,” he said.

Cathy froze, her teeth clenching till her jaw ached.

“What?” she said, her voice a rasp.

Andor frowned and looked at her with worry.

“Do not alarm our friend while I tell you what I am about to tell you,” the monk said in the same calm voice, his hands applying a poultice to Andor’s wound. “I recognize him. He was the first Northman I ever saw. Three years ago, he raided our monastery and took the jeweled Bible which was sent to us from Rome. He did not kill anyone, but he did injure the brothers who were protecting the Bible. He made quite a fearful impression on me. I shall never forget this face.”

Cold sweat crawled down Cathy’s spine. What did this mean? Would Aethelred give them to the local authorities? She tightened her fists, her arms and legs as hard as wood.

“Cathan, please ask him where the Bible is, the one that he took.”

Cathy swallowed a hard knot and translated, choosing her words carefully, afraid that one slip would set Andor or Aethelred off. Andor’s eyes widened with alarm as he listened to her, but he kept silent.

When he didn’t answer, the monk pressed, “Tell him I just want to know. It was the greatest spiritual treasure that I had ever seen, and I just want to make sure the book is whole.”