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“There is yer library,” he said, and Kin nodded.
He took the key out of his pocket and held it up in front of the lock. It was clearly meant for a far smaller object, a box perhaps, and Kin pondered this to himself as Cillian took out his own key and held it up.
“Am I to be locked in?” Kin asked, but Cillian shook his head.
“Nay, but I will accompany ye–the laird has willed it,” he said, and Kin smiled.
He was curious about Cillian–a man, still a boy, who did not entirely seem to fit in.
“Are you a clansman?” Kin asked, and Cillian nodded.
“Aye, but I am nae of the same blood that flows in Murdina’s veins. I was an orphan, and the lady of the castle–Murdina’s mother–took pity on me. I owe them my life–and my loyalty in all things,” he replied.
“Which is why the laird treats you like his lapdog,” Kin said, causing Cillian to blush.
He opened the door, and they stepped into the library, a vast space– as big as the great hall–lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling. A narrow gallery ran the length of two sides, with ladders to climb up, and an enormous table lay at the center, covered in open books and manuscripts. There was no one else there, only the smell of ancient learning and a sense of timelessness among the books, some of which were surely hundreds of years old.
“Ye may take whatever ye wish from the shelves, though there is nay way of knowin’ where anythin’ is,” Cillian said.
“No cataloging?” Kin asked, and Cillian shrugged.
“The present laird is nae interested. What order there once was has gone,” Cillian admitted.
Kin shook his head and gazed up at the vast number of books around him, wondering where to begin. One of them must surely contain some clue as to the markings on the key and the coin, and he began by looking for volumes on ancient symbols, making his way across the library to the nearest shelf and pulling out the first book he came to.
“Legends of the Scottish Clans,” he read, realizing just how long his search would take.
* * *
Murdina was growing impatient. She had hoped Cillian would bring their guest back to the great hall, and she had waited patiently there for the past hour, listening to her father in council with the other leaders of the clan. The talk was dull–filled with rumor and speculation as to the king’s next movements against the Jacobite rebels. The subject of Murdoch McGill was also raised, and it was learned that no sign of him had been heard of since his departure from the castle.
“If he is a traitor, then we have all been fools,” Murdina’s father said, banging his fist down on the table.
Murdina was glad of it–if Murdoch was no longer trusted, then she would no longer be forced into marriage with him. But that did not mean her father would not have other plans–better the devil you know… Eventually, having grown tired of listening to endless politics, Murdina rose from her place by the fire and left the great hall to go in search of Kin and Cillian. She hunted all around the castle until her footsteps brought her to the gallery above the great hall, her father’s voice echoing up from below, and she was surprised to see Cillian sitting on the step in front of the library door.
“Have ye been here all this time?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Aye, our guest is makin’ use of yer father’s books–he thinks they may hold some key to the mystery of the key and coin. I think he is foolish,” Cillian replied.
He looked bored, and Murdina smiled at him and shook her head.
“Go and get somethin’ to eat. I will stay with him if someone must,” she said, and Cillian smiled back at her.
“Daenae tell yer father,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Then daenae let him see ye,” Murdina replied, as Cillian now hurried off along the gallery.
Intrigued, Murdina pushed open the library door and stepped inside. There, she found Kin sitting at the table, poring over an open volume. He looked up at her and smiled, beckoning her over.
“I think I might have found something,” he said, and she went over to peer over his shoulder.
He was examining a book of ancient symbols, the key and the coin lying on the table in front of him, and he pointed to one that bore some resemblance to the markings on the key turn.
“Dae ye think?” Murdina asked, somewhat skeptically.
She had not examined the key in any great detail, having only seen it in her father’s hands, but looking at it now, she was far from convinced that the symbols in the book matched those on the turn.
“Well… the markings are similar, the curve there,” he said, pointing to what was surely only an incidental similarity.
