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But here was something interesting. Midway through the pile. A slender volume in red leather. Loose papers stuffed willy-nilly among the pages. Cracking open the stiff binding, she thumbed through. Taking only moments to recognize the familiar diatribe of Other persecution and victimization at the hands of the Duinedon. The need for action on the part of the faithful before it was too late. She flipped to the flyleaf.
Máelodor. The author of the book on Unseelie.
A torn page slid free. Drifted toward the floor before she snatched it back. Scanned it, her fingers trembling the paper, a knot forming in her throat. The ever-shifting currents of language. The slow uncurling of each thought as she sought meaning among the swooping shift and eddy of each letter. Exactly like the diary.
She focused, letting the amorphous words and images harden within her head. Every sentence making the next come easier. Faster: “The tapestry is safely hidden, and Brendan’s left with the stone.” She jumped lower on the page. “If my suspicions are correct, they’ll be here before the week is out . . . time to prepare if not time to escape. I write this to you as a warning and a farewell.”
Down to the scrawled “K” of the signature.
And back to the top.
Not meant for Ahern at all.
This letter was addressed to Máelodor.
Cat’s brisk knock echoed up and down the empty corridor.
No answer.
She lifted a hand to knock again just as the door was flung open by a rumpled Aidan in his stocking feet, shrugging into his waistcoat. Neckcloth askew. “What the devil—oh, it’s you.”
“Good morning to you too.” She didn’t wait for an invitation. She’d been sitting on her news since last night. Passed sleepless hours as a consequence. It was Aidan’s turn to worry. “I’ve found something I think you should see.”
“Do come in,” he offered, a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth. He bowed her into a bedchamber as cluttered as hers. Removed a tarnished silver set from a chair and motioned her to sit. “I apologize for the mess.”
“Never mind that.”
Picking her way through the piles, she averted her eyes from the unmade bed. Reprimanded herself for the images flashing through her lascivious little head. Shameless, that was what she was. Shameless and pathetic. She’d seen the kind of woman destined for the Earl of Kilronan—beautiful, elegant, virginal. If he looked at Cat it was only as a snack to hold him over until he could savor the main meal.
Her stomach growled for breakfast.
Angry with herself and—now that she thought about it—a tad annoyed with him, she shoved the letter at him. “I found this among the things in my room. I thought you ought to see it.”
His curious gaze lingered on her face just long enough to make her uncomfortable before he dropped his eyes to the page. Back to her. “My father . . . what does it say? I can’t . . .”
“I wrote it out for you.” Into his hands went the second piece of paper. “It’s addressed to Máelodor.”
His gaze went diamond hard; a muscle jumped in his jaw. “Where did you find this?”
“Among a box of papers and books. I spent most of last night reading through them. Most are simple correspondence. Deadly dull.” Anticipating his next question, she added, “This was the only one of its kind.”
“Have you seen Daz yet this morning?”
“Maude says he doesn’t usually rise until much later.” She bit her lip before deciding full disclosure was best. “And he’s not always coherent when he does wake. She says our coming might jolt him into lucidity or he may not even remember us.” She shifted from foot to foot before blurting, “Aidan, the man’s mad. Maude says he addressed a cow by his sister’s name. Spent three days asking why Alice had been given rooms in the barn. He passed a week once hiding in a wardrobe, claiming the Amhas-draoi were after him. Made Maude test all his food before he’d eat it. These are not the actions of a man in full control of his mind.”
“He’s old.”
“If by old you mean touched in the head, you’re exactly right.”
“Leave Daz to me. Your job is translating the diary. The rest is my problem.”
“You arrogant bastard.” If she needed solid evidence the spark between them had been classic male strutting, here it was. She’d one function in this twisted relationship— linguist. Fine. “Then if you’re done with me, my lord, I’ll just get back to my job.” Swung around to go, hating the lump trying to force its way into her throat. He wasn’t worth it. No man was.
He grabbed her by the arm. “Wait, Cat.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
