He grunted his disbelief. “What about this map you mentioned?”
“I found it in a trunk in the attic. There was a riddle on it.”
“What kind of riddle?”
“‘It lies hidden close to God, in a place where evil can’t trod.’
“He came here?”
“His name was McGowan. He was murdered before he found what he was looking for.”
“Murdered?” Faelan asked.
“He and another man with him.”
“What year?”
“Early 1860s. After I read the journal, I remembered seeing McGowan’s name on the box holding the map. The map resembled the graveyard. The riddle said ‘close to God,’
“Can I see the journal?”
Bree started to refuse, thinking it would be invading Isabel’s privacy, kind of like opening her underwear drawer and waving her bloomers around, but Faelan seemed very curious about Isabel’s visitors, and Bree wanted to know why. “Sure,” she said. She found it on the floor beside her bed, where it usually fell after a long night of reading, and carried it back to the table. “I’ll read it to you.” “The most dreadful thing has happened. McGowan and another man were robbed and murdered last evening as they walked through the woods to town. The bodies were found early this morning. Frederick tried to keep it from me, but I overheard the men talking about the vicious attack. There was speculation that someone else was also searching for McGowan’s treasure, or it may have stemmed from an argument over this impending war. Someone in the area has been helping slaves escape to Canada. The men did seem rather intense. The older one in particular was disturbing. I think Frederick regretted inviting them to stay.”
“War?” Faelan asked, his voice hollow.
“The American Civil War.” If he wasn’t from this country, or had been locked in the time vault prior to 1861, he wouldn’t know about it. “With your memory loss, you probably don’t recall what a terrible time it was for this country. Brothers killing brothers. More than six hundred thousand soldiers died.”
He sat back in his chair, looking ill. “How long did it last?”
“From 1861 to 1865.” She knew everything there was to know about the Civil War. Her childhood obsession had become her passion. It was the reason she’d become a historian. “Shall I read more?”
He nodded, and she continued.“Today was one of the saddest I have known, watching McGowan’s son remove the bodies from the crypt. I could feel his grief. I would not admit it except in these pages, but I think even before McGowan arrived I sensed death. Perhaps it is the reason I wanted the disk for a good luck charm, something to ward off evil. I should have known those things don’t work. Frederick watches me as if I will have a nervous breakdown. I suspect he knows I’m reminded of my grandfather’s tragic, untimely death. He was also robbed and brutally killed. Father was a baby then, and according to his mother, barely escaped with his life. “Perhaps Frederick is right, and the pregnancy is making me emotional and restless. I am not the only one unable to sleep. Even as I write, I can see a lantern moving in the graveyard. Ghosts? Or McGowan’s son searching for his father’s treasure? I feel certain I have seen the son somewhere. I remember now—”
“The next page is missing,” Bree said. “I’d kill to know what Isabel remembered—”
A scream sounded outside.
Bree jumped to her feet, and the falling journal struck her plate, dumping the contents on her jeans before it hit the floor.
Chapter 5
Faelan grabbed the knife and lunged at Bree. She yelped, but he was there before she could jump clear, shielding her from the door. She tried to peer around broad shoulders, but all she could see was a muscular forearm and long, lean fingers gripping the blade. He’d put himself in front to protect her. She felt a quiver that had nothing to do with the horrible scream.
“Where’s my dirk?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Stay here,” he ordered. In three strides he was at the door. Whoever he was, he was used to being obeyed.
“What was that sound?” she asked, but he was already gone. She ran to the window and watched him move through the pale pre-dawn, one hand gripping the knife, the other clasped to his chest. He stopped and lowered his head, then trotted along the path like a bloodhound scenting a trail, as he disappeared into the woods.
What if he didn’t come back, just kept going? Bree jerked open the door and took off after him. She found him in the clearing near the dig, standing tall and motionless, like a valiant protector of an ancient Scottish realm.
“Did you see anything?” she asked, panting.
He whirled on her, his expression fierce, the kitchen knife still in his hand. “I told you to stay inside.”
She jumped back, alarmed, but she didn’t care what time he came from, she wasn’t his dog. “Excuse me?” Her glare was wasted.
His eyes scoured the forest like a predator, concentrating on one spot beyond the tree line, before moving back to the empty holes nearby. “What’s this?”
“It’s a dig. My friend is an archeologist. He thinks this was once an Iroquois settlement.”
Faelan frowned. “How long has he been digging?”
