Iona sensed Gerard relaxing a fraction. She stroked his thigh encouragingly, loving that she had the right to touch him like this. He seemed to respond to tactile sensation the same way she did scent.
She grasped that what they’d done was strange to him, and he hated explaining himself. His position of authority had led him to expect people to take his word as law. That was an enlightening realization.
People wouldn’t question an earl, but they were bound to doubt a Mad Malcolm.
“Gifts aren’t tort law or contracts.” Gerard admitted his inability to explain.
“Where did you see them hiding the books?” Max demanded, going straight for the practical. “We’ll hunt them down.”
“That’s hard to say. The new tower was only partially built and there was no castle.” Gerard gestured at the room they sat in, just outside the tower. “The women stayed between what appeared to be an old watchtower and the partial wall of the new one they were building. The old watchtower walls were probably sealed in when they finished the new one.”
Ignoring male frustration, Iona turned to the librarian. “Lydia, if you would be so good as to look up references to the manuscripts—and perhaps to mausoleums or catacombs? That might be simpler than tearing down a tower over a vague vision.”
The librarian nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps in the interest of showing how gifts work instead of explaining, I should demonstrate how some of mine works. It’s quite hard to describe how books speak to me.”
Iona sensed her husband’s tension relaxing even more. She had never really used her sense of smell for more than identifying flowers her bees might like or avoiding people in ugly moods. Using it to help added an exciting dimension.
Gerard had been right—isolation affected how she learned, not always in a good way.
“Are you inviting us to see your library?” she asked in excitement.
“You and Gerard, not these other heathens who tend to mock what they don’t understand. They’ve seen it.” Lydia rose with stately grace and led the way out.
Eagerly, Iona clasped Gerard’s hand as they crossed to Lydia’s office, where Isobel sat with stacks of books. Her twin glanced up and stood, looking puzzled.
“We didn’t tell your sister you went missing,” Lydia explained. “She is a little too anxious.”
Iona hugged her twin. “We have been exploring. Marriage is quite exciting. You should avoid it.”
“I’m sure I shall.” Isobel regarded them in her studious manner. “Balmoral will be more than my nerves can handle. I’ve been thinking you should go in my stead, pretend you’re me. Did you need the office? I can leave—”
“No, dear, I’m showing your brother-in-law that history is important.” Lydia opened a hidden door behind the desk and gestured for them to enter.
Iona gasped as they stepped inside what had once been an ancient watchtower—the one in their vision?—and saw a stairway spiraling to the roof.
Around the stairway, books were almost leaping off shelves, jiggling as if in anticipation.
Thrilled, Iona practically danced in delight. “It’s magical! They’re so eager to see you, Lydia!”
The librarian smiled shyly. “It’s more like, I’m so happy to hear them speaking to me, that they want to leap into my hands.” She pulled one out from one of the lowest shelves. “This would be the lady who lived here while the fortress was built. I only read her earlier journal that described her new home when I was helping Max. I think she may be trying to tell us about manuscripts.”
Gerard took the tome and the others Lydia handed him that mentioned mausoleums, crypts, and—visions.
“It will take weeks to translate all these,” Iona protested, opening one of the journals. “I think this one is French.”
“I can take the French and Latin ones.” Gerard juggled the stack trying to open pages. “Gaelic is beyond me.”
Lydia pulled out a few more books from further up the stacks. “I can hear what the journals say, no matter the language. And they’ll open up to where we need them, so we needn’t read everything.”
“A much more useful gift than talking to bees,” Iona said in admiration.
“But it means I can never live anywhere else. It’s difficult, because Max loves traveling and can find jobs in exciting places—” Lydia opened the study door and led them out.
“Our gifts have downsides,” Iona agreed. “My mother was tied to her hives. But with the new frames, I can carry my queen wherever I like.” She glanced up at Gerard. “That is fortunate, since not everyone enjoys drafty castles in the north.”
“I’d follow you anywhere but there,” he whispered into her hair.
She poked his ribs and followed Lydia out of the library, into the study where Isobel waited with interest.
Even her twin followed as they carried the stack of books back to the parlor. Lydia held up the oldest one. “Manuscript first?”
After a general clamor of agreement and ordering a new round of refreshments, Lydia opened to the appropriate page and began to read aloud, translating as she went.
Silence ensued after she finished. Iona studied her husband worriedly. She sensed a slight odor of excitement, but his gentlemanly layer of duty was more pronounced.
“If I am understanding correctly—a Malcolm bride carried the books from Wystan as her dowry?” Gerard asked cautiously.
Max grunted. “Aye and that would figure. Books as riches—as if we can eat the blamed things.”
Iona chuckled. Rainford glared. Lydia intervened. “They were Bibles. She’d learned the art from a priest in her household. She had a gift for art. They could have earned income from her talent.”
“Except it says she occasionally inserted passages that weren’t in the Bible and her artwork tended toward prophesy,” Rainford said dryly. “Both could have her burned at the stake. Her husband might have been an ignorant brute, but he was right to protect her by refusing to show them.”
“I want to
