Temple of Indra's Lies (Time-Traveling Bibliophile Book 3)
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I nodded and turned back to the cliff, beckoned by the fierce ocean a hundred feet below.
“Come closer to me, Aeval. Haven’t ye learned not to stand so close to the edge? Cliffs are not exactly lucky for ye and I wouldn’t like for ye to wind up like the banshee of Dunlace.”
“The what-now?”
“Lord McQuillan’s daughter, Sive, she was crushed against the rocks below when being rescued by her lover—her father’s enemy. A sad tale, it was, and now she haunts the castle. They call her the banshee. I’d follow ye in, to be sure, but I don’t think for a minute that we’d fare any better than the banshee and her lover, Ó Catháin.”
“No kidding.” I said, and kissed him on the neck. “Although, if I hadn’t fallen from Marguerite Island, I might never have met you.”
“Gah, we were destined to meet, Aeval. It was only ever a matter of time before we’d have locked souls.”
Leslie made a gagging noise and we both turned.
“Sorry, Les.” Cullen apologized. “This place makes me sentimental. I’ll try to refrain from bursting into sonnets.”
“Perhaps giving a tour would keep you busy,” Leslie suggested.
“Ye fancy a tour, do ye? Well, I’m yer man, my Granda was from Norn Iron and auld ones brought me here plenty of times when I was a lad. Follow me and I’ll bend yer ears.”
We walked and listened to Cullen as he told us all about the Coastal Cliff of County Antrim and the Giants Causeway. I recognized the images from the Led Zeppelin album, my feisty absentee grandmother, Greta, had owned. She’d left most of her belongings behind at Gigi’s Lakehouse, including my mother and I, and we’d listened to that scratchy album until it no longer played.
“Aeval, where are ye?”
“Over the hills and far away,” I said, with a smile.
Cullen looked confused but Leslie smirked. She got it.
Eventually we made our way inside Castle Dunlace and traipsed through dozens of rooms, including the Lord’s chamber. There must have been fifty rooms or more, such a shame that they’d lain unused for so long. The wing we currently explored was the most intact and had obviously been utilized to some degree. The rooms were spacious and airy, and some still held furniture and brightly woven tapestries. A corner of the kitchen was still visible, although the north wall and a good chunk of the room was completely missing. Cullen said the kitchen fell away into the sea one dark and stormy night, killing much of the staff, sometime in the seventeenth century—just one of the many haunting aspects of the place. Our last stop was the north-eastern tower. Since it was separated from most of the other rooms, Cullen turned on the flashlight to illuminate the winding stairwell leading up to it.
“This place gives me chills,” I whispered as we reached the top.
“It’s not the grandest of accommodations but I’ve slept in worse.”
“Can’t you feel it—the oppression in the air?”
“Now that ye mention it, lass, I do. It must be the banshee. She was held prisoner up here for a time.”
“For what?”
“What else? Disobedience,” Cullen replied. “She’s the one I told ye about, who died attempting to escape this place. She was married off to a war chieftain of the MacDonnell clan, but she wouldn’t stay put. Every time Sorely Boy left the castle, she ran away so he brought her home to Dunlace. She was to be imprisoned until she agreed to be a good wife. The man she loved, O’Cathain rescued her, but their boat crashed against the rocks of the mermaid’s cove below. They say her ghost still haunts the place. It’s a sad tale but at least they died together.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of unhappiness for one girl.” I said, rubbing my shoulders. “Let’s go back downstairs.” I took a few steps and looked over at the gaping hole that was a window. “Will you put glass or bars here—it seems unsafe.” I stuck my head out the opening. “A child could fall to their death.”
“Or an adult.” Leslie said, giving me a mock shove.
Cullen smiled. ”They aren’t usually so low. Sam didn’t say but ye raise a good point, love. I’ll ask him if he plans to have children roamin’ the tower and if he wants to keep them alive.”
I laughed and pinched his arm.
“Come on, I’ll take ye down below to natures very own cathedral. They call it the mermaid’s cave. It’s an enormous cave, every bit as grand as the castle itself, its vault is more than sixty feet high. When the sea enters, it does so with a mighty roarin’ sound.”
“Are there any ghost in the Mermaids cave?” Leslie questioned.
“Aye, the banshee also wanders the slippery dark depths below. It is said that the lass was imprisoned down here first, but she escaped. That’s why she was later placed in the tower. She wouldn’t tell them how she escaped—said she couldn’t remember.
“Is it safe to go in?”
“Of course, Aeval, as safe as a sea cavern in County Antrim can be.”
“Gee, that’s reassuring.”
“The entrance to the cave is down an eroding ramp which gives it a superb subterranean feel but the cave’s length exceeds three hundred feet. Ye don’t need to go near the water if ye don’t want to. It’s a big place. It’s hard to describe just how big it is until ye’re standin’ inside it, dwarfed by the tonnes of rock overhead, and yet there is an intimacy to the space, like we’re naught but a speck of dust inside a giant’s keyhole.”
“Here we go again,” Leslie teased. “This place turns Cullen into a poet.”
Cullen laughed and led us down the stairs. “Sam says, according to the Lord’s journal, there’s a hidden room somewhere in this place. He wants us to find it.”
Chapter Four
Heed my Warning
Northern Ireland, November 1551
“Tell me why ye’ve come, Saundra, when I didn’a send for ye. I’ve no time to please ye now.
“I dinna wish to burden ye, Uilliam, but we’ve an important matter to discuss.” Alexandra Cuza did her best to mimic Uilliam’s accent. She’d picked it up fairly easily ten years ago when she’d first stepped foot on Ireland’s soil but she sometimes slipped after being on her own. The clan felt more comfortable around her believing she was of Irish descent so she made a point to always stay in character.
“What in God’s name is it?” Uilliam croaked. “I’m up to my neck in shite, amn’t I?”
“I’ve come to warn ye,” she replied. “I’ve a vision with regards to yer daughter.”
“Another. What of it?”
“She must be married—.”
“I tell ye, ye’re mad in the head, witch. Ye told me that afore. Ye’re wastin’ my bloody time.”
The witch cut him off. “Let me finish, ye hard-headed brute. She must marry a MacDonnell.”
“Gah. Those bastards? I think not. I trusted yer judgement in the past—ye’ve never led me astray until now—but I’ll make my own decision regarding whom my daughter marries.”
“I understand yer position, Uilliam. I do. I can only tell ye what I saw last night—a vision of Sive giving birth to a healthy MacDonnell babe. ‘Twas a boy—an heir to Dunlace. The night afore I dreamt she married Conal and the fates were not so kind. Trust me when I tell ye that she must marry Sorely.”
Uilliam McQuillan allowed his thoughts to drift to his daughter and how unhappy she would be if he didn’t sort this situation out with Conal Ó Catháin. He paced the room. But then there was the MacQuillan clan to consider—they were furious; the Ó Catháins had killed his nephew, the McQuillan heir. The lads were convinced the Ó Catháins had done it on purpose to gain Dunlace Castle through Conal marrying Sive.
Niall Ó Catháin was a great ally, and his grandson, Conal had been like one of Uilliam’s own.
“There must be another way. Sive set her sights on Conal when she was but a lass—no one else will do.”
“It canna be Conal,” The witch said. “It must be the Warrior Chieftain of the MacDonnell Clan. It will make allies of the MacDonnells and the McQuillans.�
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Uilliam pushed thoughts of Sive’s sad blue eyes away. He would see them soon enough if he agreed to this.
“Sorely Boy.” He paused and then grumbled, “I’ll think on it.”
“Be that as ‘tis, she must be wed before the next full moon or else there will be grave consequences.”
“That’s less than three weeks away.”
“I realize that, Uilliam, which is why I thought it urgent to see ye. I dinna make this up, ye know, but if ye dinna wish to heed me then by all means take yer chances.”
“Aye, I’ll think on it. Now go, and give my head peace, woman.”
Chapter Five
Taken Inn
Northern Ireland, September 11, 2015
The sun was just going down as we spotted the bed and breakfast that Cullen had booked us into, a charming, white, two-story home with stunning views of both the Glens of Antrim and the famous Antrim coastline.
“Here we are—nice and close to the castle ruins. I believe Sam said that this place is run by his Da’s kin.”
Yawning, I stretched as Cullen and Leslie unloaded our suitcases and we made our way to the inn’s entrance. Stepping inside the old wooden door, I smiled as the warmth of the fireplace to the left washed over me, melting away the icy feeling in my fingers and face. The place was fairly large, and nice, in an antiquated sort of way.
I was loosening my scarf and unbuttoning my jacket when a woman’s raised voice exploded from the other room.
“Is yer head cut? Ye best tell him he’ll not be stayin’ here.”
An old grey-haired man spotted us lingering in the doorway.
Sweat hung visibly on his brow, and I could tell he was losing an argument to his wife, a petite but formidable woman who had now set her striking green eyes on me.
“What about ye’?”
It was the old woman who spoke and, immediately, I didn’t trust her. Her glare, her tone, her posture—everything about the way she slyly tucked her necklace away from my prying eyes told me that she had something to hide.
“We’re booked here for the night, aren’t we?” I asked.
“Ach, of course ye are, never ye mind the oul doll. She’s away in the head.” The small man winked at his wife and then turned back to me. “Ye look as if ye’ve caught yer death, shiverin’ in the doorway like that. Come in and I’ll get ye some tea. I assume yous are the O’Kelley’s.”
Leslie’s stomach growled.
“You just ate.”
“I did not. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime.” She said, looking offended.
“You ate a scone, a granola bar, crisps and an apple before you fell asleep on the way here.”
“That’s hardly real food.” The old man scoffed. “Get the spuds on, Ida, they’re starvin’.”
Leslie grinned as we were led into the kitchen and shown to a harvest table with three steaming bowls of stew.
“Where yous from?” The old man asked.
Cullen spoke up. “Dublin. I’m here to restore Dunlace Castle.”
“I heard something about that, and the lasses came along for the fresh coastal air, did they?”
“That they did, but they’ll also be workin’.”
“We’re librarians,” I clarified.
“Mr. McQuillan’s hired them to look into the history of the place—who better than librarians to dig up the past, right?”
“Ahh ... the past ye say?” The man rubbed his hands together, surveying the room. “Is it just old books ye like, or is it all things old that interest ye?”
For a moment I wondered if he was hitting on me and I had to swallow the lump in my throat. Viagra had given one too many old men courage.
He gestured to the next room. “It’s not a museum, but we’ve several old family pieces here at the Inn.”
We left our mostly empty stew bowls on the counter and followed him into the sitting room where he pointed to a china cabinet full of knick-knacks.
“The board game pieces date back to the early seventeenth century. The coins are from the days of Elizabeth I. The wee book isn’t all that old, but it’s a first edition, and the dirk in the back is the oldest piece we have.”
I could see where Cullen’s interest lay. His hand shot out and touched the glass where the small knife sat. The hilt was intricately embossed in what looked like gold. The blade itself was fashioned out of some other metal and even in the case appeared very sharp.
“Ye like it?” The old man asked.
Cullen nodded, “Reminds me of my own dagger. Sophia had it fashioned as a wedding present. It’s a replica of my ancestor’s.”
The old man smiled. “Beautiful yet lethal, just like a woman—fine choice for a wedding gift, Sophia.”
“So, this dirk. Was it found at Dunlace Castle?”
“Aye, it was. I think it was Conal Ó Catháin’s. No, wait, it was Sorely Boy MacDonell’s.” The old man wrapped on his skull with his knuckles. “This thing don’t work as well as it used to.”
“It never worked,” Ida chimed in from the other room.
“Shut up and let me spake, ye oul battleaxe.” The old man snickered like he’d bested her. “Anyway, the dirk belonged to Sorely Boy MacDonnell and it was used to kill his bride. Tis a sad story...”
“Really? We’d love to hear it.” I said.
“Don’t depress our new guests.” The petite woman entered the sitting room. Whatever anger she’d had before was gone. ”He’ll bore ye to death with his tall tales.” She winked over her shoulder at Cullen as she turned back toward the kitchen.
“Actually, I’d love to hear your story.” I piped up.
“Come on back into the kitchen. I’ve wet the tea. He can drone on back there just as well as he can here.”
We followed her in and resumed our seats.
“So, yous are friends of himself? Only met him the once, but it broke my husband’s heart to hear about his Da.”
I glanced at Cullen and then at Leslie, both looked as confused as me.
“Oh, ye hadn’t heard.” The woman commented. “He passed away last month.”
She turned her back to us and began washing our bowls as if she hadn’t said a thing.
The old man paused for a moment and then nodded. “‘Tis true. That’s why Sam’s inherited the castle—sad and untimely death, his Da’s was.”
A cup clanged loudly in the sink and I wasn’t entirely sure the woman hadn’t done it on purpose.
Her husband ignored it and went on. “Poor Sam was up to visit him right before that, thank the heavens.”
“Really, what happened?”
“He fell outta the castle window.”
Leslie looked at me and bit her lip. No doubt feeling guilty for the all too realistic joke she’d made earlier.
“Jaysus only knows what he was doin’ out there—most likely tryin’ to fix somethin’ and the wee banshee pushed him out the window.”
“Away on!” The old woman said,
“‘Tis true. The banshee hates the MacDonnell name, as well as her own. I personally steer clear of the tower and the cave. The two places she haunts.”
“Ach, well, he’s faffin’ about, but he is right, the place is a deathtrap,” Ida agreed.
“I guess that’s why Sam hired us,” Cullen responded.
“You mentioned a story?” I chimed in.
“Oh, the castle dirk, ye mean.”
I nodded. “You said it killed his bride?”
“Aye, well, which one is the question?”
“Pardon?”
“I’m only teasing. The man, Sorely Boy, was married three times ye know.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“He was a sucker for tragedy, to be sure. His first bride, wouldn’t ye know it, wouldn’t have him. She technically wasn’t his bride since she wouldn’a stay put long enough to cement the deal.” The old man winked. “If ye know what I mean.”
His wife snorted.
“I do.” I said and laughed.
“Who?” I asked.
“Yer man.” The old man responded.
I was always perplexed by the Irish use of yer man. It could really mean anyone.
“He means the castle’s owner, Samual MacDonnell.” Cullen explained. “They haven’t met him yet.”
“Aye, well, aren’t they the lucky ones. He’s set to arrive tonight,” the old woman said. I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. There was definitely something about her tone that seemed off.
Chapter Six
Who Will Rule the Route?
Northern Ireland, November 1551
Sorely MacDonnell paced before the Witch of Dunlace—downing yet another cup of whisky, watching as his spy returned to the room.
“I’m afraid the witch isn’a lyin’, sir. Uilliam has arrived at Dungiven Castle to meet with Naill Ó Catháin again. They’ve gone behind yer back and agreed that Conal and Sive will go on with the wedding.”
“How dare that old bastard!” roared Sorely, as he spun around to face Saundra. “What in the bloody hell happened?”