Temple of Indra's Lies (Time-Traveling Bibliophile Book 3)

by Rachael Stapleton

  The girl would go away and she would live her life with Uilliam here at Dunlace. She breathed a sigh of happiness and ran her hands over the crystal ball. As always her black raven circled her while she chanted and steadied the question in her mind.

  Would Elena be born? An image of Sive happily resting in Conal’s bed appeared before her.

  She pounded her fist against the table.

  How was this possible? Everything she had done was for nothing. Her nemesis was already in the girl’s womb. The only difference was that she would now be raised as Sorely MacDonnell’s daughter. That left no room for a convenient childhood accident. The witch would be killed if any harm came to that man’s babe. Sorely MacDonnell was not the type to mess with. Which meant the babe would grow up and steal Uilliam’s heart. No, Saundra could not let that happen again. Sive would just have to die before the babe was found out. Unfortunately, Uilliam would deteriorate if he lost his daughter, and Saundra would lose him all over again. He’d go over the edge. She’d seen it happen fifty-seven years ago, but what other choice did she have. They would just have to start over. She’d waited for him before—she could do it again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dumpster Diving

  Southern India, September 2015

  It took a good couple of minutes to navigate the streets around the hotel. Kumbakonam was a busy place to begin with, made worse by the recent accident. Men with handcarts wound their way through the traffic to deliver jackfruit and sacks of rice. There were beggars, musicians, and snake charmers. The street was filthy, although not as bad as some of the cities in the north, where the trash had literally fallen from the sky—or rather tumbled from the windows above. Finally we reached the four-foot-high trash pile that we’d seen from our balcony. Well, actually, it was four mini trash piles that were combined to look as one.

  “Jaysus, Aeval, Look at those heaps, plenty of them and each one infested with maggots, cockroaches and stray dogs.” He picked up a rock and chucked it. One of the dogs scrambled away. “Couldn’t ye have found a better place to lose the jewels?”

  “Tell me about it.” I shuffled forward, and halted.

  “You’ll never plough a field by turning it over in your mind,” Cullen teased.

  “There’s a dead rat on this pile of crap.”

  “Better it’s dead than alive,” Cullen said. He had no love for rodents. I imagined his skin was actually crawling worse than mine.

  I thought back to the slums we’d seen only weeks earlier, where rag pickers turned over dumpsters to get at the garbage. The thought of their suffering brought a hot shame to my face. Time to stop whining and dig in.

  I gazed around the pile and felt my resolve teeter. “Where do we start—and more important—will the smell ever wash off?”

  “You got me. Didn’t you see where it fell?” Cullen said and started rummaging.

  “Yeah, into the giant garbage pile—you want me to use google maps to locate?”

  We were looking for the wooden box, but I kept my eye out for anything that sparkled just in case the ring and dagger had fallen out—but it all appeared to be trash littered with rat droppings, and spoiled food that apparently the street dogs hadn’t got to yet, and on everything was a thick layer of dust. I stuck my hand in something wet, and shuddered at the thought of what it could be. I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to jump in the shower, and turn the water as hot as it would go, which in our current accommodations might not be all that hot.

  Cullen had stopped moving and sat with his hand in another bag, grimacing. “Oooh, I thought I’d found it. Damn! This is nastier than a petrol station toilet.”

  I picked up a bowl that was caked with . . . I didn’t want to speculate so I set it back down and moved on. “No wonder Leslie didn’t want to join us.” I gagged and swallowed down a mouthful of vomit.

  Cullen sighed but continued picking his way through the trash. “I hate to say it, but do ye think someone already found it, Aeval?”

  “I don’t think so, but you never know.” I craned my neck in the direction of another dead rat. I swallowed hard, disgusted. “We should have brought gloves.”

  The task took a good twenty minutes, and as each minute passed my anxiety level rose.

  “Two piles of rubbish to go. Bloody hell, how can we not have found it yet?”

  “I know.” I agreed. “We’re directly under the balcony, and it would have landed on top. It couldn’t have gotten buried already.”

  A loud bang reverberated from behind us, and we paused.

  “What was that?” Cullen whispered.

  “There’s someone coming!” I practically squealed. Was it against the law to search through trash in this country?

  “Holy hell, Cullen, are ye off yer nut? Jaysus man, I’ll pay for the Thali.”

  Cullen and I remained on our knees, but straightened to see our new client, Sam MacDonnell, looming over us. Cullen started laughing like he really had lost his marbles. The dried noodle in his hair didn’t help the situation, and I quickly followed suit. It wasn’t long until tears streamed down my face.

  I took a deep breath and then another. “I lost something,” I said, finally getting myself together.

  Sam offered me a hand, and helped me to my feet.

  “That’s our balcony up there, the one with the pink sarong hanging from it. I accidently dropped a small carved box from it. It’s about the size of a book. Needless to say, we haven’t had much luck finding it.”

  “Aye, well if I were you I’d be after a new one. No box—unless it’s made of gold—is worth that pile. Ye know there’s rats and shite in there, right?”

  I grimaced with a nod. “So we’ve seen. The box contains some items that were passed down through my family.”

  “I see. Well, why don’t I help ye, then? What does the wee box look like?”

  I held my hands out to show him the approximate size just as I noticed something sparkling against the wall behind him.

  “Hallelujah!” Cullen crowed, obviously spying it at the same time. “The wee tricky bugger must have bounced off the garbage and landed over there.”

  Sam bent down and picked up the ring and the box, then placed the ring back inside.

  I took the case and plucked a piece of moldy cabbage from it. The latch had come loose when it hit the ground but it still worked. The dagger was tucked safely inside.

  “What are you doin’ out here, anyway?” Cullen asked.

  Sam jostled his camera, which hung around his neck. “Taking snaps. It’s the lowest of scenes that make the most brilliant photos—like the two of ye chancers, scrimmaging through the bloody rubbish.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh once again at the image.

  “I’m just actin’ the maggot. Where’s that gorgeous friend of yers, anyway?” Sam asked. “She didn’t want to dumpster dive?”

  I tucked the box away in my messenger bag, and pulled my hand sanitizer from the pocket. I would bathe in it right now if it was possible. “Actually she went to meet you in the lobby. She’s probably wondering where you are.”

  Sam smiled. “I’d best be off then—mustn’t keep a fine bit of stuff like her waitin’.” He paused and looked back. “Are the two of ye comin’ or were ye plannin’ on rummagin’ for more buried treasures?”

  I humored him with a smile and checked the time on my cell phone. ”We’ll see you there. We’re meeting someone at the Café first—apparently we’ll be smelling of garbage.”

  Sam nodded and left, and I was glad he hadn’t asked any questions. I didn’t feel like talking. Apparently Cullen didn’t either, so we walked down the alley in silence. The sooner we met Saraswati, the sooner we could scrub away the grime.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fate-and-Switch

  Northern Ireland, November 1551

  Sive wished to fall asleep wrapped in Conal’s arms but that wasn’t possible. It would never be possible, that is unless they did something about her upcoming wed
ding. She felt his lips kissing the side of her cheek and trailing down her neck.

  She winced and faced him. “We need to talk about a certain matter.”

  He kissed her forehead before pulling back to prop himself up on his elbow. “So ye said. And a very serious matter ‘tis, too,”

  “‘Tis so it is.”

  He frowned at her answer. “I see, well get on with it, then.”

  “Da’s arranged for me to be married.”

  Conal bolted upright in the bed. “Jaysus, Sive! That’s brilliant news. That must be why I’ve been summoned—.”

  It was Sive’s turn to frown. “No!”

  He pulled her from the bed back into his arms. “What are ye blatherin’ on about? Ye dinna want to marry me now?”

  “Don’t be daft. Of course I do. It’s just…” She paused. “He’s promised me to another.”

  He lay back down and draped an arm over her as he snuggled in closely. “Will ye be far, then?”

  Sive shook her head, unable to get the words out.

  “Gah! Thinking of another man holdin’ ye drives me mad with rage. I’m likely to bludgeon him to death.”

  “That’s the problem, Conal, ye can’t.”

  “Aye, lass. And why is that?”

  “Cause it’s yer cousin.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Meeting with Trouble

  Southern India, September 25, 2015

  We made our way back to the main street, where the crowd was still gathered not far from the café. The aromas of spices, incense and diesel smoke were a nice change from the alley of garbage.

  As we approached the café, we passed a middle aged woman in a red-and-yellow sari. She was glaring at the policeman in front of her.

  “It was no accident,” she yelled.

  “So you’ve been saying. Did you see him get pushed, Mrs. Kumar?”

  “Of course not. I told you, I was across the road!” she exploded. “My niece was with him and she saw those boys. They pushed my husband in front of that bus.”

  I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop but they were talking about the accident from earlier. We’d come to the front of the café and stopped. Cullen gave me a look and we turned, pretending to take in a gigantic colorful poster on the building, advertising an Indian film.

  I could see out of my peripheral vision that the man’s thin face flushed, and he straightened to loom over her. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Kumar, I’m sure the children killed Ram Kumar. Last I checked your niece was but six years old, hardly a credible source. Not to mention your husband weighed around one-hundred-and-sixty pounds. Now, please tell me how a child could push him.”

  “They were hardly the innocent children you make them out to be, sir. Two boys, most likely twelve, and they pushed him from behind and caught him off guard,” the woman said stubbornly.

  I turned back to Cullen. “Wasn’t Ram Kumar the name of the man you were supposed to meet?”

  Cullen grimaced. “Aye. I feel bad for talking shite now.”

  “We watched him get hit.”

  “I know. C’mon, lass, there’s nothin’ we can do now. Let’s go inside and grab a tea, shall we?”

  “Coffee for me, please, and I think I’ll wait out here in case Saraswati shows up early.” I didn’t mention that I also wanted to eavesdrop some more, but Cullen gave me a knowing wink.

  “Ye just can’t help yourself, can ye, Aeval? Well, stay out of trouble, would ye?”

  I pulled the box from my bag just as he was about to walk away and handed it to him. He was also wearing a messenger bag. “Can you take this? I can’t disappear if I’m not touching them, now can I?”

  Chapter Twenty

  What Lies Bequeath

  Northern Ireland, November 1551

  Candlelight flickered, illuminating the dining hall. The night was cold, and the nip in the air threatened snow. Even the crackling fire in the O’Catháin dining hall refused to warm Conal as he paced like a caged beast, trying to absorb the news Sive had shared last night. Sorely Boy didn’t even like her, of that Conal was certain. So why was he after marrying her all of the sudden? For Dunlace, that was why.

  Conal stopped pacing long enough to pour himself some whisky. He drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with a linen-covered arm. He knelt down, staring into the fire, wondering what had happened. When he was a lad, Uilliam had treated him as a son, telling him one day he would be a great ally to the McQuillan Clan—all Conal ever wanted was a life with Sive.

  He closed his eyes, thinking of the way she’d looked in his bed last night, wishing they were both still there.

  He sat back on his heels, angered at his vulnerability. Bloody hell, he had to confront Uilliam, but first he would speak to his cousin and longtime ally, Sorely Boy. He would need him on his side.

  The knock startled him. “Come in.” He wasn’t expecting the MacDonnells until morning. When Sorely Boy walked through the doorway, Conal was sure his face showed his disappointment. Even though it would have been unsafe, he had hoped Sive had returned to his home.

  Sorely Boy walked through the room, stopping to sit in one of the two chairs situated in front of the fireplace.

  Conal joined him, sitting opposite. “Ye’re early and ye’re alone?”

  “Aye, I am. It’s nice to see ye, Cousin. Aren’t ye going to offer me whisky? I’ve come to tell ye of an important matter. One I thought best discussed between the two of us.”

  “Aye, I know,” Conal said, pouring his cousin a glass. “Ye’ve come to tell me that certain arrangements were made with the McQuillan’s.”

  Sorely Boy nodded, taking a large swig. “I’d hoped to be the one to tell ye. Uilliam is making me his heir but it means marrying Sive in two weeks’ time.”

  Conal leaned over the side of the chair and, grabbing a poker, stabbed at the dying fire.

  “Ye know what they say. Man is incomplete until he marries. After that, he is finished.” Sorely Boy chuckled.

  Conal didn’t laugh—he didn’t even crack a smile. “Since when are ye interested in Sive?”

  “I know ye care for her and I realize this causes ye distress, but there’s little choice in the matter for either of us. Uilliam will no have ye and we need to unite the clans. This silly squabbling is hurting us all. We’re lucky we haven’t been attacked by outsiders yet. Uilliam has no heir and one of us needs to sit in his place when he goes. Ye will need to set yer sights on another lass.”

  The fire burned full flame once again and Conal returned the poker to its home with a bang, sitting back in his seat to look his cousin in the eye.

  “There is no other.”

  “Conal, be reasonable, man. Honey is sweet, but ye needn’t lick it off a briar. Uilliam was insistent that I marry her. The witch has told him a match with anyone but me would be disastrous to our kinsmen. What if she’s right? We must obey.”

  Conal laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “That witch changes her mind quite frequently, doesn’t she? So, he’s promising ye Castle Dunlace for his daughter’s hand. A sly rogue is often in good dress. Uilliam can’t be trusted, ye know that. If he finds ye mishandlin’ his daughter, he’ll cut ye off at yer knees. He may mistreat her himself, but make no mistake—the lass is important to him.”

  “The Lord of the Route willn’a see me mishandling anyone. I dinna plan to move in with the man. And anyway, canny leaders do not wage war over such insignificant matters.”

  “If that is how ye see her, then ye dinna deserve her, Sorely.”

  “It’s not my decision. The fates have decided.”

  “Cousin. . . tell me ye dinna believe it. Give me yer word that ye willna marry Sive. Allow me to marry her and I’ll hand ye Dunlace Castle as soon as the old man dies. Ye know my word is good. I care nothing for the place or the title. I just want her.”

  Sorely stood defensively. “Aye, but ye would ask me to break my word. Ye know better than to ask that of me.”

  “Yer gettin’ greedy, Sorely, plain and simple, and y
e’re forgettin’ a golden ring can tie a man as tight as any chain.” Conal downed the rest of his drink and smashed the glass against the wall. “Christ, Sorely Boy, have ye gone mad? Ye know I’ve had the lass in my bed. Ye canna marry her.”

  Sorely Boy cringed. “Aye, I can. She’ll soon be my wife, Conal, and if ye so much as mention that to another soul, I’ll have her locked in the tower.”

  Conal stood and paced the room, shocked by his friend’s words. “What are ye sayin! To stop carin’ for the lass. How can I do that? I willn’a let ye take her from me.”

  “Truth is, Cousin, ye have no say in the matter. I only came here to tell ye that I expect ye at the weddin’, I’ll consider it a personal attack if ye choose not to appear at my side.”

  Conal watched his cousin get to his feet and he struggled to rein in his anger. He wanted to break every bone in his body. But Sorely Boy was right about one thing. It was Uilliam who refused to let Conal wed his daughter, and without the man’s consent what more could Conal do?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hot Mugging of Coffee

  Southern India, September 2015

  Stunned, I lay outside the café, not moving, as I tried to get my breath back. I’d landed face down, my knees and elbows taking the brunt of the fall. My messenger bag had come loose—or maybe it had been yanked off—and lay two feet in front of me.

  I crawled forward, but hands gripped my ankles and yanked me back. My chin bumped the dirt. I didn’t have much strength, but still, I kicked out. I struggled to get my hands under my body to push up, the world went dark.

  Moments later gentle hands on my shoulders pulled me upright into a sitting position.

  “Aeval, are ye hurt?”

  “Huh? What happened?” My vision blurred at the quick change from lying down to sitting up.