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

by Rachael Stapleton

  There was firmness in the way she gripped me, which I couldn’t understand. What could I have possibly done to upset her? Was it that big of a deal that the groom had seen me before the wedding?

  The wedding chapel was not right at the edge of the cliff but it was close enough.

  A crowd had gathered out front of it. I remembered from my history lessons that the couple would often meet at the church door on the steps, in front of everyone where the priest would perform the marriage ceremony. After that they would go inside to hear mass as a married couple for the first time, before heading off to the wedding feast.

  As we neared the church that overlooked the ocean I scanned the crowd of townspeople all dressed in their finest, excitedly waiting for the wedding to begin. I’d been here only weeks before with Cullen and Leslie and wandered this very area.

  My heart fluttered at the thought that he would take my hand in marriage, and I would live each day happy until I could get back to my own time.

  The crowd parted and I envisioned Cullen next to the Priest on the steps. Instead, I locked eyes with a stranger. A man, older than the one I’d just met by about ten or twelve years. He was brawny and handsome and only the silver running through his dark hair gave his age away. Could he be my father, no, too young and he was dressed differently from the rest. He was definitely the groom.

  My heart hammered wildly inside my chest, and my breath lodged in my throat. I looked all around me but I couldn’t find the man who’d kissed me.

  The groom stepped forward and grinned as the ceremony began. There was something familiar about that smile—a madness I had seen before.

  Bridget whispered in my ear, “Dinna’ look so disheartened lass. I know ye had feelings for Conal, but his cousin’s a fine lad too and in time ye’ll be happy with him, ye’ll see.”

  His cousin. Panic spread through me. No. This couldn’t be happening. So far in my past lives, the same people had rotated around me and the same man had murdered me. Cullen’s brother, Liam. Only, I’d taken care of him…but that was over two hundred years from now. He could do anything he wanted to me in this time, especially if I were his wife.

  I stared down the aisle and he stared back. Did he know it was really me? I couldn’t take the chance.

  “I’m sorry. I feel unwell. I need a moment.”

  I turned and ran back in the direction from which I’d just come.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Runaway Bride

  I headed for the castle’s main doors, scooping the length of the gown so I could run faster. Gasps followed me but I only increased my speed. One of the men shouted to let me go. I could only assume it was the groom. They most likely thought I was about to be sick. I was inside and on the second floor of the castle, moving as quickly as I could up the stairs, when I tripped. Before my face could impact the stone, I felt hands around my waist.

  “Are ye alright?”

  Conal pulled me into his arms, and his eyes, a mixture of green flecked with gold, held my own for a second longer than felt comfortable, but I fought the urge to look away. He bent his head to plant a quick kiss on my lips as he carried me up the staircase.

  I allowed my head to fall against his chest.

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t...”

  “I’m glad ye couldn’t go through with it, lass.” He carried me into my bedchamber, and set me gently on my feet as he turned to close the chamber door.

  I turned away from him to take in the wood, stone, and furs that surrounded me. I closed my eyes to breathe in the delicious scent of the room’s luscious materials, just as he flattened himself against my back, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  He nuzzled his mouth against the back of my neck, and I could feel his hot breath on the exposed skin. My heart was racing with anticipation as he turned me around and touched his lips to my neck, trailing kisses from my collarbone up to my ear. He nibbled it gently, and I reached my hand up behind me so that I could run my fingers into his hair.

  “Ye need to stay here. I’ll go and have a word with my cousin and yer Da. He isn’t going to like what I have to say but I’ll say it none the less.”

  “What will happen?” I started to interject on impulse but was silenced by a sharp bite on my neck.

  “Shhh ... Yer safe, lass. I’ll no let anyone else come between us again.”

  His hands had only just left my waist when a fierce knock came at the door.

  “Conal! Are ye in there, man?”

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Hurry up. Sorely Boy’s men have set a fire. We need to take leave before McQuillan blames ye.”

  “I said I’m comin’.”

  Conal headed for the door. “I won’t leave ye, lass. I’ll be back.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Imprisoned

  I made my way to the window to watch the scene below. The fire was raging. What I could only assume was the guardhouse. I truly was in 16th-century Ireland. Truly in Dunlace Castle and surrounded by the people—the very dead people—Leslie and I had been reading about. Something tugged at the back of my brain. I’d read over so many facts… Surely I knew something that could save us. I would have to tell Conal the truth and then we could brainstorm.

  I headed for the large wooden door when it opened. At first I assumed it must be Conal returning, but one quick glance told me this was not my ginger-haired love.

  “Well, well, well! Who should I find but my runaway bride?” The man walked toward me in a menacing fashion, and I could tell from the glazed expression in his eyes that he’d been drinking.

  There was something familiar about him but I couldn’t pinpoint it. His eyes were dark, like Liam’s, except a fleck of green ran through this man’s iris.

  “What is yer name?” I questioned, backing up until I hit the bedpost behind me.

  “What are ye playing at, Sive? He swayed slightly and leaned back against the wall. He knew my name—although he pronounced it funny, it almost sounded like he’d said Sheeva.

  I took a step forward, realizing I could make a run for it, if I could only get him on the bed. “Ye look as if ye are about to collapse. Why don’t ye sit down on the bed?” I said.

  “Inviting me to bed, are ye then, ye wee harlot. Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

  He lunged for me and his hand tightened around my wrist. I knew what he meant to do and I pulled back but he was too strong, too angry, too determined. He jerked me against him, imprisoning my arms with his, and bent his head to my mouth.

  “Let me go, damn it!” I clawed at his neck and broke the ribbon that held his shirt closed like a drawstring. The neckline sagged opened, revealing a large, angry purplish-red welt. This was the groom I’d run from earlier. He immediately let me go and reached for his neck as if embarrassed that I’d seen it.

  Then he grabbed me around the middle as he threw me onto the bed. He straddled me and the kiss he forced on me was insulting, hard and desperate. His hands began to paw at my dress.

  “Release her now, Sorely Boy. Or the room will run red with yer blood. “

  He didn’t stop.

  A roar to my right caught my attention, just as a hand pulled the man’s lips from mine and sent him tumbling to the floor.

  The man rolled over but didn’t try to get up. “What in the devil do ye mean by this, Uilliam? Yer daughter belongs to me.”

  “She does not. She will always belong to me. I was merely willin’ to loan her to ye!” he roared.

  “Watch yer tongue, old man, lest I cut it out. Now, we made a deal and if yer backin’ out then ye best prepare for war.”

  “Looks like I’m too late. Yer men attacked, ye traitorous devil.”

  “Yer wrong. My men would not attack without my say. That’s most likely Niall’s men ye have to thank. That’s what happens when ye call off a betrothal. Ye best not do it twice or there’ll be no one to save ye.”

  This new man, Uilliam whirled on me and before I could get out a wor
d in protest, he jerked me up by both arms and roughly dragged me away from the large room. He trembled with anger. I could feel it in the grip with which he held onto my arms. He scooped me up and carried me down the hall, screaming in Gaelic every step of the way.

  “Please. Let me explain. I...”

  He immediately interrupted me with more Gaelic cursing. My Cullen occasionally reverted to his native tongue so I knew what this man was screaming wasn’t great news.

  The silence that followed was worse. He didn’t say a word as my head jostled up and down against his back, and as he descended the stairs to the main floor. Hope fluttered within and I wondered if this man—my father, according to the jilted groom—was rescuing me. But instead of going outside, he stopped and set me down in front of a large wooden door. This gave me a chance to look into his eyes and chills ran down my spine.

  I’d no sooner recognized that dark and dangerous gaze than he pulled the great door open and pushed me inside onto the first step. The dank and dirty smell of some place far below ground reached my nostrils.

  He was jangling a large set of keys.

  “What are ye doing?” I asked.

  “Shut yer gob! Ye’ve no one to blame but yerself. Ye jilted a warrior chieftain at the altar, and before that, ye seduced his cousin and now he attacks the castle! Ye may be my kin but ye are a treacherous jezebel, Sive! Ye probably started the fire as a distraction and ordered Conal to slay the castlefolk whilst ye ran. Ye bewitched him. Ye bewitched us all and now I must lock ye away so that no other lad may be cursed by ye.”

  I shook my head, remembering the story of the banshee, but she’d been locked in the tower. This was more like the dungeon. How many other things had I read and just what was truth and what had been embellished over the years. This castle was about to be torn apart—a clan war caused by a jilted suitor. I could be back in my own life soon enough, but how painful would it be to burn to death?

  Changing the past was a long shot, as I’d learned before, but if I could fix the situation then maybe everyone would live. Not that I wanted to live here in this time—but I could find another way home. Why else had I been pulled back if not to help rectify the situation? Tears unwillingly filled my eyes.

  Uilliam’s face hardened at the sight of them.

  “Never ye fret, I’ll see to it that ye die alongside yer lover.”

  “Wait, Uilliam—is it? Please, let me explain. I think I can help. My name is not Sive—it’s Sophia Marcil. I’m from the twenty-first century. I possess a magic that has allowed me at times to travel through time and that’s how I came to be here at Dunlace Castle...in the sixteenth century.”

  “Hold yer lyin’ tongue. Do ye really expect me to believe yer a witch like Saundra, when ye loathed her so?”

  “Ye’re the one who said I bewitch people, but no, I don’t claim to be a witch. Please just listen to me and you’ll understand. The man who owns the castle in the twenty-first century—he found journals and he asked me to study them, to try to find out how ye all died. I think that’s why I’ve come here now, to save ye. Ye see, ye lose yer castle today and many die alongside ye.”

  “Well, that’s no a big revelation, now, is it? Considerin’ we’re under attack, thanks to the likes of ye.”

  “No, I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Ye had everythin’ to do with it. Ye’ve always been nothing but trouble, Sive, and now ye’ve brought war upon our heads. I should have locked ye away long ago.”

  His hands were trembling and his face was red as he took a deep breath and turned away. He threw the door shut and locked it in place, leaving me shaking and gasping as I tried to stop sobbing.

  ***

  Lasaya caught fleeting glimpses of her surroundings. Endless castle walls. She moved as fast as she could from room to room—listening for any signs that they were being followed. Sweat rolled down her grandson’s face as he helped her to walk. His breathing rasped through his throat when at last he scooped her up into his arms. Her side burned from the cut the Witch had inflicted.

  “We’re running out of time, and this movement hurts so much. I feel like I’m falling.”

  “Just hang on. You’re slipping, that’s all,” Rochus replied, hoisting her up again. The jostling thrust her stomach into her throat. She moaned. His arms tightened around her. “Why don’t I take you to the woods where it’s safe and I can come back on my own and search?”

  She opened her eyes and let out a startled gasp. Leaning against a wall, she looked down at her wound. “There’s no time. Besides, I’m not going to make it,” she mumbled as she looked at the blood now transferred to her hand.

  “Don’t say that. You will make it. Now, where is this book?” Rochus asked harshly.

  Lasaya pressed her palms into her eyes. The pain was getting worse. Her stomach rolled.

  Gingerly, she tested her balance. “It’s where we’re headed. Somewhere I’d much rather avoid, but we haven’t the choice. The Witch’s Lair.”

  Shouts came from behind them. Rochus’s grip tightened as he twisted toward the sound. They hurried across a room and entered a set of stairs leading into a basement. Lasaya was hunched like a withered old woman in his arms. No sooner were they out of sight than she heard the unmistakable sounds of running guards. Carefully, Rochus carried Lasaya deeper down the stairwell into the shadows. The two of them held their breath until the footsteps faded into the distance.

  Rochus gently set her down, his arm hovering around her shoulders as if to make sure she didn’t tip over. Lasaya glanced around.

  “Where are we?” Rochus shivered.

  The basement smelled of strong herbs. “We’ve found it, Rochus. It’s down here,” she said in disbelief. The stairwell twirled around her.

  “Is she here—Alexandra, the Witch of Dunlace?”

  “I don’t sense her, but I’m sure she’ll be along as soon as she wakes from that spell we cast on her so let’s hurry. It must be at the end of this hall.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Saundra’s Lair

  Northern Ireland, November 1551

  I sat on the step and cried for several minutes before I was able to get hold of myself. Uilliam wasn’t returning and Cullen or Conal—whatever his name was—wasn’t coming to save me, if he was even still alive.

  There had to be a way out. I picked up the bottom portion of the massive wedding dress and headed down the stone steps. There was a wall just ahead; it looked like the stairs changed direction. If only I could see better … The lighting grew worse, the deeper I went. It only took one misstep to lose my footing and I stumbled down the last three steps, hitting the stone wall with a thud. The wall which had looked solid gave way, and I landed on my face inside a small chamber.

  I pushed myself up off the ground and brushed the dirt away. Light streamed in from a small window in the far corner. I’d never been so happy to see light in all my life. I waited for my eyes to adjust and then scanned the space. So the room had been here all along.

  Hundreds of books lined the wall at the back. I moved closer to look at them.

  Spellbooks.

  Fascinated, I rummaged through the pages, finding instructions on how to cast spells and cure various ailments. A journal lay on the desk so I flipped it open.

  Saundra Cuza.

  Hmm. This must be her room?

  I stopped at the journal entry from two weeks ago. My eyes focused in on Sive’s name. This woman had set her up to cause a war. She encouraged her father to marry her off to Conal only to call off the wedding, knowing it would anger him so. Then she had her betrothed to her lover’s cousin but why? I sped read my way through. She was obsessed with the idea of Sive and Conal having a baby. I flipped a few pages.

  The girl will be cursed—intensifying Uilliam’s need to possess her and the stone so much that he will eventually murder her.

  Another book lay open on the floor close to where I’d first landed, and as I lifted the page I felt a chill move down my
spine.

  Who did this belong to? As I bent to retrieve it, light reflected off an object near it—something shiny. I scooped it up and my blood ran cold. It was the Purple Delhi Sapphire. It had not yet been cut and made into a jewelry set—that would happen later, in 1920. What was it doing here?

  Hope swelled inside of me. Maybe I could use the jewel to get home? With shaky fingers, I reached forward and held my hand over the book. The pages fluttered just as they had in the past. The pages continued to flip and I could smell the smoke from the fire getting stronger. At last the leaves slowed and finally stopped.

  I looked down. There were only three words but I didn’t recognize them. Latin, perhaps? As I worked through the sounds, a strange energy began to build in the room. I could almost hear the walls humming. Curiosity piqued my interest and I continued to sound out the inscription.

  I began to chant the words and they came out more smoothly as I repeated them. Finally an unbearable pain shot through my head. Gripping the edge of the table, I glimpsed someone coming down the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  One Last Request

  Northern Ireland, November 1551

  “We have lost the battle, son, but not the war.”

  Lasaya did her best to sit up straight against the old beech tree as she watched her son enter the woods. She would impart her final wish upon him. The thought of her eldest seeing her in such a weakened state pained her almost as much as the knife to the ribs that forced her breath to come in short rasps. She was a High Priestess, built strong like the witches before her. She found it difficult to believe that her own niece, Saundra, or rather Alexandra, had bested her, but she supposed that was the truth of it. Alexandra was clairvoyant, like Lasaya, and she must have begun having the dreams twelve years ago as well. Only Alexandra had come here and ingratiated herself in the McQuillan and MacDonnell clans. They trusted her and she manipulated them into acting out her revenge.