by C. J. Bahr
He slipped into the room, using his hand to trail against the bookshelves to guide him. A few months ago, he had learned the crazy Frenchman, Bonaparte, had taken troops and crossed the Alps to defeat the Austrians at Marengo. The English were worried about France’s aggression and put a call out for men willing to go to the Continent, unofficially. Though only ten and six, Simon’s recent growth spurt enabled him to pass for ten and eight. He’d enlisted.
His ship was leaving at dawn, so all he needed now was money for his military commission, and he knew just where to get it. His groping hand reached a break in the bookcases and quickly found the gilt-edged framed painting. From memory, he knew it was a stormy seascape, and from observation he knew there was a depression in the wall behind the canvas—holding articles his da preferred to keep hidden.
Simon pushed the painting to one side and felt along the wall until he found the hole. He patted around the inside, feeling books, loose papers, and then smiled when his tactile fingers discovered the small wooden box. It held the money he needed. As a member of the upper class, even if the English looked down on his Scottish heritage, he had to enter as an officer, which meant purchasing a commission. His da would be more than happy to pay the price if it meant his troublesome son was out of his life—even if he dinnae know he was doing the paying. Snatching his prize from the hole, he let the painting slide back into position. He slipped his pack off his shoulder, untied the strings, and dropped the box inside. It was then he heard the noise.
At first he didn’t know where the sound was coming from, but when a bookcase directly across the room from him started to swing outward, his instincts had him dropping behind the chair he was standing next to. His eyes widened as the glow from a candle grew brighter and from behind the case, Murdoc MacKay, Cleitmuir’s Earl, his father, stepped forward.
Simon glanced behind to reassure himself the painting was back in position. He almost sighed out-loud with relief, but caught himself just in time. His father pushed the bookcase, which closed with an audible click and then walked to his desk, first putting the low burning candle down before seating himself beside it. The soft flickering light revealed his da’s careworn and tired face.
What was behind the bookshelves? He never knew Cleitmuir had secret passages and wondered where it led. What secrets was his da hiding now? He watched his father study the sapphire signet ring adorning his hand and his curiosity deflated.
The ring was the symbol of everything wrong between Simon and the MacKay. Responsibility Simon didn’t want, especially if it came at a price of such seriousness and a world devoid of life and fun. He would never be good enough for his father, so why try? He had realized that over five years ago while kneeling in the Church. And now with Napoleon invading other countries, he had a way out. He watched his da sigh and then blow out the candle snub. Darkness fell, so he didn’t see his father stand and leave the study, but he heard his da’s dragging footsteps.
Who cares what troubled the old man and all the secrets he hid? Simon was done with him. He was doing his da a favor by leaving. His father would be free to disinherit him and claim a new heir to his liking. Neither of them would be burdened with expectations.
Simon stood and clutched his pack. He walked to the study door and paused, listening hard, making sure his da was long gone before venturing out. Silently he opened the front door and slipped outside. He walked down the steps and crossed the gravel stones of the drive, leaving Cleitmuir and his family behind. He never looked back.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Cleitmuir Manor
July, Present Day
Simon materialized in front of the same bookcase his father had emerged from so long ago. It held no secrets now. He pulled a battered copy of the King James Bible off the shelf, reached into the barren slot, and then felt for the odd flaw in the backing of the case. Finding it, he pressed the knot of wood, replaced the bible, and stepped to the side.
On well-oiled hinges, the bookcase swung silently into the study. He entered and shut the case behind him. His body vanished, becoming incorporeal, since he didn’t want to expend more energy than necessary. What was to come would be hard enough without draining himself.
The area was cramped, not much larger than a small closet, but then it needn’t be larger for its hidden purpose. In a few short strides, the ground opened up before him. He stepped over the hole, hovering above the opening until he willed himself downward, not needing the wooden ladder that showed its age. The shaft was long, leading deep beneath the manor’s grounds.
It ended above a cold, damp chamber that had four corridors extending in different directions—the start of the catacombs. It had taken Simon nearly twenty agonizing deaths to remember this secret passage, then another one hundred to solve the maze of the catacombs and find the room holding Uriel’s Orb. After two hundred years, he didn’t need to even think of the path, he simply ghosted through the carved tunnels bolstered by rotting timbers and thick cobwebs to reach the chamber of his frustration.
Simon stopped before the stone door and took the time to re-study the lock in order to describe it better to Laurel. He didn’t want her down here. The catacombs weren’t safe. That’s why using explosives to blow the door wouldn’t work. With the slightest of nudges, let alone a blast, a support timber could collapse, causing the tunnel to cave in. That was his fallback if MacKenzie beat him to the key and to this door. He’d trigger a cave in, killing MacKenzie and sealing the Orb in safety. He’d gladly do so now, but he doubted without MacKenzie dead and the key in Simon’s possession, the artifact would be truly safe. The bugger was just too crafty.
He thought about what lay behind the door and all the torture he continued to endure because of the Orb. At least God had given him Laurel when Simon had been close to his breaking point. It was hard to stay sane after all these years. There were times he thought of letting go, blissfully let his mind collapse as easily as these catacombs, so he couldn’t suffer anymore, wouldn’t be aware, just a walking madman. But the consequences seemed too large, the Orb in MacKenzie’s hands, the damage he could do to humanity, Simon’s sense of honor wouldn’t let him take the easy way out.
And now he was grateful he hadn’t. Without a clear mind, he’d never have Laurel, or the return to feeling human again. But was it truly a gift? When all was said and done, it would be taken away from him. Would he ever have justice for himself? Or was this some grand punishment for his childhood selfishness? In the end he was dead. Life had no relationship with the dead.
He supposed it didn’t matter. Simon gathered his will and his courage then stepped forward. This was different than the wooden spikes that speared him as he passed through his locked bedroom door—as different as ice was to fire, though both could be painful in their own ways.
Instead of a sharp pain the smothering weight of the earth pressed on his soul, crushing him, the granite dust filling him until he felt like his body would explode. The wall was thick. It took time, endurance, and strength of will, to pass through the stone. More pain for him to catalog and simply accept, after all, he didn’t have a choice if he wanted inside the chamber.
He emerged into an austere open space. The small room contained a strangely preserved rug that lined the floor, a plain wooden altar upon which the diamond was placed, and a simple silver Celtic cross hung on the stone behind it.
Simon materialized and in three long strides reached the altar and knelt before it. He bowed his head and crossed himself. Hesitating, he lifted his gaze and stared at the Orb. He could see it, even though the room had no windows, essentially an underground cave. The chamber wasn’t pitch black. A soft yellow glow filled the space and it emanated from the diamond. The Fiery Stone was lit from within.
The soft illumination revealed the diamond’s flawless state, an item of unearthly beauty, and the cause of all his torment. He had come here every year of his monthly manifestation since he’d located the Orb. He’d knelt before it as he had done during the nigh
t’s vigil before the Archangels’ Shrine when he was but eleven. If only his da had spoken more plainly, told him, instead of hinted. It could have been possible his father and even himself wouldn’t have been murdered. His family might have remained together, grown old together, seen his and Jean’s children and then grandchildren. But that hadn’t happen. After all these years, Simon was beginning to understand his father. How could the MacKay trust his selfish, irresponsible son? Because he was sure that was the only description that bore out when it came to his da’s opinion of him. He had been exactly as his da depicted him. If only…
He closed his eyes and sighed. He was tired. The thought of drowning in that dark cave, alone, once again, was a nightmare he couldn’t suffer. He had reached his limits. Even knowing his drowning death would allow him to return once more and perhaps spend another month with Laurel at his side, didn’t ease the sour bile circling his stomach. Time was running out. There was only a fortnight left, just fourteen short days. He was at the end. So tired, so exhausted. He wanted to see his mother and sister, again. Beg their forgiveness. And the MacKay, his da? What could he ever possibly say to make amends to his father?
Simon opened his eyes and stared at the glowing stone. There was only one way to make reparation and redeem himself. Get the key, retrieve the Orb, and hide it somewhere it would be safe for eternity.
He took a deep breath and held it. If it meant drowning another hundred times, so be it. He’d find a way to survive, keep sane. He would not fail he vowed as he bolstered his inner strength once more.
“This I do so swear,” Simon declared, as he did every time he knelt before the Orb.
He stood and dematerialized. Hopefully, Laurel’s research held the answers so elusive to him. If it did, she just might save his soul and his family’s honor. Bi Tren.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Laurel stopped her rental car in front of Sinclair House and stared at the front door, trying to calm herself. Simon hadn’t liked it, but in the end they had agreed to her playing double agent. It was really the only way for her to continue to go through Alex’s research. And it afforded her the opportunity to find the key if it was actually in Alex’s possession. All of Simon’s wishes for her to stay clear of Alex were just impossible. She needed to brave the lion’s den to find the key.
She knew she’d find it. Or at least discover what the key was. Simon had carefully described the indentation in the rock face which was the door to the Orb’s location, as well as how to get there in great detail. However, she had to endure a long lecture and multiple warnings about the labyrinth, how dangerous it was, and that it was on the verge of collapse. Laurel finally vowed never to enter the catacombs. The promise was the only thing keeping Simon from dogging her every step. She would focus solely on identifying the key. Small, round, and with serrated edges. How hard could that be to find?
Her gaze fixed on the front door, looming large and ominous in her mind. She so wasn’t a field guy. She longed for her basement office at the Field museum, her computers, her books. Sighing, she made herself get out of the car and walk to the door. It was just research, she reassured herself. Who cared if she was alone in the house with a supposed killer who was mentally unhinged? A nervous chuckle escaped her. Yeah, right.
Buck up, Saville, she admonished. He hasn’t even threatened you—yet. Besides, Alex needs you even more than Simon. Simon at least knew where the treasure was. As long as she made herself useful in Alex’s eyes, there would be no reason for threats or murder. Comforted, Laurel knocked, and waited for the duplicitous bastard to answer the door.
She had spent the last two days getting her hands on anything to do with Archangels, Uriel in particular and the MacKay’s history. She had learned a lot, some of it, she was sure, would be the information that would help. It was a matter of seeing the tree through the forest. And she would.
Alex opened the door, and Laurel plastered a smile to her face.
“You made good time,” he greeted her. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour yet.”
Still smiling, she replied, “Inverness was a wash, so I decided to head back early. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not, it’s always a pleasure to see you.”
Alex stepped aside and let her into the foyer. They walked side-by-side until they reached the sitting room acting as their research center. She strode right in, but Alex stayed at the entrance.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I have some things I need to finish.”
“Oh, sure. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just lose myself in all these papers anyway. I won’t even notice you’re gone.” Her cheeks were beginning to ache from her fake smiling. This was way worse than the millions of museum functions she had to pretend to enjoy. It’d be much easier without MacKenzie around.
Alex struck his hand to his heart. “Ah, I’m shattered, lass.”
She managed a chuckle at his dramatics. “I’m sure you’ll live. Now, go. Do whatever it is you need to do and don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll be down the hall if you need me. Just give a shout.”
She turned her back on him and waved him off as she headed to the stacks of files. “I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t check to see if he left, but since Alex hadn’t spoken, she assumed he had. It didn’t matter. Her mind had an itch. A feeling she came to know over the years as her unconscious understanding something important. She knew she had an answer, it just hadn’t popped to the forefront yet. Picking up some random files, she began to shuffle through them. It would come to her if she didn’t directly think about it. Laurel settled on the couch and let herself get lost in history.
An hour passed, possibly two, and Alex hadn’t returned. Thankful for small favors, Laurel’s attention was glued to the file sitting open before her. There was something here. It was so obvious it bugged her she couldn’t figure it out. The document was about the clan MacKenzie, not the MacKay’s, and it taunted her. She frowned.
“That’s a serious expression on your face. What’s the matter?”
Startled, she looked up and saw Alex standing next to the couch. She hadn’t heard him enter. That wasn’t good.
“My Latin is a little rusty and don’t get me started about Gaelic. Do you think you can translate?” Laurel handed the paper over to him.
“Och, aye, this will be easy.” Alex pointed to the paper. “Luceo Non Uro, is our clan’s Latin motto. It means, ‘I Shine, Not Burn’.” He moved his finger a little lower, highlighting another set of words. “Every clan has two mottos, one in Latin and the other in the Gaelic. Cuidich ’N Righ is the MacKenzie’s Gaelic motto, ‘Help The King’.”
“So, the MacKay’s would have two mottos as well, right?”
“Aye.”
“Do you know what they are?”
“No. But if it’s important, I can find out for you.”
Alex didn’t meet her eyes when he spoke. He was lying. Why would he lie? What the hell was she overlooking?
“Have you found something?” He asked.
She shook her head. “No. I’m on information overload.” Laurel stood and stretched. “I’m calling it quits for today. I’m fried.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. My business took longer than expected.”
She gave him a quick shrug. “We’ll tackle it together next time. No worries.” She grabbed her purse off the floor and walked out of the room with Alex at her side.
“Will you be by tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” she shot him a sidewise glance. “Is that a problem?”
“Not really, I have an appointment in Edinburgh tomorrow. I’ll be gone all day. But you’re welcome to come over. I can hide a key.”
“Ah, sure. That’d be great. But I’m sure I’ll probably be doing something with Beth.”
“Good. You should be enjoying your holiday.”
She gave him a smile, and ducked out the door, before he thought to kiss her. It was getting awkward
avoiding his advances. She gave him a wave, then practically jogged to her car. She could feel his eyes on her. As she drove away, she prayed her time with MacKenzie would end swiftly. She wanted to be far away as possible when his urban mask slipped and his true evil self was revealed.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The sun warmed her as much as Simon. Seated on the ground, with him resting against the limestone of the stable’s outer wall, she sat curled between his legs using him as a backrest. It was lovely. With a contented sigh, Laurel closed her eyes and cuddled closer—enjoying the broadness of his chest. She felt his hand caress her cheek, trail down her neck then her arm until his palm rested lightly on her hip. It was late afternoon as they stared at the unending fields before them. Laurel felt like they were the only people on Earth.
“I could stay like this forever.”
“Aye, lass. The thought crossed my mind as well.” He shifted his large frame and settled them more comfortably. “Go on then, you were telling me about your research.”
“Let’s see,” she paused and brushed a flyaway hair from her face. “Oh, so get this, besides being the angel of prophecy and his control over natural phenomena such as earthquakes, thunderstorms, and volcanoes, he’s known as God’s light. But here’s the cool part, another title of Uriel’s is the ‘flame of God’, and guess what your clan’s name translates to?”
“Well, ‘Mac’ is ‘son of” and ‘Kay’ means fire.”
“Neat, huh? Uriel’s the flame and you’re the fire. Well the son of fire. I wonder how far back your clan’s relationship with the Archangel goes? It’s too coincidental. I wonder if he had a hand in naming your family?”
“I don’t know. My da and I never really spoke about it or anything else that mattered.”