The Librarian's Spell by Patricia Rice (ebook offline reader TXT) 📗

Covering her eyes from temptation, she tip-toed past and into the study, then safely to the parlor, where Bakari slept on the cot that had been carried up for him. He tossed restlessly, but she sneaked past without disturbing him.

Back to normal! She rushed down the stairs, happy to be in the safety of her own little world again. Her world did not include beds fit for a queen and men who could be kings.

She bathed in the downstairs tub, donned her best black silk, added the gold watch and lace collar, and took a deep breath. Today, she must behave like the Malcolm Librarian for all the world to see. It had been easy enough to do with a man who knew nothing, like Lord Crowley, but in front of perceptive Malcolms. . . She prayed they wouldn’t question on a day like this.

That would happen when they started seeking answers she couldn’t provide.

She rushed down in time to see Miss Trivedi and Mr. Morgan off to the early train heading into the city. Services wouldn’t be until the afternoon, after the return train arrived. Guests needed time to take carts and horses up the rough road to the castle from the train station.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Marta produced a delicate black lace mantle for Lydia to wear. “It was in the wardrobes we cleaned and looks as if it’s meant for you.”

“It’s lovely, like something a real lady would wear,” Lydia exclaimed, wishing she could kiss the cook. The mood in the kitchen lightened considerably as she threw the lacy confection over her shoulders and showed off her new acquisition. “I feel special now, thank you.”

After ascertaining that Marta and her staff were fine, and Mrs. Folkston had the guest rooms in the main house under control, Lydia finally retreated to the guest library to finish working through the books that Max needed.

Max was already there, sipping from a mug of coffee and studying the array of volumes she’d left on the long library table. He contemplated her with what appeared to be interest at her entrance but merely nodded a greeting.

Embarrassed that she’d crept past him while he slept, Lydia nervously held out the oldest volume. “This one has a sketch that appears to show the outer wall being built, but the text is in Gaelic. I can attempt pronunciation but I cannot translate.”

Setting down his mug, he took the volume and examined the drawing. “Nice. They sank the stones deep, so the mine isn’t directly under the foundation as I feared. Attempt pronunciation, please. One of the engineers who taught me spoke Gaelic.”

To her surprise, the words seemed to roll off her tongue as she read the page. She even almost understood them, as much as she might understand anything involving angles and diameters and so forth. It did not appear to say much.

Max frowned in thought but drew some diagrams on a blank piece of paper. “Did a woman write that?”

Lydia verified the title page. “Yes, but she seemed to understand the terms. Or she copied down what someone told her. This is from the 15th century, so it was unusual for women to write, but Malcolm women have always been educated.”

“Which is why they were called witches. Women aren’t supposed to have brains.” He offered her a big smile that almost brought her to her knees. “Men have been idiots for ages. What else do you have in this array of boring tomes?”

Grateful for the table’s distance between them, Lydia settled in a chair and picked up the next volume. “This one is Latin. Do I need to translate as I read?”

“Definitely. I haven’t met any Romans on my journeys. Should I send for tea for you?” He looked around for the bell pull.

“No, don’t. They’re in a tizzy in the kitchen right now, preparing for guests. And neighbors are at the back door with offerings, even though this place has more food than their poor larders can hold. So there will be a crowd well into the evening. You’ll have to stay out of the way. There’s even a chance your mother and aunt might be here. I think they’re the eldest Malcolms in the area.”

He grimaced. “Bakari and I stand forewarned. I assume the city guests will be staying the night. So feed me as much information from these books as you can, and we will make ourselves scarce until we’re told the way is clear.”

“You may have your bed back tonight. I’m sorry I somehow usurped it. How did I end up there?” Lydia tried not to show her anxiety over the question.

“You fell asleep on the stairs, and I didn’t know where to take you. But this works out well. Have Lloyd carry up your clothes and leave him in a cubicle. We won’t disturb you. That chamber is rightfully yours.”

“But I have to go past you to reach the stairs,” she protested. “It’s not at all proper. I’ll have Lloyd remove me to the guest room at the bottom that you were using, and then if I fall asleep again, you’ll know where to put me.” She attempted a smile, waiting to see if he corrected her assumption that he’d put her in the bed.

He didn’t.

He’d carried her up the stairs. . . Lydia’s mind went blank. No one could carry her. She wasn’t small. Those stairs were narrow. Max had carried her. Her heart almost fluttered out of her chest.

Max frowned but didn’t argue with her choice of beds. “At least that’s better than a hole in the wall, I suppose. And we don’t have time to argue. Let’s read through the rest of this.” He gestured at the array of volumes. “My head is likely to explode before we’re done.”

They were hurriedly finishing the last volume just as Bakari ran into the room to warn that carts were coming up the drive. Max had a page of sketches and notes apparently only he could decipher. He shoved the