“I seem to remember hearing about your surgery.”
“That was…a while ago,” she said, trying to think of a way to get out of the corner she’d trapped herself in. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Here’s my question,” he said. “Didn’t you find a lump in your breast—”
“It was just a little bump.”
Ignoring her interruption, he continued, “And didn’t you check yourself into the hospital and have the surgery without telling anyone in your family?”
She took a breath. “Yes, but it was a procedure…a biopsy…”
“Doesn’t matter. You didn’t want anyone to worry, did you? What if something had gone wrong? What if the procedure had turned into major surgery?”
“Kate drove me to the hospital. She would have called everyone.”
“And you think that’s okay?”
“No,” Jordan admitted. “It was wrong. But I was scared. And telling everyone made it more real.”
Strangely enough, he understood. He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ll tell you what. You ever pull a stunt like that on me, and there’ll be hell to pay.” Just thinking about the possibility of her keeping something that serious from him made him angry.
“No more secrets,” she promised.
“Damn right.”
She tried to get up.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I was going to read, but I’m not in the mood to think about old feuds.”
He pulled her back. “Read something to me. Maybe a battle,” he suggested. “That will relax you.”
“Only a man could think that hearing about a bloody battle would be relaxing.”
She decided to humor him. She scooted closer, leaned against his chest, and dropped the stack of papers in her lap.
He looked over her shoulder. “How far back have you gotten?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been randomly pulling out a story or two from every other century. When I get home I’ll make myself read all of it.”
“What do you mean, make yourself? If you don’t think any of it is accurate…”
“Okay, I want to read all of it. And then I’m going to do my own research. I want to find the truth.” She added, “I’m sure there are threads of truth in some of the stories. For the most part, they’ve been handed down from father to son.” She gave him the stack. “You choose one.”
She watched him flip through the pages. “Wait,” she said as she snatched one of the papers. “I just saw…There it is again.”
She pulled out the page and held it up. “See? In the margin. The professor wrote the date 1284 again. I’ve seen it on two other pages in the margins. And what’s that? A crown? A castle? 1284 has to be when he thought the feud started. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “The numbers are thick, like he was going over them again and again so he wouldn’t forget.”
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t need to write the date more than once. If what he told me about his memory was true, he didn’t need to write anything down. He’d remember. I think he must have been absentmindedly scribbling while he thought about something else.”
“Hold on. What did he tell you about his memory?”
“He was boasting,” she said. “He said he had an extraordinary memory. He never forgot a face or a name no matter how much time had passed. He recorded these tales to organize them for other people to read someday, but he had committed every detail to memory. He claimed he was a voracious reader. What newspapers he couldn’t get his hands on, he read on the Internet.”
Noah remembered all the newspapers littering the professor’s living room floor. “Look through the rest of the pages,” he suggested. “See if he did any sketches or wrote any other dates.”
She didn’t find any in her stack, but he found a couple in the bottom half of his.
“What does that look like to you?” He pointed to something sketched in the margin at the top of the page.
“Maybe a dog or a cat…with that long mane, a lion. I’ll bet it’s a lion.”
The last drawing he found was easier to figure out. Another crown. A very poor drawing of a lopsided crown.
“You know what I think?” he said. “Professor MacKenna was crazy.”
“I’ll admit he was strange, and he was obsessed with his work.”
“I think he made it all up.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think there really is a hidden treasure.”
Noah continued to flip through the pages. “Some of these aren’t dated.”
“It can be a guessing game. Maybe the name of a king is mentioned…or a new weapon, like a crossbow. That would give us an approximate time period, but the rest are just guesses.”
“Read this one.” He handed her the papers and leaned back.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he pulled her closer and put his arm around her.
She began reading in a soft clear voice.
Our beloved king is dead, and in this time of our terrible grieving, the clans have been embroiled in battle after battle to gain power and control over the others. We have a pretender who demands to be king and struggles to rule, and there is now constant political turmoil.
Greed has taken root in the hearts of our leaders. We do not know how this will end, and we fear for our children. There is no unbloodied ground to walk upon, no cave in which to find sanctuary for our old and our young. The road is desolate. We have witnessed murder and infidelity. And now betrayal.
The MacDonalds are warring with the MacDougals, and the western coast is their battleground. In the south the Campbells fight the Fergusons, and the MacKeyes and the Sinclairs spill their blood in the east. There is no refuge.
But it is the treachery in the north that we now most fear. The MacKennas have new allies from the other end of the world to help them destroy their enemy, the Buchanans.
The MacKenna laird shows no interest in stealing the Buchanans’ land and forcing the warriors under his rule, though we know such a thing could never be accomplished. Nae, perhaps in the past, that was the MacKenna’s intent, but no longer. He wants to destroy all of them, every man, every woman, every child. His anger is fierce.
Though we must never openly speak of this, even in whispers, we believe the MacKenna laird has made an evil pact with the King of England. The king sent his emissary, a young prince who came to the court from a distant domain that is now ruled by the king. A witness observed this secret meeting, one of our own, and we believe his words to be true, for he is a man of God.
The king wants a foothold in the north, and his eyes are on the Buchanan land for its position in the highlands. Once the land is conquered, his soldiers will advance toward the south and the east. He will conquer Scotland, one clan at a time, and when they are under his rule, he will gather a massive force and go north into the land of the giants.
The prince has told the laird that the king has heard of the animosity between the Buchanans and the MacKennas, and even though he believes destroying the Buchanans with his help should be reward enough, he will sweeten his pact by giving the laird a title and a silver treasure. The treasure alone would elevate the laird above all other clans, for there is a mystical power to the treasure. Aye, with this treasure, the laird would become invincible. He would have the power he longed for, and he would have his revenge against the Buchanans.
Greed overtook the laird, and he could not say no to the devil’s bargain. He called up his allies, but he did not tell them about his meeting with the emissary or the pact he had struck. He concocted a story of infidelity and murder, and demanded they follow him into war.
We too fear the Buchanans’ wrath, but we cannot allow this slaughter, and we have determined that one of us will go to their laird and tell him of this plot. We do not believe the King of England should have power in our land. The MacKenna laird may wish to sell his soul, but he will not.
With great trepi
dation, our courageous friend Harold went alone to speak to the Buchanan laird. When he did not return, we believed the Buchanans had killed him. But Harold was not harmed. He returned to us, and his body was sound, but terror had overtaken his mind, for he declared to us that he had seen him. Harold had seen the ghost. He had seen the lion in the mist.
Noah interrupted Jordan. “He saw what?”
“Harold had seen the ghost. He had seen the lion in the mist,” Jordan repeated.
Noah smiled. “A lion in Scotland?”
“Maybe it’s a figurative lion,” she suggested. “After all, there was Richard the Lionhearted.”
“Keep reading,” he coaxed.
“Has the Buchanan laird gathered his allies?” we asked.
“Nae,” came his reply. “He sent messengers to the north to call forth one warrior. That is all.”
“Then they will all die.”
“Yes, they will die” another said. “The English king is so sure of victory he has sent a legion of soldiers
Noah interrupted again. “A legion? Come on. Do you know how many that would be?”
“Noah, I’ve already read about a ghost and a lion in the mist. What’s the big deal about a legion?”
He laughed. “You’re right.”
“Do you want me to continue or not?”
“Go on,” he said. “I promise not to interrupt again.”
“Where was I? Oh, yes, the legion.” She found her place and resumed reading.
“The English king is so sure of victory he has sent a legion of soldiers with the treasure to Laird MacKenna. He has also ordered these soldiers to join the MacKennas in their battle against the Buchanans. The MacKenna laird has only just been given this news. He cannot stop the advance, and he knows that his allies will turn against him when they discover he has a pact with the king. They will not fight by the side of an English soldier.”
Jordan dropped the paper. “He did it on purpose.”
“Who did what?” Noah asked.
“The king. He sent soldiers knowing the MacKenna allies would turn against the laird. He also knew they would find out about the pact. The clans would know that MacKenna joined forces with the king. For silver. Talk about betrayal.”
“And they all end up killing each other.”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “Which is exactly what the king wanted. How could the MacKenna laird believe the King of England would keep his word?”
“Greed. He was blinded by greed. Did he get the treasure?” he asked.
She picked up the paper again. “The victory belonged to the Buchanans.”
“I was rooting for them,” Noah drawled. “They were the underdogs. Besides, I’m in bed with a Buchanan. I should be loyal.”
She didn’t comment. She read on, then stopped. “Oh, no, I’m not reading these descriptions of the actual battle. Suffice it to say, there were a lot of severed body parts and heads gone missing. The few English soldiers who survived returned to England. I wish I knew what king it was,” she said.
“What happened to the MacKenna laird?”
She skimmed another page before answering. “Ah, here it is. ‘The MacKenna laird lost his treasure and the king’s promise of a title.’”
“What title specifically?”
“I don’t know. But he lost it. He lived the rest of his days in disgrace. And get this—his clan blamed the Buchanans. I’ll bet Professor MacKenna found a way to twist this so he could blame the Buchanans too.”
“For what?”
“I guess everything. The English soldiers, the treasure—”
“The laird must have put quite a spin on the facts to get his clan to believe him.”
She agreed. “This legend has everything. Greed, betrayal, secret meetings, murders, and no doubt, infidelity. There was infidelity in the story, but I skimmed over it.”
“Nothing much has changed over the centuries. You know that blackmail list of J. D.’s that Street printed out? It’s the same old story. Infidelity, greed, betrayal. You name the vice, it’s on the list.”
“I hope that’s an exaggeration. I know Charlene’s been cheating on her fiancé, but there’s always one who doesn’t conform. Could I see the list?”
He started to get out of bed. She pushed him back. “Never mind. I don’t need to see it. Just tell me. Is Amelia Ann on the list?”
“Yes, she is. Nothing illegal though. She got treated for an STD, and J. D. knew about it. She paid him a hundred dollars so he wouldn’t tell her daughter.”
“A hundred dollars was probably a lot of money for her to scrape together. She wouldn’t want her daughter to be disappointed in her. It could be worse.”
“It gets worse. Remember the videos that Street found at J. D.’s house?”
“Yes.”
“His victims weren’t the only ones he taped. Evidently he liked to watch some of his own sexual escapades too. And one of the tapes was labeled ‘Amelia Ann.’”
Jordan’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? Amelia Ann and J. D.?” She gave the news a moment to sink in and then said, “That would mean that J. D. could have given her the sexually transmitted disease, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s possible,” said Noah.
“I hope Candy never finds out. What’s wrong with the people in this town? Haven’t they ever heard of cable?”
“Sweetheart, sex trumps cable any time of the day or night.”
She shook her head. “This is just wrong. All wrong.”
She had heard enough about the secret, sordid lives of the locals. She gathered the papers, dumped them into her bag, and got back in bed.
Noah’s eyes were closed.
“Noah?”
“Hmmm?”
“Are you attracted to women who wear short-shorts and stiletto heels?”
He leaned up on his elbow to look at her. “Where did that question come from? Who wears short-shorts and stilettos?” he asked.
“Amelia Ann.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
“She’s not my type.”
She smiled and reached across his chest to turn off the light. “Good answer.”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M ADMITTING THIS TO YOU, BUT I’M GOING TO miss Serenity.”
Noah and Jordan were driving past Jaffee’s Bistro when she made the comment. A hint of morning lit the sky, and a soft, golden glow surrounded them. It was dark inside the restaurant. Jaffee wouldn’t be opening up for hours.
“What exactly are you going to miss?” he asked.
“I had a life-changing experience here.”
He couldn’t resist. “Sex was that good, huh?”
Exasperated, she shook her head at him. “That isn’t what I was talking about. But speaking of sex…”
“It was pretty damned good last night, wasn’t it? You wore me out.”
It wasn’t just good, she thought. It was amazing and incredible and wonderful, but if she told him so, Noah’s arrogance would get completely out of hand.
“Stop trying to embarrass me. It won’t work,” she warned.
He didn’t contradict her. She was wrong though. It was working: She was blushing.
“What was your life-changing experience?” he asked.
“I guess it was more of a life-changing decision. I’ve realized that I’ve been a slave to technology, and that’s going to change. There’s more to life than building computers and designing bigger and better and faster…” Her sigh was long and drawn out. “I want more out of life.”
He flashed a smile. “Good to know.”
“The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is make a list of all the things I want to do. Cooking is number one,” she said, nodding. “I’m going to take a cooking class. No more take-out.”
“A list, huh?”
“That’s right.”
The drive to the Austin airport was a long one and it gave them time to talk about a variety of topics. On
e was the differences in their upbringing. Noah was an only child, whereas Jordan came from a gaggle of siblings, as she referred to her brothers and sister. Noah didn’t realize the importance of having his own space because he’d always had it. Jordan told him how she had longed to have a little privacy. Her biggest complaint, however, was being constantly teased by her brothers. Noah laughed as she recounted some of the pranks they had played on her and her sister when they were young. He thought growing up in such a big family was a blessing—a constant party.
Occasionally there were pauses in the conversation, but Jordan felt so comfortable with him, she didn’t need to fill the silences with small talk. They had been in the car a couple of hours before she finally got up the nerve to ask him to explain an earlier remark he’d made that had bothered her.
“Do you remember telling me you knew what I was all about? What did you mean by that?”
He glanced over at her. “You sure you want to know?”
How bad could it be? “I’m sure.”
“I’ve known you for a long time, and I know how your mind works, especially where men are concerned. You like control. You’d like to control everyone and everything.”
“That’s not true.”
He ignored her denial. “You especially like to control the men you date. I’ve met some of them, Sugar, and I know what I’m talking about. You go for the weak ones. But then if you can walk all over them, you don’t want them. I’ll bet you haven’t slept with any of them. Maybe that’s why you choose that type, so you won’t get involved. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re wrong,” she insisted. “I like sensitive men.”
“But you went to bed with me. And I sure as certain am not sensitive.”
“You make me sound terrible,” she said.
“You’re not terrible, you’re a sweetheart. A bossy sweetheart,” he added with a grin.
“And I do not want to control anyone,” she said vehemently.
“I’m not worried. You’ll never control me.”
She folded her arms. “Why do you think I would want to? And don’t you dare tell me I can’t stop myself.”