were there. Malcolm kept looking at him, curiosity warring with fear in his eyes. Somehow this man knew about the MacNachtons, at least enough to make him feel uneasy. As they walked through the house, Jankyn could see that almost every conceivable place had been turned into storage for books, ledgers, and scrolls. The man kept the main living areas relatively clean, simply lining the walls with shelves where he could, but most of his home was dedicated to his work. Somewhere in this warren was a tale or two about the MacNachtons, and this man was even now recalling them.
The next time the man looked his way, Jankyn gave him a wide smile. Malcolm’s eyes grew very wide, and he paled slightly before turning his attention back to Efrica. She obviously noticed her cousin’s upset, and frowned at Jankyn, suspicion glinting in her eyes. Jankyn gave her a sweet smile and was not surprised when her look of suspicion only deepened. Then Malcolm drew her attention as he led them into what had clearly once been the great hall. Jankyn stood and looked around in awe at all the shelves and tables so filled with things that people employed to record information they felt was important that the wood should have been groaning and buckling beneath the weight of it all.
“Ye will find the MacNachtons on the shelf by the window,” Malcolm said. “Far end. On the left. I will get ye some wine and food, aye?”
Before Efrica could reply, Malcolm hurried out of the room. She turned to cast another suspicious look at Jankyn, but he was already striding toward the shelves Malcolm had indicated. Efrica was sure Jankyn had done something to make Malcolm so nervous, but since they had not been immediately turned out, she decided to ignore it and hurried to his side. A little voice told her that she ought to leave him here, that spending time alone with him was not wise, but she silenced it. If nothing else, she was intensely curious about what information Malcolm may have gathered on the MacNachtons. She silently helped Jankyn look for anything with the name MacNachton and place it on one of the several large tables scattered around the room.
“Ah, good, good,” Malcolm muttered as he returned and set a large tray of wine, bread, cheese, and oatcakes on the table. “Ye may see a wee notation or two in places. Twill direct ye to another wee bit of information. Many clans are connected, ye ken, and the tales of one clan will oftimes slip into the tales of another.”
Efrica frowned and stared at her cousin’s neck. A glint of something shiny showed beneath the tousled locks of white hair and the neck of the ink-stained shirt. She reached out to touch his neck and gasped when she tapped her fingernail against metal.
“Malcolm, what do ye have upon your neck?” she demanded.
“Naught!” He covered his neck with his hands.
“Dinnae lie to me. Oh, Malcolm, ye have put some sort of neck ring on. How could ye insult a guest so?”
“Effie, he is a MacNachton.” Malcolm whispered.
“Aye, and his laird is wed to my sister Bridget. Do ye see me wrapping metal about my neck? I think ye have heeded too many rumors, forgotten how to separate gossip and whispers from fact. I also think ye owe Jankyn an apology.”
“Sorry,” Malcolm muttered even as he started toward the door. “Many pardons. Let yourselves out when ye are done.”
Keeping her gaze fixed upon the door Malcolm had shut behind him as he fled, Efrica said, “Ye showed him your fangs, didnae ye, Jankyn.”
“They may have peeked out when I gave him a friendly smile,” Jankyn replied.
She shook her head and moved to pour them each some wine. “That mon spends far too much of his life lurking about within this house reading about the past.” She frowned when Jankyn studied what looked to be a brief letter, a faint smile curling his lips. “What have ye found?”
“The answer to the puzzle of how your brother kenned so much about us. He would only say that he had a knowledgeable friend. I believe I have found that friend.” Jankyn handed her the letter.
“Bridget has wed Cathal MacNachton, laird of Cambrun,’” she read. “Who is he? Need to know immediately. Duncan.’ Rather abrupt. Howbeit, I suspicion my brother softened his lordly demands with a heavy purse. I wonder why he ne’er told ye about Malcolm.”
“He had only just met us and kenned how closely we guarded our secrets. We ne’er thought to ask again, after he had come to ken us better.” Jankyn sipped at the wine she had served him. “Still, I am nay sure I like the fact that someone outside Cambrun kens so much about us.”
“Malcolm is verra careful about sharing this information. He kens all about the Callans, too, ye ken. Being one of us, he weel understands the value of secrecy. I will, however, tell him to put your secrets away with ours.”
Jankyn glanced around the room. “The Callans arenae to be found in here?”
“There will be a listing, a few tales and innocent letters, but nay more. Malcolm carefully takes out all hints of our true ancestry. The full tale is more precisely recorded and tucked away in a verra safe place. Since your clan is now tied to ours, ’tis far past time he did the same, er, cleansing of the MacNachton information.”
“Aye, that might be best. Tis troubling to think of our secrets written down here where, nay matter how careful Malcolm is, someone could see them. Rumors and dark, whispered tales of the past are difficult enough to fight. Set down in a book?” He shrugged. “Too many would see that as irrefutable proof.”
Efrica nodded. “The verra fact that someone would take the time to write it all down gives it weight. So few have the skill that it gives it a great deal of power. Magic, e’en,” she added as she returned to the shelves.
When Jankyn watched her bend over slightly to sort through several scrolls, his mind was immediately filled with several lecherous thoughts and he inwardly cursed. It was tempting to tell her to leave, that he did not need help, but he could not bring himself to do so. She was offering him help, had brought him to a treasure trove of information, and he would not insult her by curtly sending her away. He was a man with many years of experience, he reminded himself as he forced his attention to the book in front of him. He ought to be able to curtail his lust for a woman, for any woman.
That control grew harder to grasp than he liked as the hours passed. Far too often he would catch himself looking at her, thinking of all the ways he wanted to make love to her. She was proving to be an incurable fever in his blood. The fact that she was a pleasant and efficient assistant only made it worse. A simple lusting could be conquered in time, no matter how fierce it was. Lust mixed with respect and liking was very hard to shake free of. It was settling deep into his heart, and that could cause them both a lot of trouble.
It was Efrica who called attention to the swift advance of dawn hours later. Jankyn pulled himself free of his fascination with his research and looked longingly at several large books he had unearthed from Malcolm’s vast collection. He looked at Efrica and caught her setting a letter on the tray Malcolm had brought the food and wine in on.
“Tis but a message for Malcolm telling him that we have taken a few things back to the castle with us,” she explained.
“Will he allow that?” asked Jankyn.
“Nay if we ask him directly, I suspect. Thus the message and a quick escape.”
“And this.” Jankyn set a small purse upon the tray, the weight of it and the sound it made hinting at a sizable sum of money.
“That will certainly soothe him,” she murmured as she followed
