Page 57 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“That will come later. For now, we need to take a look at this.” Serena switched the scalpel to her left hand, reached across the table, and scooped up a pair of spectacles. Perching the metal-rimmed lenses over her nose, she leaned closer to examine the book. “This is definitely an irregularity.”
Taking the implement back into her dominant hand, Serena slid the blade beneath the first stitch, then the next and the next. With a flick of her wrist, she loosened the lining at one corner. “There’s something here. Beneath the vellum.”
“Bluidy damnation, ye’ve found something.” Connor stared down at the book, watching as his sister carefully peeled away the paper.
Johanna nibbled her lip, steadying herself for whatever Serena might find. Connor edged closer, his sturdy presence reassuring, as her doubts and fears threatened to swarm.
“What is it?” Johanna’s voice sounded far calmer to her ears than she felt. “A message, perhaps.”
Serena’s brows knitted together in concentration. “It might well be.”
“That conniving fool,” Johanna murmured, unable to hold back her emotion. “Mr. Abbott and his greedy, harebrained schemes.”
Serena set the scalpel aside and took a tweezers in her hand. “I don’t doubt the man was a schemer,” she said, her voice scarcely more than a murmur. She extracted a tiny square from the slit in the lining. Not paper. Not precisely. More of a parchment. And judging from the fragile appearance of the item, quite aged indeed. “But I don’t believe he composed this missive.”
“What do ye have there?” Connor’s rough burr betrayed his impatience.
“We’ll see soon enough.” Serena placed the frail document on a clean marble tile. With great care, she unfolded the square.
Creases etched deep grooves on the paper. A few random spots that might have been long-faded drops of ink marred the surface. But no words. No symbols. Nothing that might convey meaning.
Johanna rubbed her temples, as if that would ease the relentless throb of tension. Why would someone take such pains to hide a papyrus-thin leaf that bore no inscription?
“Was this the bastard’s idea of a bluidy joke?” Connor turned to his sister. “What is the meaning of this?”
“That’s what I intend to determine,” Serena said, calm and deliberate. Dampening a fresh swab with a concoction that bore the unmistakable scent of citrus, she swirled the formula over the crackled sheet.
Before Johanna’s eyes, the surface of the parchment changed. Faint letters and symbols appeared. Good heavens, what had Serena uncovered?
Serena continued to apply the chemical to the page. Within moments, ink that had faded to a dull gray spread across the sheet. Letters jumbled together in ways that made no sense filled the perimeter. Scrambled, as if deliberately misaligned. Of course. A code. Nearer the center of the document, there were few words. Rather, symbols and curved lines appeared to delineate a path—a map.
An invisible force squeezed Johanna’s heart. The book was worthless, a vessel for a document she’d been tricked into ferrying from London to the Highlands. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Fighting a burgeoning panic, she pulled in a breath. Laurel’s kidnapper expected a ransom, a treasure. Not a forgery.
Unless…unless Cranston had known the book had no inherent value from the very start. Perhaps the map was the blackguard’s true prize.
Connor pressed a hand to her arm. Firm, yet gentle, the touch shored up her strength. The heat of his body penetrated her prim day dress. Ruthlessly, she repressed her awareness of the man. She had to keep her head about her. She must keep her thoughts focused on bringing Laurel home.
Examining the map, she took in as many details as her weary brain could manage. A symbol caught her eye. An ellipse, long and narrow and irregularly shaped. A body of water, most likely. Near the icon, someone had etched a peculiar sign—a heart, precisely drawn and split in two with a long, black-inked dagger.
A clear warning emanated from that icon. A chill washed over her. Whatever this map revealed, the ominous torn heart indicated a destination. A place of danger. Of evil.
“Oh my.” Johanna drew closer, studying the document. The sense of warning grew stronger.
Nonsense.She chastised herself. Whatever had come over her? This was little more than a sketch, a crude rendering of a location. A hiding place, most likely. But of what? She pulled in a calming breath, pushed the primal foreboding aside, and met Connor’s gaze.
“It’s a treasure map,” she said.
His mouth fixed in a grim line. “Aye, it’s a map. But not to a treasure.”
Confusion fogged her mind. “If not a treasure, then what? What does Cranston want?”
Serena lifted the hand lens over the document. After a long, silent moment, she turned to Connor. “Does the lass know about the curse?”
“Curse?” Johanna repeated as the fog thickened.
Connor’s jaw tensed. “She’s got a level head on her shoulders. I saw no need to fill it with superstitious rubbish.”
Serena’s jade eyes narrowed, cat-like. “Nonsense, is it? Our ancestors did not think the tales were without merit.”
