Page 56 of Undercover Shadow
“The tunnels near the storage chamber branch in three directions. One goes toward the loch, one deeper into the grounds, and one that appears to head northeast.”
“Toward Blackmoor,” I said, recognizing the direction.
“Exactly.” She pulled another document—an architectural survey from the 1800s—closer. “According to this, the monasteries in this region were all connected by underground passages. The monks used them to travel between religious houses without being seen.”
“The Jacobites expanded them later.” When my hand brushed hers as we reached for the same document, we both froze.
Her eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, the carefully maintained distance between us evaporated. I could see the way her breath caught when our skin touched.
“Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand away.
“No, I—” I stopped, the words dying in my throat because, what could I say? That every moment near her was torture and relief in equal measure? That Vanguard’s words kept echoing in my head—move heaven and earth—and I didn’t know how to be that brave?
I cleared my throat. “The historical records are in the archive room. I can pull one of the monastery documents if you think they’d help.”
“That would be useful. If we can chart the full extent of the original passages, we might be able to predict where else they’ve built facilities.”
I stood, grateful for the excuse to move, to put space between us before I reached for her again.
Twenty minutes later, I returned with additional leather-bound volumes. Like the others, their pages were yellowed with age, but they were remarkably well-preserved otherwise. We spread them across the table, beside the modern layouts, comparing centuries-old survey notes with current layouts.
“Here,” Nightingale said, pointing to a notation in Latin. “This mentions a convergence point—where multiple passages meet. It’s marked as being beneath what used to be the chapel.”
“The east wing,” I said.
The work took on its own rhythm after that—she’d mark a location, and I’d find the corresponding reference in the historical records. I’d point out a connection based on my knowledge of Glenshadow, and she’d cross-reference it in the opposite direction. We moved around each other with the kind of synchronization I’d longed for, getting lost in the work rather than focusing on our mutual discomfort.
When the clock chimed zero two hundred, Nightingale rubbed her eyes. “I should get some sleep. Long day ahead.”
“Leila—” How many times had I said her name, then stopped myself from saying more like I had now? Countless.
Her eyes bored into mine. “Yes?”
The words were right there.I’m sorry. I was wrong. I don’t know how to do this, but I want to try.But my throat closed around them, and all that came out was: “Sleep well.”
My chest ached when her brief smile disappeared.
“You too,” she said so quietly I barely heard her before the sound of her footsteps faded down the corridor.
I waited, then took the back staircase up to the second level, rather than the main one that would lead me past her door, where the temptation to know would be too great. With each step I took, I hated my cowardice as much as I hated the fear that kept me silent.
13
NIGHTINGALE
The encrypted message came at zero four hundred, jolting me from my restless sleep.
I reached for the tablet on my nightstand, blinking against the blue glow in the darkness of my room at Glenshadow. The screen showed a single notification—priority intelligence, Kestrel’s signature encryption.
My pulse quickened before I’d even opened it.
PRIORITY: TIME-SENSITIVE OPPORTUNITY
EVENT: Private charity gala
LOCATION: Brodick Castle, Isle of Arran
DATE: This evening, 2000 hours
