He flung the knife back in its hole and picked up his more sensible medallion to steady himself. The old soldier grunted in his head. Gerard refused to interpret grunts.
Iona snatched up the knife and shoved it in her waistband beneath her bodice.
Bolting down his anger at exposing her to that sordid scene, unable to deny what they experienced, Gerard took her elbow and steered her from the debris. “That’s not edifying history. That’s human nature at its lowest.”
She shifted her straw bag, lifted her too-short skirt, and let him support her across the rocky lot. “That’s never happened to me before. Youaregifted. How does that work? Do you always feel things on objects?”
Gerard cursed his wayward tongue and her Malcolm curiosity. “Until this moment, I haveneverseen things on objects. Let us find the carriage and return to the house for luncheon, like sensible people. I’ll send a messenger to your flat to see if any mail has arrived, although I can assure you that the queen hasn’t replied. Your letter is still sitting on some underling’s desk.”
She refused to be distracted. “I had an odd sensation of a knife fight and all the dark emotions one might feel at such a time. It was no cold-blooded murder. Smell was only a small part of the feeling, so I’m assuming the rest was you? You made mefeelthe scene?”
“Odd things happen occasionally,” he muttered, hurrying her down the street with only a wave to the others. “There is no profit in them.”
She shook her arm free and responded irately. “Our gifts are meant to be used to help others, not toprofitfrom them. Did your mother not teach you better?”
“She knows nothing of it, and I’d thank you to not mention it. I have quite enough to do without having people shove their prized possessions into my hands to satisfy their curiosity.” He’d heard tales of family members with the peculiar ability to sense powerful emotions on objects. It wasn’t a pleasant experience and in most cases, not productive. And it wasn’t as if he’d done it...
Except when Iona had been involved.
“Yes, I suppose, for a busy, important man, such importunities would be a nuisance, especially if you failed to feel anything,” she said stiffly, not sounding as if she really excused him. “Life is all about learning from failure. If you practiced more, you might develop a better sense of the artifacts you seek.”
“If I ever had the opportunity to seek them,” he grumbled.
“Ah, that is the reason for your wish to go to Italy! Yes, I can see that might be an exciting opportunity to explore your abilities without anyone watching you fail.”
“There is nothing there to fail at,” he said curtly, insulted. He led her down the street, keeping an eye out for urchins.
“Touching that knife at the same time as you produced visions far more detailed than my sense of smell ever has. It was exciting! Wasn’t it the same for you?”
Damn, double damn, and hellfire.Why did she have to be a human lie detector? Once he admitted they had a psychic connection... He’d never hear the end of it.
“Yes,” he said curtly. “Now, did you want to explore the Royal Mile or do I hail a hackney?”
She shot him an enigmatic glance but politely responded to his suggestion. “Explore, please. There are bees in the steeple of that church. That’s a good sign. Let us go in and find something pleasant we can touch. It would be interesting to see if perhaps an organ would produce memories.” She hurried into the old cathedral.
Gerard watched the tower warily for bees but didn’t see what she saw. He had to admit that St. Giles was an excellent place to explore antiquities, if one could find them beneath the fire damage and debris of centuries of fighting, neglect, and partitioning.
“I doubt the place has an organ any longer,” he warned. “Most of the medieval ornament was stripped when Scotland rejected Rome. I don’t think touching walls and floors will be of much use.”
The old Catholic cathedral had been walled off into four different parish churches. Even finding the original medieval walls might be a challenge. But Gerard assumed the lady was safer here, out of sight of the public, so he followed along as she trailed through the once grand cathedral.
“I’m not accustomed to seeking scents onobjects.” She refused to drop the subject. “How did I sense the knife?”
“My masculine proximity enhances your gift?” he suggested sardonically, using that excuse to take her arm.
Thinking lewd thoughts in church would probably send him directly to hell, but even in drab servants’ garb and spouting nonsense, the lady aroused his lust. And he could see her ankles beneath that too-short skirt. She wore stockings with bees embroidered on them, and his imagination traveled dangerous paths.
“Interesting theory but not feasible.” She relaxed and leaned into him just a bit as she studied the soaring ceiling and inhaled. “So much sorrow! I was hoping for peace and contentment.”
“The old chancel, perhaps? If we go straight back, there might be remnants of the original.” Although straight was relative. As they worked their way past partitions to the back of the church, her arm still on his, Gerard realized he was picking upvibrations. He could almost feel the memories stored in the ancient walls.
He’d thought he found his artifacts by luck. Had he actually been picking up on their vibrations? Could memory leave physical energy on objects—and Iona was intensifying the effect? Or forcing him to focus on his surroundings more?
And how did that differ from the spirit voices in his head?
She drifted toward the walls, ignoring pews and chairs. “All the old pieces are gone. We’d have to ask the church warden to see whatever they’ve tucked away. A few of these memorials maybe...” She touched a brass plaque of two women representing Justice and Religion. “There’s a haunting scent here that I cannot identify.”
To humor her, Gerard removed a glove and flattened his palm on the brass. He thought he felt a connection, but it was too complex and didn’t speak to him as his medallion did.
