“Of course.” Aunt Winifred gestured for everyone to return inside, out of the chilly wind. “It was exceedingly generous of the Calder librarian to cede ownership to Wystan. We are isolated here. Malcolms will have to travel some distance to study it. It must have been difficult for her to give it up.”
“We could charge room and board if travelers wished to stay beyond one night,” Mary Mike mused. “That will allow us to refurbish more rooms.”
Gerard chuckled and hugged Iona, who listened with equal amusement if he judged her vibrations correctly. “The beekeeper and I found the lost treasure, so we request our fair share of the reward for repairing the roof first and our share of any profit for improving crops after that. And I demand the deciding vote in any other decision since I’m the one who takes the blame. And why is Ceridwen wailing?”
He liked to establish his authority, but the banshee cry echoed through the halls, disrupting his planned arguments. The wail did not sound quite as mournful as he remembered from earlier.
“She’s weeping in happiness,” Grace decided. “Let us see the book.”
So much for prepared arguments.
Lowell carried in the trunk. Gerard gestured and the valet opened it while the ladies gathered around. “Mrs. Merriweather, if you will do the honors?”
Reverently, the librarian lifted the box from the trunk shelf. “It’s talking to me already,” she said in awe.
Iona looked up at him expectantly. Gerard shrugged, then bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Actually, since we reached Northumberland, the book has not shut up. Our ancestor has a great deal to say.”
Isobel had apparently woken the lady’s spirit, but it was Gerard she’d chosen to enlighten. Now that he no longer had a Roman soldier in his head, he had a harridan who spoke medieval French—ifhe held the book. He didn’t think he’d do that often.
The women turned their stares to him. “You hear her?” they all asked at once.
There, he’d admitted it to one and all. There was no turning back. He was one of them.
“She’s just one more female scolding me,” he said with nonchalance. “Mrs. Merriweather, I hope you have a nice chat, but please don’t recite all my foibles to her. My first rule is that I don’t follow the orders of dead people. Live ones are more than enough to test my patience.”
Leaving his astonished tenants spewing questions, Gerard swept his giggling wife from the hall and back to the privacy of his suite—and that immense bath designed for two.
“Let’s shed a little travel dust, shall we?” he whispered as she hurried beside him.
“Together?” Her tone was decidedly wicked.
“I don’t think I’ve told you enough—I love the way your mind works.” Reaching the back hall, Gerard lifted her in his arms and carried her over the threshold to his tower.
Her laughter christened the old walls with hope.
And he still had a map to a possible Roman fortress. Who knew, maybe his talent would find more treasure to keep Wystan in good repair for his children and his children’s children.
They’d have a jolly good time finding out.
