Temple of Indra's Lies (Time-Traveling Bibliophile Book 3)

by Rachael Stapleton

  “Did someone hurt ye? Can ye point him out?”

  I gazed around for a minute but forgot what I was searching for.

  Foggily, I realized my bag was missing. I was robbed. Had I said that aloud? I was so tired.

  I drifted back off. In my mind, I was climbing the stairs of a temple. Leslie and Cullen reached out to help pull me to the top. Cullen welcomed me with warm kisses, and then he kept climbing. I shouted for him to wait. In the distance, he shouted at me to wake up. It was hard to make out what else he was saying because he was so far away.

  “Leslie, she’s comin’ to. Can ye move the suitcase off the bed? Sophia, open yer eyes.”

  “I love you, Cullen.” Had I said that out loud?

  He must have heard me because he kissed my face. One of my eyelids fluttered open, and I saw the worry in his green eyes. There was so much I wanted to say.

  Instead I muttered, “Someone stole my purse?” He covered his sigh of relief with a laugh and stripped me of my dirty white dress, replacing it with an oversized rock t-shirt, before laying me on the bed.

  “Stealing yer purse was the least of what they did. Ye were in a right state when I found ye on the ground out front.”

  “That’s right,” I said, remembering, “I was attacked from behind. Someone shoved something hard into my side and then knocked me to the ground. I reached for my bag thinking I could phone you for help. I think that must have been when he knocked me out. Oh god, they have my cellphone.”

  “We’ll get ye a new one. I’m just glad I found ye right away. There was a crowd attempting to help you—they probably scared him off.” He took my fingers between his hands, and kissed each, gently.

  “Eww, Cullen, did you wash my hands? I touched all that garbage.”

  Cullen roared with laughter. “I couldn’t give less of a damn right now, my love.”

  I licked my lips into a smile. “Did Saraswati show up?”

  “She could have been there; I was a little preoccupied with carryin’ ye back to the hotel.”

  I glanced around the room. “Where did Leslie go?”

  “I think she just made a mad dash for the toilet. She tried to have lunch and it didn’t exactly go over well.”

  “I should go check on her.”

  I groaned and slid off the bed, but when I tried to stand, my legs folded under me, like a newborn colt’s.

  Cullen grabbed me by the waist. “Steady there, Aeval. Let’s keep ye in bed a wee bit longer.”

  “But I have to get dressed. I thought we were going to dinner and we’re changing hotels, aren’t we?”

  “Tomorrow, love, ye can go courtin’ trouble tomorrow. I think it’s best if we just remain here tonight.”

  “But it’s not safe in this city.”

  “Aeval, I’m not sure anywhere is safe when ye’re around.” He paused and set me back against the pillows, “but it sure ain’t dull.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Devil Take Ye

  Northern Ireland, November 1551

  Tensions ran high at Dunlace the following week. Da was often bloodshot of eye and short of temper. He spoke not so much as a word to her for three days straight. And she, for her part, spoke not a word to him.

  His ill-temper affected everyone. Even the witch walked carefully under the dark cloud of the Lord of the Route’s displeasure. Angry at the world, Sive left midway through the afternoon and struck out across the bog. The cure for her melancholy—besides clouting Da—lay in fresh air, and lots of it. What she needed was a long, solitary walk.

  She was gone about two hours, and frozen to the bone when she returned. Bridget convinced that she had caught her death, stripped her to her shift and placed her in a nice warm bath. She’d almost relaxed when she heard the door open.

  “Good evening, love,” Sorely Boy said suavely. There was a glint in his eyes that told her he enjoyed the view.

  Sive stood and reached for the towel. Her groping hand found the smooth wood of the table-top and moved across it knocking the towel onto the carpet below.

  “Devil take it,” she muttered crossly. It was just outside of her reach. Unwilling to lift her leg to climb out of the tub, and then bend forward in front of him. She turned to the side and did her best to cover her private areas with her hands.

  “Cold?” He smiled.

  “You misinterpret my shudder.”

  “What are ye doin’ in here?”

  “Payin’ my wife-to-be a call. Am I not welcome in yer chamber?”

  ”Ye’re not. Now, pass me that towel and leave, or just leave.”

  His eyes narrowed at the calm statement. “Soon enough ye willn’a have a say at all. If I were ye, I’d step out of that water. Ye’ll be chilled to the bone before long.”

  ”Turn yer back then, and I will.”

  He laughed then, the sound unamused. “Turn my back? Ye are to be my wife in less than a week. Surely there is no need for the pretense of feminine modesty in front of yer betrothed. Ye were naught but my cousin’s whore before now, so why bother to pretend to a modesty ye canna feel?”

  ”Just turn yer back.” There was an edge to her voice. His comments were both insulting and unsettling.

  ”No.” The one-word reply bordered on brutality. Sive eyed him for a moment, then made up her mind. She would play the role of whore that he had assigned her, and hoped to give him such a disgust of her that he would refuse to marry her.

  “Very well, then. As ye say, ‘tis useless to be modest since I’m so acquainted with sharing my body.”

  “Harrumph.” His reply was toneless as she stood up, stepping from the tub, deliberately giving him a wanton view of her full frontal nudity as she patted her body dry with carefully assumed languor. His eyes took on a dangerous gleam that she thought was a combination of anger and desire. Still damp, she abandoned her self-ministrations without the least appearance of haste and reached for the wrapper Bridget had left lying over the back of a nearby chair. Pulling it around herself, tying the belt, she felt marginally safer. His eyes were fixed on her body, the shape of which was clearly visible through the thin material that clung closely to every damp curve. The thought made her skin crawl. He might be handsome but Sorely Boy was also dangerous.

  “I find myself surprisingly attracted to ye, Sive, despite the skinny little waif ye used to be. I see why Conal allowed ye to grace his bed,” he muttered, and the flames that leaped to life in those devil’s eyes nearly unnerved her.

  “Not surprisingly, I find myself completely repulsed by ye, just as I always have,” she said and laughed, a carefully calculated little trill.

  As she had expected, his face tightened. He was in front of her in two strides, his hands gripping her upper arms hard through the flimsy silk.

  ”How about I show ye just how repulsing I can be?” He glared down at her, fingers digging punishingly into her soft flesh.

  “Try it.”

  “I’ll not tolerate yer disrespectful mouth in my presence.”

  “Then allow me to get out of yer presence,” she snapped back.

  “Amn’t I after tellin’ ye that I’ll have no more of yer mouth, lass, unless ye’re wishful to see just what I can do with it.”

  ”Lay a hand on my mouth, Sorely Boy, and ye’ll eat yer teeth! Ye forget that my Da has a hell-born temper and I amn’t yet yer wife to handle, ye Bastard!” This deliberate litany of curses earned her a little shake.

  ”I’ll not have ye swear! Tis so it is.”

  ”I’ll swear if I like! Who asked ye to come sniffin’ about, anyway?”

  Sive suddenly stopped her tirade and took a deep breath.

  “We do not belong together, Sorely, amn’t I right? I dinna want ye, ye know that. Ye hardly need a wife who doesn’t want ye and I dinna need a husband, least of all a bloody brute like ye. Go home to yer castle, and leave me be!”

  Sorely Boy was glaring at her so fiercely that his eyes were mere glittering slits in his dark face.

  ”Ye din
na need a husband, is that so? Aye, well we shall see what yer Da has to say about yer boldness! I dinna know any other respectable man who would be willing to marry a hell-born chit like yerself!”

  Sive, unable to stop herself, slapped him. His head jerked back, his eyes widened, though for just a moment she thought she saw the merest hint of satisfaction in them. Before she could think further, he was jerking her against him, bending his head to find her lips. He kissed her, grinding his mouth against hers as if he wanted to hurt her, to punish her. She fought him, tried to pull away, but he was too strong, forcing her lips apart with hurtful insistence.

  Appalled and frightened she managed to jerk her arm free of his hold and slap him again. The openhanded blow was vicious, motivated by panic as much as by anger, and it rocked his head to one side. Before he could recover she slapped him a third time. This time he caught her wrist, imprisoning it. The mark of her hand was plainly visible on his dark cheek, the whitened imprints quickly filling with red. A muscle twitched at the corner of his hard mouth, and his bearded jaw was set and grim. He towered above her, his shoulders in the black cloak wide enough to block her view of the rest of the room. She had forgotten how tall he was, how strong and muscular. Always, to her, he was simply Sorely Boy. But now, looking up at him, she reminded herself of something: he was no longer her friend, he was her goaler. Once they were married she was vulnerable to the devil in him. And “devil” was exactly the right word.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Knocking Down False Walls

  Southern India, September 2015

  I yawned and propped myself up in bed, admiring the traditional south-Indian style of the small cabin room. The whole resort was full of intricate woodwork, stone pillars and vibrant tile floors and I was excited to fully explore it now that I was more rested.

  I rubbed the sore spot on my head and got to my feet.

  “Hey, Les,” I said, walking into the living room. I was certain she hadn’t heard a word. Her brow was creased in concentration, and her mind was clearly elsewhere as her eyes frantically searched the document in front of her. “Leslie . . . ?”

  “Sophia! You’re awake now. Come and look at this. Quick!”

  I looked down at the thick, yellowed piece of parchment she was extending in my direction.

  “Be careful with that. Why is that even here? I brought only copies of the fragile documents.”

  “I know. It fell out of one of the journals. We must have missed it. Good news, I think I might have found the location of the hidden room.”

  I scanned the paper, struggling to make out some of the faded lettering. “Do you think it’s true? A false wall halfway down the stairs …”

  “I don’t know. I guess so.” Her eyes were glowing with excitement, she lived for this stuff.

  “Whose journal?”

  “The Mystical advisor of Dunlace Castle.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m just teasing. I believe they would have referred to her as a witch. She offered the Lord her predictions. She’s the one who matched Sive up to marry. Clearly she wasn’t very good, since they all died.”

  I glanced out the glass doors of our cabin to where Cullen sat on the porch, having a drink with our client, Sam, and admiring the river view.

  “Let’s keep this to ourselves until we can go over things more thoroughly,” I said.

  Leslie looked conflicted.

  “He’s still our client, Leslie. We have to maintain professionalism when it comes to the research. We can’t be running off half-cocked.”

  “Fine. But you have ulterior motives.”

  I snorted. “Speaking of ulterior motives, why do you think he’s so interested in this hidden room? What do you think is in there?”

  “Who knows? Most likely it’s treasures or dead bodies.”

  “Or both,” I laughed. “Come on, let’s join the boys.”

  I slid open the door and the smell and sounds of the jungle rushed in. Such a nice change from the last hotel.

  “There’s somethin’ mystical about this place,” Cullen said, leaning back into the planter’s chair. “The birds. The monkeys. The jungle. It smells of life.”

  I patted Cullen’s shoulder in agreement. The view was a wondrous sight and, best of all, there was no history of violent robberies, or so the resort’s hostess had sworn.

  The porch was shaded by lush greenery, tall lofty teak trees and swaying palms.

  I could see that a sense of relaxation had settled over Cullen for the first time in months. Heck, I could feel it too.

  I was actually looking forward to our temple visit in the morning. Soon this would all be over and we could all head back to Ireland. So many things to look forward to: the castle’s restoration, the wedding and possibly the opening of our very own bookstore.

  The guide, Mani, had assured Cullen that this was the temple my great-grandmother had referred to in her stories. We could leave the curse behind, hidden within the sanctity of the temple walls, knowing the bejeweled items would be safe with Indra.

  I stared at Sam. With his loosely slung scarf and camera strap hanging from around his neck, he looked the part of the rugged adventure photojournalist. He had jet black hair and wore glasses and although he stood about a foot taller than Leslie, I couldn’t help but think what a cute couple they made as he snapped a few photos of her looking out at the darkening mango grove. And yet something about him still bothered me. Cullen chalked it up to his resemblance to Liam. I had to agree. There was nothing he did or said that gave me pause; was it only that I was now having trouble trusting people or was my intuition screaming at me?

  “How did you find this place, Sam?” I asked. “It’s so beautiful, but I don’t recall seeing it when I researched places in the area.”

  “My boss mentioned it. She’s lived all over, and Paradise is one of the oldest resorts in the area.”

  “You have a boss? I thought you were a freelance journalist?”

  “I am,” Sam replied quickly, shifting in his chair. “I still tend to think of Sandy as my boss.”

  “Which magazine is that? Or is it a newspaper you write most often for?”

  “Actually it’s an online publication.”

  Leslie came up beside me. “Sophia, come here for a minute? I need your opinion on something.”

  She didn’t need to add since you seem to be full of them. I could tell that was coming next.

  “I’m just talking to Sam.” I smiled innocently.

  “Oh, well I’m sure he doesn’t want to think about work.”

  I had no defense. She was right. I loved my job, but I didn’t feel like talking about it when settled into tranquil surroundings like we were now. It was just that I had so many questions. Like why was he in India? Why had we been bumping into him? He was so open when speaking to Leslie, but when it came to me, he seemed to clam up. Cullen had suggested I was giving off an angry vibe, and he wasn’t wrong. I was feeling irrationally hostile towards our new friend. The poor guy probably thought I was a huge bitch. Still, Leslie didn’t need any more jerks in her life, and if this guy had a wife and kids back home or if he was having an affair with his editor, I needed to flush it out.

  “I’m sorry. I sound like the Spanish inquisition,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m just nosy and truthfully, I’ve always been intrigued by writers.”

  Flattery had to get me somewhere, right?

  “Of course, I get it. Ye’re a librarian—a knowledge seeker at heart. That’s why I hired ye.”

  “Exactly, and the mind of a writer, or rather a journalist, as you are, fascinates me. I’d love to read some of your articles. Do you have a website?”

  He reached into his camera bag. “Here’s my business card. Let me know which piece is your favorite.”

  I nodded and then yawned as I took the card. Apparently after twenty-four hours, I still needed more sleep.

  “It’s almost seven-thirty!” Leslie said, “I should go next door before I turn in
to a pumpkin. I like to read before bed, and maybe I’ll actually get to sleep before nine tonight.”

  “Ye need yer beauty rest, especially if we’re after gettin’ up at the crack of dawn.” Sam said. “Allow me to walk ye. It’s on my way.”

  “The guide’s not meeting us until nine. That’s not exactly the crack of dawn,” I said.

  Leslie shot me a dirty look and then gazed back into Sam’s stupid lovey-dovey face. “That would be great.”

  “You don’t have to go, Les,” I stammered. “Cullen will happily sleep on the couch.” I elbowed Cullen and he grunted but nodded his head yes.

  “Aye, I just love the couch.”

  “Stop. I’ll be right next door, Sophia. You need to chill out and have babies or something so that you have somebody else to fuss over.”

  Babies? Good Lord, I wasn’t ready for that. Well then again, I was turning thirty in just over a month. Perhaps I needed to step on the gas.

  I frowned, realizing how ridiculous I sounded. Still, I couldn’t help but feel the tension in my shoulders as Sam steered Leslie down the front steps of our bungalow.

  I had no proof that this man would be bad for Leslie, and I didn’t want him to be, but if there’s one thing I’d learned, it was that not everyone could be trusted.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Death Becomes Her

  Northern Ireland, November 1551

  Sive looked out at the waves crashing against the rocks and thought of jumping. She’d sent a message to Conal to meet her at the cottage but he hadn’t come. She’d waited almost the whole day and now she was riding home along the cliffs, mulling over that fact that he hadn’t show.

  “Sive!”

  Sive jumped at the sound of her name.

  “Where have ye been?”

  She turned and saw the dark eyes of her Da marching towards her.

  He reached up and caught her under the armpits, dragging her from her horse’s back. His face was white with rage.

  “Da, I-” She started to lie about where she’d gone, but the sound of her voice seemed to madden him further. His mouth twisted, his eyes shot fire like twin volcanoes, and he reached out to catch her by her upper arms as if he meant to shake her.