Beyond a Highland Whisper by Maeve Greyson

Author:Maeve Greyson [Greyson, Maeve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, romance, Fiction, General, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9781601548795
Publisher: Wild Rose Press
Published: 2011-01-15T22:16:06+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

“You had her that close and you couldn’t trick her into saying it? You couldn’t get her to call him out of that ball?” Trish paced back and forth in front of Brodie and Fiona, then turned and tapped on the top of Latharn’s sphere. “And you! They said you frightened her. Maybe if you had toned down the light show a little bit she wouldn’t have headed for the door. Did you ever think of that?”

Latharn bellowed from his crystal cell, sending the lasers cutting across the walls. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner.” He rumbled the globe across the table, disappeared, and reappeared on a shelf across the room. He didn’t care if Trish was Nessa’s best friend or not. The woman would not scold him as though he were a child. Latharn glared at them from across the room. He would watch them from the mantel above the fireplace.

Brodie pounded his fist on the table and made his own defense to Trish. “We dared not speak any more than we did for fear of sending Latharn’s soul into the abyss.” Raking his hands through his red hair, he jumped to stalk about the room.

Latharn sympathized with his descendant. Trish obviously understood very little about Scottish curses. One wrong word, one wrong move and your arse sizzled in eternal hell.

Trish resumed her pacing, while massaging her temples. “Is this curse written down in some ancient text somewhere? Maybe recorded in a family journal? Or were all the details just passed down word of mouth from one generation to the next?”

Latharn spun the globe to improve his view and leaned against the glass. What was Trish looking for? They already knew how to break the curse. Nessa had to whisper his release. “Why do ye want the texts, Trish? What good will reading the grimoire do?”

Brodie jerked his chin toward the globe. “I agree with Cousin Latharn. I see no point in reviewing the curse, but we do have it recorded here. There’s an ancient journal written in Rachel MacKay’s own hand listing everything she discovered about the curse. But I don’t see what good it will do to go over it again. ’Tis just a waste of time.”

Trish’s eyes narrowed into plotting slits as she leaned back into her chair. “The way I figure it, a curse is like a contract. All we have to do is find the loophole. I handle all the contracts for our digs. The contract lawyers hate me. I have a knack for seeing loopholes.” She offered a saucy smirk.

“This is no contract, Trish. It’s a complicated curse spelled by a powerful dark bana-buidhseach.” Fiona handed each of them a cup of tea from the tray she balanced on one hip.

Tea. Latharn cringed. They should drink ale or at the very least mulled wine when they plotted a battle. Now, what had Trish said about contracts and curses?

“You’ve obviously never been around many contract lawyers,” Trish retorted with a grin.

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