Page 89 of The Highland Heist
Grace pulled back, rolling her eyes, but didn’t argue. The others had already dispersed, each taking a different section of the room. She began methodically pulling books from her shelf, more out of curiosity than necessity. The moonlight spilling through the windows created jagged patterns on the floor and gave enough light to read titles on the spines, if the words were large enough, but not see the words on the pages.
Not that Grace was trying.
Much.
And you never knew—any one of these might trigger a secret passage. She’d seen it happen before.
“Is anyone going to tell me what we’re actually looking for?” Tony’s whisper broke the quiet.
“A place to hide a will,” Frederick answered from a bookshelf on the opposite wall.
“Or a clue to where a will might be hidden,” Blake added from across the room.
Were Frederick and Blake on their third bookshelves while she was still on the first one? She bit down on her bottom lip. Perhaps she’d been looking at each book a little too thoroughly. But a pale spine caught her attention:A Blair’s Account of Scottish Myths and Legends.The words gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Blair. Her Blair’s?
The book felt oddly light in her hands as she flipped it over to see the front. At the bottom of the cover in embossed letters was her cousin’s name, Alistair Blair.
“I think I found something,” Tony crouched near the empty fireplace, where two large bookshelves framed the mantel in on both sides.
Grace tucked the book under her arm and turned toward him. “What is it?”
Tony looked up, his eyes wide and his face as pale as the moonlight filtering through the windows. “I know this bracelet.” He held up the item, turning it over in his hands as if trying to convince himself it was real. “The stones, the initials. What—what is it doing here?”
“What do you mean?” Blake asked, leaning over Tony’s shoulder to inspect the bracelet. “You can’t make out the inscription in this light.”
Tony’s hands shook, his grip tightening on the jewelry. “I don’t need light. I know what it says.” He looked up, meeting Grace’s gaze. “This is the bracelet I gave to Lillias on our wedding day. What is it doing here?”
Before Grace could formulate an answer—or at least something comforting—a loud creak shattered the stillness. The bookshelf beside Tony tipped forward with agonizing slowness, books cascading like an avalanche.
“Tony!” Blake barked at the same time Frederick shouted, “Grace!”
The moment erupted into chaos. Blake moved toward Tony, and Frederick grabbed Grace’s arm, pulling her into him and out of the way, just as the massive structure crashed to the ground, sending a deafening echo through the room.
Books and dust exploded in all directions, and Grace had two corresponding thoughts: First, someone possibly had just tried to kill them with falling books, and second, why would anyone ever choose to damage an entire bookshelf of books that way?
As the dust settled, Blake stepped forward, coughing and waving a hand in front of his face. “Is everyone all right?”
Grace glanced up at Frederick, who still had her firmly cocooned against him. His brow was furrowed, his gaze raking over her for any sign of injury. She gave him a small, grateful smile, and he let out a breath that seemed to have been stuck in his chest for hours.
“Defineall right,” Tony groaned from somewhere beneath a mountain of books.
Grace exchanged a look with Frederick before they rushed toward Tony, Blake already clearing a path. Tony lay sprawled on the floor, one leg pinned beneath a fallen chair that had been buried in books.
They all began removing the books to clear a path to him.
“Is it broken?” Frederick asked.
“I don’t think so.” Tony answered, pushing himself up to a sitting position and sending Blake a rather impressive glare. “But I’d like it noted that this was one of the most ridiculous ideas of all time—searching a castle at night with a murderer on the loose?”
Blake snorted as he grabbed one end of the chair. “If pessimism were a form of strength, Mr. Dixon, you’d have lifted this chair—and the bookshelf—by now.”
Tony’s frown deepened as Frederick and Blake hoisted the chair away and Grace helped him stand.
“Can you walk?” she asked, steadying him.
“I think it’s a sprain,” Tony answered.
Frederick slipped an arm under Tony’s shoulders, taking his weight and freeing Grace to clear a path through the books.
