Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) (10 page)

“There’s a newsagent a few doors down.” His thumb indicated the direction he meant. “If I were you, I’d buy a paper there and save myself the trouble of going all the way to Fortrose.”

Though not her type, he was dangerously appealing in a criminal sort of way with all the bravado to match his persona. “Is the library in Fortrose?”

“Aye.”

“And how far is Fortrose from here?”

His grin revealed tobacco-stained teeth. “A whole lot farther than it is to the bloody newsagent, lass.”

Compressing her lips, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Clearly, she needed to be more explicit. “I’m an out-of-work librarian. That is my reason for asking after the library. Not to read the classified adverts, but to apply for a position.”

“My mistake.” He shrugged. “But that being the case, the library in Cromarty is a better bet, as I happen to know the one in Fortrose has no openings at present.” He winked. “I’m dating a bird who works there, if you must know.”

Her fingers drummed the countertop as she fought the urge to give voice to her disapproval. If he was dating a woman who worked at the library, why was he hitting on her? Tight-lipped, she asked, “How far is Cromarty?”

“A wee bit over eight miles.” He pointed west, using his thumb again. “Take the roadway out toward the point and follow the signs. It’s not much bigger than Rosemarkie, so you should have no trouble locating the library. It’s beside an old church, if that helps any.”

“Thank you. Now, may I pay for my car?”

“At MacGregor’s Auto Repair, we never say no to money.” With a lecherous grin, he added, “Or bonny out-of-work lasses. I’ve got a thing for librarians, oddly enough, so, if you get the job, come by the pub after six and I’ll buy you a pint—to celebrate.”

“A tempting offer”—she forced a smile—”but I don’t think my husband would approve.”

He winked at her. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Her face heated. “We tell each other everything—the reason we’re so happily married.” She gave him another false smile. “But thanks for the offer all the same.”

To her relief, he said nothing more as she pulled out her checkbook and settled the repair bill. With a churlish look, he handed her the receipt and her keys. Five minutes later, she was back on the high street, heading out of town.

The scenery along the short drive to Cromarty reminded her of Ayr in many ways, the reason no doubt, she found herself thinking about her father and the conversation they’d had after she’d caught him burning all her mother’s Pagan books.

“How can you say magic is of the devil when Jesus performed magic many times in the
Bible
?” she’d asked.

He’d regarded her for a long moment in that menacing way he always did when she asked questions for which he had no ready answer. “What are you talking about? Jesus performed no tricks insofar as I can recall.”

“What do you call turning water into wine and multiplying three loaves into enough fish and bread to feed a crowd? Not to mention, healing lepers, making the lame walk, and raising the dead.”

“Those were miracles, you cheeky girl, not magic.”

Though the difference, in her opinion, were purely semantics, challenging her father any further would have only earned her a whipping.

She forgot her father when she reached Cromarty, a picturesque seaside village of quaint cottages, huddled shops, old churchyards, rolling hills, and breathtaking harbor vistas. There was a good mixture of buildings and open spaces. She liked the feel of the place and got the very strong sense of a history intimately tied to the sea and seafaring.

The library lay at the end of a narrow street lined by charming whitewashed buildings, on the far side of an old church that shared similar, though much grander, architecture. Sandstone quoins framed the corners and arched windows of the humbler, one-storey brick structure. Both buildings were surrounded by iron fences with points on the ends. Victorian, probably. Had the library once served as the church’s rectory? She pulled into the little carpark out front, shut off the engine, and checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. After smoothing her hair and reapplying her lipstick, she climbed out and made her way up the narrow path leading to the bright red front door.

Before entering, she stopped to read a posted sign, which told her the library was only open three days a week for a few hours at a stretch. This deflated her hopes with regard to their staffing requirements. No doubt the whole place was run by one formidable matriarch who’d been a fixture there for ages. But, chin up. At least she’d come on a day it was open.

The heady smell of old books invaded her sinuses as soon as she opened the door. Her footsteps shattered the hallowed silence. There was a wooden desk in the midst of the stacks. Behind it sat just the sort of stout, white-haired matron she’d expected to find. As Jenna approached, the librarian looked up from her work and removed the outdated reading glasses she wore around her neck on a lanyard.

“Can I help you?”

Jenna stepped up to the desk, cleared her throat, and pasted on a smile. “I hope so. My name is Jenna Cameron, and I’m looking for a position—as an assistant librarian. Or anything else you might have available at present.”

The librarian looked down her long nose. “What kind of experience do you have?”

“I have an undergraduate degree in English literature from the University of Edinburgh, where I worked as an assistant librarian while I was attending.” Fearing it wasn’t enough, she added, “And hope one day soon to get my master’s degree in library science.”

“I see.” The woman seemed more impressed than she sounded. “Did you bring a
curriculum vitae
with you?”

Jenna gave herself a swift mental boot to the backside. What an idiot she was. Why had she not thought to bring her résumé along? Though, to be fair to herself, she had not come to the Black Isle with the goal of looking for work, nor did she have access to a printer.

“I’m afraid I didn’t, as I’m here on holiday.” She offered a smile. “But I could e-mail you my C.V. when I return to Rosemarkie later today. Would that do?”

The librarian regarded her with a scowl. “If you’re only here on holiday, why are you looking for work?”

“Now that I’ve graduated, I must find work somewhere,” Jenna said, dry-mouthed. “And I like the feel of Cromarty.”

Though the librarian seemed interested in her credentials, she’d not said outright that the facility had an opening—an omission that weighed heavily on Jenna’s mind.

“You’re unmarried, then?”

“I-I am,” Jenna stammered, caught off-guard by the question, “but—how did you know that?”

A slight smile softened the woman’s otherwise dour countenance. “If you had a husband to consider, you’d hardly be free to apply for a position wherever it suited your fancy, now would you?”

Jenna swallowed and smoothed her skirt. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

If she got the job, she’d have to keep her opinions in check. Obviously, the librarian’s attitudes about women’s roles were as outmoded as her father and William’s had been.

“The hours are short and the wages meager, but, if you’re willing to give it a go, so am I—once I’ve verified your credentials and references, of course.” The librarian pulled a business card out of a drawer in the desk and held it out to Jenna. “I urge you to give it careful thought, Miss Cameron. Cromarty has its virtues, but a wellspring of eligible bachelors is not one of them—unless you’re uncommonly fond of fishermen. If you’re still interested after weighing the pros and cons, send me your vitae and we’ll go from there.”

Jenna took the card and read the name printed upon it before returning her gaze to Barbara Emerson, head librarian. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Emerson. I’m sure I still will be, as I’m more interested in a career than a husband at present. But...may I ask what the position is we’re talking about?”

“It’s a part-time library assistant to do some shelving and help with the children’s activities. Does that interest you?”

Was it luck or destiny? Either way, Jenna was elated. She’d all but landed the exact job she wanted on her very first try. “That sounds perfect. Truly. I will definitely be sending you my C.V.”

Just as soon as I’ve created one
. As she looked around at the orderly shelves of books, a good thought occurred. Might there be something here about Tam Lin?

With a smile for Mrs. Emerson, she asked, “In the meantime, would you mind if I had a look around?”

The librarian looked pleased. “To be truthful, I would be sorely disappointed if you did not demonstrate the desire to familiarize yourself with our holdings.”

Slipping Mrs. Emerson’s card into the pocket of her coat, Jenna set off in search of the folklore section. Yes, she could ask or check the online catalog—or even search “Tam Lin” on one of the internet-access computers, but doing any of those things might create a negative impression.

The job, it seemed, was hers to lose, which she could easily do if she seemed more interested in finding something specific than the collection in general. Better to walk around and look at everything. Better to appear interested in all her prospective new workplace had to offer than her own agenda.

Jenna took her time perusing the shelves, pausing now and again to withdraw a random book to demonstrate her curiosity. Though eager to find Tam Lin, she did not begrudge the time she spent exploring. The collection was interesting and diverse with an impressive section on local history.

At last, she came upon the folklore section. After scanning the spines, she selected a soft cover compendium of Scottish faery tales, and scanned the preface.

“Faery is one of many names assigned to a hidden race of supernatural beings. Faeries are human in appearance and possess magical powers. It is commonly believed they are the descendants of the Tuatha de Danann or “Children of Danann,” an ancient Celtic goddess akin to Mother Earth. They retreated into the Thitherworld—the realm of immortals—centuries ago after being conquered by Christian invaders.

“Most of the folktales you will find herein concern human interactions with faeries. They are cautionary tales, by and large, intended to teach people how to avoid faeries by steering clear of the areas they are known to inhabit, or to keep them at bay with iron, which burns them. At their best, the so-called wee folk are capricious. At their worst, they are malicious. They have been known to steal people’s souls, kidnap children, and lure men and women into sexual enslavement. If you or a loved one should suffer this unfortunate fate, recovery is difficult and dangerous, but not impossible. Some of the tales in this collection provide detailed instruction on how to reclaim someone taken by the paradoxically named ‘good neighbors’…”

Her hopes climbing, Jenna turned to the table of contents. Her optimism ebbed as she skimmed the list of stories under the heading “Faery Tales.” None sounded even remotely like the story of Tam Lin. Not ready to give up, she flipped through the fables, hoping one of them might contain something of use.

“Do you take an interest in faery stories, Miss Cameron?”

Looking up, Jenna found Mrs. Emerson scrutinizing her from the end of the aisle. Seeing her opportunity, she met the librarian’s gaze head-on. “My mother used to read them to me when I was a girl. I was looking for one of my favorites—but can’t seem to find it.”

“If you can remember what the story was called, I might be able to help.”

“It was called
Tam Lin.
Does the name ring any bells?”

Mrs. Emerson gave her a stern look Jenna interpreted as disapproval. “How old were you when your mother read you the tale?”

“I don’t remember,” she said, hedging. “Does it matter?”

“Tam Lin chronicles the rape of a virgin and her subsequent attempts to abort the resulting pregnancy.” Both her tone and expression were admonitory. “It hardly seems appropriate subject matter for a bedtime story.”

Jenna, suddenly overheated, hesitated. To pursue the topic further might endanger her prospects for securing the job. On the other hand, dropping the subject might jeopardize her future with Sir Axel—and his very life.

“Be that as it may,” she said, feigning self-assurance she did not possess, “I was hoping to find the story in one of these books. My mother died when I was only fifteen, and, now that I’m in the Highlands, I thought it would be nice to honor her memory by reacquainting myself with some of her stories.”

Motherly compassion softened the librarian’s harsh glare. “Well, there are several works of fiction based on the legend, but, if it’s the original tale your mother recited, I recommend you seek out a second-hand bookshop.”

Jenna, holding her gaze, closed the book in her hand. “Can you recommend somewhere nearby?”

“Try the Emporium on the high street. It’s a bit like the Old Curiosity Shop in the Dickens novel. No guarantees, but you might get lucky.”

Jenna thanked Mrs. Emerson, reiterated her interest in the part-time position, and set off toward the High Street on foot. She was in the mood for a walk and hoped the exercise and cool ocean air would help to revive her sleep-deprived brain.