In the Time of Kings by N. Gemini Sasson Read Free Book Online Page A

tolerant of me reciting the Latin names of all the herbs, shrubs and flowers. Afterward, I go to the snack bar for some drinks and return to the bench where I left her. Her eyes are closed, her cheek propped on her fist.
    I nudge her shoulder. “Have you recharged yet? I need you to talk to me on the drive so I don’t nod off.”
    If we’ve missed any culture yet, we soon get our fill at Drumtochty. We park our car in a muddy field and hike to a row of pavilions. Claire gets her shopping fix, while I marvel at the strength of the men balancing tall poles and heaving them end over end. If that isn’t enough machismo, as soon as that competition is done, they have a contest tossing a stone weight the size of my head over a bar twenty feet off the ground. I dart off to the little city of tents, hoping to find Claire and whisk her away before she discovers the kilted tough man contests and asks why I don’t start lifting weights.
    By the time we cross the Forth Bridge and are headed down the A1 past the Lammermuir Hills, we’re both exhausted, but it’s an exhilarated kind of exhaustion, the kind where you’re flying on adrenalin, knowing you’re going to sleep like the dead when you finally get home. Miraculously, Claire stays awake by drinking black coffee and her light speed chatter keeps me more than alert.
    I pull into a parking lot and kill the engine. Claire’s head swivels around.
    “Why are we in an empty church parking lot?” she says.
    “They call them kirks here. This is where I’m supposed to meet Reverend Murray.”
    “And who is he again?”
    “The gentleman I’ve been in contact with. He’s retired, I think, but he’s from the village we just passed, Aberbeg, so he helps take care of this place.”
    She tips her Styrofoam coffee cup back and taps on the bottom. “All gone.” She sets it down in the cup holder. “Okay, so why are you here to see him?”
    I take the sheets of paper out of my jacket pocket. “To help me with this. Look, why don’t you just sit here and take a nap? I won’t be more than half an hour — and if I am, you come in and drag me away by the earlobe, okay?”
    “Sure, I’ll just inspect the inside of my eyelids while you’re jabbering away with someone about dead people. Works for me.”
    Before she can slather on the guilt trip any thicker, I hop out of the car and look around. The tang of salt air hits my nostrils and I realize we’re less than a mile from the shoreline. As I follow the walkway around to the front, I notice one other car parked on the opposite side of the building. The front doors are locked, so I continue around the building until I see a door to the rear. I grab the knob and turn, but it won’t give. So I wrap both hands around it and just as I push, someone yanks it open from inside. Letting go, I fall on my butt with an ‘ umph ’. My glasses fly from my face and land on the walkway. I pick them up and inspect the lenses for cracks. None, thank God. I put them back on and look up.
    “Oh dear,” mutters the man in the doorway, “I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”
    He’s wearing a black cardigan and a black button-up shirt underneath. On his nose sits a pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses with lenses so thick you could use them like a magnifying glass to start a fire. My vision isn’t great, but he must be almost blind.
    “Reverend Murray?” Standing, I pound the dust from my pants, then extend my hand. “I’m Ross, Ross Sinclair.”
    “Mr. Sinclair!” His eyes light up. He returns my handshake with remarkable strength. Although his spine is crooked and his hair white as snow, he’s spry and healthy for his age, which has to be something well past eighty. “Do come in.”
    I scurry to keep up with him, even though he walks with a limp.
    “I was expecting you earlier,” he says. “I must have written down the wrong time. Typical of me these days.”
    “You didn’t. We were delayed by an accident just south of