“How is her family’s heirloom our crest, father. That makes no sense.” Saint sipped the coffee the housekeeper set on the table.
“From what I’ve read in the journals, Sebastian Winthrop, when he became king, used the design of Snow’s family heirloom as a memory to her.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Saint laughed. “Sneaky bugger.”
Senior Sinclair stood to retrieve the journal from his satchel. He opened it and showed us Sebastian’s entry. “He said, all love stories end with a kiss. He couldn’t tell anyone that part of the spell that Nan Flora cast, so he wrote it into his biography, hoping someone would figure it out. Someone did, and it's in the notes, but there hasn’t been a cross-over in bloodlines until you two.”
Saint shook his head. “That may be the case. But lots of Winthrop men died.”
“All those frames in the hall I saw back at the castle, the men with the blue eyes, they all died at thirty-five?” I asked, remembering the oddity of that discovery.
“Yes,” Senior Sinclair replied. “Sebastian Winthrop with his green eyes started this curse and—”
“Sebastian Sinclair with his green eyes, ended it.” I laughed. “How ironic. Did you name Saint after Sebastian Winthrop?”
“I did,” the old man chuckled. “The coincidence with the eye colour was too much to pass up.”
“And what about Saint? Where did that name come from?” I looked between both men. They glanced at each other with a smile that was almost similar.
“When he was six, we took him to church and during the pastor’s sermons about sainthood and archaeological finds, my son walked up to the altar and sat down on the stairs. His mother got up to fetch him, but the pastor waved her down.” The old man chuckled, his expression distant. It must’ve been a good memory for him. “The pastor subsequently paused and asked him what’s your name, son. He stood up and very proudly announced that he was Saint Sebastian Sinclair. Apparently, he wasn’t bored, he just couldn’t hear the exciting sermon from where he sat.”
We all laughed, and I couldn’t stop giggling at the thought of a minor Saint doing that. “And that’s where your love for archaeology sprang?” I asked.
He nodded. “I found the topic interesting and the actually the saint slipped out by mistake. It stuck after that, so I had it tattooed on my arm?” He shrugged. “The first time you called me that, shocked the hell out of me because most girls just assumed it was a tattoo whereas you remembered, and you used it. No one else did.” His boyish chuckle made me smile.
“Well, I for one am glad that you survived and my daughter’s happy.” Dad reached over and squeezed my hand.
“There are a few puzzling bits that remain unanswered,” I said. When I had all their attention, I added. “First, how did my mother confess to all the crimes because—”
“You were the jewel thief?” Saint gave me one of his wicked smiles. “I told her she owed you and if she didn’t confess, I had other, less salient plans for her that would get her notice, in strip club.”
Wow, he got her to confess. “Wait. All this time, you knew I stole the diamond?” I asked, incredulous. He patted his lap and I went to him, sat sideways across him and circled his neck. “How?”
“Hang on a sec,” Dad leaned forward. “My daughter is a jewel thief?” At my sheepish expression, he sat back, shocked. “How in God’s name is that possible?”
“You give your daughter far too little credit, Dean.” Saint slid his arms around my waist and gave it a squeeze before he kissed my lips. “If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
I looked from dad to him. “Huh?”
“Wait,” Dad said. “Start at beginning, I’m seriously confused.”
Saint sipped his coffee and gave a little shrug. “Nothing confusing, Dean. Your daughter came to the ritual. I sent her away and three days later, Snow, the name of the diamond went missing.” He winked at my startled face. “Snow, the diamond, was an integral part of the ritual.”
“Part of the curse required the diamond to be present during all the so called ‘mating’s’ of virgins and the men of the brotherhood,” Senior Sinclair explained. “The brotherhood was formed to ensure the Sinclair men over time, every five years starting from the age of fifteen to be precise, took virgins to bed in the hopes one of them would encounter a Snow, the girl in the story, bloodline.”
“Wow,” I laughed. “That’s quite a story.”
“And jewel theft,” dad asked, impatient.
Saint gave a little chuckle. “Three days after the ritual, Snow, the diamond, went missing. Father sent me to San Francisco to find it.”
“And how did you know it was me then?” I asked.
“Your eyes.”
“My eyes?” Confusion marred my brow for a second.
He ran a finger down my cheek then across my lips, stalling there for a moment before dropping his hand. “As a Professor of Archaeology, I’ve travelled to some beautiful places for digs. Did you know that not all icebergs are white?” I shook her head, baffled. “They actually come in a range of shades from white with hints of blue to bright blue and green. I’ve seen these in the Scotia Sea, Antarctica, Iceland. The first time I met you, on the school tour, your beautiful eyes startled me. The unique colour immediately reminded me of those stunning icebergs.”
