She sighed. “I said it was interesting, Lord Sheridan, not helpful. Although—that’s odd.” She frowned and pulled away, blinked, then lowered her head again. “Probably nothing. But . . .”

“But?”

She slid the map back to the lines that were, presumably, some sort of directions. And then once more to where Cave was scratched into the faded corner. “Maybe it’s from the exposure to water?”

“What is?”

Really, how had her brother tolerated Sheridan for so long? She pulled away again, jumping at how close he was. He looked like he might shove her aside and peer through the eyepiece himself at any moment. Though at her scolding look, he inched away. A little. She cleared her throat. “The ink used on the word cave looks quite different from the drawing. It isn’t half so rusty.”

“Newer, then?” Oliver leaned against the table on her opposite side. “A later addition.”

“How much newer?” Beth tapped a thoughtful finger to her lip. “Indication that it’s been moved, do you think?”

“Or misdirection.” Sheridan straightened. “History is full of those, you know.”

They would have a better idea of that than she would, so she kept her attention on the parchment. Which was far more interesting than their conversation anyway. “Well now.”

“What? Well what?” Sheridan really did nudge her aside this time and put his own eye to the eyepiece. “What am I looking at?”

Libby scooted her chair a few inches away and sent her brother an exasperated look.

Bram just smirked back at her. “You knew what he was like before you agreed to marry him.”

Of all the . . . “I did not agree!”

Sheridan waved a hand in her direction. “Right, I know. I’m annoying and displace frogs. You don’t want to marry me. All well and good, but what in the world am I looking at?”

Beth nearly choked on a laugh. “You displace frogs?”

“With his excavations—he destroys their habitats.” Since he didn’t appear to be uncrowding her any time soon, Libby stood, which just led to his stealing the chair too. “And you’re looking at the parchment. It’s been scraped in that section.”

“Oh! So it has. That’s what those fibers are, I expect. That’s how they erased things, you know. Ink, from parchment. With a knife, I suppose.”

Libby folded her arms over her chest. “Perhaps that’s why I pointed it out.”

He didn’t seem to hear her mutter. “It does appear thinner there, and the scrape marks don’t match the area around it. And what’s this other bit? A shadow or . . .”

“Well, I don’t know. Someone stole my microscope from me before I could look any further.” She didn’t honestly expect that to garner any more of a response.