Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
T he North Atlantic was arching below us and a pearly sky was fighting for superiority with shafts of marmalade sunshine.
My stomach rolled as we left Campbell’s vehicle and made our way down towards the lighthouse and the throng of cliff faces that surrounded it.
Campbell clutched a black bag containing some of his archaeological tools that he’d retrieved from his boot.
‘I hope I’m not imagining this,’ I murmured, as the sound of the sea swelled.
Campbell stopped to take in the stunning vista. ‘Please stop worrying, Darcie. It’s not costing us anything to have a look. Follow your instincts, remember?’
He fell in step beside me again as we moved off over the wavy grass, which mirrored the sea with its rippling movements.
The air was laced with the tang of seaweed and salt, and a zinging freshness that clung to my cheeks and danced through my hair. ‘So, you’ve never noticed a heart-shaped rock up here before?’ I asked Campbell.
‘I can’t say I have, although I’ve only been up here a couple of times and not for the past twenty years.’ Campbell’s face softened at my apprehensive expression. ‘And if you did dream it, well then, we go for a coffee after this and commiserate together, OK?’
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ I pleaded, scanning around myself for the rock in question.
‘Look, a lot of what we do in archaeology is based on conjecture and assumption, anyway. Some digs I’ve been on over the years have resulted in amazing discoveries. Others have failed to turn up anything except tin cans and old cleaning cloths. Them’s the breaks.’
I gave Campbell a small, grateful smile. He was a darling. His ex-wife had been a very silly woman, in my opinion.
At least if this trip to Neist Point did prove fruitless, I knew Campbell wouldn’t make me feel like a prize idiot.
The lighthouse stood tall and proud at the far end of the lip of cliffs before us, like a brilliant white sentry surveying the peaking waves.
‘It’s like another world up here.’ Campbell sighed. ‘I forgot how stunning it is.’
I agreed. ‘It’s like you can almost reset and begin again up here.’ I banished visions of Logan.
‘So, can you remember where you saw this rock?’
I looked around myself, at the rippling layers of rocks and boulders studded around. A slow, creeping panic began to grow. ‘Er … I think it was over here. No. Wait. Sorry. I meant over there.’
I made my way this and that across the grass. I moved left this time, but there was just a stubbly array of rocks that were nothing out of the ordinary.
Campbell spotted the growing concern in my expression. ‘Just take a breath, Darcie. Take your time.’
My chest deflated under my fleece.
What if I’d read far too much into Victoria’s letter? What if I’d got this wrong? I would’ve dragged poor Campbell up here for nothing, and he’d been so understanding about letting my mouth run away with me to Justine.
I fired my buffeted ponytail back from my face and over my shoulder again.
‘Close your eyes,’ instructed Campbell. ‘Go on. Imagine you’re up here with Logan again that first time.’
I wanted to say that was the last thing I should do, but I knew Campbell was just trying to help. ‘Alright.’
I straightened my shoulders and closed my eyes, conjuring up images in my head of the golden sunset swathing the cliff faces and the North Atlantic like a rippling, sumptuous gown.
Where was the heart-shaped rock again?
I could see its silhouette in my mind’s eye, with the heart-shaped angles and the cleft in the middle.
My imagination shifted from seeing Logan sitting beside me on the picnic rug, with those dancing eyes of his, to the rock again.
Wait! I could see it.
My eyes fluttered open. ‘I think it might be over there.’ I pointed to the right. ‘That’s where we had our picnic.’
I took off over the grass, mentally willing my recollection to be right.
I gazed down … and there it was, hunched beside another, less impressive looking rock. I took in the shape of it again. Yes, this was it. ‘Campbell! Over here!’
Campbell picked up his pace, his black leather bag containing his archaeological tools bouncing in his hand.
He crouched down, facing the unusual rock. He smiled, appreciating it. ‘It does look like a heart.’ He threw a look over his shoulder. ‘Anyone else around that you can see?’
‘No. It’s just us.’
‘OK. Good. We need to be very gentle about moving this rock, just in case there’s anything delicate underneath. I don’t think it’s too heavy.’
I hunkered down beside Campbell, who proceeded to set both hands on top of the rock.
‘What if there isn’t anything there?’ I asked, worried.
Campbell shrugged. ‘Then so be it. Now, you go round to the other side of it. When I say pull, we go together, OK?’
I dashed round to the other side of the rock and was reminded of Logan and I rescuing the trapped dolphin. Frustration tore at me. Everything I did on Skye—everywhere I went—reminded me of him.
I set my shoulders. ‘OK. I’ve got it.’
‘Good. On the count of three then. One, two, three … pull!’
I did as I was told.
Campbell angled from his side at the same time and the rock began to shift, revealing rich earth and dirt underneath it.
I watched as he ferreted around inside his bag and pulled out a flat mason’s trowel. ‘If there’s anything under there, we need to be careful, so I’m going to dig horizontally,’ he explained as he began gently sweeping the rich earth aside with flat, horizontal movements.
I tried to fight my impatience as the minutes ticked by, peering down into the hole, hoping there’d be a sliver or a glint of something soon.
‘There isn’t anything there, is there?’ I asked, after another chunk of time slid by on my watch.
Campbell stopped using his trowel. ‘Usually, if there is something buried, the soil carries signs of a change in texture, smell or composition.’
‘And there isn’t anything like that?’ I asked in a small voice.
With an air of disappointment, Campbell flopped back and extended his legs. A flash of resignation raced over his features. ‘No.’
I rubbed my face in frustration.
‘It was worth a try,’ insisted Campbell. ‘Let’s set the rock back in place.’
With dejection filling my body, I moved to help Campbell with the rock, but then he hesitated.
‘Hold on. What’s that?’
‘What’s what?’
He scrambled for his trowel and pointed it down towards the disturbed earth. ‘I think I saw something there.’
We moved the rock to one side again and I knelt down on the grass beside Campbell, who was beginning to scoop more earth away.
Like a winking star emerging through a bank of cloud, a trace of what looked like a gold tassel began to peek through the dirt.
Campbell squinted down at it. ‘There’s definitely something here.’
He reached into his bag of tools again and produced what looked like a small basting brush. He allowed the bristles to skim against the object, revealing more of the gold tassel, which was attached to a small, dusty, gauze jewellery pouch.
I couldn’t stem the growing excitement in my voice. ‘I doubt the Vikings made gauze jewellery bags like that.’
‘It won’t surprise you to know they didn’t,’ answered Campbell as he eased the bag out of the hole and opened it with trembling fingers.
‘Campbell? What is it? What’s in there?’
Campbell managed to ease the neck of the jewellery pouch open a little wider, slid his fingers in and plucked out a silver Celtic cross. It was thick and solid, about five centimetres in height, attached to a simple, dark brown rope. The intricate carvings on it featured what looked like a poppy in the centre, with an arrow design feeding up, down and across it. It was stunning.
My eyes struggled to take it in. It carried a worldly air. ‘Is that it?’ I breathed. ‘Is that the Skye Lovers’ Cross?’ I marvelled at the detail of it.
Campbell’s voice dried up. He looked like he was ready to dissolve into tears. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you know, I believe it is.’
We both let out noises that were crosses between laughs and shouts of euphoria. Campbell kept shaking his head and whispering to himself, ‘I was right. I was right all along.’
I gave him a prolonged hug as relief and delight for him shot through me. It was the least he deserved, after the sacrifices he’d made over the years.
He sat for a moment with the cross laid out in his outstretched palm. He swiped at his damp eyes. His attention shot to the sea and back to the pendant, nestled in his hand. ‘For years, I’ve dreamt about this moment, but I was starting to doubt it would ever come. I thought it would elude me or…’
‘Or what?’ I asked gently.
‘Or that others were right and I was wrong and that it didn’t exist after all.’
‘Well, you were right and it does exist,’ I croaked, my voice filling with emotion as I gazed at the cross in his hand. ‘You did it.’
‘ We did it,’ he corrected. ‘And I’m glad you’re here with me, Darcie.’ He let out a happy, disbelieving sigh. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? The craftsmanship it would’ve taken to create this…’ His appreciative gaze trailed over it for a few quiet moments. ‘The Vikings didn’t tend to use gold when they crafted their pieces. It was mainly silver and occasionally bronze.’
‘They were very talented.’
‘Indeed, they were. They would’ve crafted something like this by using a wax mould and pouring melted metal into it. Then the mould would’ve been broken once the metal had cooled and the piece buffed until it shone.’
I admired the solidity of it still resting in Campbell’s palm. ‘Logan told me the Viking warrior Garth hadn’t considered it enough of a tribute to his late wife, but I disagree.’
‘Me too. I think he was so consumed with grief that the poor man wasn’t thinking straight. Not to mention, nothing was probably ever going to truly reflect the beauty and love he felt for his late wife.’
I admired the cross again and glanced up at Campbell. I was thrilled for him. He finally had validation, after so many years of struggle and mockery.
I let my attention wander to the hole Campbell had dug underneath the rock. Hold on. What was that? It looked like there was something else concealed in the dirt. It looked like white paper.
‘And what’s that?’ I asked, dashing a happy tear from my face.
Campbell tried to compose himself. ‘What is what?’
‘There. That little shard of white sticking out of the dirt. Can you see it?’
Campbell peered at the earth. ‘Oh. There is something else there.’
He shuffled beside me, leant over and very carefully glided the paper out of the earth. ‘It’s an envelope!’ Campbell gasped. He slid the cross back into the mysterious jewellery bag we found it in and discovered that the envelope wasn’t sealed. Inside it, was what looked like a letter, consisting of two folded sheets of writing paper. He unfolded the letter, taking great pains not to inflict any further damage on them. Campbell brushed the dirt from it with his special basting brush. The letter consisted of familiar black handwriting. ‘Thank goodness the earth here is dry and no light has managed to get in, otherwise the letter would’ve rotted and decayed.’
I blinked down at it. ‘Wait! I know that elegant script. It looks like Victoria’s.’
Campbell’s expression was riven in shock.
‘Are you alright?’
‘I don’t know.’
I let out a laugh and patted him on the arm.
‘You read it out,’ managed Campbell. ‘I don’t think I can speak right now.’
‘Alright.’
I turned my attention from the stunned Campbell to the faded, smudged, delicate handwriting. The letter was dated 15 November 1909.
I began to read aloud, as the gulls shrieked into the sea air around us;
I wish to congratulate you on locating the Skye Lovers’ Cross and trust that you were able to piece together my clue about the light, sea and heart of Skye. Please accept my apologies for this rather dramatic method of communicating your success to you, but I should explain. I lost my brother in the most tragic of circumstances only very recently, and putting my emotions to paper is proving somewhat cathartic for my grief.
On 30 October this year, I am ashamed to say I gathered up my skirts and planned to enter the waters of Skye. I was of the opinion that I no longer mattered or was able to deal with my feelings, following the cessation of a romance. I recall standing for several moments in that icy cold water in the early morning, with the mist curling her fingers over everything. The water was slapping against my knees and all I could think of was bringing an end to the shame and heartbreak I was experiencing. But my intentions to meet my maker were not meant to be. For as I moved deeper into the water, my right foot caught sharply against a solid object.
At first, I believed it to be a jagged rock. But the sensation had been odd and caught me unawares.
I gathered myself and dived under the ceiling of the waves. After some desperate searching, my hand located what I had stood on and I resurfaced, gasping for air.
I had stumbled upon the Skye Lovers’ Cross.
Finding it saved me from myself. It gave me clarity and reason.
My late brother was struggling financially at the time, due to some rather silly investment decisions, and so I resolved to give the Skye Lovers’ Cross to him. Because of the cut-throat nature of the people he was associating with in Edinburgh, I decided to write to him and furnish a clue as to the cross’s whereabouts in that piece of correspondence. I also informed him that I wished to meet face to face, so that we could discuss the matter further and I could advise him of where I had concealed the stone. It seemed the most sensible plan of action.
However, my brother passed away before I was able to direct him to the treasure. I had no need or thirst for notoriety, fortune or fame by publicising that I had discovered the jewel. For me, its existence was proof enough that I had been right in my endeavours to locate it. And so I hid it in the place where I’d planned, confident that the letter to my brother would find its way into the right hands, and that my clue would lead to its discovery. By you.
The Skye Lovers’ Cross was always meant to find me and so I suspect it was always meant to find you, too.
Regards,
Victoria McPherson (Miss)
Campbell and I sat in stunned silence for a few moments; him clutching the Celtic cross nestled back inside the jewellery pouch Victoria had placed it in and me holding her letter. We were oblivious to the sharp sea air whizzing around us and the tumble of clouds over our heads. ‘Campbell.’ My face slowly broke into a grin. ‘You did it.’
He allowed himself to smile next. ‘You mean you did it.’ He patted me on the hand. ‘You followed your heart, Darcie. Literally.’