Chapter Eighteen #2
Her pulse quickened. They were here. She figured they were close but wasn’t sure how close they were.
Letting Errol lead the way, she followed him off the pebble beach and toward the tree line.
They entered the darkness of the trees, so tall and thick they blocked all of the sun’s rays from filtering through.
“Is it far?” She asked, her excitement growing.
“Nay. We are almost there.” His eyes were shiny with excitement of what they would uncover.
Would it be another clue sending them to another location? Or had they finally reached their final destination?
The trees parted to an open space. Wildflowers bloomed under the filtering rays of the sun, their fragrant scent tickling her nose. Tall grass filled the middle. Moira spun around taking it all in.
“This is beautiful,” she said in awe.
“Aye.” Errol pulled on his neck as he watched her. “’Tis been here for as long as I can remember, but ’tis so far away from e’erything we dinnae come often. But the clue mentioned a hollow and this is the only one I ken of on MacLeod lands.”
In the center of the clearing was a huge boulder, its top covered with green and gray moss. Moira walked over and circled it, looking for something that would point to what they needed to do next. Not finding a clue, she moved to the tree line and walked the perimeter.
What if one of the trees held the clue? What if the tree had died? Been cut? These clues had been hidden years and years ago. Things happened over time. There was no guarantee that the clue still existed.
Errol had taken out his dagger and was picking away at the moss that had built up on the boulder over the years, clearing it away.
“What are ye doing?” She asked, sidling up to him and watching him curiously.
He shrugged. “Probably something foolhardy, but I had a thought that mayhap they carved something into the rock? Years ago, it may have been easily read, but now, with the all the moss, ye cannae see it.”
“That is a great idea,” she said, grabbing her own dagger and starting to do the same.
It was menial, methodical work, but they finally removed the moss from the boulder. Standing back, they both assessed it, searching for a clue. Naught stood out, showing them what they were looking for.
“Well, it indeed looks like that was a foolhardy thing to do. I dinnae see aught,” Errol said, tucking his dagger away.
Moira walked around the rock, studying the spots they’d removed the moss from when the smallest of carvings, barely visible, caught her eye.
“Errol, look.” When he approached, she pointed to a small arrow notched into the boulder.
It pointed to the left of them, where a cluster of trees grew.
They followed the direction of the arrow and studied the trees.
“This one,” Moira tapped her finger on a notch in the bark.
“And this one.” There was another notch, neither natural. “What do ye think this means?”
He looked at the ground. “I think it means we dig.”
“With what? The ground looks thickly packed.” The ground would be hard to dig through. The earth hadn’t been disturbed for years and it was packed with mud, twigs, pine needles, and dead leaves.
Errol searched the forest floor, finding a curved branch, sturdy and sharp enough to pierce through the thick top layer of leaves and pine needles packed tight with mud.
Once that was removed, it was easier to dig through the softer dirt underneath.
On her knees, she used her hands to scoop and remove the dirt, not caring that it was getting crusted under her fingernails.
If her mother or sisters saw her now, they would scold her insufferably.
Her mother would probably lock her away in her room and never let her come out until she acted like a proper lady.
Across from her, Errol smiled wildly as they continued to dig until their fingers brushed against something solid.
Moira’s eyes widened as she quickened her digging. “’Tis another chest. Bigger than the last.”
“Aye,” Errol agreed, looking at her with a huge grin on his face. “Ye did it, Lass.”
She smiled. “Nay, we did it, Errol.”
It took some time for them to uncover the breadth of the chest. It was much bigger than the smaller one they had found earlier. Their chests were heaving with exertion as they finally finished digging around the intricately carved trunk.
“It looks heavy.” Moira wasn’t sure how they could lift it from its resting place.
“I believe we will need to open it from there and remove the items inside afore we can lift it out.”
She nodded. That made sense. It was too deep to grasp it well and lift it out with it being so heavy.
Errol pointed to the clasp. “Go ahead,” he urged. “’Tis yer treasure to uncover. Open the lid.”
With her fingers on the latch, she paused, her eyes meeting Errol’s once again. “What do ye think is inside.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Naught of what we have found so far was aught that I would have expected, so I cannae e’en guess as to what is inside. Mayhap some more coin. Mayhap some more carved figurines. I dinna ken. But one thing I am for certs is inside.”
“What?”
“Another letter.”
“Ah,” she nodded with a smile. “I bet ye are right.” With that, she pulled on the latch, surprised that it gave way and opened without out too much resistance.
Lifting the lid, her breath quickened as she revealed a painstakingly embroidered handkerchief.
Like the paintings and carvings they had found, the needlepoint also told a story.
She lifted it carefully, sitting on the forest floor and spread it out over her lap so she could look at the pictures depicted in the delicate threading.
Instead of multiple scenes like the previous clues they had found, on the handkerchief, in fine gold threading, was one large picture.
Once again, the Harts and MacLeods were represented, no longer as one unit, but on their separate sides much like the first painting.
Depicted on the side of the MacLeods was a grave with a young lad standing near.
The grave had to be for Thomas. The lad Angus.
On the land separating the two clans, was a small coffin, which Moira guessed was to depict Agnes.
On the Hart side stood Fiona. Alone. Her clan members had their backs turned to her. In essence shunning her.
Moira swiped at a tear that slipped down her cheek. The scene broke her heart. Fiona had lost everything. Her husband. Her daughter. Her son. Her home. Even her clan. Moira couldn’t imagine the pain she went through. The poor woman had no one to lean on and offer a kind gesture.
In the right-hand corner, there was one final picture sewn with red thread. The cliffs they’d ridden to were there, and a woman, which had to be Fiona, was falling through the air, halfway between the cliffs and rocky water below.
Moira gasped, as she brought her hand to her mouth, horror at the realization of what the picture meant.
Errol moved to her side, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “What is it?”
She met his gaze. His brows were drawn down in concern. “’Tis Fiona. She jumped from the cliffs.”