Chapter Thirteen
Christina climbed the slope of Cairn Drishan using the walking stick MacGregor had insisted she take. She laughed to herself, remembering his earnest advice that morning.
“Bonny sir, you are needing this on those wicked hills,” the butler had said, handing her a sturdy polished stripling nearly as tall as her.
The morning sky was pearly and mist still veiled the moor and heather-purple hills. At the top of the ridge, someone waved, and she recognized Hector MacDonald. But Aedan was not with him, and she felt disappointment replace anticipation.
Hector MacDonald walked toward her, gaunt and gray, his eyes vivid blue. “Good morning, Mrs. Blackburn!” He touched his hat brim. “Come this way.”
She followed him to the worksite, where three other men worked with shovels and picks. They spoke Gaelic among themselves, though their shabby nondescript clothing and muddy boots did not identify them as Highlanders. Seeing her, they touched their hat brims and went back to work.
A brown-and-white spaniel ran toward her, tail wagging. Christina reached out to pet it. “Who’s this?”
“Cailin. She belongs to Angus Gowan, there,” Hector said. “His sons, Lewis and Kenneth, are working with him.”
She nodded to the men and bent again to pat the spaniel, speaking to her in Gaelic.
Angus came toward her. “Mistress, you know the language?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Aye, good!” But he continued in English. “Cailin comes too when we work on the roads. She has been herding cattle in the hills for years. A good wee lass who cares not if we herd, hunt, or dig. She is just happy to be with us.”
“She is lovely. Do you still herd cattle, Mr. Gowan?”
“No longer, mistress. When our farm was taken from us when our glen fell to the Clearances, Sir Hugh gave us a croft on his estate. Now we work on the young laird’s road crew. Cailin is happy wherever we are. People can learn contentment from dogs.”
“We can,” she agreed. “I am sure you are as anxious as Sir Aedan to finish the road, although there is a little delay now. And thank you for working on digging out the stones that were found.”
“Oh, aye. The laird can spare us for a few days,” he said.
“The laird can dig with that metal beast while we dig for the lady,” Lewis Gowan said, as his father chuckled.
“Hopefully this will only take a few days,” she said. “Now that you have cleared some of the earth away, it is easier to see what appears to be an old wall. Could you clear away more of the top layer, very carefully?”
“Aye so. And what then?” Angus Gowan asked.
“I will mark the stones with chalk. Blue where a stone should be removed, white if it should be left in place.” She opened her reticule to remove two pieces of thick chalk borrowed from her brother’s wooden box of pastel sticks.
“I asked them to grub the hill to clear the brush and bracken away,” Hector explained, “and then go carefully where the wee wall first appears to dig across to the opposite wall over there. How far back should we go into the hill, mistress? It burrows into that higher part of the hill there.” He indicated an uneven upthrust of earthen slope thick with heather and gorse.
“Dig as far as seems safe, Mr. MacDonald.”
“Aye so.” He gave some directions in Gaelic to the Gowans, who went to resume their work, the little dog running back and forth.
“See that split in the rock that goes into the hill? That was from the black powder explosion. It is not safe over there, but the Gowan lads will take care with the digging there. Sir Aedan wants to be sure ye’re never alone on this hill, so we will see to yer safety as well. ”
She felt a frisson of indignation. “I do not need protecting. I can be cautious too. Tell Sir Aedan that, if you will.”
“Aye well,” he said, “best tell the laird so yerself. There’s fire in the both o’ ye, and I dinna care to be burned by it.” Hector grinned so engagingly that Christina had to smile.
*
Later, as sunshine split the cloud cover and the damp earth dried, Christina knelt on the ground, skirts tucked around her. While the men worked, she marked stones with chalk. The day had grown warmer, and she paused to remove her hat and her jacket to work unhampered.
Spying cut marks on the side of one of the stones, she brushed her fingers over the engraved lines.
Intrigued, she pulled her hatpin from the hat to scrape at the embedded dirt.
Taking up a small memorandum book, she paused to draw what she saw and record her observations with a pencil.
Then she took up the hatpin again to clean the lines.
“If you mean to use that wee thing to clean these stones, you will be here forever.”
Startled, she looked up, her heart leaping as she heard Aedan’s voice. He stood tall over her, his back to the sun, shoulders wide, stance assured.
Last night’s astonishing kisses flashed unguarded through her mind. But he stood frowning, cool and impenetrable.
“Good day!” she said. “True, it is futile to use a pin.” She opened her reticule to take out a small implement and gave him a sweet grin as she waved it. “A toothbrush will do.”
“For the love of God, woman, scrubbing rocks like a scullery maid with a toothbrush will not improve their appearance or their value. It just prolongs the time we spend here.”
“No need for oaths, sir,” she retorted. Rubbing the little brush inside a crevice, she blew at the loosened dirt. Seeing visible marks, she took up a pencil to sketch them.
“We have just a few weeks to finish the road. Mrs. Blackburn. Are you listening?” He dropped to his haunches while she worked. “What do you have there?”
“My uncle cleaned some old stones in a field once with a toothbrush,” she explained as she worked.
“And he discovered Pictish carvings of great antiquity. The science of archaeology has made great strides, and we are learning a great deal. Taking great care is important. Even fifty years ago, fossil bones were still thought to be the remains of dragons and monsters, and Celtic bronze items were believed to belong to fairies.”
“They don’t?” he drawled.
She scowled at him. “Now we know the value of caution and cataloguing, so we can unravel early history more accurately. Time has layers, just as the earth has strata. Both will yield secrets if treated with respect.” She wiggled the toothbrush at him. “We cannot dig willy-nilly on this site.”
“Neaves said he would send an amateur. But you know what you are about.”
“I do. My uncle trained me well. I am prepared to do cautious exploration here. If I find something of merit, Sir Edgar will take over.” She pursed her lips at the thought.
“We do not have time to clean stones inch by inch.”
“You may not have time, sir, but I do. You can be so impatient,” she murmured as she brushed at the stone and blew lightly.
“In this, aye.”
“Hurrying is senseless if historical treasures could be destroyed in haste. You would not proceed hastily with your road, would you? I will not be hasty with my stones.”
“Your stones!” He huffed. “For the roads, we determine many things, designing according to the lay of the land, how much blasting and where, what materials are needed, and estimate how much time is required, depending on weather and unexpected factors.”
“Like Pictish walls?” She brushed a stone close to his booted toe. He shifted his foot.
“Old walls and stubborn little antiquarians, aye.”
She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “We have something in common, you and I. We both dig in the earth and take it apart. You build roads, I resurrect history.”
“I suppose we do.”
She stood, brushing her gloved hands, and faced him. “It occurs to me that while I shepherd the past, you prepare the future. But neither of us knows what we will encounter. Look what you discovered with your black powder.”
“Aye, look what I found.” He watched her steadily.
His words last night came back to her. He tested himself against love, and could love her—but he was invulnerable. The meaning in his words suddenly stung. He was adamant about not loving, and she must guard against being foolish.
“Since you are so busy, Sir Aedan, you should get back to your great metal beast. We both have work to do, and I will not keep you from it.”
“True, the Commission is breathing down my neck. They are anxious to know when the road will be ready for Her Majesty’s wee jaunt from Glasgow.
By the way, this morning, you had a letter from Sir Edgar in the postal bag,” he added.
“He will be impatient too, eager to know if any of this lot will benefit him.” He waved toward the stones.
“Benefit the museum, you mean. I cannot say yet what is here, but he will want to hear some news before he comes out here.”
“Tell him not to come out here at all.”
She tipped her head. “Are you obtuse by nature, or is it a skill you have honed?”
“Have you always been stubborn and willful?”
“Yes.” She spun, knelt in the dirt, and took up the toothbrush.
Aedan spun too, striding away to speak with Hector and Angus. Christina scrubbed furiously at a stone, deliberately not looking toward him.
Seeing them today, she thought, no one would ever guess they had shared wild secret kisses, felt a deep bond through a painting and a legend, and yet scarcely knew each other.
No one would suspect moments shared in a hidden staircase and a darkened library when they saw the tension between them.
His work, her work, his road, her stones …
But she knew that pull between them was not anger. It was passion unexpressed. Love simmering untended. All could be resolved and dissolved with passionate kisses, not passionate arguments. She felt sparks between them like flint and fire. Surely, he did too.
She glanced at him then, and in that moment, he looked at her. The spark flew back and forth. She did not want to discuss roads and stones. She only wanted to run to him.
Wielding the toothbrush fiercely, she removed an innocent chunk of dirt.
*