Chapter Seventeen
“Mrs. Blackburn!” Hector called, then repeated her name.
Clouds covered the morning sun days later as Christina looked up. She sat perched on a rock writing another dutiful report to Edgar, this time to say that the foundation stones of an apparent Pictish-era house had been exposed after several days of digging.
“What is it, Mr. MacDonald?” she called back.
“We’ve found something for ye, lass!”
She set aside the writing box and nearly stumbled in her haste to reach the spot where Hector and Angus stood. Lewis and Kenneth Gowan, who had worked all morning, now stood back, shovels in their grimy hands, dust smudging their faces.
“One of the stones shifted here, mistress,” Angus said. “That flat one in what is left of flooring there rocked and came loose.”
“We pried it up,” Kenneth said. “Look there, Missus.”
She peered into a dark hole in the earth, filled with curious shadows. Sinking to her knees, she saw cavity walled with fieldstone. Some round shapes were stacked deep along the far wall in deep shadow.
“Are those pots? Can you move the stone covering the hole a bit more?”
“Aye, lass,” Hector said. “It is set on a lever stone, so ’twas meant to open. Look, see the steps under the ridge there. Could it be a tomb? We might find a king’s ransom,” he said, rubbing his hands.
“I doubt it, but let’s see. I want to go down there.” She stood, brushing earth from her hands, as the Gowans heaved the lid stone further to expose the square opening. Angus fetched an oil lantern to shine it down into the gap.
Peering into the gloom, Christina saw the shapes more clearly. Several large clay pots were stacked against a wall. She nodded and turned toward the others.
“We might find pots of wine or grain, but not gold, Mr. MacDonald. This is a storeroom. A souterrain, an underground room.”
“A sootie—what? A pantry underground? My granny had one in her croft house. They had suchlike, long, long ago?”
“They had surprising sophistication in their homes. Wall cupboards, shelves, storage chambers, even private lavatories.”
“Och, dinna tell me that.” Hector turned pink.
“A storeroom like this would have been fairly common. Food would stay cool and fresh down there in clay pots, including grain, cheeses, dried meat and fish, and so on. I want to look. Could I have a ladder? I do not want to fall down those old steps. Is that rotted wood?”
“Looks to be.” Hector beckoned and the Gowans brought a ladder, lowering it into the dark earthen pit. “Missus, if ye want thousand-year-old cheeses, let me send Kenneth doon in case o’ danger. He’s a braw lad.”
Christina stood back as the young Highlander carefully descended the ladder into the hole. “Souterrains are not very exciting. But sometimes underground chambers were linked together, which can prove quite exciting.”
“Pots. Exciting,” Hector drawled. “Unless they’re pots o’ gold!”
“Until then, Mr. MacDonald, this will do.” She laughed but felt anxious, looking down as Kenneth wandered about. She tried to act scholarly and detached, but indeed felt excited. She had hoped the site would yield something other than ruined stone walls.
Kenneth looked up. “Nothing but auld jugs and chamber pots!” As he came up, Christina moved to step down the ladder.
“Mistress, dinna go doon,” Hector said. “The laird wouldna like it.”
“Why would he care? Does he worry that I’ll find gold and steal it for the museum?”
“Och, dinna get in a kerfuffle. He cares aboot ye, I’m thinking,” Hector replied. “He told us to watch where ye set yer bonny foot and sweep the verra earth where ye walk, and make sure the stones are clean where ye set yer cup o’ tea and where ye rest.”
“He said that?” she asked.
“Near enough,” Hector admitted.
Angus nodded. “Himself said to me, ‘Angus Gowan, you are never to be leaving the wee lassie alone on the hill, and she is never to be wanting for anything, or I will hear of it.’”
“So if we let ye doon there noo, and something happened,” Hector said, “a scratch to yer finger or dirt darkening yer wee nose, the laird will want an answer.”
Christina stared at him, thoughts racing. Hector might be joking, but he and Angus sounded sincere. More, she wanted to believe Aedan cared that much about her, but she did not want to show it. “He is likely concerned about delays to his road,” she replied primly.
“It’s wee Mrs. Blackburn he thinks of, naught else. I canna let ye doon there, lass, unless the laird says it’s safe,” Hector said.
“Do you think it’s safe?” she asked bluntly, looking at Kenneth. The young man shrugged and looked at Hector, who also shrugged.
“Well, then,” she said, gathering her skirts and stepping down the ladder rungs, “I take responsibility. If the laird does not like it, send him to me.” She sank into shadows.
“A muckle fuss over stale oats,” Hector muttered.
Reaching the earthen floor, picking up the lantern that Kenneth had left for the next person—who they hoped was not her—Christina looked around.
The walls were of mortarless drystone, fitted tightly, and the ceiling was set with crude, very old, wooden beams. She moved toward the back of the space to examine the pots stacked there.
She quickly counted perhaps two dozen, most broken or sunk into the earth, made of clay in various shapes and sizes.
Some, she saw, were painted with designs, animals and abstract patterns, primitive and yet elegant, made with careful, conscious effort.
A closer look showed that a few were sealed with thick wax.
She longed to discover their contents, but would not disturb the centuries-old dust on their shoulders nor spoil the peace and the mystery of their secrets.
Leave that to Edgar in his official capacity.
No doubt he would be ecstatic. For now, she wanted to protect the sanctity of this find.
She looked up at the men waiting above. “This is marvelous!”
“Gold?” Hector asked, peering down.
“Old pots, Hector!” She felt giddy with delight. “Come see!”
“Och,” he said reluctantly, stepping down the ladder. “Just for you, lassie.”
*
Yet more mud. This road was cursed, end to end, Aedan thought.
Was that because it was on Dundrennan land, an estate already cursed?
He huffed a sour laugh and shoved a hand through his hair as he gazed around the work site.
A night of thundershowers had created more muck.
His men toiled along the side of the road, picks and shovels making sloppy noises, the work going slowly.
The steam engine, garish red in the cloudy light, huffed and spat as it strained to lift heavy earth.
Rob Campbell sauntered toward him. “We’re making progress despite all,” he commented.
“More miles to grub and dig, but eventually we will reach the long stretch of road between here and Glasgow. Then the top layer of crushed stone, and after that, more topping.” He shrugged, looked at Aedan.
“We have nearly a month. We might make it.”
“Aye, if we can cut through the Cairn Drishan efficiently.”
“Providing we find no other ancient sites,” Rob said dryly. He glanced at the incline of the great hill nearby. “Mrs. Blackburn has been up with Hector and Angus, poking around along the remnants of that wall. Has she heard from Sir Edgar Neaves yet?”
“I am not certain what they have exchanged. I will head into Edinburgh in a week or so, but I hope to avoid the fellow.”
“I hear you will escort Miss Dora MacDonald and her grandmother to see a doctor. Dora—Miss MacDonald—told me about that. Thank you for helping her.”
“No thanks needed. You would do the same, given the chance.”
“I would accompany you, but I would be needed here in your absence. I want to show Miss MacDonald my support.”
“I gathered that your friendship is rather close.” Aedan lifted a brow.
“I’d like it to become closer, sir. I hope Dora feels the same, but I must wait a bit.
I am not waiting to see if some treatment would improve her eyesight,” Rob added.
“It makes no difference to me whether she can see or not. I’d court her now if she’d allow it.
She seems to share my interest, but she is reluctant—due to her situation. ”
“When I saw her last, she blushed at the very mention of your name, and wanted news about Robert Campbell over anything else.” Aedan grinned.
Rob laughed. “Thank you. I’ve been cautious, not sure of her feelings.”
“Be cautious around fires and steam engines. But sometimes we need courage and boldness around the fair sex.”
“Spoken like a man who knows the terrain.” Rob studied him.
Aedan shrugged. “Some men have courage for everything but love. That may include me. Do not be like me, lad. I have faith in you.” Aedan clapped him on the shoulder.
The steam engine began to sputter, and Rob whirled. “I’d better turn off that infernal machine. The behemoth has had enough exercise for one day.” He strode away.
Frowning, reminded of his lost chance at love, Aedan gazed at the high ridge of Cairn Drishan. He noticed a small figure silhouetted near the site of the old wall. Her dark skirt billowed behind her, her blouse and straw hat showing pale in daylight gone cloudy.
She looked fragile compared to the massive and rugged slope, yet she also looked determined, undaunted by rising winds. He had to admire her strength and stubbornness, even though it conflicted with his determination to meet his own goals.
He stood for a moment, wondering if she saw him as he saw her. Wondering if she sensed the same pull he felt, like a gossamer thread spun out between them, tying a knot.
An aching need rose in him to go up there and declare his feelings, take the advice he had just given Rob Campbell. He wanted her desperately. The intensity of it shook him, astonished him, but he dared not acknowledge that need.