Chapter Five #3
“Someday. Not now. And surely not even to distant family. The place needs more than freshening up. It needs—new blood in the next generation, if that is to happen.”
He could be honest with Dougal, a trusted childhood friend even more than a cousin.
They had attended university together, along with their friend Evan Mackenzie, now Earl of Kildonan.
All three had become engineers. Dougal, always a daredevil, had gravitated to the dangers of lighthouse construction, while Evan had applied his talents to bridge construction, nearly as risky as lighthouses.
Aedan, a practical soul in an impractical household, chose highway design, reliable, straightforward, consistent.
Roadbuilding had great risk at times too, and he never quailed from it. But it did not lure him.
Growing up with the curse of Dundrennan, he taught himself early to be cautious.
He thought back to his conversation with Christina Blackburn of the fiery cheeks and beautiful eyes.
He did recognize true love between Dougal and Meg, and he felt a twinge of envy.
But three years ago his fiancée had broken their engagement.
Lesson learned. He did not talk about it, and tried not to think about it.
But he learned not to look for love. Love could hurt.
Friendship was safe. Love was a risk. He did not need it, and he had no business yearning after it.
Certainly no business kissing a delectable stranger, a guest in his house, late at night, giving in to a misguided yearning, he told himself.
“Aedan? You are far away. Business?” Dougal asked.
He cleared his throat. Business of keeping his heart clear of longing.
“What? No. I am doing what I can to afford the work that my father wanted done in this house. But a good part of the fortune he accrued went to feeding Highlanders and Islanders ousted from their homes in the clearances. Grain shipments and the lot. The accounts were—sobering.”
“But it was good work he did. My wife did the same where she could. By the way, she told me she would like to help with the expenses of refurbishing Dundrennan.”
Aedan shook his head, aware of Meg’s impressive personal fortune as well as her generosity. “I am grateful for the thought. But I can bear the costs here.”
“At what personal cost? Funding your father’s whims will put you out of pocket.”
“I have the resources—a good income from road contracts, and my investments in jute and whisky have been profitable. Recently I invested in silver darlings.”
“Herrings, whisky, and jute—aye, Meg’s advisors urge her to invest there as well. It is good for Scotland. But you cannot funnel all into Dundrennan.”
“The will specifies that improvements in the house must be completed by year’s end, or there would be hell to pay.”
“What can he do? He was a whirlwind of a man, I grant, but he is gone.”
“The place must be completed to his wishes, or it goes to the museum.”
“Lord,” Dougal said. “I nearly forgot about that. And you bearing it alone.”
Aedan shrugged. Their steps crushed out a rhythm on the garden path and a cool breeze, hinting of autumn, ruffled his hair. Time was moving too fast.
“The place is marvelous, but it is practically a museum,” Dougal admitted. “Will you sell pieces to gain funds for the house?”
“Some. Most of the whigmaleeries will stay. Swords, targes, knickknacks hundreds of years old, should stay. The rest could go to pay for tartan and paint and such.”
“The ladies of Balmossie are in a fever for decorating.” Dougal laughed.
“That part confounds me,” Aedan said. “But I love this place. Whatever it takes to keep it, I will do.”
“What about the antiquarian and her pronouncement on the old stones?”
He shrugged. “We shall see what comes of it. The museum could lay claim to that part of the estate, and I have a road going through there.”
“The antiquarian is not so antique after all,” Dougal commented. “Rather bonny. I wonder why Neaves sent her in his stead.”
“I am glad he did. I have no wish to see him. I suspect he sent the young lady here to determine if the find is worth his precious time. There is a clause in Father’s will that favors the museum.
Neaves drools at the mere thought that this house could revert to the care of the National Museum.
If the house is not restored like some tartaned-up Highland tableau, they win the lot. And the clock is ticking on that.”
“Comply or lose damn near all. Good God.”
“Exactly.”
“What if the fetching little antiquarian finds something of real significance?”
“Then the new treasure trove law will dictate. The museum could take all.”
Aedan glanced up at the house. The sight of its massive, familiar, beloved silhouette wrenched through him, heart and gut. He did, indeed, love this old place.
“If there is something very old in that hill, then heaven help you,” Dougal said.
Aedan nodded. He stood on a pretty garden path that pressed into the earth of his ancestors. From here, he could see an angle of the ancient foundation of the house. That side was surrounded in a thick hedge of wild roses, still sprinkled with late summer blooms.
Briars had always protected this place. Aedan would protect it too, no matter the price. He could not risk losing Dundrennan.