Chapter Eight
Earth and rock sundered open, spitting debris into a blue sky as the blast shivered through the heather.
Standing two hundred yards away, Aedan felt the vibration.
He had witnessed countless explosions as a civil engineer, but this time the world—his very being—seemed to tilt.
Swift as a shadow, a foreboding rushed through him and faded.
Just a routine blast, he told himself, a safe and necessary phase in the construction of the parliamentary road under his supervision.
His contract with the Commission for the Department of Roads and Highways required the timely completion of this Highland project, and he was fiercely determined to meet that commitment.
In truth, he felt uneasy about making permanent alterations to his lands, for the highway would cut through the edge of his property. Still, he knew the merits of making improvements across Scotland, and he would do his part.
Underfoot, part of the wide road was already topped with a tightly packed layer of crushed stone that stretched south over the fells toward Glasgow.
Northward, the road met a line of hills that crossed the moorland for miles.
Wooden stakes zigzagged up the rough earthen incline of Cairn Drishan, marking the unfinished path.
For two years, through rough terrain and in unpredictable weather, Aedan and his crew had inched a gravel-packed route along the Highland Boundary Line.
Just a few weeks remained before the queen’s visit to Dundrennan, when the government expected the route to be completed.
But the delays posed by the discovery of old walls on Cairn Drishan threatened to halt the work indefinitely.
He glanced toward Cairn Drishan, a mile away yet easily visible as part of a curving chain of hills. Its rounded top sat slightly askew, like a tilted hat. Notches halfway up one heathery slope marked the road cuts, and a deep gouge indicated the site of the ruined wall.
He thought of Christina Blackburn, examining the stones up there now, and his heart beat a little faster, which only made him frown.
He had to detach his interest. But she was lush and spirited behind that gentle, bookish exterior, and he was fascinated.
He wanted to learn more about her, wanted her to stay—
No, he cautioned himself. It would have been better had the museum antiquarian turned out to be an old fusspot after all. And better still if the stone wall proved unremarkable so his work could continue.
The explosion’s thunder gradually subsided, followed by a warm and dusty wind. Aedan stepped out from behind the protection of a large boulder just as several of his work crew did the same, a little further along the road. A young blond man approached him.
“Rob! Just a touch of black powder reduced that cluster of boulders and saved days of hard labor,” Aedan called. “Well done!”
“Thank you, sir.” Robert Campbell, his assistant engineer, smiled.
He looked more like a towheaded schoolboy than the most promising student in Rankine’s classes in modern principles of engineering at Glasgow University, where Aedan had first met the younger engineer.
“I know the plan calls for grading by hand digging whenever possible to preserve the landscape, but we are finding more rock than anticipated.”
“Blasting is the best and likely the only solution.” Aedan brushed earth dust from his coat sleeves. “Placing charges cautiously keeps the damage to a minimum. Good work.”
“I cannot go wrong. Hector MacDonald watches me like a nursemaid.” Rob turned to grin as a lanky, sun-browned man came toward them.
“I made sure the lad didna pluff the cap off Cairn Drishan, and he did fine,” Hector said. “Though that earlier blast exposed the old wall. Did yer lady antiquarian decide if ’tis an ancient thing, as you feared?”
“She’s on the other side of that hill there, taking a look.” Aedan gestured. “And we will hope that nothing of great significance is there.”
“Yer father always protested the highway project,” Hector said. “Afeared of the damage to anything ancient.”
“I thought it was because he loathed improvements in the Highlands,” Rob said.
“Both. He did not want to sully the land or destroy local history,” Aedan replied.
“Ah, but a landslide or an earthquake buried that wall years ago,” Hector observed, glancing at the range of hills behind them. “Nature does its own damage.”
“The Drishan ridge runs into the Highland Boundary, where tremors have occurred,” Rob said. “I studied a semester in the new science of geology.”
“Perhaps a mud slide took doon that wee stone house,” Hector mused.
“Ancient walls can be several feet thick,” Rob said. “Perhaps your antiquarian will find that the case.”
Aedan rubbed a hand over his face wearily, feeling a sense of dread. Christina Blackburn had authority over part of his very life. He told her the wall was recent, but suspected it was ancient. He just did not want it to be true.
He stood to lose all—road, career, estate, and ancestral home—if those stones proved ancient and the road could not go through.
Thanks to a troublesome codicil in his father’s will, that would be disastrous for Dundrennan, and for Aedan.
Watching the hills, he was anxious to hear Christina’s pronouncement.
“The road has to go through,” he told his companions. “We cannot afford to lose any more time on this project.”
“All we can do is wait and see,” Rob said. “The new law of treasure trove requires investigation when something of possible historic significance is found in Scotland.”
“Treasure, aye, that would be fine!” Hector rubbed his hands in delight.
“It would belong to the government, not us,” Aedan said.
“They say ancient kings lived in this area long ago,” Rob mused. “I wonder….”
“D’ye think the old wall may be part of the auld castle in the legend?” Hector asked.
“Could be,” Robert nodded. “Sir Hugh wrote about the legend in The Enchanted Briar. I learned the verses as a lad. It mentions hidden gold.”
“My father based that poem on the legend, but there is little truth to it,” Aedan said.
“Traditions do say there’s treasure in these hills, hidden by magic, waiting to be found,” Hector said. “King Arthur’s gold.”
“‘Deck’d in raiment of the sun,’” Rob recited, musing. “‘A mighty hoard of treasure bright…’”
“Nonsense,” Aedan said. “He invented most of it. There is no treasure.”
“King Arthur’s gold cou’ be there,” Hector insisted. “It will be found when the princess wakes from her magic spell.”
“A fairy tale that my father invented.”
“Some of it is true,” Hector said. “If there is gold, sir, ye’ll have nae more troubles.”
“I would have new troubles,” Aedan muttered.
“Dundrennan would become a famous tourist site,” Rob said.
“That will bring a fair amount o’ coin,” Hector said.
Aedan shook his head. “I just want this damnable business over with. Hector, ask Angus Gowan to survey the new gradient, if you would.”
As the older man left, Aedan extracted a leather memorandum book and a stub of lead pencil from his pocket and made a quick sketch, then scribbled some notes. He waved Rob to follow as he crossed the graveled road toward the work crew.
“Mr. Rankine recommends the use of black powder where the rock is sufficiently dense to make working by hand difficult,” Rob said as they went. “But we cannot blow willy-nilly along this route no matter how hard the rock.”
“Often we must follow instinct and logic over rote learning.” Aedan glanced at his apprentice.
“I have a message for you from my aunt and cousin. They greatly enjoyed having tea with you while I was away, and they asked me to invite you to a small dinner party at Dundrennan House tomorrow evening. I didn’t know about it myself until this morning.
They want to welcome the museum antiquarian and her brother. ”
“Welcoming the enemy?” Rob grinned.
“So it seems,” Aedan replied grimly.
“I would be honored to attend, and I look forward to meeting your antiquarian.”
“Not mine, by any means,” Aedan drawled, while Rob laughed. But a quick thought belied the statement—he wished she were his. Then he shut down the thought.
“Of course. I’m also curious to see what changes Miss Stewart has made at Dundrennan. She was keen to drape new curtains at the windows, so I helped.”
“Cousin Amy is in the throes of decorating madness,” Aedan agreed. When a curious noise threaded through his awareness, he turned to see a huge red steam engine secured on a platform wagon drawn by two oxen. “That great metal beast is rattling again.”
“Kenneth is waving for assistance. I’ll see to it,” Rob said, sprinting toward it.
With giant pistons and shovel arm pumping, the red steam engine hissed and clicked as it drove a huge metal scoop into the ground, digging a new section of the road. The beast chugged as Rob leaped up on the cart to adjust the machine’s controls.
Dust and smoke mingled in a cloud as the beast worked, spreading along the earthen track. Elsewhere, men wielded picks and shovels, clearing debris in the wake of the steam engine. The metal beast, rented from a Glasgow firm, was powerful and useful, but it was finicky and downright bothersome.
Hector came along and shouted over the noise, but Aedan scarcely heard him. When the man pointed in the direction of Cairn Drishan, shouting, Aedan glanced that way.
And swore, loud and sharp.
His gig and bay horse were tearing down the road toward them in a fury of dust and commotion. He saw Christina Blackburn at the reins, leaning back with the effort, going at such a mad pace that her skirts flapped in the wind.
The vehicle was hurtling straight toward the work site, and she did not seem to have good control.
As the work crew dropped their tools and scattered, Aedan broke into a run, hurrying toward the gig, shouting and waving.
The gig was going far too fast, the bay galloping and lurching sideways, the gig leaning dangerously.
Aedan dashed behind the canvas tent where he had tied Pog to protect her from the dust and commotion. He loosed her, leaped into the saddle, and raced toward the gig, which now careened wildly toward him.