Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“He is interested in Dundrennan because he is a museum director. He is not coveting anything here.”
“He covets you,” he ground out.
Her glance was keen. “That does not concern you.”
“It should,” he barked.
She huffed and stalked away, skirt filling outward in the rising wind. Then raindrops began to fall, cold, fat, rapidly increasing. Thunder and then lightning struck almost simultaneously. The boom seemed to shake the earth.
Aedan waved to the Gowans, gesturing for them to climb down into the souterrain for shelter. They clambered inside, whistling for the dog. Aedan grabbed Christina’s arm.
“Go underground,” he ordered. “I left Pog down the hill. I’ve got to get her.”
She pulled away from him, skirts whipping, and picked up her walking stick. “I don’t mind the rain. It’s not that bad. I’m going back to Dundrennan. You can go to Effie’s house. No doubt you will be warmly welcomed there,” she called back as she marched down the slope.
Aedan strode after her. “Whatever is the matter?” he demanded. “You have achieved your goal. You’ve proven the wall is ancient and stopped my road cold,” he said, annoyed.
“That was not my goal,” she said, hurrying on.
“This place will be seen as a triumph. Your name will always be associated with it. And there will be no damned road through here once the scholars have had their way.”
She stopped, whirled. Her winsome loveliness turned to a fierce beauty that took him down like a felled tree. Remorseful, touched, he reached out for her. She smacked his hand with the walking stick.
“Ow! Damn it.”
“There is no need to swear. And I doubt a woman’s name would survive in the research and writing to follow.
Cairn Drishan will become Edgar’s find. But none of that is important to me.
Besides, I never intended to stop your road.
If I accomplished anything here, it was only in making another mistake! ”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she said, while the rain whipped at them.
She turned, digging the stick furiously into the earth as she walked.
Bewildered, he hastened after her. Where the slope eased into the moor, she took off at a half run, skirts swirling, stick propelling her steps. Raindrops struck the earth, driving hard. He ran, then remembered the horse.
He dashed sideways to find Pog and untie her lead from a shrub, mounting quickly.
Fighting the winds, he turned the horse’s head and cantered after Christina as she ran over the moorland road toward Dundrennan.
Pog’s hooves were fast and sure on the graveled top coat, slower on the damp turf, but he caught up with the girl in moments.
He wanted to drag her into the saddle, kiss sense into her, and tell her the truth that begged to be said. He reached down for her, but she batted his hand away.
“Let me take you home,” he said, riding alongside.
“I want to walk.”
“It’s raining.”
“I like it. I am not a hothouse flower.”
“No. More like a prickly briar,” he groused. “I will not ride off and leave you in a thunderstorm.” Rain soaked them both now. If he had brought the gig instead of the horse, he could have thrown her into it.
“I’ve been out in rain before.”
“You’ll ruin your hat,” he pointed out.
She put a hand to the brim. “I have other hats.”
“Not as fetching as that one,” he drawled.
She gave him a dark look and rushed ahead. Pog snorted, and at Aedan’s urging, covered ground quickly to catch up.
“Ride home with me,” Aedan said. “Gunnie will have my head if bonny Mrs. Blackburn takes ill from being out in the rain.”
She lifted her chin. “A lady should not share a horse with a gentleman.”
“You shared other things with me,” he growled.
“Well, I will not share that horse with you.” She stalked onward.
“We have to talk.” He cantered beside her again. She ignored him. Thunder rumbled and lightning brightened the sky far off. Pog danced sideways, nervous. And Aedan lost his patience. “Christina Blackburn, come up here, you wee fool.” Stepping the horse close, he leaned down to grasp her shoulder.
That stopped her. She scowled at him, then held up her hand in resignation. Taking her firmly by the arm, he waited as she set her foot on his in the stirrup. Then he pulled her up into his lap. Seated sideways, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
Tilting the brim of her bonnet, he looked into her bespectacled, beautiful eyes. Tears pooled there, and something more. Hurt. Anger. What the devil had happened while he was away? He had to find out yet avoid compounding whatever had upset her so.
“Christina—” God, I love you. It burned in him. “You’re wet as a frog.”
She made a face, and he laughed softly. He just wanted to bend her over his arm and kiss her endlessly back to joy, despite rain, thunder, and her fuming temper.
“Mrs. Blackburn,” he began. Courage. “I love you fiercely.” There. His heart thumped.
She stared at him. “What?”
“Most fiercely, and I—damn, what is that?” He turned, hearing insistent shouts.
“Halloo! Mrs. Blackburn!”
Aedan looked behind them to see a closed carriage approaching along the old road not yet connected to the new. A man waved from a narrow window. Then a top hat showed, and a long, slickly handsome face he did not want to see.
“Blast it,” he muttered. “Dear Edgar is here.”
Christina gasped, looked that way. “Edgar!”
“Wait! Christina!” Neaves shouted.
“He calls you Christina?” Aedan growled.
The vehicle, a hired chaise by the shabby look of it, rattled over the moorland toward the horse, lurched, and stopped. Aedan drew Pog’s head around, patting the horse; usually calm, she seemed restive. She sensed his dislike of Edgar, Aedan realized.
The top hat withdrew from the window, the door opened, and Neaves exited, smartly dressed, gloved hand on a decorative cane as he stepped into mud, sank a bit, and stepped back to the carriage step.
“Christina!”
With a sigh, Aedan guided Pog closer. The hackney driver sat high in the rain, staring at misty blue-gray hills, probably trying not to listen to his passenger’s complaints.
“Christina my dear, why are you out in this weather?” Neaves called.
Aedan glanced down. “‘My dear?’ Rather familiar.”
“So are you,” she retorted. “Sir Edgar, you are here early!” she called, as if she stood in a candlelit ballroom instead of clinging to a man on horseback in pouring rain.
“My dear girl! What is this? Have you had an accident?”
“I am fine. I was just caught out in the rain.”
“Is this your rescuer?” Edgar fixed Aedan with icy-cool blue eyes, his long, perfect features set in a disdainful frown.
“Are you Dundrennan’s factor? I hardly think you should ride so with the lady, even if she was out in the rain.
I shall have a word with the laird of Dundrennan about this behavior. ”
“Then have that word with me, Sir Edgar.” Aedan removed his bowler hat. Rain dripped from its brim.
“Great heavens, Sir Aedan MacBride! I did not recognize you at first! We met briefly once or twice when I visited your father. I took you for a farmer or a laborer in that Highland costume and bowler hat. And that … jacket.” He curled his lip.
“Nothing wrong with serviceable brown tweed,” Aedan said. “I do some work about the estate.” He jerked a thumb toward the hill. “And on the road over there.”
“Ah, the roadwork that must be stopped,” Neaves said. “I nearly forgot it is yours.”
Aedan nearly replied, but it was too indelicate for a lady’s ears. He bit his lip.
“Sir Aedan is helping me,” Christina said. “I was walking back to the house when the rain and thunder hit.”
The rain increased, slanting so hard that Aedan nearly lost his apparently unfashionable bowler, and grabbed its wet brim. He was more than done exchanging pleasantries in the pouring rain with a man who could be so unpleasant.
“Thank you for assisting my fiancée.” Edgar smiled, showed long, perfect teeth beneath his long, perfect nose. Aedan felt a primitive urge to put his fist through that chiseled countenance.
Aedan did not show the flinch he felt. “Let me extend my congratulations.”
“I did not make that promise,” Christina said low, between her teeth.
“But he knows you well enough to ask you.”
“You know me better,” she said.
“I thought so.” He narrowed his eyes.
She thumped his back with her fist, out of sight of Edgar and hard enough that Aedan exhaled with a huff.
Lightning split the sky, and Edgar gestured. “Christina! Into the carriage. Driver, help the lady,” he called.
“Go with him,” Aedan murmured. “You are soaked.”
“So are you.”
“Go!” Aedan dismounted quickly, holding Pog’s reins steady as he leaned forward with her so that he could swing his right leg back to dismount on the left. Reaching up, he guided her down, holding her steadily at the waist until her feet hit the muddy ground.
Casting him a frown, she took up her bedraggled skirts and walked to the carriage to climb in with the driver’s help. Seated inside, Edgar did not extend a hand.
As the carriage rumbled away, Aedan sat in the saddle, rain dripping from his hat brim and thunder shaking the skies, and watched them go.
Fiercely, he had said, and he’d meant it.
*
“My dear, your gown looks a dreadful mess,” Edgar said. “If you were presentable, I would kiss you in greeting, for I have missed you. Whatever possessed you to ride with Dundrennan? He knows better than to share a horse with a young lady.”
“He only meant to save me from a drenching,” she replied. Sniffling, she dug into her pocket for a handkerchief, found none, rubbed her nose with the back of her glove, then sneezed. “Excuse me.”
Edgar made a disparaging sound and handed her his handkerchief. “You are always forgetting something, gloves, handkerchief, spectacles, and such.” He tilted his head. “Though you are always fetching, even now.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and sneezed again.
“I am anxious to hear about your discoveries. You did not give me enough detail in your letters. Saving the best to surprise me, are you?”
She sneezed again, mopped at mud, and would have returned his handkerchief, but he raised a hand to refuse it.
“I gave you all I know about the hillside. I sent measurements and sketches, the dimensions of the foundation and the souterrain, the number of clay jars we found, their shape, and copied some of their decoration. What more did you want?”
“What about artifacts, other than pots?” he asked. “Did you instruct the workers to dig further for anything valuable?” He leaned forward. “Did you open the sealed jars?”
“I decided to wait.”
“Yes, wait for me, as you should.”
“I decided to wait until digging reveals more of the site,” she finished, bristling. “If you think I am incompetent, sir, why did you send me out here?”
“My dear, you can be so prickly, but it is part of your charming nature. You are not incompetent, and you have Reverend Carriston to advise and guide you. Have you written to ask his assessment? I am curious to know his opinion.”
“I have not troubled Uncle Walter with this as yet. He is ill, as you know.”
“Indeed, a pity. Tomorrow, if the weather improves, you will take me to the site. If I instruct the workers to dig further, there may be something more to discover.”
“I have proceeded slowly, thinking caution the wisest course.”
“True, in some things. But let me decide what is best now. You should return to Edinburgh soon. I told Lord Neaves that you would call on him at the museum. My father is anxious to learn more about the progress. If your father or your uncle could accompany you, all the better. He will listen to them.”
“Uncle Walter cannot make the trip, and Papa has been in Italy for months, painting and traveling,” she said, bristling again.
Lord George Neaves, Edgar’s father and the museum’s high director, was a friend of both her father and her uncle.
She was closer to her uncle than to her father, though John was in frequent contact and had heard from him just a few weeks earlier.
“Is my word not good enough for Lord Neaves?”
“Dear Christina,” Edgar said. “Calm down. He will see you. But just now I am anxious not only about the ancient site, but about something else. An answer you promised me.”
“So soon?” she asked, while he smiled, smug and confident, waiting for good news. “You only arrived, and I am chilled through. I need to rest.”
“Of course. We will talk after that.”
“We will find time. As for going back to Edinburgh, I wish to stay here a little longer to continue my work.”
She wanted to stay forever, she thought. I love you fiercely. The words echoed. As for Edgar, he was fond of her in his way, as affectionate as he could be for anyone, she suspected. But now she knew, truly knew, what love could be.
She watched the rain as the coach followed the old, uneven road toward Dundrennan House.
Aedan’s declaration had stunned her, spun her about.
She had thought he was done with her. Had he only meant love in the moment—or did he want more now, as she did?
Perhaps there was a way for them to be together after all.
Hope, innocent and optimistic, rose again.
“Why do you want to stay here?” Edgar asked.
“I am translating an early document from some Dundrennan records. I am nearly finished. I do not want to leave it undone—my uncle needs to see it.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” He leaned back, pursing his lips. “Do the documents have any historical significance, to be worth our time?”
Our time? She sighed. “Most are family records. But some are intriguing.” She watched slanting, silvery rain.
“I see. Christina, you know I expect an answer,” he said.
“Hush, Edgar,” she said sharply. “I am very tired.”
Smooth thou, soft thou … she heard the words in the rhythm of the carriage wheels. They were the ancient, timeless words of a lover.
Smooth thou, soft thou, well I love thee under the plaid….
Fiercely. She shuddered, closed her eyes, craved.