Epilogue
“There you are, awake at last,” Aedan said, seated in a chair beside the bed where Christina lay tucked with quilts and pillows. “I worried so. I thought you might sleep forever,” he added, and took her hand, kissed it.
“I only slept for the afternoon! I feel a bit better,” she said with a slow smile, her cheeks pale, lacking the subtle pink glow he so loved. She glanced toward the doorway, where John, Amy, and Lady Balmossie stood. Christina wiggled her fingers in greeting.
“She’s still tired, dear lass,” Lady Balmossie said. “We should all leave her to rest.”
“Aedan?” Amy asked. “You’ve been by her side for days and should take a break.”
“I will stay,” he said, keeping Christina’s hand in his.
“Chrissy, it is so good to see you looking a little better,” John said. “Amy, come with me to see the section of the mural I’m just finishing. You modeled for this part,” he added. With a squeal of delight, Amy followed him with Lady Balmossie.
Aedan turned back to Christina. “They left the door open for propriety’s sake, I suppose,” he said with a chuckle. He brushed a waft of dark-auburn hair from her forehead. “We’ll be proper… for now.” He raised a brow. “I cannot guarantee it later.”
She laughed. “Sir Aedan,” she said. “I think I adore you.”
“I feel the same about you.” He leaned to kiss her gently, knowing she was weak still.
Yet his body always responded to her kiss, a spark of lightning going through him.
Her smile was serene, eyelids shadowed, yet her clear blue eyes danced with mischief.
She lay propped on pillows, dark hair flowing loose, her white bedgown prim and high necked.
He was glad to see that the bruise on her brow had faded in the past week, and though she looked wan and thin, an air of peacefulness surrounded her.
“You’ve missed quite a bit this week while you’ve been lazing about and dreaming,” he said. “Do you feel up to some news?”
She nodded. “What is it?”
He held her hand, stroking her fingers with his thumb. “Dr. MacBain came down to see you with my sister Mary. Once he felt sure that you would recover well, they returned to Edinburgh, but they will be back to visit soon.”
“I remember him, I think. Very kind. Very handsome,” she added. “And your sister is lovely too.”
“You will enjoy seeing them under better circumstances. Meanwhile, the Gowans cleared the mud out of the souterrain, and we are cleaning the second chamber, taking care to protect all the precious things there. It will be ready for you when you feel strong enough. You should have seen Hector when he first saw that gold!”
“I remember some. You carried me out of there, and I remember Hector yelling with delight about treasure.”
“Until he saw you and Edgar,” he amended soberly. “The gold and things are intact, but some of the pots were destroyed. The men collected the shards.”
“Edgar was throwing things about.” She frowned as she remembered. “Poor Edgar. He honestly went a bit mad at the prospect of finding something belonging to Arthur. And he’s gone. I do remember that, sadly.”
“Gone, aye, but it was very quick. A blow to the head when the stones collapsed in the wall recess. You could have gone, too, love, and thank God you came back to us.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss it again.
“How ironic that he never saw the treasure.” Christina sighed. “Until that day I never thought him capable of evil deeds. I just thought him arrogant. You did try to warn me.”
“I never trusted him.”
“It was not gold he wanted, but the fame of discovering proof of King Arthur in Scotland—and in history. So much of that is legend, like the legend surrounding your ancestor, Aedan mac Brudei, and his Liadan.”
“And now you will have credit for the discovery, as it should be.”
“My uncle as well, my dear,” she said, and he nodded in quick agreement.
“I had a letter from the National Museum—they are very sad about Edgar’s accident, and they want to send academics here as soon as possible. I made it clear in my reply that you should be in charge of things here. This could well be the find of the century.”
She tilted her head. “We found treasure, but we do not know if it belonged to King Arthur. There is some evidence, but time will tell if it is enough.”
“There is the old tradition that he hid gold in this area, and now the Dundrennan legend seems connected to the military roster and possibly to Arthur.”
“Uncle Walter will be a great help in sorting it through. And he will be thrilled that his theories may be proved. It will rejuvenate him. I can hardly wait for you to meet him.”
“If he is strong enough, we could bring him here to stay at Dundrennan as long as he likes.”
“Oh, Aedan, thank you. I will have a good deal of work to do on Cairn Drishan. Uncle Walter will find the strength for this journey, I’m sure. I can hardly wait to go up to Cairn Drishan to begin working. Perhaps I can start tomorrow.”
Laughing, he held up a hand. “Not just yet, lass. I’d carry you up that hill myself before I’d let you walk up there. You’ve had a serious knock to the head.”
“I’m fine. Really, I feel wonderful.”
“Do you?” he murmured, leaning close to kiss her cheek and nuzzle the silken cream of her throat. “You feel rather wonderful to me,” he murmured.
With a soft laugh, she looped her arms around his neck. Aedan held her, cherished her in the moment. She felt thin and fragile under his hands. He drew back.
“Tell me something, so I will not seem ignorant around these museum people when they arrive. Could this chamber be a tomb?”
“That, or simply a treasure room. I must study its features. Souterrains could have multiple chambers. There might be a warren of underground rooms and passages inside that hill. We will need to excavate it carefully. It will take a long time. I’m sorry.”
“For what? This is an astonishing discovery.”
“Your wee road will suffer.”
“I am taking my wee road around the other side of the hill and along another route. It will serve well to convey your academics to the site, and even tourists someday, if we decide to allow it.” He scowled.
“Though I hope the museum will be willing to compromise over the property, considering the treasure trove.” He no longer felt the deep dread of losing his home, now that Edgar was gone.
The treasure might save Dundrennan, but time would tell if it would bring more attention than he wanted for his remote and beloved estate.
“I cannot wait to see what the small chamber holds,” she said.
“Ah, I almost forgot. I brought something to show you, though I had to choose from silver bowls, enameled brooches, golden buckles and torcs, bronze helmets, and so on.”
“Stop!” she said, laughing. “I cannot bear it! Can we go tomorrow? Would you really carry me all the way up the hill?”
“I will not. But look at this. It will keep you occupied until you are ready to go up there.” He fetched a wrapped package from a table and came back to sit beside her.
Christina unwrapped the brown paper to reveal a box of hammered silver set with small brass panels.
“It looks like a reliquary box meant to hold a religious object or something very precious.” She gently lifted the latch.
Inside was a small book with a cover in worked metal set with jewels.
“I have no gloves. I should not touch it.”
“It will not suffer from your touch. Go on. I think it may be something important.”
Gingerly, she lifted the volume to open it latch, revealing vellum pages. She studied it in silence for a little while. “It is beautiful. An assortment of things here, some prayers, fables, a calendar. And another muster roll tucked at the back, or something similar.”
With a delicate touch, she opened the page, folded twice, to study it.
“When I saw that page,” he said, “it made me think of the roster in the folio. Can you read it?”
“Not a roster,” she said. “It looks like a genealogy. Perhaps of your family.” She smoothed the page, and gasped. “Aye, here—Aedan mac Brudei, see the name? And—oh!” She gasped, reading. “Her name is here too. Liadan, Daughter of the Bear. And—oh, dear heavens,” she whispered.
“What is it?” Aedan leaned to look.
“Listen to this. ‘Liadan, Daughter of the Bear, wife of Aedan mac Brudei, mother of Cunedda, Niall, Diarmid, Aengus, Ivor, Brithnic, Eiric, and Ealga the Beautiful.”
“Does that mean—she had eight children with Aedan mac Brudei?”
Christina nodded slowly. “If so, then she did not die as a young bride.”
“Unless she fell into that deep sleep when she was already a mother.”
Christina shook her head as if bewildered. When she looked up at him next, he saw the shine of tears in her eyes. “Aedan, look.”
“My love, I cannot read Old Irish,” he reminded her.
“It says, ‘Liadan, natural daughter of the Bear, the dux bellorum Artorius.’”
“Arthur was her father?” Stunned, he peered at the elegant, tiny Celtic lettering.
“It certainly seems so. Natural daughter—she would not be legitimate, but that would not matter much in that era. Oh, Aedan!” A tear slid down her cheek.
“There is more—’Aedan mac Brudei of Dundrennan and his wife, Liadan, natural daughter of the Bear, dux bellorum Artorius, sit as elders in our council.
’ She sat among warriors—she would have the right.
Women sometimes trained as warriors in Celtic societies. ”
“So she lived to be an elder. She did not languish and die young after all.” He frowned, thinking. “If she had the blood of Arthur in her veins, then that means—”
“That your ancestors carried that blood through to you.” She took his hand.
“It also means—that the legend of Dundrennan is wrong.” Aedan felt his throat tighten. “Liadan did not die tragically, as the stories claim. She lived a full life.”
“If the legend is right about her illness, she must have recovered,” Christina said.
“My God. So all this time, over generations, we only knew part of that story.”
She smiled through tears. “His magic worked. He brought her back.”
“Magic?” Aedan tilted his head, puzzled.
“The lines he wrote in the margin of the folio pages were a charm spell to bring back her wandering soul. I realized it as I read it.” Her lip trembled, her voice caught. “It worked—somehow it worked. She lived. He loved her so much,” she added, sniffling. “I just feel it is so.”
“He loved her more than life,” he said. “Nothing could separate them.” He drew her into his arms to hold her close, then kissed her again, quickly, gently, and helped her lie back on the wedged pillows.
“We’d best put this away,” he said, taking the book and silver box to rewrap them.
“Aedan,” she said slowly, “you know about the treasure trove law that governs historical finds on Scottish soil.”
“Aye,” he said. “What we have found will go to the museum. I only hope we can keep the house and estate.”
“I think in cases of heritable goods, treasure trove does not fully apply.”
He raised his brows in surprise. “Heritable goods?”
“The book contains a record of your ancestors, and helps to establish that the treasure belonged at least in part to Aedan mac Brudei—and you are his direct heir through generations. So the treasure belongs to you, and to the estate of Dundrennan. The government will not claim all of it in that case. We will need lawyers to confirm it, but I think it is so.”
“Dear Lord.” He glanced at the reliquary, then at her again. “But the gold of Dundrennan should belong to Scotland, and the whole of Britain if it involves Arthur.”
“No matter what is decided, your troubles are over, I think.”
“My dear lass, my troubles were over the moment you arrived here. All this also means that the curse on the lairds of Dundrennan is broken. The princess woke up. We just never heard the entire tale all through the generations.”
“The spell is broken,” she breathed.
“One question remains.” He tilted her chin up. “I wonder if an antiquarian might marry a baron and laird recently free of a curse, and not yet used to the idea of true love. But he could get used to it if she will take the chance.”
Her lips quirked, eyes sparkled. “Marry the laird who swore never to love?”
“The very one. He comes of good lineage, you know.”
“So I understand,” she said. “Oh, Aedan, aye and aye! Let’s take the risk.” She threw her arms around his neck as he kissed her.
“Darling girl,” he murmured, “we will fill this old house with love and children and any antiquities you want.” He framed her face in his hands. “Have I ever told you my middle name? It’s Arthur.”
She laughed outright. “Aedan Arthur MacBride is a wonderful name. You could give it to a son someday.”
“We could do that,” he whispered. “Christina, I love you dearly. Fiercely.”
“And I love you, fiercely and truly.” She kissed him again.
He held her, aware in that moment that he had taken a chance, weeks ago, to open himself to her, more than anyone he had ever known, even when he felt more vulnerable than ever.
Now he could appreciate the privilege, the blessing, the workings of fate in this.
She was the missing part of his soul, somehow, reclaimed.
“To think that a beautiful portrait led us here,” he said. “To this beginning.”
“That portrait ought to be moved.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Anywhere you like. I have found the real thing.”
“The briar princess has found her Aedan at last.” She met his gaze.
He laughed softly, wrapped her in his arms again, and kissed her, deep and endless.