by Susan King
"So I see." He crouched and peered into the opening. "Do you know what they might contain?"
"Grain, most likely oats or barley. Perhaps oil or wine. It's an exciting find, and I think that Edgar and the other directors will be pleased. Dundrennan could become famous for this site alone."
Aedan rubbed a hand over his eyes, then sighed. "So that will be the end of it," he murmured.
"The end? Aedan, this is only the beginning." She wondered what troubled him. The wind picked up, rippling her skirts and her hat ribbons, and she put a hand to her hat. "I hoped you would be pleased by this."
"Pleased?" He gazed down into the dark gap and did not answer further. Fat raindrops began to spatter the earth and the stones, quickly dampening their shoulders.
"Well, you may as well show me this storage chamber of yours. It will give us some shelter from the storm. We've stayed out too long, and now we're caught." Thunder rumbled as Aedan held out a hand to her.
Glancing at the ominous sky, Christina saw lightning strike silver through the clouds. She accepted his hand in assistance and proceeded ahead of him down the ladder, while the rain began to pound in earnest around them.
Chapter 18
Whether grain or gold filled those vats, his chances of cutting a road through this part of Cairn Drishan were done. Even worse, his hope of keeping Dundrennan House was sorely jeopardized.
Aedan sighed and leaned back against the musty stone wall, one knee raised as he sat gazing around the little storage chamber. Two rows of waist-high, round-bodied clay vessels stood in the shadows. Painted linear designs graced the dusty, untouched shoulders of the clay jars. Eerie and silent, filled with secrets, those simple containers had the power to stop his project cold and send changes rippling through his life.
His father would have been delighted by the potential of a few humble pots in an earthen pit. Sitting in the darkness, Aedan smiled sadly, wishing Sir Hugh MacBride could have seen these. As for himself, he had no choice but to accept the significance of the site with all the implied consequences and carry on as best he could.
He glanced at Christina, who was scribbling in her little notebook by the light of an oil lamp that she and his men had left there earlier. They had also left behind a few candles, a canvas tarpaulin, a ladder, and couple of plaid blankets, on which Aedan and Christina now sat.
Rain pounded on the stone cover that partially roofed the souterrain, and drizzle slipped down one wall, muddying a patch of the earthen floor. Aedan rose and took the tarpaulin, climbing up the ladder to drape the stiff cloth over the opening.
"If this place is truly ancient," he said, "we do not want it soaked."
"Thank you," Christina said, putting down her little book and her pencil. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "It was warm on the hill in the sun earlier, but it's quite chilly down here."
"Well, it is a cellar," Aedan pointed out. "And we're both damp from the rain. We should sit over there, away from the leak." He moved with her to a dark corner, closer to the pots and away from the opening. Christina spread out both plaids, and Aedan settled into the corner while she sat beside him.
From the inner pocket of his jacket, he produced a small silver flask. "We finished the lemonade, but there's some whisky in here that should warm you nicely." He offered it to her.
He half expected her to refuse, but she took it and drank, swallowing twice and gasping a little before handing it back to him. He sipped and set it aside.
The chamber smelled faintly of ancient earth and stone, and the rain drummed steadily on the stiffened canvas draped overhead. Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled low and faint. Christina shivered slightly, her shoulder pressing against him. He lifted an arm to encircle her and share the warmth of his body. Neither of them spoke.
Listening to the rhythm and rumble of the storm, Aedan felt his earlier impatience dissolve, and a sense of contentment wrapped around him like magic. Here in this dark, ancient place, being alone with her felt wholly right, without impropriety.
Thunder boomed again, followed by a sharp crack of lightning. Christina leaped a little in surprise, and Aedan pulled her gently toward him. She did not protest, but nestled against him naturally, turning her body slightly to fit to his, her gloved hands folded demurely in her lap. Beneath layers of skirts, her legs stretched out beside his longer legs, the leather toes of her sensible boots peeking out. Aedan lifted his knee and rested his other arm there, keeping one arm tucked around Christina.
Her straw hat poked into his jaw, and he angled away his head. "Madam, I beg you, divest yourself of that bonny thing before you put out my eye."
"Oh!" she said in apology, and she reached up to untie the black satin ribbons, drawing the hat away and setting it down.
Aedan brushed his hand over her hair, where strands were mussed from the hat. She allowed that touch, and he felt the echo of his innocent caress like thunder down to his toes. With her head lifted, his lowered slightly, her breath fell sweet upon his cheek. There was a waiting sense to that breath, soft, receptive.
The need to kiss her pulsed boldly through him, but he resisted its strength. Days earlier, they had agreed to be friends only. Posing with her for John each night was temptation enough, he thought—sitting here with her could be devastating to his resolve. With luck, the storm would be short-lived.
And yet he hoped it would go on and on, trapping him here with her, just the two of them, away from the outside world.
A lightning crack sounded again, and she jumped. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Do not apologize," he said. "Not everyone likes storms." He rubbed her outermost arm. "Thunderstorms in these hills can be quite fierce. They come fast over the moorland from the west and hit the hillsides with a good deal of power. The lightning up here has struck solitary trees and killed sheep and has even started rock-slides. Now you know why I did not like to see you alone here with a storm in the offing."
She nodded vehemently and leaned closer into the circle of his arm. The warmth between them deepened, penetrated through him, turned to ease and comfort. She felt so good in his protection, as if she belonged there, as if he had long searched for her, wanting to keep her close like this.
He remembered how she had felt under his hands when they had posed, the luxury of warm silk sliding over her body, thin fabrics separating his hands from her waist, her hips.
Nearly groaning at his thoughts, feeling his body surge of its own accord, he tipped back his head and tried to simply relax in the darkness beside her. Mellowed by a few sips of whisky, the drowsy patter of rain, the pervasive sense of comfort and peace between them, he deepened his breath.
Christina leaned against him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Her palm lay on his chest, and an alluring pool of heat grew and spread.
Keenly aware of how alone they were, he was even more aware of her body beside him, swathed in layers of clothing. He sensed her heat, felt the burn of her beneath his hand, which was cupped over her shoulder. As he thought about tracing his palms over her skin and remembered the taste of her lips, his fingers began a gentle sweeping pattern over her shoulder. That simple touch felt like fire and sent a crackling sensation through him from head to foot.
They had agreed to be acquaintances only, but the lusty track of his thoughts took dominion over him now. He could not endure sitting here with her much longer, exercising restraint. If the rain did not soon stop, he would be testing his willpower again to see just how impervious he was to the spell of love.
But he already knew how vulnerable he was—at least where Christina Blackburn was concerned.
"I suppose," Christina said, looking around the little chamber, "the museum will send someone else to supervise this site just as soon as I tell Sir Edgar about the pots we found."
Aedan shifted a little, almost relieved by the remedy of a potential dispute. "Edgar? He'd better keep away from Dundrennan himself. I do not want to see the man. And I suppose both of you will be eager to
close down my road forthwith."
"Edgar will decide if your road will close, not I."
He cocked a brow at her, and she returned the glance. Behind those delicate blue steel spectacles, her hazel eyes were soot lashed and dusky green. He noticed how stubborn her chin was, how lush and soft her lips were, and he knew that her cheek was the softest he had ever touched, creamy pink.
Think of the road, he reminded himself, and the house and blasted Edgar. Thinking about her softness, her lusciousness, would be disastrous. He lifted his arm from around her shoulders, and she sat up. "Mrs. Blackburn, I think you do not realize how serious it will be if the highway cannot go through this ridge."
"I do not mean to challenge you."
"You challenge me, Christina Blackburn," he replied quietly, "far more than you know."
She watched him silently, and he felt his heart pound hard enough to be heard. "Aedan, this site is a magnificent find," she said then. "Cairn Drishan will be regarded as a national treasure. I thought you would be pleased—and proud."
"Proud to lose my home and my career?" he demanded.
She frowned. "I do not understand."
"You know there is a codicil to my father's will."
"Yes, concerning the house and the restorations. It appears that you will meet those conditions easily. What does that have to do with the hill?"
"The restoration to the house is not a problem, now that your brother has agreed to do the murals. But there is another addendum. If something of significant historical value is discovered on the estate, nearly everything—the house and some of the land—could revert to the care of the museum unless certain other conditions are met."
She tilted her head in concern. "What conditions?"
"In effect, Dundrennan would become a museum. I would have to arrange for exhibits and tours, and every room would be opened for viewing, with only a few kept for private use. Tourist pathways and seating would have to be provided for the sites on the estate. There would be a constant stream of people here, between the attraction of these ancient discoveries, my father's own extensive historical collection, and his legacy as a poet."
She nodded slowly. "In that case, Dundrennan would scarcely feel like your home any longer. You deeply value your privacy."
"And the privacy of my kinfolk and our home. I do not want to comply with this request, but if I do not, the house and a portion of the estate will be under the control of the museum."
"So either way, Dundrennan becomes a tourist attraction."
"Exactly. And if I do not agree, the treasures my father collected and whatever treasures might be found here"—he gestured toward the clay pots—"will be taken to the National Museum for permanent display. To Edgar's unending delight, of course. Surely he told you about this."
She shook her head. "He never said a word about it. I did not know."
"Neaves has been drooling after this property ever since my father's will was read. He was present that day."
"He never told me," she said. "But he never had reason to. I did not know you then."
"True," Aedan replied. He thought of the painting he had looked at daily for six years, her image that had become part of him. In a way, he felt as if he had known her for years—forever somehow.
"Why did Sir Hugh want such a strict addendum?"
Aedan sat back. "He always believed Cairn Drishan would yield something significant one day. He wanted to ensure that it would be protected if it was discovered."
"Apparently he was right about the hill." She frowned. "But I do not understand the reason for the codicil. It's as if he did not trust his heirs to handle the situation as he wanted."
"Perhaps he thought I would put my road first."
She watched him. "Was he right about that?"
He inhaled, blew out the breath. "My father and I never agreed on the matter of the highways and byways in Scotland—or this road in particular. But I have always done my best to cope with the needs of both the roads I must build and the estate I've inherited. I have always done my utmost for both. I care about my small role in improving Scotland, and I care about Dundrennan, too—very deeply."
"But he never realized that, did he?"
Aedan shook his head. He looked away from her to glance at the old dusty pots. "He intended Dundrennan for Neil," he said quietly. "Not for me. My father had no doubts where Neil was concerned. My brother and my father agreed on every matter to do with the estate. In fact, Neil was a writer himself, and some of the pieces in the collection were his acquisitions—military pieces were a particular love of his."
"What was he like?"
"Neil? A fine man," he murmured. "More handsome than I and less of a grumphie, as Amy likes to say. He had a ready laugh and a generous heart. He was quite knowledgeable about history—I believe he actually read many of the books in our library," he added wryly. "You would have liked him."
"I'm sure I would have. Though I like the current laird rather well," she said, smiling a little, her voice soft. In the amber lamplight, he saw her cheeks pinken, and he felt warmed by her words. "He sounds like a wonderful man, and a great loss."
He nodded. "Neil went off to the Crimean shortly after Father bought him a commission. He wanted to purchase one for me as well, but I did not want to join a regiment. I had finished four summers of apprenticeship and years of study, and I had just been awarded a grant for a road in Ayrshire. Sometimes I think... had I gone to war as my father wanted, I might have been with Neil the day he died—I might have been able to help him. I would have taken the bullet for him if it had come to that," he said low and fierce. "He might even now be laird of Dundrennan, as he should have been."
"Aedan." Christina leaned toward him. "You are a fine laird, perhaps best suited to Dundrennan now, since you understand so well the necessity of improvement in order for Scotland to survive. If I had been your father," she murmured, "I would have trusted you to do the right thing, no matter what the situation."
He looked at her in surprise, not expecting that depth of loyalty. "Would you?" He tipped his head, watched her curiously. "You, who like to argue with me on certain issues? I would have thought you might agree with my father. You are of like mind with Sir Hugh in many ways—like Neil was."
"That may be," she answered, "but I know how deeply you care about Dundrennan. You would never compromise its integrity as both a home and a historical site."
"Thank you," he murmured. "That means more to me than you could know. And you are right, Christina. I will not lose Dundrennan. I will do whatever I must to keep it whole and intact—even turn it into a museum." He frowned, thumped his fist on his upraised knee.
"The codicil exists, and now this place has been found. What if we find something more, Aedan? A tomb or another ancient structure, for example?"
"Or Arthur's gold?" he drawled. He shook his head. "Whatever we find, no road can go through here now. I am aware of that."
"What can we do to ensure that Dundrennan is protected, as you want, and that the terms of the will are also met?"
"In order to make sure that the museum—and Sir Edgar—get their just due out of this?" he asked quietly.
"I am not thinking of Sir Edgar," she said crisply, "and you should know that."
"Why," he said, leaning forward, "should I know that?"
Her expression was wholly intent as she angled toward him. "Because you should just know it."
He huffed. "That is charming, madam, but obscure."
"I... do not care for Sir Edgar... as I once thought I did," she said carefully.
"Aye?" Aedan leaned still closer, his arm brushing her shoulder, his face inches from her own. Her gaze locked with his.
"I was... swayed by his kindnesses to me, just as I have been... swayed by yours," she finished on a breath.
"I have not meant to sway you, madam," he whispered, "or to persuade you to anything you do not want for yourself."
She inclined toward him as he spoke, tipping her face u
pward, her lips a breath away, her eyes closed. Then she leaned another inch and kissed him.
He gave in to that sweetness readily, hungrily, taking her by the waist to draw her to him while she looped her arms around his neck and pressed against his chest. Her mouth moved under his, warm and heavenly. When their lips parted for an instant, she kissed him again—he was sure that she initiated it, as she had the first one—and he leaned back against the wall, taking her onto his lap and wrapping her in his arms, her skirts billowing over their legs.
He had maintained control and behaved himself, yet she had surprised him utterly, and he surrendered completely, gratefully. He kissed her with fervor, traced a hand over her fine-boned, stubborn jaw, finding the shell of her ear. She sighed, and her lips opened under his. He slipped his tongue outward to meet hers, and that sweet and delicate contact made him burn so hot for her that he thought he might be unable to bear it.
Pausing to tip her face upward, he gently slid her eyeglasses from her nose and set them aside. She blinked widely at him, the lovely purity of her face both innocent and seductive. He leaned close and took her into his arms again.
Her hands slipped up his back to clench at his shoulders. Sliding his hand up her slender back and down again to span her waist, he shifted his fingers and found the tiny buttons at the front of her blouse. She arched her body against him, and the full globe of one breast filled his palm, her nipple stiffening through the soft fabric.
He kissed her again, and she brought her fingers up to frame his jaw. The soft kid of her gloves slid over the rasp of his beard, and he turned his head, used his lips to gently bite at the gloves, pulling at the leather fingers playfully. She laughed, soft as air, and slid them off, tossing them aside. Then she took his face in her bare hands again and came close to kiss him, opening her mouth under his.
Her openness and boldness, her ease in touching him and being touched by him, let him know that she felt comfortable with him in this secret and ancient place, as he felt with her. As their kiss lingered, he slipped his hand over her clothed breast again, and she sighed, moving slightly, allowing his fingers to cup and gently caress.