by Susan King
Aedan nodded, glancing across the room at the women, who chatted together while Mary Faire rang for refreshments.
"How would you treat such a condition?" Aedan asked.
"Generally the cataracts are treated by couching—slipping the tissue downward with a probe," Connor explained, "but I have had good success in removing the clouded tissue with the delicate use of certain instruments. The operation requires ether, which has its risks. I explained it to her and asked her to think about it."
"If anyone can help her, it is Connor," Mary Faire said quietly, coming toward them. She took her husband's arm.
"Dora will do well with the treatment, I think," Connor said. "She's young and healthy."
"And I'd like to try it," Dora said, turning toward them. The light of the sun turned her red hair to molten bronze and shone upon her strangely veiled eyes. Seeing the pretty glow in her face, Aedan realized it was hope.
"If you decide to do this, Dora," he said, "anything you need will be provided. I will see to it."
Effie MacDonald smiled, seated beside Dora. "Ye're a dearie, Sir Aedan, and always were. And lately yer kind heart shines a wee bit brighter than it used to. I'm glad to see it."
"I was just telling him the same thing, Effie," Mary Faire said. "He claims it's stuff and nonsense, that he hasn't changed a bit, but whatever has happened to Aedan has been for the better."
The old woman nodded. "Aye, and about time, too. Now, tell me," she said, pointing toward the gathering darkness through the window, "is it too late to get some of that fruit ice cream I was promised for coming all the way to the city?"
Chapter 23
Sheep wandered the slopes, black-faced with dingy fleece, munching grass, while the gray clouds rolled overhead. Christina glanced around as she stood on a high slope of Cairn Drishan. A strong, cool wind tugged at the brim and the ribbons of her hat.
She wished she could just toss away her bonnet and let the wind tousle her hair. Craving that sort of freedom, she realized what she really wanted was the freedom to tell Aedan honestly what she felt for him and how much Dundrennan meant to her now.
Coming to Dundrennan to investigate his discovery, she had discovered love instead—and she had failed to keep it, once again. And she did not know how to save it.
Soon her life would return to its previous dull, safe state. Edgar would arrive to take over the excavation on the hill, and she would go back to Edinburgh, leaving Aedan and her dreams.
The sky grew darker, and the wind felt laden with rain. To the west, a distant loch shone like a pale mirror, and the hills merged in the gathering mist. Christina breathed in deeply of the primeval beauty that surrounded her. She did not want to leave Dundrennan and all that it had come to mean to her.
Southward, she saw Aedan's crew, tiny figures along the raw strip of the road. The red steam engine glinted like a drop of blood. Nearby, a man in black sat on a gray horse.
Startled, she recognized Aedan. He must have just returned from Edinburgh, she thought. Her heart quickened, and she hoped he might take the path toward the hill where she stood, but he turned Pog and disappeared from sight past an outthrust of the ridge. Disappointed, she turned away to climb the slope with the aid of MacGregor's walking stick.
Reaching the level of the excavation, she looked out over the moorland from that higher vantage point. She could see Pog grazing now in the small yard beside Effie MacDonald's house.
Moments later, a red-haired woman in a tartan shawl came out of the house, followed by Aedan. Christina realized that the girl was Hector's daughter, Dora. They walked together across the yard, obviously talking.
Then the girl stopped and threw her arms around Aedan's neck, clearly kissing him. He embraced her, and they resumed walking, their arms looped, heads close together.
Christina whirled away, feeling struck to the heart. Of course Aedan knew Dora well—he had been engaged to Dora's cousin Elspeth. And Mrs. Gunn had mentioned that Aedan had taken Dora to Edinburgh for some reason.
Suddenly, seeing their closeness, Christina felt isolated from him and his life, and that realization hurt deeply. Perhaps Aedan saw her as simply an interlude, a passionate pastime. Perhaps he had charmed her and used her only in order to win her influence to save his road. Perhaps he was a cad after all.
And she had been foolish indeed to let herself dream and to let herself be hurt again. This time the wound went very deep, for she had given her heart away in full. She walked away, digging the tip of the walking stick into the earth.
Angus Gowan and his sons arrived on the site, shovels in hand, calling to her. She waved and settled down on a boulder, taking her memorandum book and pencil from her skirt pocket. Opening her book, she reviewed her notes and measurements.
She smiled when Angus greeted her, and she discussed the weather pleasantly, but all the while she felt hollow inside.
* * *
Aedan saw the rain miles off, streaming down from sky to earth in a darkling mist. He paused to watch it as he climbed the hill. Then he adjusted his hat, shrugged his shoulders in his frock coat, and continued up the incline.
Seeing the Gowans digging in a corner of the foundation, Aedan raised a hand in silent greeting. Christina sat on a rock, intent on writing something in the little notebook on her knees. Deep in concentration, she did not look up at his approach.
She wore the veiled black hat again, he saw, with a trim jacket and skirt of dark gray that matched the leaden color of the old stones. The wind battered at the hem of her skirt, and he glimpsed her petticoats, a red one layered among the white. Her feet, snugly tied in black boots, peeked from underneath.
He knew the body beneath that neat outfit intimately now, and his body surged to think of it, and at the sight of her. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms, spin her around, tell her how much he had missed her, how much he loved her.
He quickened his step, then hesitated. He simply could not act on his impulses, regardless of how much he wanted to do so.
But now he understood why his parents had flown in the face of Dundrennan's curse. Love had overpowered tradition and superstition. Love had overtaken him, too, and was about to topple him. He was on the verge of telling Christina exactly how he felt, and damn the consequences.
If a remedy existed for the cursed lairds of Dundrennan—and their doomed wives—surely it could be found only through love, not fear. Did he have courage enough to take the chance?
He strode forward. "Mrs. Blackburn," he said, without waiting for her to acknowledge him first, as was proper.
She barely glanced up. "Oh," she said. "You're back."
"Aye." He felt her coolness. "I came in from the train station in Glasgow and have not yet been back to Dundrennan. I hoped to find you here. I've been in Edinburgh for a few days," he added unnecessarily, when she did not look up.
"Mm, so I heard." She turned a page in the notebook and wrote something. "I hope your trip was pleasant."
"It was." He narrowed his eyes. She was upset about something. Her knuckles were white on the pencil, and through the veil, he saw hot pink suffuse her cheeks.
What an idiot he had been to forget, he thought, that the last time they had met, he had taken her roughly against a wall. He had not stayed to comfort her, or to apologize, or to confess that he loved her.
True, she had shut her door firmly afterward, accepting no apologies. And he had forgotten about his plans to leave early the next morning for Edinburgh. He had hoped that a few days apart would give them both time to think, to let ardor cool. In that time, love had taken full hold of him.
Now he saw that such was not the case for her. She had a right to be angry with him, after all.
"Well then," he said awkwardly. He wanted to apologize, explain himself, confess his love, but the words would not come. He wanted to pick her up bodily and kiss her, carry her down into the souterrain and show her just how deeply he felt about her.
But he would do nothing of the kind. The undergrou
nd chamber was covered in a tarpaulin weighted with stones, and the Gowans stood nearby, shovels idle while they watched the laird and the antiquarian with unabashed Highland curiosity.
And Dundrennan's curse still existed, he reminded himself.
Angus's brown and white spaniel came out of nowhere to nose at Aedan's legs, begging to be petted. He leaned down and ruffled her head and shoulders, then sent her away. Christina ignored the dog, just as she was ignoring Aedan.
The scritch scratch of her pencil and her air of deliberate indifference nearly drove him mad. But he was not willing to go away quite yet, though she clearly wanted that.
"How is the work coming along here?" he asked.
"Fine," she answered, still scribbling.
"Have you made much progress?"
"Some." She turned a page. "The mud has been troublesome from all the rain—though I know you are anxious for this to be finished and for me to leave here."
"I'm not anxious for you to leave." He wanted her to look at him, react to his words, but she remained silent. She jotted something down, and he was tempted to snatch the pencil from her. "What are you working on there?"
"Notes."
"I can see that. Well, then. So you've made some progress. Have you opened the clay pots yet?"
"No. I am waiting for Edgar."
Dear Edgar. He nearly bit his tongue to avoid saying it. "I was sure you might open at least one of the pots. I thought you were eager to see what is inside them."
"Not so eager as I was." She turned another page. "I will wait."
"I thought perhaps there might be something of real value in them." Too late, he realized he had said the wrong thing, for she glanced up with snapping eyes—but at least she looked at him.
"Must there be something glittery in those pots for them to have value? That is not a king's treasure house. It is a storage room. A plain little cellar. If I never went down there again, I suppose you could hardly blame me."
He keenly felt the reference. "Christina—"
She stood, slammed her notebook shut. "I suppose if that storage chamber were King Arthur's own pantry filled with King Arthur's own soured beer, that would not interest you! It must have gold and jewels to be of value for you!"
He stared at her. "What on earth is the matter?"
"I think you could care less about this place, unless it holds a fortune that can be claimed for Dundrennan."
"That's ridiculous," he growled, moving toward her.
"I should have listened to Edgar, who said that historical significance would mean little to you, for you only care about your highway. He warned me that you would try to convince me that this was a worthless site. In his most recent letter, he said that if I find anything of importance, to be sure to protect it until he arrived."
"Charming man," he snapped.
"He should have warned me to protect myself." Her eyes flashed behind the veil and behind her eyeglasses.
"That," he said, "is an unfair sentiment, madam." He reached out for her, no longer caring that the Gowans watched avidly now.
Christina sidestepped his grasp. "You should know that Edgar will be here soon, in a day or so. He sent word while you were in Edinburgh. Mrs. Gunn has readied a room for him."
He glowered at her. "I do not want him at Dundrennan. I thought that was obvious."
"There is nowhere else for him to stay."
"Milngavie has a good inn. Tell him to go there."
"Why must you be so difficult about him?"
"I've told you why. Among other reasons, he covets Dundrennan's collections." He had already explained to her that Neaves's dogged persistence had pressured and overexcited his father enough to trigger the final fit that had caused Sir Hugh's death. Aedan did not want to detail that again.
"Edgar's interest in Dundrennan is understandable. He's a museum director."
"He also covets you, madam," he ground out.
Her glance was keen through the netting. "If he chooses to visit me, even court me, I do not think it is your concern."
"I do," he snapped.
She huffed in reply and stalked away, skirt blowing out behind her in the increasing wind. Within moments, raindrops began to fall, cold and fat and fast.
Aedan waved to the Gowans, calling for them to climb into the souterrain for quick shelter. They nodded and clambered inside, whistling for the dog. Aedan grabbed Christina's arm.
"Go down into the souterrain—it's closest," he ordered. "I left Pog at the bottom of the hill. I've got to get her."
Christina pulled away from him, skirts whipping, and picked up her walking stick. "I don't mind the rain. It's not lightning, after all. I'm going back to Dundrennan. You can go to Effie's house if you like. No doubt you will be warmly welcomed there." She said it with odd emphasis and marched down the slope.
Aedan went after her, hard put to keep up with her irritated speed. "What is the matter?" he demanded. "You've achieved your goal up on the hill. You've proven the wall is ancient and stopped my road cold." He felt irritated himself now.
"That was not my goal," she said, hurrying onward.
"No? This place will be regarded as a triumph among scholars. Your name will be associated with it forever. And there will be no damned road through here."
She stopped, turned. He saw fierceness in her and winsome beauty, and the combination struck him to the heart, took him down like a felled tree. Instantly remorseful, he reached out a hand. She pushed him away with the walking stick.
"There is no need to swear," she said. "And I doubt a woman's name would survive in the annals of historical research. Cairn Drishan will be recorded as Edgar's find, and you well know it. But none of that is important to me. Furthermore, I never intended to stop your road. And if I have accomplished anything at all here, it is only in making yet another mistake!"
He blinked at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," she said, while the rain whipped at them.
She turned, digging the stick furiously into the earth as she walked.
Bewildered by her outburst, he hurried after her. Where the slope eased into the moor, she took off running, using the stick to propel faster. Raindrops struck the earth, driving hard.
He dashed to untie Pog's lead from a shrub, mounting quickly. Fighting the wind, he turned the horse's head and cantered after Christina as she ran along the moorland road toward Dundrennan. Pog's hooves were fast and sure on the graveled top coat, and he caught up with her in moments.
Aedan wanted to drag her up into the saddle, kiss some sense into her, and finally explain himself. He down reached for her, but she batted at his hand.
"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."
"You are more like a prickly briar," he groused. "I will not ride off and leave you marching through a thunderstorm." Rain soaked them both now. Stubborn girl, he thought irritably. If he had not sent Tam ahead with the carriage, 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 black brim. "I have other hats."
"Not as fetching as that one," he drawled.
She gave him a dark look through the veil and hastened off again. Pog snorted, and Aedan urged the horse in pursuit.
"Ride with me," he said. "Mrs. Gunn will serve me up for supper if bonny Mrs. Blackburn develops a head cold from getting soaked through."
She lifted her chin, the swath of veil sparkling with rain. "It is not proper for a lady to share a horse with a gentleman."
"You shared other things with me," he growled.
"Well, I will not share that horse with you," she said, and she stalked onward.
"I want to talk to you," he said moments later, when he cantered up beside her. She ignored him, walking at a fast pace.
Thunder rumbled, and f
ar off, lightning brightened the sky. Pog danced sideways, and Aedan lost his patience.
"Christina Blackburn, come up here now, you wee bit fool." He leaned down to extend his arm through the driving currents.
She stopped, looked up at him, and then held up her hand with an air of resignation. Leaning down, he grasped her by the arm, and she placed her foot on his as he pulled her up behind him. Sitting sideways, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
Twisting to see her face just at his shoulder, he tilted the brim of her hat and lifted the damp, smoke-colored veil to look into her bespectacled, beautiful eyes. He saw traces of tears on her cheeks.
"Mrs. Blackburn—" He hesitated. I love you, he burned to say. I love you. "You're wet as a frog," he said instead.
She made a weary face, and he laughed, leaning toward her. He meant to kiss her endlessly, as he wanted, as she deserved, amid the rain and the thunder and the pounding of his own heart.
"Christina," he said. "I—" God, he could not say the words.
"Halloo! Mrs. Blackburn!"
Aedan jerked up his head to see a closed carriage hurtling toward them. A man's arm in a black coat waved from a narrow window. Then a top hat showed.
"Damn," he muttered. "I think dear Edgar is here."
Christina gasped, looked around. "Oh! It is Edgar!"
The vehicle, a hired chaise by the look of it, drew up and stopped. The top hat poked partway through the window, and a smartly gloved hand and cane showed.
And he saw a face he remembered all too well, slickly handsome, masking a sly and covetous man. Aedan scowled.
"Christina!" Sir Edgar Neaves called out. "My dear, what are you doing out here in this weather?"
Aedan leaned to look at her. "Christina, my dear?" he murmured. "He's a familiar fellow, isn't he?"
"So are you," she retorted. "Oh, Edgar, what a surprise!" she called back pleasantly, as if she stood in a candlelit ballroom and not clinging to a man on horseback in the pouring rain.
"My dear girl! Have you had an accident?"
"I'm just caught out in the rain, sir." She smiled.