Waking the Princess (11 page)

"I'd be happy to ride her," John said, grinning.

Tam tipped his hat and departed. While John vaulted into the saddle, Christina accepted Aedan's assistance into the high seat of the gig. "I promise you that I drive more sedately than Tam," he commented, taking the reins.

"I found his driving rather refreshing," she answered.

"Somehow that does not surprise me."

They moved ahead, while John, mounted on the gray, rode beside them down the private lane to the wide public road. Aedan kept the huge feather-footed bay, harnessed to the gig, to an even pace. Perched on the springy, cushioned bench, Christina glanced at him.

"You needn't creep along for my benefit, Sir Aedan."

"I was considering my horse, Mrs. Blackburn. Pog is not accustomed to walking beside a vehicle, nor is she used to different riders, though your brother handles her well. She's a temperamental thing."

"Pog?" she asked, curious.

"Short for
poigeanach
." He glanced at her. "You know Gaelic, Mrs. Blackburn, do you not?" His eyes twinkled, and a smile played around his flexible lips.

"Poigeanach?
What does it mean?" John asked.

"Fond of kissing," Christina answered.

Aedan grinned. "Tam named her. He kisses her on the nose each night, ever since she was a colt. He was present at her birth, and she's more his horse than mine. Tam swears she cries without her good-night kiss."

John hooted, and Christina laughed. She sat close to Aedan on the narrow seat, and even through her skirt and petticoats, she was aware of his long thigh beside hers and his arm brushing hers.

The road was a clean ribbon over the moor. "The route is in good repair," she observed. "So many Highland roads are rutted and rough, or have alarming curves and steep slopes."

"This is an old drover's track, which we rebuilt and surfaced. I've been overseeing the roads and byways in the western regions for about two years. This part is level, but it climbs once we near the hills. Steep gradients are impossible to avoid in the Highlands."

"Tam Durie showed us just how steep they can be," Christina said, and Aedan chuckled.

Soon he pointed to a farmhouse nestled at the foot of a high, bleak hill. "That's the home farm, which produces much of what we need at Dundrennan House. Parian MacDonald, who tends the farm, is also our factor, and he helps see to the welfare of our tenants. His brother Hector is my foreman on the road crew, and Hector's daughter and grandmother do the laundering for us at the house. Our tenants are fewer now, but there is still work for the factor, and we will find work for every tenant who needs it. My father always insisted on that, despite the troubles of the last seventy-five years or so, and I am determined to honor it."

"Were homes cleared here for sheep grazing, as they were all across the Highlands?" John asked.

Aedan shook his head. "Not here. My father and grandfather would not tolerate it. We were forced to sell off some of our land, though, and those homes were cleared to make room for sheep and hunting preserves. We could not stop it once our rights were sold. Some of the people left homes they had occupied for generations, and some were evicted by the new tenants."

"Did many of the men on the estate go to war?" John said.

"Aye, many of them joined the Highland regiments to gain some income for their families. A good number were killed in the Crimea and India, and many have gone on to other posts in India. Some of their widows and families left to live with kinfolk, and some have left Scotland entirely. Some are still here, though."

Christina sighed. "The sweeping away of the old ways."

"Scotland has seen war and strife throughout her history, but never change on such a scale as the last few generations. We are not at war, yet the enemy is at our gates."

"What enemy?" John asked.

"Poverty, sir, and greed. Ignorance and prejudice. Even tourism, greedy to see romantic settings, but disrespectful of our customs."

"There are groups who work to preserve Gaelic culture, sir," Christina said. "I belong to a few of them myself. Your father revived Scottish heritage in his poetry, like Scott and Burns and some others."

"All worthy efforts. I agree that our culture must be protected, but Scotland needs to enter the modern age in order to survive. The Highland culture, and the Highland people, would benefit from a little modernization. I support improvements and growth, rather than destruction, and the blending of new methods with the old. At the same time, I admire Highland history and culture and wish to do my part to protect and preserve them."

"What of the roads you build all over Scotland? Do you see that as protecting your country or interfering with it?"

"Inroads, Mrs. Blackburn. New pathways into the heart of an ailing nation. Roads and railways will bring new lifeblood into Scotland and help save it."

"Then you are as much a crusader for Scotland as I am," she said, glancing at him.

"I do what I can," he said. "And Dundrennan, a small part of Scotland entirely in my hands, is of chief concern to me."

The gig sped along the road, and John cantered ahead. The hills thrust dark shoulders into a blue sky, their rounded slopes tough with stones and grasses. Heather spread gorgeous plummy color over the inclines. Christina looked around, admiring.

The finished road ended just ahead, and a raw earthen track curved up a hill, its path marked by wooden stakes. "The black powder was discharged up there," Aedan said, pointing.

Peering through her veil, Christina saw a dark gash along the right side of the hill. It seemed unremarkable, just as Aedan MacBride had said.

Clearly he thought the museum's investigation was little more than an inconvenience. But Christina was intrigued about whatever lay inside Cairn Drishan. What if some long-forgotten ancient treasure did exist there, as legend said? Suppose her uncle had been right about the presence of King Arthur in this region after all, and some proof of his theories could be found?

Imagination or not, Christina could not wait to explore the mysteries of that hill.

Chapter 7

"The sleeping king," Christina murmured. "Do you see him in the shape of the ridge?"

"What?" Aedan glanced at her.

"A Celtic tradition tells of a great king trapped under a mountain, held by magic," she explained, then pointed. "If we could see through the crust of the earth, we would see him lying there, asleep. His head is to the left, below that his shoulder, and the lesser slopes of his hip, knee, and so on down to his feet."

"Ah, now I see it. Though I wonder how you can see anything at all through that netting. You look fetching in that hat, madam, but it isn't very practical."

"It cuts the glare of the sun. You should try it for yourself. Perhaps you would not scowl quite so much."

He chuckled low, and the sound tempted Christina to smile herself, which she did secretly behind her veil. "So the king sleeps under a spell. And when he wakes?" he asked.

"Then all will be well in the land again, or so they say."

"We have a similar legend at Dundrennan, but ours is about a sleeping princess."

"And when she wakes, will all be right in the land?"

"So they say," he murmured. "But she will never wake, for no one can break the spell."

She slid him a curious glance. He halted the gig and jumped down to walk around. "Well, Mrs. Blackburn, since the crust of this hill is already broken, let us see what sort of pie it is." He grasped her by the waist and lifted her down. She very much liked the iron press of his fingers against her waist, and she gripped his forearms for support as he lowered her.

"We walk up the hill from here," he said. "It's easier than taking the gig until the road is cut and topped. Tell me," he added, glancing at John, who was leashing Pog to a nearby tree. "Will the climb be difficult for your brother?"

"It may be, but he is doing better lately. He will rest if his leg bothers him. Thank you for your concern."

"And you? Will you have any difficulty?"

"None. This way?" Gathering her skirts, glad she had worn sturdy boots, she took the dirt pathway quickly. Above, along the zigzagging course, she saw the raw cut in the hillside.

"The highest of these hills is a thousand feet at the summit," Aedan said, walking behind her, John a little farther back along the earthen path. "You can see where we halted work beneath that rocky cliff, about three hundred feet up."

"Hopefully your roadwork will resume shortly," John said.

"That depends on your sister, sir." Aedan slid her a glance.

She frowned without reply and hurried ahead. A little farther up, she stopped to gaze at the jagged pile of rocks.

Seeing Walter Carriston's books in Dundrennan's library had reminded her again of her uncle's controversial theories concerning Celtic Scotland. Sir Edgar Neaves had hinted that she might even find something to support her uncle's research. If that were true, then her ailing uncle could regain his tarnished reputation before he died.

She felt a surge of hope, or perhaps only wishful thinking. Her work with Uncle Walter had been fascinating and rewarding in many ways, yet disheartening in the last year, for he had endured the academic ridicule of his dearly held ideas, and it had affected his health. If her work here revealed a Pictish presence, her uncle's reputation would benefit.

Her eagerness renewed, she climbed faster, pulling ahead of the men. As she walked, she lifted the hems of her gray woolen skirt and four petticoats, including one of red flannel that flashed fiery color with each step.

The path cut through the heathered slopes and led toward the site of the blasting. Turf had peeled back, exposing raw earth and sheer rock. Despite her sturdy boot soles, Christina nearly stumbled on the stone-littered path.

"Be careful," Aedan MacBride said, coming up behind her. He extended his hand to help her jump a mucky puddle. His fingers were firm on her gloved hand. "The mud can be very bad here after a rain. We made drainage ditches, but a fierce storm could start a mud slide. One more reason to finish this road quickly." He turned to her brother. "Mr. Blackburn?"

John had stepped off the path to sit on a boulder. He held a small sketch book. "I'll come up soon. I want to sketch some landscape and make color notes on the light."

Christina looked at Aedan. "He may need to rest," she murmured. "He lost some muscle from the gunshot wound and lacks full strength in that leg. He never complains outright, but it still causes him some pain."

He nodded, frowning. "The hill is quite steep and rough from here on, madam. Would you like to rest, as well?"

"No," she said decisively. The sunlight was strong, but her veil obscured her sight. She pushed the netting back and twisted it behind her hat, fastening it with a long hatpin.

"You could command armies with a weapon like that," Aedan commented.

She sent him a little glare and resumed her steady ascent. Each breath came a little dearer now, and she cursed the whalebone stays beneath her blouse and jacket, although she was glad for her shorter walking skirt and her tough-soled brogans, which allowed her to take sure strides.

Aedan went ahead and reached out a hand in assistance. He kept hold of her gloved hand to help her along the steep, winding track, his grip firm and pleasant. When he let go, she missed that comfort.

"Why does the road curve like this?" she asked, putting a hand to her side, pausing to draw in a few breaths.

"To allow for the steep grade of the hill. The road cannot go straight up and over. We cut it this way, so that it rises a little, then swings that way, rising again"—he gestured as he spoke—"gradually moving up and then down the hillside. That way the ride is not so steep in a carriage."

"Going on foot, I feel as if I have climbed a veritable mountain," she said, still breathless. "Why not cut the road around the base of the hill?" She looked down. The slope fell steeply away from the edge of the path, shored up by boulders.

"Do you see that wide burn on the moor below? It cuts close to the hill, so the lower slope can be very boggy. And the land on other side of the burn no longer belongs to my estate, and we could not obtain the owners' permission. They prefer to keep it for hunting privileges."