Waking the Princess (43 page)

Helpless, she went into the abyss like a doll in a current.

* * *

The mud took him like a water beast, picking him up, whirling him, spewing him out again. Aedan slammed into a wall, covered in muck, and came to his hands and knees. Coughing, groping through blackness, he grabbed a broken stone in the wall like an anchor in a storm.

"Christina!" His voice echoed strangely. Where was she?

Struggling to his feet, he groped along the wall, and soon fell over what he realized was Edgar's body, motionless. Aedan knew almost immediately, taking the man's shoulders, that Edgar was lifeless. Somehow he had died in the onrush of mud and water—he might have slipped, could have drowned or hit his head. Propping the body against the wall and out of the muck, Aedan turned again, searching through the darkness.

"Christina!" he called. Silence. He called again, desperate for an answer, met only by silence and the sound of mud and water slopping against stone as he moved.

Feeling along the wall, moving through mud, his arm suddenly plunged into a gap. The stones in the wall had tilted somehow, driven by mud, further into the earth. There must have been a hollow space in the hillside behind the wall of the souterrain. He stepped through the gap.

"Christina!"

The weight of the mud had broken through the wall into another chamber—he felt stone overhead and to the side as he reached out. The space was square and compact, for he could not stand upright. Lifting his hand, he felt a ceiling made of stones set in a deliberate pattern.

He edged forward, stumbling over something in the pitch blackness. Dropping to one knee, his fingers realized what his eyes could not see.

"Christina," he murmured.

She lay on her back in mud, unmoving, silent. Under his hands, her head lolled, her arms sagged, but he could find no obvious wounds, no broken bones. Gently he scooped under her head and shoulders and gathered her to him, terrified that she was gone too, like Edgar.

Then he sensed her breathing. She was unconscious. He probed to find the nature of her injury, and then groped in his pocket for his silver flask, a slender candle stub, a box of matches, items he always carried with him when working outside through the night.

Leaning her weight against him, he touched off a match and lit the candle, which flared into blessed light. He set the taper on a stone, and noticed in the faint light that the walls were lined in stone like the outer chamber.

He stroked her face, brushing at mud on her cheeks. She lay oddly serene in his arms, her features peaceful, eyes closed, but it frightened him to see her like this. He called her name again, touched her cheek, saw a cut and bruise on her temple. She must have been knocked against stone by the force of the mudslide and thrown through the wall, injured.

He looked around. The door, made of heavy stone, had been disguised as part of the wall of the storage chamber. The onslaught had tilted it inward. The smaller chamber was lined in stone. Now he saw that it was filled with objects.

Adjusting to the dim light, he saw so many things he could hardly take it all in—pots, stone carvings, a bench, harnesses, even a chariot with frayed wicker siding and iron wheels.

And gold. He moved the candle in an arc for a moment, and saw the glitter and wink of gold everywhere. Bowls, vessels, gleaming torques wrought for a man's neck, hammered armbands and wristlets stacked haphazardly. Gold shaped an engraved bowl, glittered in a jumble of wire-wrapped handles in an array of daggers.

Blinking, stunned, he looked at it for a moment, then set the candle down. The woman in his arms was more important to him than an ancient king's ransom just then. She was breathing, but it was shallow. He bent down.

"Christina, my love," he whispered. He kissed her brow, her soft, unresponsive mouth. "Wake up. Please. Oh God, please, wake up for me." He felt desperation rise in him like a tide.

"I love you," he whispered. The words came naturally.

She did not stir, scarcely breathed. He framed her face with his hand, shook her head gently. He felt sheer will rise up in him. "Come back."

* * *

Come homeward to me.

Drawn like a boat slipping in on a slow current, she moved through darkness, through peace, feeling languid, following the stream that carried her, had held her for ages—centuries, moments, she did not know. She was outside the span of time, floating forever.

She heard the voice of her beloved. His love surrounded her, gathered into a silvery ribbon, a sparkling net, drawing her along with it. That tendril kept her from slipping into the void. He had never forgotten her, loved her, had found her.

His magic drew her along and she went with it, swam, floated, carried along. Then she soared, borne on a flame.

Come again homeward, safe to me.

My love,
she tried to say,
I hear you.

She felt his touch upon her cheek, and she opened her eyes.

He smiled, her beloved, eyes so blue in candlelight. His love overflowed, warm, golden, healing. She lifted her hand to touch his face in wonder.

He kissed her fingers, and she reached up to touch his lips, his smile. He bent toward her.

"I love you," he whispered. "I always have."

Epilogue

"Mrs. Blackburn," Aedan murmured, seating himself carefully on the edge of the bed, not wanting to jar her where she lay. "There you are, awake at last. I worried about you. I thought you might sleep forever," he added in a whisper, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. His hand slipped over hers.

"I've only slept the afternoon," she murmured, and gave him a slow smile, her cheeks pale, without the subtle pink glow that he so loved to see. She glanced past him toward the doorway, where John, Amy, Mrs. Gunn, and Lady Balmossie stood together. Christina wiggled her fingers in a little wave.

"Och, she's tired, puir lass," Mrs. Gunn said. "But 'tis good to see her with her eyes open."

"Come. We'll leave her to rest," Lady Balmossie said.

"Aedan should stay," Amy said. "He should sit with her for a while and read to her, talk to her. Christina needs to feel safe after that awful experience. She was ill for days, and slept so long that I was afraid she might never recover."

"Hush, my girl," John said affectionately. "She's well now, and she's safe. Come along, I want to show you something. I've nearly finished your portrait in the mural." Amy gasped in delight as John guided her out of the room.

Aedan glanced over his shoulder. "He left it open a little, for propriety's sake, since they left us alone together." He smiled, brushing a waft of dark, glossy hair from her forehead. "We can be proper... for now." He raised one brow. "I cannot guarantee it later."

Christina smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Sir Aedan," she said, her voice sleepy. "I think I adore you."

"Is it so?" He smiled a little and tucked the covers higher. "And I feel the same about you, Mrs. Blackburn. Christina," he added, leaning down to kiss her.

He felt her mouth move beneath his, gently. Though he knew she was weak still, his body responded deeply to her kiss, like lightning all through him. His heart went faster, but he drew back, wrapping her hand in his, kissing her knuckles.

Her smile was content, serene, but her eyes danced with mischief. She lay propped on pillows, her dark auburn hair flowing loose, her white bed gown prim and high-necked.

Chaste and lovely, she looked younger and lighter somehow, Aedan thought, as if years and cares had washed away while she slept. The bruise on her brow had faded in a week's time, and she was pale and a bit thinner. That air of peacefulness around her seemed new. The glow of suited her beauty.

"You've missed quite a bit this week, while you've been lazing about and dreaming," he murmured.

She laughed, breathy. "I've heard some of what's been said near me, though I felt too tired to answer. What is it?"

He held her hand, stroking her fingers. "Hector and the Gowans have been clearing mud out of the souterrain all week. And we've cleaned and protected the second chamber, so it will be ready when you are strong enough to get back to your work. You should have seen Hector when he first saw that gold," he added wryly.

"I remember a little of that, when you carried me out of there. I remember Hector crowing with delight." She smiled, but it was quickly followed by a sigh.

"The gold was found, but I'm sorry to say most of the pots were destroyed. The men have collected the shards best they could. The mud slide—well, with the rain, the excavation, the blasting, sometimes mud slides and landslides happen."

She nodded, smoothing her fingers over his hand. "I think of poor Edgar, and feel so bad," she whispered.

Aedan brought her hand to his lips to kiss it again. "He died quickly, love. It's ironic that he never saw the treasure."

Christina sighed. "I know he had ill designs, but until that day I never thought him a bad man, just arrogant. He must have been a bit mad. You tried to warn me."

"I did not feel he could be trusted, I admit."

"It was not the gold he wanted, not for himself. He wanted to be the one who discovered the proof of King Arthur in Scotland. He knew that the Dundrennan legends offered the best hope of finding something. The temptation drove him to do what he did."

"Ironic, and sad. Now you will have the credit for the discovery. We've just heard from the museum—several, in fact, including the British Museum and the Louvre. There will be a contingent of historians here within the week. I made it clear to each of them in my reply letters that Mrs. Blackburn is in charge of the operation, and what is perhaps the find of the century."

She tilted her head to look up at him. "We have found treasure, but we do not yet know if it belonged to King Arthur."

"There is that old tradition, and the legend—that 'mighty horde of treasure bright,' and so forth," he said, quoting from his father's poem.

"But we do not know if this is that horde. Still, Uncle Walter will be delighted, as it may prove his theories."

Aedan nodded. "If your uncle is strong enough, I want to arrange for him to stay at Dundrennan. My sister is a nurse and her husband a doctor. We shall invite them too."

"Oh, Aedan, thank you. 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'll be strong enough this evening. Or tomorrow."

"Not just yet, lass. I'd carry you up that hill myself before letting you walk up there so soon after that head injury."

"I'm perfectly fine," she said. "Really, I feel wonderful."

"Do you indeed?" he murmured, leaning down, his hands on either side of her, to kiss her cheek and nuzzle the silken cream of her throat. "You do feel rather wonderful," he murmured.

She laughed and looped her arms around his neck. Holding her, he closed his eyes, cherishing their embrace. She felt thin and fragile under his hands, and he laid her back down gently.

"Tell me something," he said, "so that I will not seem an ignorant fool around these museum people. Could the chamber be a tomb?"

"Perhaps, or simply a treasure room. I must see it in detail. It could be a safe room. Souterrains sometimes have multiple chambers. There could be a whole warren of underground rooms and passages inside that hill, and perhaps a tomb as well. We will have to excavate it carefully. It will take a very long time." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? This is an astonishing discovery."

"You may well lose the property now, according to the laws of treasure trove and your father's codicil. This is a historical find of huge importance, whether Arthurian or not."

He frowned. "I am hoping that Edgar was right about the compromise the museum is willing to make." An inner instinct told him that a solution would be found. His sense of dread about losing his home had vanished, replaced by a feeling of security and guarantee. The treasure would save Dundrennan, not be its undoing, he felt certain.

"Oh," he said. "I brought something out of there to show you. I left the rest of it in place—silver bowls, enameled brooches, golden buckles, silver and brass helmets, brass shields, and so on."

"Stop," she said, laughing. "I cannot bear it. I want to see it for myself, so much. Let's go tonight. Would you really carry me all the way up the hill?"