“It must be difficult to give up your travel and passion for antiquities.”
He frowned. “I was rather hoping that my grandfather would live another twenty or thirty years so I could continue exploring and studying. I keep telling myself that I should just be grateful I had as much time as I did.”
“I’ve read your published articles. They were interesting and well written. Will you write more?”
“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” he replied, looking surprised that she’d read his work. “I plan to do more writing in the long winter nights. I have enough material for a number of articles and perhaps a whole book about the Phoenicians.”
“If you run out of material from the Mediterranean, there is no shortage of old stones in Thorsay,” she pointed out.
His eyes sharpened. “Very true. That’s how I first developed interest in ancient builders and what they left behind.” He rose from the bench. “I think I’ll pay a courtesy call on the Ring of Skellig. Care to join me?”
She also stood. “I shall. It’s cold sitting in the wind. Just beyond that boulder there’s a path to the circle. It’s a pleasant walk over common land and has an abundance of sheep.”
“Of course there are sheep. What would Thorsay be without sheep?” he asked rhetorically as they walked side by side along the cliff path, then turned left on the faint track that headed inland.
“Poorer and emptier,” she said pragmatically. “Thorsay wool is the best available, even better than Shetland wool, though saying that in Shetland could start a fight.”
“Saying we’re more Viking than Shetland or Orkney could also start a fight in either place.”
She chuckled. “I see you haven’t forgotten everything about the islands!”
Chapter 4
Ramsay found himself stealing glances at his companion as they headed toward the hilltop crowned with the Ring of Skellig. Trying to read Signy Matheson was like trying to translate an ancient text in which words had multiple meanings. With the long swinging strides of a Viking shield maiden and that glorious mane of red-gold hair, her fierce beauty was enough to catch any man’s attention, and to intimidate most men as well.
But her emotions were harder to read. Her revelation about Gisela’s death had been shattering for them both, though it seemed to have cleared long-suppressed rage and perhaps some of her grief even as it had reawakened his own deep sorrow. He would survive that as he’d survived the original anguish.
Yet Signy was still a mystery to him. He saw glimpses of the eager, energetic child she’d been, loving the world and loving to learn about it. He suspected that she resented the opportunities he’d had because he was male and heir to Thorsay.
He couldn’t blame her for her resentment. She had a keen, questing mind and had taken full advantage of the laird’s library. She’d sometimes written him when he was at university, asking questions about his classes and what foreign places he was studying. She had wanted desperately to travel and knew she wouldn’t have the chance.
“I gather that much of your time recently has been spent helping the laird. Do you still teach, or have you not had the opportunity for that?”
“I do some teaching of the most advanced students, but for years I worked with Mrs. Wilson. Remember her? She’s the most senior teacher in Thorsay, and we’ve developed several teacher training programs. Every hamlet and village in Thorsay now has a free school to teach all children the basics of reading and writing and figuring. There are also two teachers for older students who want more advanced education, and the best go on to the grammar school in Clanwick. A few lads have even gone to university.”
She smiled with genuine pleasure. “I give thanks that Scots and Islanders have always revered education. It wasn’t hard to persuade the laird to support expanding the schools after Mrs. Wilson and I convinced him that a better educated population would enrich the islands, which has proved to be true.”
“Well done! I’d like to call on her.”
“She lives in the cottage that Gisela and I shared. She doesn’t get around easily these days, so I’m sure she’d appreciate a visit.”
“I need to take a grand tour of the islands to meet people and listen to what they have to say,” he said thoughtfully.
“Most will be inclined to accept the laird’s grandson, but they’ll want to meet you to assure themselves that you haven’t been ruined by your travels.”
Given how much of his life had been lived away from Thorsay, that made sense. He set the thought aside as they reached the Ring of Skellig. Fifteen roughly rectangular stones stood endwise, with the tallest close to twenty feet high. Several other stones had fallen over, leaving gaps in the circle. Maybe someday he’d see that they were erected again. It would be a good winter project for farmers who needed work in the cold season.
He stopped at the closest stone and flattened his palms on the cool rough surface, feeling the pulse of ancient times as well as a sense of homecoming stronger than when he’d entered Skellig House. “I’ve always been impressed with how similar the stones are to one another given the makers’ primitive tools.”
“Do you know what sorts of tools they had, or are you guessing?” Signy asked.
“Guessing,” he admitted. “Though if I was writing an academic paper, I’d say I was theorizing. That sounds better.”
That comment surprised an unexpected and rather lovely smile out of her. “So learned articles are as much about vocabulary as actual knowledge?”
“That’s often the case.” His hands dropped away from the stone and he began pacing around the outside of the circle.
Signy fell into step beside him. “How old is this circle and who built it?”
