Hurrying downstairs, she slipped out of the house and headed for the moor.
*
The rain hadstopped for now, and the sky grew purple toward twilight, though the clouds remained heavy and threatening. Just as Christina neared the summit of Cairn Drishan, a pale flash brightened the sky and she heard a distant rumble. More rain soon.
She just needed to take a quick look at the vessels in the souterrain, search for a clue she hoped was there, and hurry back to Dundrennan House. Walking to and fro was a little over a mile each way without horse or gig. Not a hardship and she knew the way well by now, and she could get back before complete dark.
Reaching the ancient walls, she felt a tremor underfoot and heard more rumbles, saw another flash. This time, the light was behind the far shoulder of the hill.
Not thunder and lightning at all, but a far-off blast. Aedan and his men were using the last of the fading light to set charges along the new section of road. As the trembling faded, she heard the muffled chug of the steam shovel.
Aedan would be on the other side of the massive slope, just a half mile or so away. She was tempted to go there to find him. First, the souterrain. Besides, he had suggested that they stay apart.
Much as that had hurt, she knew he had his reasons—and hoped he only meant to keep them until Edgar left. But she knew that the discovery of ancient ruins on the hillside, along with the conditions in Sir Hugh’s will, could render Aedan’s holdon Dundrennan precarious. While the words she had translated excited her, she feared they could topple his claim to the estate further if the museum relied on the treasure trove law to claim the property, as Edgar had said.
Feeling torn between her love for Aedan and for her work, she walked deep in thought. Reaching the souterrain, she pulled away a corner of the tarpaulin, which was heavy with rain, mud encroaching along the rim of the opening, though the canvas covering protected the underground chamber. Twilight flowed down into the hole as she descended the ladder and groped about in the dark pit to find the candles and matchbox kept nearby.
Shining the flaming candle around, she was relieved to see the pots undisturbed, stacked deep against the wall. The space was somewhat damp due to the recent rains and the smell of old earth made her cough.
Kneeling, she waved the candle flame to look at the larger clay jars that carried painted images. Rounded clay shoulders and tapered bases were decorated with reddish-brown color in linear designs and free drawings—bands of loops and swirls, contour drawings of animals, weapons, a few human figures.
Two large pots had depictions of bearlike creatures. Scuttling closer, heedless of her skirts in the dirt, Christina set the brass candle dish on the ground and leaned to look at the abstract linear images. The pot was one of those that were stoppered with hardened wax, likely tallow fat. Rocking it a bit, finding it heavy, she sighed, then made a decision.
Reaching into a pocket, she took out the little sewing scissors she had brought, and began to pry at the waxen plug. Overhead, she heard the muffled sound of another blast on the far side of the hill. The ground under her knees shook a little, dirt and small stones dropping around her. The candle flickered and bloomed bright again.
Aedan had mentioned they sometimes set off small blasts in series, especially now with the ancient walls nearby. But she could see that even small blasts could affect the ruins. Otherwise, the chamber was snug and sturdy, lined with stones. Collapse was not a concern. These walls had stood secure for centuries.
She worked at the stubborn wax seal, shifting the angle of her assault. Then she saw a single word painted inside a small circle on the pot’s shoulder.
Òr,it said. In Gaelic, Latin too, it meant gold.
She sat back, stunned. This vessel had been here all the while, close against the wall, but she had not seen the tiny word until now. A bear design and the word for gold. What could be inside?
She recalled Hector mentioning the old legend that Arthur had hidden gold in these hills, and somehow related to the Dundrennan legend. He found it amusing and unlikely, and Christina had agreed. Similar tales appeared in other places in Britain. Yet now that she had a feeling that something might indeed be found on Dundrennan lands, she was determined to give it a chance.
Tugging, prying, she felt the plug crack loose from the rim, and she pulled out a chunk of the seal. A sweetish smell wafted out with a punch of fermentation that reeled her back for an instant. Holding the candle high, she saw the glint of black muck inside. Not gold. Whatever it was, time had not preserved it well.
She poked at the mass with the scissor tips. It was gluey and dark.
Honey.The pot must have been full of honey. Of course. Bears, gold, honey—how apt, and how sensible. It was merely a wealth of the golden food source.
She replaced the plug and crawled to the next pot, popped the seal without destroying it, peeked inside. Doing this withone vessel after another, she found a variety of contents. There were oats, dry and shrunken, and desiccated root vegetables, dried meats, more honey, and some folded cloths of a beautiful weave that looked too fragile to touch. Two large pots held what apparently had been beer, dried and sour smelling.
But no gold, no treasure, nothing to link this place with Artorius the Bear or Aedan mac Brudei and Liadan, Daughter of the Bear. Just bears outlined in ink, which might be, or might not be, connected to the bear name on the manuscript pages.
She had not found anything marvelous, but it was a solid find regarding domestic life centuries past. Wiping her gloved hands, she rose, went to the ladder, and blew out the candle. As she set her foot on the bottom rung, she heard the crunch of stones above, near the lip of the opening. Perhaps the explosions had loosened something above.
Then she saw feet, legs, and then a man appeared beside the gap in the tarpaulin. His lean form was a dark silhouette against the twilight sky.
Edgar.
He had not seen her. Moving away from the ladder, she told herself he was no threat. Just annoying Edgar. She sighed as he began to descend the ladder. Then she lit the candle again and waited.
Setting a foot on the floor, he jumped, startled. “Christina! I wondered if you had come here.” He walked toward her, head ducked under the low ceiling. “I read your notes.”
“My excavation notes, aye.”
“And your new translation too. That cabinet is shamefully easy to open, you know.” His tone was smug. So very Edgar.
