“Worthy efforts all. I know our culture needs protecting, and yet Scotland must enter the modern age or fall behind. The Highland culture and Highland people will benefit. I am in favor of growth and blending new methods with the old. I also want to see Highland culture and history protected and preserved.”
“Do you see your roadbuilding as protecting or interfering with Scottish culture?”
“I think of them as inroads, Mrs. Blackburn. New pathways into the heart of an ailing nation to bring new lifeblood into Scotland. I believe we must do whatever we can when we believe strongly in something.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed.
The gig sped along the road with John cantering behind. The dark shoulders of the hills thrust into a blue sky, and heather spread plummy color over the slopes edging the road. Christina looked around as Aedan drove, and then noticed a raw gash of earthen track curving up a hillside marked with rows of wooden stakes.
“We discharged the black powder up there,” Aedan said, pointing toward the hill. “The stone wall is up there too?”
“Aye. It is not much to see, though.”
“I know you think the stones are not important and that the investigation is just an inconvenience,” she said.
“I do. But I am interested in what you think.”
“What I think? I wonder if some forgotten ancient treasure exists there? What if my Uncle Walter’s theory is correct?”
“Which theory? I skimmed his work. He has many thoughts about ancient Scotland.”
“Suppose he is right in his idea about the presence of King Arthur in this region? What if we could find evidence of that? Would you halt construction then?”
“Halt our roadmaking to indulge a figment of imagination?”
“What if was Arthur?”
He was silent, then shrugged. “That would be a miracle.”
Chapter Seven
“Look at theshape of the ridge,” Christina said later, as Aedan pulled the gig to a halt at the foot of a long series of slopes. She pointed to the crest of a hill. “Over there. Do you see the sleeping king?”
“The what? Where?”
“Sleeping king. A Celtic legend tells of a great king trapped under a mountain, held there by magic,” she explained. “If we could see through the crust of the earth, we would see him lying there, asleep. His head is to the left, see, and then the curve of his shoulder and torso. The lower slopes form his hip, knee, and leg. His feet are at the base of the hill.”
“Ah, now I see it. An interesting fairytale, that.” He chuckled low, and the sound made Christina smile secretly. “So he sleeps bespelled. And when he wakes?”
“Then all will be well in the land again, so they say. All problems resolved, the people happy and prosperous again.”
“Then by all means, we should wake the fellow without delay.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Dundrennan has a similar legend, but our sleeper is a princess.”
“When she wakes, will all be right in the land?”
“So they claim. But she will never wake. No one can break the spell over her.”
She slid him a curious glance. Just then, John drew up on the horse, waiting for them to either continue or climb out of the gig. Aedan jumped down to walk around, holding up his hands to assist Christina.
“Well, Mrs. Blackburn, since the crust of that hill is already broken, let us see what lies inside, shall we?”
She nodded and stood, and he took her by the waist to lift her down. She liked the iron brace of his fingers at her waist. When she gripped his forearms for support as he lowered her, he lingered as he set her down, and she let her hands stay on his arms for a moment. Then John dismounted, looped the reins to the gig, and came toward them.
“We can walk up the hill from here,” Aedan said. “It is too steep and rough—not yet finished—so we cannot take the gig much farther. Sir?” He looked at John.
