Lately he had spent more time working in the library rather than his smaller study. He preferred the larger table andbrighter natural light for going over maps. He liked it even better when Christina was also working in there.
He had quickly developed a habit of looking for her when he entered the library, feeling a small thrill when he saw her and a tug of disappointment when he did not. He rather liked hearing the scratch of her pen on paper as she wrote reports or letters, even if she wrote to Neaves that MacBride’s work must cease. He liked glancing up to see her tucked in a chair or sitting at a table with the folio open before her.
The room seemed warmer and brighter when she was in it, regardless of weather or time of day. Sometimes he caught the faint fragrance of her favorite lavender mingled with the old vanilla-and-leather scent of books, or heard her light step, the shush of her skirts.
But he liked it best when she put down pen or book to glide toward him and inquire about his day, or his work. She showed genuine interest in the maps and his precise engineer’s drawings. And he would ask about her progress with the stones, with her research, or what she thought of a book she was reading.
He did not care about the content of the book; he just wanted to hear her thoughts and her adorable, slightly husky voice. He asked so he could study her beautiful face, a fascinating blend of innocence and allure.
Once the library, indeed much of the house, had been dominated by his father’s vigor and energy. Now Christina’s presence had made subtle changes in the way Aedan saw the place. He had begun to associate rooms, corners, spaces with her. He knew Sir Hugh’s lingering spirit would not mind; the old poet would have liked her love of books, history, and legend—and of course her love of Hugh’s work.
“What do you think? About the hill, sir,” Rob added, with a glance for Christina.
Aedan blinked. “We should alter plans and change the route as soon as possible.”
“Aye. We can send a crew along that way to begin grubbing the other side of the hill to remove shrubbery, roots, rocks, and so forth. And hopefully nothing ancient.”
“Hopefully. Send the behemoth that way to shovel a new path.”
“Right.” Rob tucked some of the papers into a leather case. “I will ask Angus to survey the other side of the hill again with this in mind.”
“Do that. I need to work out new charts before I come out again.”
Sitting back, Aedan chewed his pencil’s blunt end thoughtfully while he watched Christina, curled with her back to him in Hugh’s favorite old chair, with Hugh’s terrier asleep at her feet. He admired the rich, dark fire in her auburn hair as sunlight touched the crown of her head. Several moments passed before he roused himself to focus on his work.
Chapter Seventeen
“Mrs. Blackburn!” Hectorcalled, then repeated her name.
Clouds covered the morning sun days later as Christina looked up. She sat perched on a rock writing another dutiful report to Edgar, this time to say that the foundation stones of an apparent Pictish-era house had been exposed after several days of digging.
“What is it, Mr. MacDonald?” she called back.
“We’ve found something for ye, lass!”
She set aside the writing box and nearly stumbled in her haste to reach the spot where Hector and Angus stood. Lewis and Kenneth Gowan, who had worked all morning, now stood back, shovels in their grimy hands, dust smudging their faces.
“One of the stones shifted here, mistress,” Angus said. “That flat one in what is left of flooring there rocked and came loose.”
“We pried it up,” Kenneth said. “Look there, Missus.”
She peered into a dark hole in the earth, filled with curious shadows. Sinking to her knees, she saw cavity walled with fieldstone. Some round shapes were stacked deep along the far wall in deep shadow.
“Are those pots? Can you move the stone covering the hole a bit more?”
“Aye, lass,” Hector said. “It is set on a lever stone, so ’twas meant to open. Look, see the steps under the ridge there. Couldit be a tomb? We might find a king’s ransom,” he said, rubbing his hands.
“I doubt it, but let’s see. I want to go down there.” She stood, brushing earth from her hands, as the Gowans heaved the lid stone further to expose the square opening. Angus fetched an oil lantern to shine it down into the gap.
Peering into the gloom, Christina saw the shapes more clearly. Several large clay pots were stacked against a wall. She nodded and turned toward the others.
“We might find pots of wine or grain, but not gold, Mr. MacDonald. This is a storeroom. A souterrain, an underground room.”
“A sootie—what? A pantry underground? My granny had one in her croft house. They had suchlike, long, long ago?”
“They had surprising sophistication in their homes. Wall cupboards, shelves, storage chambers, even private lavatories.”
“Och, dinna tell me that.” Hector turned pink.
