“A storeroom like this would have been fairly common. Food would stay cool and fresh down there in clay pots, including grain, cheeses, dried meat and fish, and so on. I want to look. Could I have a ladder? I do not want to fall down those old steps. Is that rotted wood?”
“Looks to be.” Hector beckoned and the Gowans brought a ladder, lowering it into the dark earthen pit. “Missus, if ye want thousand-year-old cheeses, let me send Kenneth doon in case o’ danger. He’s a braw lad.”
Christina stood back as the young Highlander carefully descended the ladder into the hole. “Souterrains are not very exciting. But sometimes underground chambers were linked together, which can prove quite exciting.”
“Pots. Exciting,” Hector drawled. “Unless they’re pots o’ gold!”
“Until then, Mr. MacDonald, this will do.” She laughed but felt anxious, looking down as Kenneth wandered about. She tried to act scholarly and detached, but indeed felt excited. She had hoped the site would yield something other than ruined stone walls.
Kenneth looked up. “Nothing but auld jugs and chamber pots!” As he came up, Christina moved to step down the ladder.
“Mistress, dinna go doon,” Hector said. “The laird wouldna like it.”
“Why would he care? Does he worry that I’ll find gold and steal it for the museum?”
“Och, dinna get in a kerfuffle. He cares aboot ye, I’m thinking,” Hector replied. “He told us to watch where ye set yer bonny foot and sweep the verra earth where ye walk, and make sure the stones are clean where ye set yer cup o’ tea and where ye rest.”
“He said that?” she asked.
“Near enough,” Hector admitted.
Angus nodded. “Himself said to me, ‘Angus Gowan, you are never to be leaving the wee lassie alone on the hill, and she is never to be wanting for anything, or I will hear of it.’”
“So if we let ye doon there noo, and something happened,” Hector said, “a scratch to yer finger or dirt darkening yer wee nose, the laird will want an answer.”
Christina stared at him, thoughts racing. Hector might be joking, but he and Angus sounded sincere. More, she wanted to believe Aedan cared that much about her, but she did not want to show it. “He is likely concerned about delays to his road,” she replied primly.
“It’s wee Mrs. Blackburn he thinks of, naught else. I canna let ye doon there, lass, unless the laird says it’s safe,” Hector said.
“Do you think it’s safe?” she asked bluntly, looking at Kenneth. The young man shrugged and looked at Hector, who also shrugged.
“Well, then,” she said, gathering her skirts and stepping down the ladder rungs, “I take responsibility. If the laird does not like it, send him to me.” She sank into shadows.
“A muckle fuss over stale oats,” Hector muttered.
Reaching the earthen floor, picking up the lantern that Kenneth had left for the next person—who they hoped was not her—Christina looked around. The walls were of mortarless drystone, fitted tightly, and the ceiling was set with crude, very old, wooden beams. She moved toward the back of the space to examine the pots stacked there. She quickly counted perhaps two dozen, most broken or sunk into the earth, made of clay in various shapes and sizes. Some, she saw, were painted with designs, animals and abstract patterns, primitive and yet elegant, made with careful, conscious effort.
A closer look showed that a few were sealed with thick wax. She longed to discover their contents, but would not disturb the centuries-old dust on their shoulders nor spoil the peace and the mystery of their secrets. Leave that to Edgar in his official capacity. No doubt he would be ecstatic. For now, she wanted to protect the sanctity of this find.
She looked up at the men waiting above. “This is marvelous!”
“Gold?” Hector asked, peering down.
“Old pots, Hector!” She felt giddy with delight. “Come see!”
“Och,” he said reluctantly, stepping down the ladder. “Just for you, lassie.”
*
Yet more mud.This road was cursed, end to end, Aedan thought. Was that because it was on Dundrennan land, an estate alreadycursed? He huffed a sour laugh and shoved a hand through his hair as he gazed around the work site. A night of thundershowers had created more muck. His men toiled along the side of the road, picks and shovels making sloppy noises, the work going slowly. The steam engine, garish red in the cloudy light, huffed and spat as it strained to lift heavy earth.
Rob Campbell sauntered toward him. “We’re making progress despite all,” he commented. “More miles to grub and dig, but eventually we will reach the long stretch of road between here and Glasgow. Then the top layer of crushed stone, and after that, more topping.” He shrugged, looked at Aedan. “We have nearly a month. We might make it.”
“Aye, if we can cut through the Cairn Drishan efficiently.”
“Providing we find no other ancient sites,” Rob said dryly. He glanced at the incline of the great hill nearby. “Mrs. Blackburn has been up with Hector and Angus, poking around along the remnants of that wall. Has she heard from Sir Edgar Neaves yet?”
“I am not certain what they have exchanged. I will head into Edinburgh in a week or so, but I hope to avoid the fellow.”
