He huffed at that and helped stretch the tape over another section. Christina jotted down numbers and made rough sketches. All the while, she was aware that Aedan was near. She glanced at him from beneath the brim of her straw hat.
He stood and propped a booted foot on a stone, plaid knee stockings over his hard-muscled calves just in her view, the edge of his kilt fluttering in the breeze. He was all earthy strength and ease. She caught her breath and kept working.
A slight breeze ruffled the kilt again, and sifted through his dark, wavy hair. He looked cool, calm, and far more comfortable than Christina felt. Gloved, bonneted, swathed in layers, she longed to be half so unencumbered. On the warm day, the air close with an encroaching storm, she wore only two petticoats beneath her dark skirt and had foregone her stays to make the long hill climb easier. She’d also opened the top button of her linen blouse. But sweat trickled between her breasts and dampened her back beneath her chemise and camisole.
Men could wear breezy kilts and blousy shirts and feel lovely air cooling their skin. She would not let herself think about what was under his kilt. For the moment, she deeply envied a freedom she could only feel in night gowns, and lately the tunic she wore to pose.
She picked up a little fan to flutter air over her face and throat. “Warm day.”
“The rain will bring some relief from the heat. Unusual for September, but it happens. You do look rather warm, Mrs. Blackburn. Cheeks pink, aye. Would you like some lemonade?” He held out a silver flask trimmed in leather. “Gunnie made me bring it along when I left the house.”
“Gunnie is a treasure.” She accepted the flask, drank the sweet, tart liquid gratefully, and handed it back.
“The crew made good progress in the last few days,” Aedan said, glancing around. “Hector hinted that you found something. Can we hope for chests of gold and pots full of jewelry and gems?” He sounded amused.
“The walls are clearly the foundation of an ancient house,” she said. “And the Gowans found a hole in what used to be the floor. It is a storage chamber.” She stood, slapping her gloved hands free of dirt. “We covered it in canvas, just over there.”
“I see it. An ancient house and storage room? Are you sure?”
“It is not modern, be sure of that. The outer walls are rounded and the stacked drystone walls are nearly six feet thick in some places. Not as large as a fortress, but a fine house for its day. If I knew how tall it was, it could even be a broch, a stone tower.”
“Good lord,” he said.
“This long stone we just measured seems to be part of the entrance. A fallen lintel stone from above the door.”
Frowning, Aedan brushed at the nearby stone with the toe of his boot. “Truly.”
“I am sure of some features. That square niche over there is a stone cupboard. I believe there are at least three niches for beds built into the thickness of the wall. The width of this place is more than twenty feet. At the center is a hearth. There may be more hearths as we clear earth.” While she spoke, he walked into the center area.
“Cozy,” he said. “No black house, then. I admit my mistake, Mrs. Blackburn. You win.” He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“This was never a contest of wills,” she said, approaching. “The house has features in common with Pictish habitats in the northeast. My uncle studied ancient ruins closely while writing his history of Celtic Scotland. I traveled with him to examine some of them. What we have here is very like what we found there.”
He walked toward the hole covered with canvas and lifted its edge. “And this?”
“A souterrain, an underground chamber.” She followed him. “We explored it this morning. A storage cellar lined in stone. There are several clay jars inside, some broken. A few are still plugged with wax.”
“I see.” He crouched to peer into the pit. “Do you know what they might contain?”
“Most likely oats, barley. Perhaps oil or wine and so on. It is an exciting find.”
“Dear Edgar will be so pleased,” he drawled.
“The museum directors will all be pleased. Academics and historians will be delighted too. It must be studied. Dundrennan could become famous for this site alone.”
Sighing, Aedan rubbed a hand over his jaw. “So that is the end of it.”
“The beginning, Aedan,” she said. The wind picked up, rippling her skirts and her hat ribbons, and she caught the brim. “I hoped you might be pleased too if it came to this.”
“What?” He gazed down into the dark gap. Fat raindrops spattered earth and stones, dampening her blouse and the wide shoulders of his worn brown tweed coat. “You may as well show me this storage chamber of yours. It will offer some shelter from the storm. We are well and truly caught.” Thunder rumbled as Aedan held out his hand. “Run with me to safety, madam?”
Anywhere,she thought. Above, lightning struck silver through the ominous clouds. She nodded, and waited as he drew away the canvas to descend the ladder. Then he held up his hands as she came down slowly. When she had pulled the canvas across again, he took her by the waist and lifted her to the earthen floor. Together they stepped back from the overhead opening as rain began to pound on the canvas in earnest.
Chapter Eighteen
Grain or gold,those clay pots and this ruined structure had all but ruined his chances of cutting a road through Cairn Drishan. Worse, his hold on Dundrennan House was sorely jeopardized as well.
Aedan leaned his back against the musty stone wall, head ducked beneath the low ceiling, a knee raised as he gazed around the snug storage chamber that smelled of earth, mold, and age. Two rows of large round-bodied clay vessels stood in the shadows, many broken. He saw painted linear designs gracing the cracked pieces and the dusty shoulders of whole jars.
