“Of course you do! You want me to finish doing your house!” She dimpled prettily.
He laughed. “You are doing a marvelous job. And it’s wonderful that you’ve found someone who will be more interested in colors and whatnot. You want that.”
“You loon, I want more than that.” She tilted her head, considering him. “I know you hoped I might be a safe wife for Dundrennan. But I know you might never love me.”
“Come now. I’m very fond of you.”
She rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He loved her very much in that instant, as a sister and a friend. “Aedan, if you were to fall in love with Christina, what then?”
“My dear,” he said, “I’m not so daft to fall in love and risk all here.”
But he was, and he knew it, and had no idea what he would do at all.
*
Quiet footsteps startledChristina as she sat at a table in the library. Turning, she saw Aedan, and warmed at his quick smile. Immediately remembering their encounter in the souterrain the day before, she felt her cheeks flame.
She was uncertain, a day later, how to respond to him, whether to show affection or act as if that impulsive, secret interlude had not happened. Since the moment they had heard the Gowans return once the rain ended, they had hastened out of the souterrain and had not seen each other privately since.
“Christina,” he murmured. She noticed he held long rolled pages under his arm. “I don’t want to disturb you. I only needed to pick up some maps. You were so involved that you did not hear me a minute ago.”
“I’ve been trying to translate a very old parchment in the Dundrennan Folio.” She indicated some sheets spread out on the table. “I do not think Uncle Walter found this when he went through the folio. Some of this is unfamiliar, although he told me about his work.”
He came closer. “You mentioned finding the princess’s name here somewhere.”
“Here.” She reached for one of the two parchments and pointed with a gloved fingertip. “Just along the margin. You may need the glass to see it clearly.”
He took up the magnifying glass and bent to examine the script she had indicated. His arm brushed her shoulder, and she caught the scents of spice, soap, and the earthy musk that seemed part of him, a scent that excited her subtly whenever he was near.
“I see it. Liadan. What does that line say?”
“Liadan nighean a’ Bhèir.It means ‘Liadan, daughter of the bear.’”
“Bear? Interesting. The legend says her father was a Pictish king. Perhaps this Bhèir fellow.” He pronounced the Gaelic hesitantly.
“It might have been Bearach or Bernard or something similar. Or a nickname based on his size or appearance.”
“There is a Bernard or two in the family tree,” he said. “Possibly carried along.”
“It could be. Names based on animals were common among early Celtic peoples who used such names for their kin groups, clans, and individuals too. Old documents include names that translate to wolf, eagle, raven, and so on.” She tilted her head. “Ifyou had lived then, you might have been ‘Aedan the Raven’ for your coloring, or ‘Hawk’ for your keen eyesight or your decisive manner.”
He leaned against the table, looking amused, hands folded. She could easily imagine him as an ancient warrior, exuding the quiet but powerful presence natural to him.
“And you might be called a lark. Or a dark swan.” He smiled.
“Darkling swan,” she said quickly. “How did you know? I just translated those words yesterday from a marginal note on the page.”
“For Liadan?” he asked. She nodded. He tapped the table beside the parchment. “I had heard her name in family stories, but this may be certain proof.”
“It may appear again. There are additional lines in the margin of another page. I mean to work on those as well.”
He smiled. “Father would have loved this. And he would have loved you,” he added.
She blushed again, but seeing Aedan’s fond smile stirred feelings that only made her face grow even warmer. To distract herself, she traced a gloved fingertip along the margin of the parchment page.
“So interesting that it is in a form of Gaelic that is fairly readable, once the letters are deciphered,” she said. “We do not know the language the Picts used, as they recorded so little in writing. But by the sixth century, if that is indeed the era here, Irish Gaelic was in widely use in the north and Scottish Gaelic was developing. What I have managed to decipher so far is lovely. I even wonder if the words were written by your ancestor named Aedan.”
“The prince? Why so?”
