“Edgar—”
“My dear, we need not argue this. You have done enough here digging with spoons and scrubbing stones. Now I will decide how to manage the pots. We should call them the Dundrennan Vases. More interesting than ‘pots.’”
“But they are pots,” she insisted.
“Vessels, then. I suppose we can build an interesting exhibit, if somewhat thin. Pity you found nothing better here. Perhaps I can order some of these old stones moved to Edinburgh as well. I will ask the museum board about opening this site to the public next year. People might travel to see the Dundrennan vessels and the old house or hall or whatever it is. This place could become quite an attraction. An inn or a resort hotel should be constructed nearby. The landscape is rather nice, I will say.”
She frowned. “Sir Aedan would never approve admitting tourists on his estate.”
“He may have little choice.” Edgar waved a hand. “This place can be considered a national treasure. The ruin with the arches can be made to seem more romantic. And if the walls can be considered Pictish, that could be a genuine attraction. And there is the legend of the princess, the one your brother painted in his mural. The one your late husband painted of you.” His gaze was sharp and unsettling.
“I know the legend,” she said tightly.
“That fellow, Hector MacDonald, told me of an old rumor that King Arthur came from these hills, or visited here, or perhaps merely rode through. But it is said that part of his treasury is buried in these hills.”
“So they say,” she murmured.
“Hard to believe, but it is a pretty fairy tale. We could stir public enthusiasm if there was a tie to the days of King Arthur and his battles.” He cocked a brow.
“You know that my uncle devoted his life to studying the subject,” she said. “I hardly think those theories can be dismissed as unscholarly fairy tales. It is quite feasible that the historical King Arthur had contact with Scotland, even Scottish roots, as my uncle believes.”
“There would have to be some irrefutable proof of that, but there is not. And this site is hardly Camelot. But fairy tales attract tourists, and tourists have money, and that would benefit the museum.” He smiled. “Perhaps you could write up a little pamphlet about the Pictish influence in this area.”
“All this seems very hasty, Edgar. This excavation has scarcely begun.”
“But the site is yielding only ordinary things. I will put a more exciting face on it for the good of the museum. Sir Hugh did provide a condition in his will to allow our involvement.”
“I heard about that. I hope a compromise can be reached.”
“Why compromise over a prize like Dundrennan? The collection in the house alone is well worth our interest. By the way, I need your notes. You can make a copy for yourself, of course.”
“Perhaps your secretary can copy my notes for you later,” she said, thinking of the hours required for the task.
“The fellow is much too busy,” Edgar said. “You will have little else to do now that I am here to oversee the work.” He took her elbow as they walked around part of the low, crumbling wall. “And you should return to Edinburgh in a day or two.”
She shook her head. She could not bear to leave Aedan. Not yet, not after last night. There were things to be said, feelings to sort through. Even plans to make, if last night was any indication, for she had hope again. “I will stay a while longer to help with the site.”
“If you feel that you want to be here with me, I suppose you could stay a few days longer.” He sounded indulgent, and patted her arm as he looked down the long slope of the hill. “Ah, look. Here comes the Highland work crew. I hope they will be more industrious now that I am here.”
Seeing several men walking up the hill, Christina saw Aedan in the lead. Her heart leaped. That was the man she wanted to be with. Edgar Neaves was a patent fool.
“Sir Aedan is with MacDonald and the Gowans. The Gowan brothers have done much of the digging.”
“I’ll have them clear this mud, and dig down a few more feet in the interior of the house to determine if there is anything buried here.”
“Shovel the interior?” She gaped at him. “But we are going carefully through that area to discover more about daily life at the time this house was in use. That sort of evidence is so fragile.We cannot dig willy-nilly into that. Edgar, you cannot be so callous and hasty as to ruin the interior ground here.”
“Scotland is full of old walls, Christina. I have not seen enough proof yet that this place is old enough to be inhabited by the Picts. More digging is necessary. It might still be just a black house.”
“A black house!” Aedan said as he strode toward them. “If you think so, Neaves, then you can have no objection to the road going through as quickly as possible.”
Edgar spun to face him. Tall but thinner than the laird of Dundrennan, he seemed pale and bitter compared to Aedan’s honest power and earthy masculine beauty. Christina resisted the desire to go to Aedan and stand in the lee of his solid strength. Instead, she stood beside Edgar, whose sharp fingers pressed her elbow.
Aedan nodded. “Mrs. Blackburn,” he acknowledged. She read a question in his deep blue eyes.Is all well here?He might have said it aloud.
“Sir Aedan, how good to see you. All is well,” she said quietly. “I have been showing Sir Edgar around the site.”
“That highway cannot go through,” Edgar told Aedan. “It is yet to be determined officially, but I suggest you make an alternate plan for your route.”
