“Well?” Moira prodded, her brows raised.
He nodded and followed her into the dark chamber, unable to see aught. “We need a torch so we can see what’s inside.” There was a torch near the entrance of the cave, so he exited the room and lit it, then returned to Moira.
Lifting the torch, he held it up to the walls, more faded paintings covered the ceiling and walls. Illustrations of wild beasties, birds, and fish, walking the earth, flying the sky, and swimming the lochs, told the story of the vibrant highland wildlife.
“Who did this?” Moira asked, her eyes wide as she studied theartwork.
“I dinnae ken. Someone with a lot of time to spend in caves drawing.”
For a long moment Moira studied his face before smiling, a small laugh escaping her full lips. “Ye jest.”
“Aye,” he admitted sheepishly.
“I didnae take ye for the sort, Errol MacLeod.”
“And what sort did ye think I was?”
With her head tilted to the side, Moira tapped her chin with her index finger. She looked like she was trying to figure out how to answer.
“Serious. Unyeilding,” she finally answered. Then added, “bossy.”
“Bossy? What are ye talking aboot? I am no’ bossy.”
She lifted a brow as she leveled her gaze on him.
“Och, please! Ye are one of the bossiest men I ken, and I ken a lot of them. Ye are right at the top with the rest.”
He scoffed at her assessment. Not wanting to continue the conversation, he returned to studying the chamber. In multiple spots the names Hart and MacLeod were written out. Sometimes together, sometimes apart.
There appeared to be scenes depicting a story. They needed to find the beginning painting so they could make sense of what was being told.
“’Tis a story,” Errol said, pointing the torch to the artwork. “If we can find the first one, we can figure out the order from there and read the story.”
“I think ye are correct.” Moira walked the perimeter of the cave, studying each scene before pointing to one. “I think ’tis this one.”
He scanned the scene she pointed to. It showed the MacLeod and Hart clans each on their separate borders. If this truly was a story about the clans being united, it only made sense that the beginning would show them as separate entities.
“I believe ye are right. Now, let us try to decipher what ’tis trying to tell us.”
For the next few hours, they went from scene to scene, slowly putting the pieces together. The clans were indeed at odds when this particular story started. That was clear by the picture depicting them each on their own lands, archers ready to shoot given the command. Swords drawn. Close to the border was a MacLeod man and a Hart woman, hands outstretched toward each other.
“’Tis the beginning of their love story,” Moira said quietly, awe lacing her voice and making it soft. She pointed to the next scene. “Here, they’ve been wed. They’re standing under a thistle-covered arch, hand in hand, two rings at their feet. That can only mean they have been united in holy matrimony, dinnae ye agree?”
Errol nodded in agreement. Moira was amazing. The rise and fall of her chest quickened with excitement at what they’d uncovered.
She moved to the next scene. “Here,” she pointed. “The woman’s belly is big and round. She birthed a bairn.”
Visions of Moira, round with his child, filled his head and he found the image hard to shake. Just the thought of them together should be forbidden. Her belly swollen with his bairn was definitely forbidden. His eyes slid to the paintings. A MacLeod and Hart union had come to fruition afore. Why couldn’t it again?
Nay. He shook his head to clear it. He and Moira would never be together. They couldn’t.
“It looks like she had a wee lad.” She brought her face closer to the scene to see it better, then spun to him. “If they had a son, then their lineage lived on. Do ye ken of such?”
“Nay. My da has been adamant that ye Harts are our enemies. E’en the pretty ones such as yerself.”
Moira’s mouth dropped open at his words.
In turn, he snapped his mouth shut, cursing to himself. Why the hell had he said that?
