by Susan King
He kissed her fingers, and she reached up to touch his lips, his smile. He bent toward her.
"I love you," he whispered. "I always have."
Epilogue
"Mrs. Blackburn," Aedan murmured, seating himself carefully on the edge of the bed, not wanting to jar her where she lay. "There you are, awake at last. I worried about you. I thought you might sleep forever," he added in a whisper, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. His hand slipped over hers.
"I've only slept the afternoon," she murmured, and gave him a slow smile, her cheeks pale, without the subtle pink glow that he so loved to see. She glanced past him toward the doorway, where John, Amy, Mrs. Gunn, and Lady Balmossie stood together. Christina wiggled her fingers in a little wave.
"Och, she's tired, puir lass," Mrs. Gunn said. "But 'tis good to see her with her eyes open."
"Come. We'll leave her to rest," Lady Balmossie said.
"Aedan should stay," Amy said. "He should sit with her for a while and read to her, talk to her. Christina needs to feel safe after that awful experience. She was ill for days, and slept so long that I was afraid she might never recover."
"Hush, my girl," John said affectionately. "She's well now, and she's safe. Come along, I want to show you something. I've nearly finished your portrait in the mural." Amy gasped in delight as John guided her out of the room.
Aedan glanced over his shoulder. "He left it open a little, for propriety's sake, since they left us alone together." He smiled, brushing a waft of dark, glossy hair from her forehead. "We can be proper... for now." He raised one brow. "I cannot guarantee it later."
Christina smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Sir Aedan," she said, her voice sleepy. "I think I adore you."
"Is it so?" He smiled a little and tucked the covers higher. "And I feel the same about you, Mrs. Blackburn. Christina," he added, leaning down to kiss her.
He felt her mouth move beneath his, gently. Though he knew she was weak still, his body responded deeply to her kiss, like lightning all through him. His heart went faster, but he drew back, wrapping her hand in his, kissing her knuckles.
Her smile was content, serene, but her eyes danced with mischief. She lay propped on pillows, her dark auburn hair flowing loose, her white bed gown prim and high-necked.
Chaste and lovely, she looked younger and lighter somehow, Aedan thought, as if years and cares had washed away while she slept. The bruise on her brow had faded in a week's time, and she was pale and a bit thinner. That air of peacefulness around her seemed new. The glow of suited her beauty.
"You've missed quite a bit this week, while you've been lazing about and dreaming," he murmured.
She laughed, breathy. "I've heard some of what's been said near me, though I felt too tired to answer. What is it?"
He held her hand, stroking her fingers. "Hector and the Gowans have been clearing mud out of the souterrain all week. And we've cleaned and protected the second chamber, so it will be ready when you are strong enough to get back to your work. You should have seen Hector when he first saw that gold," he added wryly.
"I remember a little of that, when you carried me out of there. I remember Hector crowing with delight." She smiled, but it was quickly followed by a sigh.
"The gold was found, but I'm sorry to say most of the pots were destroyed. The men have collected the shards best they could. The mud slide—well, with the rain, the excavation, the blasting, sometimes mud slides and landslides happen."
She nodded, smoothing her fingers over his hand. "I think of poor Edgar, and feel so bad," she whispered.
Aedan brought her hand to his lips to kiss it again. "He died quickly, love. It's ironic that he never saw the treasure."
Christina sighed. "I know he had ill designs, but until that day I never thought him a bad man, just arrogant. He must have been a bit mad. You tried to warn me."
"I did not feel he could be trusted, I admit."
"It was not the gold he wanted, not for himself. He wanted to be the one who discovered the proof of King Arthur in Scotland. He knew that the Dundrennan legends offered the best hope of finding something. The temptation drove him to do what he did."
"Ironic, and sad. Now you will have the credit for the discovery. We've just heard from the museum—several, in fact, including the British Museum and the Louvre. There will be a contingent of historians here within the week. I made it clear to each of them in my reply letters that Mrs. Blackburn is in charge of the operation, and what is perhaps the find of the century."
She tilted her head to look up at him. "We have found treasure, but we do not yet know if it belonged to King Arthur."
"There is that old tradition, and the legend—that 'mighty horde of treasure bright,' and so forth," he said, quoting from his father's poem.
"But we do not know if this is that horde. Still, Uncle Walter will be delighted, as it may prove his theories."
Aedan nodded. "If your uncle is strong enough, I want to arrange for him to stay at Dundrennan. My sister is a nurse and her husband a doctor. We shall invite them too."
"Oh, Aedan, thank you. Uncle Walter will find the strength for this journey, I'm sure. I can hardly wait to go up to Cairn Drishan to begin working. Perhaps I'll be strong enough this evening. Or tomorrow."
"Not just yet, lass. I'd carry you up that hill myself before letting you walk up there so soon after that head injury."
"I'm perfectly fine," she said. "Really, I feel wonderful."
"Do you indeed?" he murmured, leaning down, his hands on either side of her, to kiss her cheek and nuzzle the silken cream of her throat. "You do feel rather wonderful," he murmured.
She laughed and looped her arms around his neck. Holding her, he closed his eyes, cherishing their embrace. She felt thin and fragile under his hands, and he laid her back down gently.
"Tell me something," he said, "so that I will not seem an ignorant fool around these museum people. Could the chamber be a tomb?"
"Perhaps, or simply a treasure room. I must see it in detail. It could be a safe room. Souterrains sometimes have multiple chambers. There could be a whole warren of underground rooms and passages inside that hill, and perhaps a tomb as well. We will have to excavate it carefully. It will take a very long time." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? This is an astonishing discovery."
"You may well lose the property now, according to the laws of treasure trove and your father's codicil. This is a historical find of huge importance, whether Arthurian or not."
He frowned. "I am hoping that Edgar was right about the compromise the museum is willing to make." An inner instinct told him that a solution would be found. His sense of dread about losing his home had vanished, replaced by a feeling of security and guarantee. The treasure would save Dundrennan, not be its undoing, he felt certain.
"Oh," he said. "I brought something out of there to show you. I left the rest of it in place—silver bowls, enameled brooches, golden buckles, silver and brass helmets, brass shields, and so on."
"Stop," she said, laughing. "I cannot bear it. I want to see it for myself, so much. Let's go tonight. Would you really carry me all the way up the hill?"
"I will not. Now look at this. It may keep you content for a day or two." He fetched a box from a table and came back to the bed, sitting on the edge.
Christina took the box, gasping, for it was of hammered and chased silver, trimmed with engraved brass panels, its base large enough to fill Aedan's two spread hands.
"Oh! It looks like a reliquary box, meant to hold a religious object or something very precious." Christina gently lifted the latch. Inside was a book with a cover of delicate silver over leather, holding bound parchment sheets.
"I have no gloves on," Christina said. "I should not—"
"It will not suffer from your touch this once. Go ahead. I think there is something important in there."
Gingerly she lifted the volume and opened the fragile pages with care, studying them in silence. "These first
few pages look like the muster roll in the Dundrennan Folio," she finally said.
Aedan peered at it. Like the military roster in his father's library, the page was covered in neatly written columns. He could tell that it listed names. "Can you read it?" he asked.
"It's an early genealogy of your family, I think," she said tentatively, turning another page. "Yes, there—Aedan mac Brudei, see it? And—oh!" She gasped, tipped the book closer. "Here is her name, too. Liadan nighean Math-ghamainn, Daughter of the Bear... Oh, dear heaven," she added softly.
"What?" Aedan leaned over her shoulder.
"It describes her.... Listen to this. 'Liadan, Daughter of the Bear, wife of Aedan mac Brudei, mother of Artorius the Fair, mother of Cunedda, mother of Niall, Diarmid, Aengus, Ivor, Brithnic, Eiri, and Ealga the beautiful.'"
"Good heavens," Aedan remarked, genuinely surprised. "She lived to have... nine children with Aedan?"
Christina stared up at him. "If so, then she did not die as a young woman and a bride."
"Unless she fell into that deep sleep when she was nearly a grandmother."
Christina shook her head, then looked up with tears in her eyes. "Aedan, look at this." She pointed to some lines of text.
"My love, I cannot read Old Irish," he said gently.
"It says, 'Liadan, natural daughter of the Bear, the dux bellorum, the great Artorius.'"
"Artorius... My God! Arthur was her father?" Stunned to his core, Aedan peered down at the elegant, tiny Celtic lettering.
"He must have been. Oh, Aedan!" A tear slid down her cheek. "Here is more—'Liadan, natural daughter of Artorius the Bear, and her husband, Aedan mac Brudei, elders on our council of war.' She sat with her husband on a council of warriors!"
"As the natural, not legitimate, daughter of Arthur, she had the right. Perhaps she was even a warrior herself," he mused.
"It was possible for women in ancient Celtic societies," she said. "But how wonderful to know that she lived to be an elder. So Princess Liadan did not languish and die young after all." Christina took Aedan's hand. "You know what this discovery means—the legend of Dundrennan is wrong."
Aedan felt his throat tighten. "Because Liadan did not die tragically, as the stories claim."
"She must have lived a full life as a mother, a wife, and a counselor of her people."
"My God," he said. "We only knew part of her story through the old legend. No one knew how it ended for them."
She smiled through tears. "His magic worked, after all. He did bring her back. She lived."
"Magic?" Aedan tilted his head, puzzled.
"I have not yet told you what I found in the folio. Aedan mac Brudei wrote those verses on the page after his bride became ill, I think." Her lip trembled, her voice caught. "He used writing like a charm, so that he could weave a spell of love and healing to bring his wife back. And it worked—somehow it worked. She did not die, and they lived a long life together. He loved her so much," she added, sniffling. "And she must have loved him equally. She wanted to come back to him, and followed his spells. I don't know why, but I'm sure of it."
"He loved her more than life," he murmured. "Nothing could separate them. Two halves of a soul, compelled to draw together again."
"That is poetry," she whispered.
He laughed a little, and drew her into his arms, holding her close. She sniffled, her damp cheek against his. Aedan kissed her again, soft and deep, lingering.
"We'd best put this away before it's ruined by tears," he said, teasing, and took the pages to set them in the reliquary. His mind was spinning. He took her hand again.
"Aedan," Christina said slowly, "you know about treasure trove law, which governs historical finds on Scottish soil."
"Aye," he said. "All that we found will go to the museum."
"Except in cases of inheritable goods. Then treasure trove does not apply."
He blinked in surprise. "Inheritable goods?"
"The book is a record of your ancestors, and establishes that the treasure belonged to Aedan mac Brudei—and thus to his heirs. You are his direct male descendant. So the treasure belongs to you, and to Dundrennan. All of it. I believe that the government cannot claim it from you in such a case. The goods are yours exclusively, because they were not listed as part of your father's estate. They were found on your property, left there by your ancestor."
"My God." Stunned, he glanced at the reliquary, then at her again. "But I could not keep the treasure. The gold of Dundrennan belongs to Scotland. To the whole of Britain."
"And to you," she said. "No matter what you finally choose, your troubles are over, I think."
"My troubles were over," he said, leaning toward her, "the moment you arrived at Dundrennan House."
"If only you had known," she said, smiling mischievously.
"Aye," he murmured. "This must mean that the curse on the lairds of Dundrennan is broken, since the princess woke up after all. Though perhaps it never existed at all. We just believed the tradition over all these generations."
"Either way, the spell is broken," she breathed. "So with the curse lifted, what will the current laird do?"
"Find happiness at last," he said, touching her cheek, "with his own true love." He tilted her chin and kissed her lips, long and slow. Then he drew back and touched her nose.
"Why, madam," he said. "You're not wearing your spectacles."
"They were lost in the mud."
"So they were. My brother-in-law is a physician in Edinburgh—he specializes in conditions of the eye. I'd like you to consult with him. My wife should not have to purchase her spectacles from an itinerant merchant."
She stared up at him. "Your wife?"
"Aye." He smiled. "I am wondering if you would marry a laird recently free of a curse, and not yet used to the idea."
"Ever the pragmatic Sir Aedan," she said, laughing. "No romantic proposal or declaration of undying love for you."
"My darling," he murmured, "we can fill this old house with romance and love and family too if you wish." He framed her face in his hands. "Christina, I love you and I want to marry you—if you will have the laird of Dundrennan."
He had opened himself to her, more vulnerable than he had ever been. Yet he felt privileged to be blessed with this. She was the missing part of his soul, somehow, now reclaimed.
"Marry the laird who swore never to love?" she whispered, her lips but a breath from his.
"The very one," he murmured.
"Mm, but are you not promised already?"
"Amy will not have me." He touched his nose to hers. "She thinks I am dull."
"And so you are, a bit." She nipped his lower lip. "Reliable, earthy, strong, quiet—if that is dull, I particularly love it." She pulled away to regard him. "What of the young woman I saw you kissing not long ago? Miss MacDonald?"
"Ah, Dora. I took her to see Connor in Edinburgh. She has a serious eye condition, but Connor thinks he can help her, thank God. She was ecstatic at the news and was only thanking me."
"Oh, Aedan, I thought—well. Of course you would be her benefactor. That's wonderful."
"I will, but Amy may have to do without a few yards of tartan and chintz, so I can divert funds for Dora."
She kissed his cheek, his jaw, his lips, until he pulled back.
"Christina, you have not answered my proposal. I have much to recommend me. I come of good family. My father was a famous poet. He would have adored you, by the way."
"And I him," she said, giving him a coy and luscious smile. "What else recommends you?"
"Well," he said, "the queen will be visiting my home in two weeks. Perhaps that will impress you. And I come of good lineage. Have I ever told you my middle name?"
She shook her head.
"Arthur."
She laughed outright. "Aedan Arthur MacBride—a wonderful name. You could give it a son someday."
"I could, with your help," he whispered.
She nuzzled at his earlobe, sending swirls of excitement and more
through him. "So the laird of Dundrennan would take a simple antiquarian?"
"If she would take a dull engineer," he said, and as she laughed her delight at that, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, deep and hard and endless.
The End
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KISSING THE COUNTESS
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