Waking the Princess by Susan King

Cairn Drishan. What if some long-forgotten ancient treasure did exist there, as legend said? Suppose her uncle had been right about the presence of King Arthur in this region after all, and some proof of his theories could be found?
    Imagination or not, Christina could not wait to explore the mysteries of that hill.

Chapter 7

    "The sleeping king," Christina murmured. "Do you see him in the shape of the ridge?"
    "What?" Aedan glanced at her.
    "A Celtic tradition tells of a great king trapped under a mountain, held by magic," she explained, then pointed. "If we could see through the crust of the earth, we would see him lying there, asleep. His head is to the left, below that his shoulder, and the lesser slopes of his hip, knee, and so on down to his feet."
    "Ah, now I see it. Though I wonder how you can see anything at all through that netting. You look fetching in that hat, madam, but it isn't very practical."
    "It cuts the glare of the sun. You should try it for yourself. Perhaps you would not scowl quite so much."
    He chuckled low, and the sound tempted Christina to smile herself, which she did secretly behind her veil. "So the king sleeps under a spell. And when he wakes?" he asked.
    "Then all will be well in the land again, or so they say."
    "We have a similar legend at Dundrennan, but ours is about a sleeping princess."
    "And when she wakes, will all be right in the land?"
    "So they say," he murmured. "But she will never wake, for no one can break the spell."
    She slid him a curious glance. He halted the gig and jumped down to walk around. "Well, Mrs. Blackburn, since the crust of this hill is already broken, let us see what sort of pie it is." He grasped her by the waist and lifted her down. She very much liked the iron press of his fingers against her waist, and she gripped his forearms for support as he lowered her.
    "We walk up the hill from here," he said. "It's easier than taking the gig until the road is cut and topped. Tell me," he added, glancing at John, who was leashing Pog to a nearby tree. "Will the climb be difficult for your brother?"
    "It may be, but he is doing better lately. He will rest if his leg bothers him. Thank you for your concern."
    "And you? Will you have any difficulty?"
    "None. This way?" Gathering her skirts, glad she had worn sturdy boots, she took the dirt pathway quickly. Above, along the zigzagging course, she saw the raw cut in the hillside.
    "The highest of these hills is a thousand feet at the summit," Aedan said, walking behind her, John a little farther back along the earthen path. "You can see where we halted work beneath that rocky cliff, about three hundred feet up."
    "Hopefully your roadwork will resume shortly," John said.
    "That depends on your sister, sir." Aedan slid her a glance.
    She frowned without reply and hurried ahead. A little farther up, she stopped to gaze at the jagged pile of rocks.
    Seeing Walter Carriston's books in Dundrennan's library had reminded her again of her uncle's controversial theories concerning Celtic Scotland. Sir Edgar Neaves had hinted that she might even find something to support her uncle's research. If that were true, then her ailing uncle could regain his tarnished reputation before he died.
    She felt a surge of hope, or perhaps only wishful thinking. Her work with Uncle Walter had been fascinating and rewarding in many ways, yet disheartening in the last year, for he had endured the academic ridicule of his dearly held ideas, and it had affected his health. If her work here revealed a Pictish presence, her uncle's reputation would benefit.
    Her eagerness renewed, she climbed faster, pulling ahead of the men. As she walked, she lifted the hems of her gray woolen skirt and four petticoats, including one of red flannel that flashed fiery color with each step.
    The path cut through the heathered slopes and led toward the site of the blasting. Turf had peeled back, exposing raw earth and sheer rock. Despite her sturdy boot soles, Christina