Iona losther grip and sat down abruptly, shaken. Undoubtedly ruining his trousers, her husband sat beside her and drew her into his lap, murmuring comforting, if meaningless, phrases.
How did one make meaning of what they’d seen? She shivered in his embrace. Gerard had done this.Her husband had pulled ancient history out of a stone.
Once she’d drawn her mind out of the vision and recovered from the shock, she leaned into his broad shoulder and contemplated what they had seen. “Interesting, if not illuminating. Very good for a beginner.”
He snorted and dug his square chin into the top of her head. “Minx. Admit, you were enthralled.”
“Maybe, just a little.” She leaned back and kissed his stubbly jaw. “I couldsmellhis grief. I’ve never had visions until you came along. You could be a very dangerous man.”
Gerard fished inside his pocket and produced a small gold coin. “Not necessarily. I may have had guidance. This is one of the artifacts Max dug out of the foundation in his repairs.”
She could sense his unease as he handed her the coin. In the light of their lamps, she examined it. “You think it is similar to the one in the vision?”
He reluctantly nodded. “It speaks to me. That’s why I picked it up.”
He waited for her reaction, as if this were a matter of grave importance. She’d been speaking to bees all her life. She was more curious than amazed. But for Gerard—it revealed so much.
“It is a weird sensation, isn’t it?” She phrased her words with care, as if hearing voices in her head was an everyday matter. “I had to learn to accept the buzz and interpret.”
He relaxed a fraction. “The soldier in our vision spoke colloquial Latin, like the voice in my head. It’s not easy to interpret. He called his daughters his treasures. He used that word when I found the coin.”
“I’ve had some Latin. I wasn’t certain. The others weren’t soldiers, were they? Even the men plaited their hair, like the woman’s. Her hair was gold.”
“So was the children’s. The voice in my head said there was treasure in Wystan. If it is the same soldier—”
“He sent his daughters toWystan—the original Malcolms! The people in hoods, could they have been a Celtic tribe? Could the one leading the indecipherable chant have been a druid? He had golden hair too. Druids are part of our Malcolm legends.” Iona eagerly reviewed the vision, but her knowledge of ancient language was nil.
“Perhaps the legends are based on visions such as these—and our interpretations. It could be their carvings in this arch. I suppose I’ll have to take writing my journal a little more seriously.”
She pinched his arm through his coat, then kissed his cheek when that brought no reaction. “You should always take journals seriously. We should ask Lydia for books on visions.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” He stood, still holding her. “I’ll not have Max laughing me out of the house. This goes no further than us. An earl with an affinity for dead people does not lead to intelligent discussion.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” She wriggled out of his hold to shake out her dirty skirt. “If you wish one day to write scholarly tomes on ancient civilizations, perhaps it might matter—”
He snorted inelegantly. “I doubt that vision qualifies as research. It’s just ... interesting.” He tilted his head as if listening. “The soldier is gone from my head, perhaps to be with his wife now that we’ve found her.”
He pressed the coin into the dirt by the wall and covered it. “But he was right. I found my treasure at Wystan. We’ll figure out how to repair the castle together. I had considered closing it and letting it rot, but we need to know more of its history.”
“Closing Wystan?” She stared at him in horror. “You’d be cursed into all eternity. Or we both would be, since it’s my fault you can’t marry an heiress.”
“I should be allowed one happiness outside of duty. And that would be you, my love.” He hugged her and began an interesting exploration that she wasn’t about to allow down here.
His amazingly heroic deeds had proved his love as far as she was concerned, even though he’d never said the word until now. Still, Iona pushed away. “We should explore a little more while we’re here.”
If she loved him, she had to repay his romantic, fateful gesture in some manner. She hoped, just a little bit, that they might find something valuable. Or at least useful.
“Seeing visions doesn’t make your head hurt?” He let her push him away.
“A little, but I’m fascinated. It’s hard to quit now. Why did that one stone call to you and not the others?”
Gerard shrugged and studied the arch. “As I said, I apparently have an affinity for dead people. I simply started with the oldest name. Does this wall contain a burial vault for our ancestors?”
“Quite possibly, although isn’t it the foundation of Lydia’s library? Perhaps the memories were somehow implanted here.”
Not rejecting her theory, he studied the arch. “Roman texts claim the druids were literate, but they kept their stories in their heads, handing them down verbally, as primitive tribes do elsewhere.”
“But if the druids are the origin of Malcolm gifts...” Excitedly, Iona held her lantern to the writing on the arch. “Perhaps they had a gift for leaving their stories in stones? Let us try one more, please?”
