Love in Ruins

Excerpt

Chapter One

After prying her aching fingers from the dashboard, Ellie Harper unclipped her seatbelt, adjusted her glasses, and examined the overcast sky from behind a dirty windshield.

Just perfect. Here comes the rain.

Dark, heavy clouds hung low over the surrounding hills. Chill wind rattled the door of Ian MacTavish's old livestock truck.

MacTavish was some driver.

His two-hour, bone-jarring, teeth-clenching drive through some of the most remote highland property in Scotland had delivered her to the desolate foothills of a vast, stony outcrop.

At the top lay Castle MacKinnon.

Or, at least, the ruins of it.

She reached down, tucked the cuffs of her dungarees into her boots, then sat up and drew on a pair of thermal lined gloves. An icy shiver danced along her spine, teased her skin into an eruption of tiny goose bumps. Fog billowed from her mouth.

Bloody cold. Always cold.

One day, it would be nice to have her work take her to somewhere warm and tropical for a change—like Hawaii. Unfortunately, unless ancient Celts drank pineapple juice and wore grass skirts, that wasn't about to happen.

Nor should it.

Despite her grumbling, her love of Scotland and its history ran deep within her veins, held her heart hostage, enraptured her soul. From the moment she'd set foot in Edinburgh five years ago as a history graduate fresh from Cambridge University, uncovering Scotland's buried secrets had become her life's work.

Her passion.

Michael had never understood how important her work was to her. His projects always had to take priority.
Her eyes misted, chest tightened.

Hell. He was probably basking in the heat of Egypt by now, and with his fair skin, she hoped he got sunburned. Bloody men.

As she retrieved various equipment and supply bags from the floor of the truck, she cleared her throat, sniffed back any sign of emotion. She couldn't let MacTavish see her upset. He was already concerned about leaving her on her own for a week as it was. Besides, she was a professional, every bit good as Michael.

Strange.

She'd spent most of her life digging up other people's pasts, yet her biggest challenge seemed to be burying her own.

Reaching into her canvas tote, she rummaged around, pulled out a small bundle of cloth, and smiled. She carefully unwrapped the object and inhaled a deep, reassuring breath.

A tiny gold kilt pin, studded with rough-cut emeralds, glinted in the dull sunlight. If the artifact proved to be authentic, then all the forthcoming hard work would be worth it. And, more so, her reputation as a serious archaeologist would be irrefutable.

"C'mon, lass. Haven't got all day." Mr. MacTavish banged on the door.

"Oh!" She jumped. Her throat constricted, stomach clenched in readiness to heave after to her host's poor driving.

Damn. In her eagerness to pack, she'd forgotten her motion sickness tablets.

A fierce gust of wind grabbed the door as she opened it, near tore it from her hand. "Yes. I'm coming, Mr. MacTavish. I was just resting a moment."

She gathered her belongings, pulled her jacket hood over her head, slid off the seat, and stood on the sodden ground. Mud squelched under foot. Ergh. "My stomach's just feeling a bit off. I mean, I don't usually get sick easily—except in cars. Planes too, I suppose. Boats, as well. In fact, even some trains have been known to—"

She held up the edge of the hood and peered around. "Mr. MacTavish?"

The distant bleating of a goat took her attention to a fallen section of what must have once been a wall of the castle, or perhaps the keep.

"In 'ere, miss."

"Oh. Good. There you are." Trying not to slip in the mud, she walked around the truck to where a small, thatch-roofed cottage sat beneath the sparse protection of a few bare, old trees, their gnarled branches spread over the roof like a bony pair of hands.

Charming.

MacTavish ducked his head out from the doorway and waved her inside. "Right-o, miss. I came down here last week and fixed the place up a bit. It's old, but should keep the weather out. I only stay here when the hunting season's on. Not that there's much out here these days in the way of game. Now, I brought everything you asked for. Couldn't leave anything here for too long—bloody vandals take anything that's not bolted down. But you'll find dishes and such over there in a cupboard near the hearth. Blankets, pillows, and linen are stacked on the bed. Ain't no power though, if you recall."

"No. No, of course not." She removed her hood and wandered around the small room. And that's all it was.

One room.

An old, wooden table and two chairs sat near a blackened hearth; a few small cupboards and chests filled any available space along the foot of the walls, and a slat bed and mattress—covers stacked upon it as promised—sat in one corner.

Oh well. Not five star, perhaps, but she'd had worse.

"Now, I've brought in your equipment and the like, so if there's nothing else you'll be needing, I'll be off before the day is gone."

Just inside the doorway stood cases of computers, tools, and research materials she would need for the project.

A ripple of anticipation made her blood race and her skin tingle.

The dig, her dig, had begun.

Following MacTavish out through the doorway, she nodded as he pointed out the location of the well, the pile of firewood he'd kindly cut for her, and the toilet. Her buttocks clenched.

Cripes. An outside loo.

Boy, did that bring back some interesting memories.

"And, 'ere." At the truck, he reached inside the driver's side door, produced a dark brown bottle, and handed it to her. "Just a wee dram to celebrate our find, eh?"

She looked at the label. Whiskey. "Oh. Thank you, but I really don't drink, Mr. MacTavish."

His brow furrowed. Had she grown horns?

"Well, never mind. You keep it, lass. After a night or two out 'ere, I daresay you'll be getting to know the taste rather well."

She doubted it. "Perhaps, but thanks all the same."

With a wink, he climbed into the seat, slammed the door, and started the engine. "Good luck, lass. See you in a week or so then, eh? Take care of all that treasure you find, won't you?"

"I will." His definition of treasure and hers were obviously a world apart, but the promise of gold and riches glittered in the old man's eyes. Who was she to burst his bubble just yet? "Drive safely back."

"I will." Pulling away from her, he stuck his head out of the side window and called out. "Something big is waiting out there, lass, I can feel it in my bones."

She smiled and waved him off as the truck trundled away, then glanced at the rock pile with a sense of foreboding and sighed.

For her sake, she hoped he was right.

* * * * *

The tip of her spade hit something.

Metal. Had to be. She couldn't mistake that familiar sound.

On her knees, she took a tiny, wooden paddle and gently scraped away layers of soil and crumbled rock until the corner of something small and dark poked out of the earth.

Her mouth grew dry, her heartbeat quickened. "Cripes. Another one."

Ignoring the biting cold of early dusk, she pulled off her gloves and dug her hands into the freezing soil. Her inquisitive fingers sought and found the hard edges of a cold, metal object. She ran her fingertips along the corners and edges of the box, and a lump came to her throat.

In the week since she'd arrived, she'd marked out three separate areas around the ruins, places where MacTavish claimed he'd had readings from his metal detector. At first, she'd been skeptical when he'd phoned her office in Edinburgh claiming to have found precious relics on his property, but her instincts had urged her to believe him.

Lord, she'd prayed he hadn't been lying.

There had been a flourish of such claims since a farmer in England had accidently discovered an unprecedented haul of medieval artifacts, and was now rich and famous.

Her gut twisted, teeth clenched.

Michael had taken charge of the English dig, despite the fact it had been she who'd composed all the preliminary findings. Then, as if he'd been afraid of her stealing his limelight, he'd sent her all over the country on wild goose chases meeting and greeting every loon that claimed to have a significant find.

For a while, she'd tried to make the best of it, hoped each new lead would bring her something rare and unique. Unfortunately, upon investigation, most incidents ended up being mere pieces of broken pottery or glass, more likely to have been buried from a wild dance party in the nineteen sixties, rather than from some ancient Celtic era.

"Got you."

Resting back on her haunches, she set the object—no bigger than a cigar box—on her lap and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

A crack of thunder rumbled overhead.

As the last rays of dull orange sunlight faded beneath the darkening sky, ghostly gray shadows draped upon the exposed earth before her, making it difficult for her to see. She felt like she was in an old movie, like some gravedigger looking for body to steal.

Made strangely uncomfortable by the odd notion, she tucked her gloves into her pocket, took a pencil that hung around her neck, and scribbled some notes onto a dirt-smeared workbook. Large droplets of water splashed upon the open page.

Better hurry inside.

It had rained most of the previous night, which made her work tricky as she'd photographed and catalogued each site the next morning. Even covering over the areas with tarpaulins had done little to keep her dry and the excavations undamaged. All day, guy wires kept snapping, wind blew her equipment over, and rain threatened at every turn.

Hell. If she were the least bit superstitious, she'd think something or someone didn't want her poking around the castle.

An icy breeze whipped up and sliced through her jacket like a knife; every hair on the back of her neck stood up.

She stopped, turned around.

Oh, for heaven's sake, get a grip. There's nobody out there. No one sane, at least. Who in their right mind would be in the middle of nowhere freezing their bum off?

Well, other than maybe her.

Hugging the box against her, she pushed the cottage door open, stepped inside, and pulled back the hood of her coat. Outside, another drum of thunder cracked in the distance, and the heavens opened up.

As the room went dark, she placed the box on the table next to her computer, turned on a portable light, and checked the window was closed. Peering out through the glass, she hoped her equipment would be all right. The solar panel charger and satellite dish were very expensive, and it was getting nasty out there. Lightning streaked across the sky.

Lucky she'd earthed the wires.

Kindling the glowing coals in the hearth back into life, she enjoyed the soothing warmth as the end of her nose tingled and thawed out.

Right then. On with it.

After taking off her muddy boots, she placed a kettle over the fire, hung up her coat, then sat down in front of her laptop. Rubbing her fingers together, she stared at her latest find.

As her computer hummed and squeaked into action, she reached over and picked up the box. She held it, stared at it, tapped her finger upon the lid. "I'm going to guess that you have something rather peculiar inside."

With a gentle struggle, she wiggled the lid from the box and gazed at the contents. Just like the other two identical boxes she'd found, inside there was a small object wrapped in cloth.

She touched her throat, then uncovered a tray on the table.

On it were two shining pieces of gold, each molded in a similar design. At about two inches long and one inch wide, each piece was curved as if, when put together, they would form a circle.

But a circle of what?

She winced, bit her bottom lip. Something about them seemed familiar.

A lightning bolt flashed. She glanced toward the window, then swallowed. "Lord. That was close."

Excitement rushed through her veins like electricity as she unwrapped the third item. The glittering object tumbled from the rotting fabric and onto her palm.

A smile tilted her lips.

MacTavish's treasure.

Edged in long, sharp peaks of gold that looked like sunrays, this piece was just like the others.

Her frustration bubbled inside. She had definitely seen this somewhere. "Okay, search engine, show me what you've got."

The computer screen flickered as the storm increased. Yeah, she should know better, but she couldn't help it. She was close; she could feel it.

After countless web pages, an image flashed upon the screen.

"Yes!" A bit sheepish, she lowered her clenched hands, which had shot into the air, and straightened her back. Really. "Okay. Back to work."

An identical piece of gold was on display in the National Museum in Edinburgh. She knew she'd seen it somewhere. Hell, she practically lived in the place.

Ignoring the deafening rain, she placed all three pieces of the . . . well, what was it? She looked at the screen, then back at the objects.

Her lips twisted as she mused over the possibilities. "Must be some sort of amulet."

Like working a jigsaw puzzle, she arranged, then rearranged the sections in turn, tried to fit them in with the patterns on the picture of the museum piece. Bother. Nothing seemed to connect.

Wait.

What if the photo posted on the Internet was in reverse?

She turned each of the pieces over.

Pushing the sections together, she found two of them would connect via tiny links. She twisted them together, and they locked in with a snap. "Good heavens!"

Adrenaline pumped through her, made her a little giddy. This was incredible, amazing, simply the most stupendous find in the history of . . . well, it was bloody huge.

The computer screen began to crackle violently with interference; the portable light flickered. Damn the lightning was close, but she couldn't stop now.

Just one more piece.

Then she could document everything, secure the rights with MacTavish before Michael caught wind of her find, and reunite these pieces with the section in the museum.

She held the third section, linked it into place with the other two, and stared at the forth piece on the flickering screen. A surge of burning satisfaction gushed through her as she snapped the link together. "Beat this, Michael."

Intense white light filled the room, blinded her. Noise, like two trucks colliding, engulfed her, made her duck and cover her ears. The cottage shook; a window blew in and showered the room in a spray of diamonds.

"Shit!"