Page 17 of Most Ardently (Return to Culloden Moor #5)
17
TURN YOUR FACE
* * *
T he brown bridge between Durrafair and Brigadunn stood as it had for centuries, a silent sentinel spanning the narrow gully of boulders over which a river once flowed. The morning after the ball, Violet approached it with Louis at her side, quickening their steps despite the overgrown path. They had slipped away from Brigadunn early, before most of the guests had risen from their beds, determined to solve the riddle from the puzzle box and hopefully, finally find the treasure.
She wore a simple brown gown from the wardrobe Mercy had provided. And it continued to amaze her that her Cinderella story hadn’t yet ended.
“My father was obsessed with this bridge,” she explained, stepping around a large patch of heather. “He would spend hours here, studying every stone, convinced it held the secret to the treasure. I used to accompany him as a child.”
Louis nodded, his gaze already fixed on the structure ahead. “I have seen it from my chamber window. It struck me as oddly placed.”
“The river changed course during heavy flooding nearly fifty years ago,” Violet said. “The bridge became ornamental after that, a marker of the border between our estates.”
They reached the weathered stone structure. It was approximately twenty feet in length and wide enough for a cart to pass. Moss and lichen clung to its stones, giving it a mottled appearance of gray, brown, and green.
“Turn your face up to the dunn bridge to find the Bonnie treasure,” Violet recalled aloud, as they moved beneath the arch. But on first inspection, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
For the next hour, they methodically examined the structure. Despite having crossed it a few times in her visits to Brigadunn, Violet realized she had never truly studied it closely, as her father had.
A few wayward midges swarmed around them in the humid air as they worked methodically. The stones were warm and rough beneath their hands, occasionally crumbling at the edges when touched.
“There is nothing here,” Violet said finally, sitting back on her heels in frustration. “No carvings, no markings, and if we take it one word at a time, there is nothing here that resembles a face.”
Louis climbed up the bank to join her on the top, his face streaked with dirt. “Perhaps we are interpreting the clue incorrectly. Turn your face up to the dunn bridge is unusual phrasing.”
“What else could it mean?” Violet demanded, her voice sharp with growing desperation. “My father was thorough in his searching. If there was anything to find here, he would have done so decades ago.”
“Give it another minute,” Louis urged gently. “Sometimes the answer is right before us, if only we change our perspective.”
But another thirty minutes of searching yielded nothing new. Violet sagged against the stones, her body trembling with exhaustion and bitter disappointment. She’d been foolish to hope.
“I believed in fairytales,” she said quietly. “I dragged you into this madness. And I am sorry.”
Louis approached cautiously, recognizing her need for space yet unwilling to leave her alone in her despair. “Violet?—”
“It was only ever a story for children,” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “There is nothing here. Perhaps it was my father who left those clues. Perhaps as a game, perhaps to prove he wasn’t a madman.”
She pushed herself up from the bridge, her movements stiff with the pain of resignation. With her head bowed low, she began to walk away, back toward the path that would return them to Brigadunn.
Louis remained on the bridge, watching her go. He wasn’t ready to give up. Something nagged at his mind, a sense that they were missing something fundamental. He turned slowly in place, taking in the structure from different angles, trying to see it with fresh eyes.
Violet had gone a hundred yards down the trail when she looked back to see if Louis was coming. He stood solitary and defiant atop the center of the bridge, his figure outlined against the gray morning sky behind him.
And then, her breath caught.
From her angle, the interplay of moss, cracked stone, and shadow suddenly coalesced into the rough, haunting outline of a giant face. The arch of the bridge formed a gaping mouth, while natural indentations in the stonework created a nose and two eyes.
Time stuttered to a stop as she stared, her heart stuttered as well. How had she not seen it before? That morning, she’d walked this same path, studied it from afar, and had seen nothing!
How could she have missed this? How had her father, with all his meticulous observation, missed it?
“Louis, I’ve found it!” she cried, quickly picking her way back to him. As she neared, she pointed with trembling fingers at the enormous, almost imperceptible face. “The face... The bridge has a face!”
Louis hurried around to join her beneath the arch and followed her gaze. “Show me.”
Violet pointed out the mouth, the nose, the eyes, and Louis's expression transformed from confusion to wonder as the face revealed itself to him.
“A miracle,” he breathed. “It has been there all along. Another solution hidden in plain sight.”
“All these years,” Violet whispered, awestruck. “I never looked from the east, I suppose. And it was much clearer from a distance. My father must have stood in this exact spot hundreds of times. Perhaps he hadn’t thought to look for a face.”
Since they could reach nothing from below, they returned to the top and looked down. “Here,” Louis said, pointing to a patch of thick moss just above one of the depressions that formed an eye. He ripped it away. She leaned down and followed suit, to expose more of the face.
When they’d pulled away the growth, they went below again to see their progress and read the lettering they’d uncovered. But these were not letters either of them had seen before. Not English, not Latin, not even Gaelic.
“What language is this?” Violet whispered.
“I have never seen its like,” Louis admitted. “We shall need someone with greater knowledge than ours to decipher it.”
Violet's heart sank slightly. “But who would know such an ancient script without raising questions?”
Louis considered for a moment. “Someone old.”
“Tolly,” she said. “Ashmoore’s former butler. The oldest man in the area. If anyone would know, it would be him. He knew my father well. Tolly used to argue that fairies once lived beneath this very bridge.”
“It seems as though we are headed into town.”
The wind picked up, carrying the combined fragrance of heather and bracken as they stood together on the ancient bridge. A sense of shared triumph replaced their earlier despair.
“We should make a copy of the inscription,” Violet said. “Tolly is much too old to drag back here.”
Louis produced a folded parchment and pencil from his pocket. “A habit,” he explained, when Violet raised a brow.
He carefully copied the strange symbols, checking and rechecking to ensure accuracy. As Louis sketched, Violet could not help but notice how well they worked together, anticipating each other's thoughts, moving in harmony without need for unnecessary words.
“We can borrow a carriage from Ashmoore and ask for directions,” Louis said, and tucked the paper back into his pocket.
Violet nodded, though reluctance slowed her steps as they left the bridge behind. Part of her wanted to remain, to continue searching, to wrest the bridge's secrets from the ancient stones immediately. But Louis was right, they needed that translation before they took the next step.
As they walked back toward Brigadunn, Violet tempered her renewed hope with the acknowledgement that this might just be another trick, another tease from her father. He certainly spent enough time at the bridge to have carved that face…
* * *
Brigadunn buzzed with departure preparations. Footmen loaded trunks onto carriages while guests exchanged farewells in the grand entrance hall. Violet and Louis slipped inside, seeking Lady Ashmoore.
They found her directing footmen in the foyer. When they approached, she turned with a warm smile.
“Lady Ashmoore, might we inquire where Tolly lives now?” Louis asked.
Her smile faded. “Oh, my dears. Tolly passed last winter. The cold took him. Why do ye ask?”
Louis and Violet exchanged glances. She nodded.
“We require someone who might read an ancient text,” Louis explained. “We found unusual inscriptions on the old bridge.”
“The bridge?” Lady Ashmoore's eyebrows rose. “What were ye doing there?”
“Solving a riddle,” Violet admitted. “My father believed treasure was hidden somewhere between our estates.”
Instead of dismissing them, Lady Ashmoore's eyes lit with interest. “Come to the drawing room. The others should hear this.”
* * *
The drawing room held the inner circle. Harcourt, Rochester, Northwick and their wives, along with Ashmoore and Lord and Lady Grey. All turned as Lady Ashmoore entered with Louis and Violet in tow.
“Our friends have made a discovery,” she announced. “Tell them what ye told me.”
Violet started from the beginning, explaining why she came in disguise, and what had happened since, omitting the detail about standing on the Ashmoore’s pillows.
Louis produced the sketch. “We found an inscription on the old bridge, but cannot decipher it. We hoped Tolly might help.”
“The Jacobite treasure?” Ashmoore studied the paper with keen interest. “I thought that merely legend.”
“My father believed otherwise,” Violet said.
The Duke of Rochester took the sketch. “These resemble no language I know.”
“The Muir sisters might help,” Lady Ashmoore suggested. “Ancient knowledge runs deep in their family. Aye. Some think they are witches.”
Connor gasped. “Muirs, you say? They wouldn’t happen to be twins?”
“Mirror twins, I believe. Do you know them?”
He laughed and shook his head. “But I do know that twins and witchcraft run in that family.”
“Good,” Ashmoore said. “We shall visit the Muir sisters.”
Violet watched in amazement as these important men and their wives embraced her quest with enthusiasm. What had begun as her lonely mission had lost its loneliness.
As the group dispersed to prepare, Louis leaned close to Violet. “Are you comfortable with this?”
“I no longer care who finds the treasure,” she whispered. “I only wish to know if it exists. For my family’s sake.”