Page 18 of Most Ardently (Return to Culloden Moor #5)

18

ENTER THE MUIRS

* * *

T he village of Brigadunn was nestled at the edge of the moor with a long main street that cut through clusters of weathered stone cottages with peat-smoke rising in thin ribbons above slate roofs. The village green was full of children who gawked and waved. The carriages drew curious glances from adults as well, as they rattled along past the blacksmith's forge and the small stone kirk with its Gothic archway.

Lady Ashmoore directed the driver toward a cottage set slightly apart from the others, at the very edge of the village where cultivated land surrendered to wild heather. Unlike its neighbors, this cottage bore no outward signs of hardship—the thatched roof was neatly maintained, the small garden well-tended with herbs and flowers that Violet had never seen before.

“The Muir sisters have lived here all their lives,” Lady Ashmoore explained as the carriage drew to a halt.

Violet felt a curious prickle of anticipation as she alighted from the carriage with Louis's strong steadying hand at her elbow. The cottage door opened before anyone could knock, revealing two elderly women standing side by side in the doorway.

Though clearly twins with identical wrinkled faces and piercing blue eyes, they could not have been more different in stature. The one on the left stood tall and straight-backed despite her years, while her sister was nearly a head shorter, more rounded in figure.

“Lady Ashmoore,” the taller sister acknowledged with a crisp nod. “We had not expected such distinguished visitors.” Her sharp gaze assessed each face in turn, lingering briefly on Connor before coming to rest on Violet. “Ah. Cottsweather's daughter at last.”

“Meg and Peg Muir,” Lady Ashmoore said, performing the introductions. “May I present The Duke and Duchess of Rochester, Marquess and Marchioness of Harcourt, Earl and Lady Northwick, Baron Astley, Lord and Lady Grey, my husband, and Miss Violet Cottsweather of Durrafair, whom you apparently know, aye?”

“So many guests, such a little house,” the shorter sister said, the one called Peg.

“Our business is brief,” Blair assured her.

Meg bobbed her head. “What brings such fine folk to our door? Not illness, I think.”

“Not unless it is an illness of curiosity,” Peg said. “And that can be the most dangerous ailment of all.”

Louis stepped forward. “Ladies, we have found markings on the old bridge near Brigadunn—what some call the brown bridge. Symbols none of us can read or recognize.”

“Old markings, are they?” Peg asked, exchanging a quick glance with her sister.

“On the brown bridge?” Meg asked. “Where exactly?”

Violet explained. “The bridge itself forms what appears to be a face when viewed properly, and the markings are located on what would be the brow.”

The sisters went very still, their identical blue eyes now fixed solely on Violet.

“A face, ye say?” Meg asked quietly.

“Only visible from the right position,” Peg added. “And ye found it, girl.”

“Yes,” Violet confirmed. “My father searched for years, but?—”

“Yer father looked but did not see,” Meg interrupted, as if she were sorely disappointed in him.

“Searched but could not find,” Peg agreed. “But the daughter's eyes are clearer.”

Connor leaned toward her, clearly unable to contain himself any longer. “I once knew some Muirs,” he said casually, though his intent focus belied his tone. “From the Black Isle.”

The sisters exchanged another of their speaking glances.

“All Muirs share those roots,” Meg said cryptically.

“Some branches reach higher than others,” Peg added with a twinkle in her eye.

Connor nodded as if this were a perfectly satisfactory answer, though Violet noticed Mercy's lips quirking into a smile she quickly hid.

“This is the inscription.” Louis produced the paper and offered it to Peg. “Can you read it?”

She glanced at it and handed it back. “We must see it.”

“Older than Gaelic,” Meg stated, though she hadn’t glanced at the parchment.

“Older than the stones themselves,” Peg added.

“We can take you there directly.” Louis waved for everyone to return to their carriages.

“Of course we shall come,” the sisters replied in unison, their voice tones matching so perfectly they seemed a single person speaking.

* * *

With the carriages, they were able to drive directly to the old bridge. The drivers stopped just short of it and everyone disembarked. The Muirs moved like women half their age, though that age was impossible to guess.

“Your father came to us once,” Meg said suddenly, falling into step beside Violet.

“Looking for answers about the bridge,” Peg continued, appearing at her other side.

Meg nodded. “He showed us his drawings, his maps?—”

“He was a fool,” her sister spat.

Violet frowned. “What do you mean?”

“His treasure lay at home,” Peg said.

Violet sighed. “I cannot argue with you there.”

The afternoon sun bathed the old stones in light. But Violet led them down into the old riverbed so they could see the face clearly. After the removal of the moss, she didn’t need to point out the facial features, nor the inscription.

“Ah,” they breathed in unison. “There it is.”

“You see it?” Louis asked eagerly.

“Of course we see it,” Meg replied without turning.

“Been there since the bridge was built,” Peg added. “Waiting to be seen.”

After studying the face for several long moments, the sisters put their heads together and muttered a conversation in heavy Gaelic that Violet couldn’t understand.

“Aye, aye,” Meg murmured.

“Just as it should be,” Peg agreed.

They pointed at different parts of the inscription, occasionally tracing specific symbols in the air between them.

Finally, they faced the waiting group.

“Well?” Ashmoore prompted. “Can you read it?”

“Of course we can read it,” Meg stated, as if the question were absurd.

“Are ye ready to hear it?” her sister asked.

Violet stepped forward. “Please. My sister's future may depend on what those symbols mean.”

Something in her expression seemed to soften the sisters' cryptic demeanor.

“Four words,” Meg said.

“In the old tongue” Peg continued.

“The old tongue?”

“Aye. Fairy.”

For a moment, no one spoke. No doubt everyone had their own opinions on the matter of fairies, and that likely shadowed their opinions on the future of Violet’s quest, but that didn’t matter now.

“Above the brown bridge,” the sisters said in unison.

More silence followed their deceptively simple translation.

“Above the brown bridge?” Louis repeated. “That is all it says?”

“Were you expecting a detailed map?” Meg asked, her tone sharp.

“Perhaps a list of contents?” Peg added with a touch of sarcasm.

Violet stared up at the inscription, disappointment washing over her. “'Above the brown bridge,'“ she repeated softly. “But we have been searching the bridge itself. What could 'above' mean?”

Connor, who had been quietly contemplative, suddenly spoke. “Brigadunn,” he said. “In the old tongue, it means brown bridge. This place gave its name to the manor house and the village.”

All eyes turned toward Brigadunn manor, clearly visible.

“You suppose the treasure is hidden at Brigadunn after all?” Violet breathed.

“Your father believed just that, did he not?” Louis squeezed her hand.

Excitement rippled through the group as this new possibility took hold. Even the Muir sisters watched with something like amusement as theories were proposed and debated.

“The attics,” Ashmoore suggested. “There are sections of the upper house that have not been properly explored in generations.”

“Or perhaps a hidden chamber beneath the roof,” Lady Ashmoore added. “Old houses like Brigadunn often conceal such spaces, aye?”

As plans for a new search took shape, Violet noticed the Muir sisters already walking back toward the village, their duty apparently fulfilled.

“Wait,” she called, hurrying after them. “You are leaving? Will you not join us?”

“Our part is done,” Meg said, not slowing her pace.

“The rest is for younger hands,” Peg added.

“But if there is anything else you know, any guidance you could offer…”

The sisters paused, turning to face her with identical expressions of assessment.

“Look with the eyes you were given,” Meg said cryptically.

“Not just what is, but what once was,” Peg added.

“And believe what your father could not,” they said together, “that his treasure could have been found at home.” With that enigmatic statement, they resumed their journey, leaving Violet to stare after them in frustration.

Louis appeared at her side. “Curious women.”

“Infuriating, you mean,” Violet corrected. “They clearly know more than they are saying.”

“Perhaps,” Louis acknowledged. “But they have given us a new direction to pursue. Shall we return to Brigadunn and see what might be hidden above the brown bridge ?”