Waking the Princess Read Free Page A

He hoped that the walls dated back no more than fifty years, some forgotten croft. But a deeper sense told him that the structure was much older.
    If so, he could very well lose Dundrennan in its entirety, according to a provision in his father's will.
    New or old, the discovery had to be examined by a representative of the national museum, according to the recent treasure trove law, before road construction could continue. Frustrated, delayed in his work for the Parliamentary Commission for the Department of Roads and Highways, Aedan had no choice but to comply.
    Sifting through the jumble of papers on his desk, he found the letter from Sir Edgar Neaves of the National Museum. Neaves had a busy schedule, but would send a competent antiquarian named Mrs. Blackburn to look at the stones.
    Good. Any old fuss-pot would do in Neaves's place, Aedan thought.
    The man's covetous interest in the collections and objets d'art at Dundrennan House was annoying—even more, slightly disturbing. When and if Neaves himself arrived, Aedan would instruct his housekeeper to lock up the plate and hide the keys.
    Scowling, he tossed the letter down and went to the door, but paused before the fireplace.
    Centered over the mantel, the oil painting had an allure he sometimes could not resist. A young woman reclined among a scattering of wild pink roses, her classic features and graceful hands peaceful, her skin creamy, her hair a rippled dark auburn cascade. The translucent folds of her white chemise, touched with lavender and butter yellow highlights, showed the pink fullness of her breasts and the rich curves of her body. Detailed yet lush in its free brushwork, its colors as richly beautiful as the enticing subject, the painting seemed to glow.
    The small brass plaque on the frame read The Enchanted Briar, Stephen Blackburn, 1852. Aedan nodded to himself. A sound investment. Any work by a member of the prolific, talented Blackburn family had growing value, and there were three Blackburns in Dundrennan's art collection. Aedan had purchased this particular one himself at an exhibit at the Royal Scottish Academy in Edinburgh. He recognized the remarkable quality and potential value of the painting, and he knew that the subject could be Dundrennan's own famous legend of the princess in the briar. A worthy purchase indeed.
    Yet there was more. The image fascinated him, haunted him. He kept it in his private rooms, never admitting to anyone how much the painting—the model, the subject—drew him.
    The girl's exquisite face and sensuous form had become familiar to him. She was part of his life somehow.
    And now he was dreaming of her. He was too practical for such whimsy, and it bothered him. He was an engineer, not a poet or a dreamer of any kind. He was nothing like his father.
    He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the painting, still drawn to it. Tranquil, sensual and disturbing, too—beneath the blowsy roses and luscious model, a mesh of thorns hidden under the flowers held a threatening element. And each time he looked at the painting, it seemed to seduce him.
    She seduced him.
    He rocked back on his boot heels. A force swept through him—a trace of longing on the shore of his soul. God, he wanted her, needed her. And she did not exist.
    He stepped back. He would not indulge in fancies. His father had been brilliant but idealistic, running the finances to ruin. Pragmatism was sorely needed at Dundrennan, and Aedan was its sole source.
    He would move the painting, consign it to some dark corner in this enormous folly of a house. Or perhaps he would sell it to pay off some of his father's debts.
    But he could not do that. He loved the picture of the briar-caught maiden too much. He wanted her near him always.
    Scowling, he turned on his heel and left the room.

Chapter 2

    Gables and turrets rose above a ring of trees, a fairy-tale profile in honey stone. Looking out of the coach, Christina felt oddly as if she entered an enchanted