The Silver Witch(81)

‘And I’m setting it free?’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘But that’s what you said, when we were raising the stone. Those were your exact words, if I recall.’ He wraps his hands more tightly around his coffee and breathes in the steam.

He’s scared. My God, he hasn’t dismissed what I said as the ravings of a madwoman. Not completely.

She hesitates, and then asks, ‘Have you … noticed anything? Felt anything, while you were working on the site? Anything … strange?’

‘It would be easy to get spooked by the idea of disturbing a grave. It’s not something any of us does lightly. We try to treat the remains with respect. They were a living, breathing person, once. We are digging them up from their place of rest.’

‘Except that this one wasn’t resting peacefully, was she?’

‘It certainly looks as if she came to a highly unpleasant end,’ he agrees.

‘That’s putting it mildly. You think she was buried alive. And that the stone held her in place while they shoveled earth on top of her. It seems so terribly cruel, whatever she had done.’

‘It’s a mistake to read the past with our twenty-first century sensibilities.’

Tilda shrugs. ‘They are the only ones I’ve got.’

‘We’ve had some of the test results back from the samples Molly sent off to the lab. We can pinpoint the date of the grave, almost to the year.’

‘I know you’re dying to tell me.’

‘We think 910 to 920 AD. And the body is certainly that of a woman, aged between thirty and forty. She was healthy, in life. As we’ve already established, she didn’t die of natural causes. Her diet included fish, from the lake, of course, but also high levels of protein from grains and regular meat. She was not some lowly peasant, whoever she was. She must have enjoyed quite an important position on the crannog. Until…’

‘What did she do? What could she have done to deserve such a punishment?’

‘We will know more when we get to the grave beneath her. Once we know the identity of the person she was most likely accused of murdering, we will know more.’

‘He or she must have been important, you reckon?’

‘More than likely.’

Tilda swallows more hot coffee. She sighs, unsure how to tell him more. Uncertain just how much of the craziness he will be able to accept. She considers telling him about the bracelet. He might well have some ideas about its origins, and she knows it would be of serious interest to him. Perhaps even important to the dig. But she cannot be sure how he will react.

What if he decides it constitutes some sort of national treasure? He might make me give it up. Might take it off to be analyzed. I can’t let him take it. I can’t risk him doing that.

Into the hesitation in their conversation comes the sound of an engine laboring, growing louder. The noise is familiar to Tilda by now.

‘That’ll be Dylan,’ she says, getting up and slipping her coat back on.

The aged Landrover makes short work of the wintry conditions and powers its way up the hill. He gets out with his habitual energy and upbeat manner, but even from where she now stands in the garden, Tilda can detect the change in his body language at the sight of her visitor. She feels uncomfortable at him arriving and finding her with Lucas, though she knows she has no reason to. After all, this is her house. And Dylan has no cause to be jealous. Besides, it is far too early in their new and faltering relationship for anyone to be laying down conditions or becoming in any way possessive.

‘You’re early,’ she says, sounding cross when she hadn’t meant to.

‘I wanted to come and help,’ he says, looking a little hurt. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry.’ Feeling bad, Tilda tells him, ‘Lucas came to tell me they are resuming the dig. A couple of days after Christmas.’

‘We can’t stay here much longer,’ Lucas explains. ‘Digs are costly. And it’s not doing the contents of the trench any good having them exposed to all this weather. Really, the sooner we get everything out and back to the university the better.’

‘Can’t argue with that,’ Dylan says, rather pointedly greeting Tilda with a lingering kiss on the cheek. ‘Are you going to open that kiln up?’

‘Oh, it’s too soon, I think.’

‘It’s gone twelve.’

‘Already? I hadn’t realized.’ She looks from one man to the other, wishing them both somewhere else. Neither has any idea how significant this moment is for her.

‘I might leave it a little while,’ she says.

‘Really?’ Dylan is genuinely surprised. ‘It must be cool by now,’ he points out, and then, seeing her reluctance, adds, ‘but it’s up to you, Tilda. This is your baby,’ he says, smiling.