Page 116 of A Scottish Island Summer

He reached into his bag of tools again and produced what looked like a small basting brush. He allowed the bristles to skim against the object, revealing more of the gold tassel, which was attached to a small, dusty, gauze jewellery pouch.

I couldn’t stem the growing excitement in my voice. ‘I doubt the Vikings made gauze jewellery bags like that.’

‘It won’t surprise you to know they didn’t,’ answered Campbell as he eased the bag out of the hole and opened it with trembling fingers.

‘Campbell? What is it? What’s in there?’

Campbell managed to ease the neck of the jewellery pouch open a little wider, slid his fingers in and plucked out a silver Celtic cross. It was thick and solid, about five centimetres in height, attached to a simple, dark brown rope. The intricate carvings on it featured what looked like a poppy in the centre, with an arrow design feeding up, down and across it. It was stunning.

My eyes struggled to take it in. It carried a worldly air. ‘Is that it?’ I breathed. ‘Is that the Skye Lovers’ Cross?’ I marvelled at the detail of it.

Campbell’s voice dried up. He looked like he was ready to dissolve into tears. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you know, I believe it is.’

We both let out noises that were crosses between laughs and shouts of euphoria. Campbell kept shaking his head and whispering to himself, ‘I was right. I was right all along.’

I gave him a prolonged hug as relief and delight for him shot through me. It was the least he deserved, after the sacrifices he’d made over the years.

He sat for a moment with the cross laid out in his outstretched palm. He swiped at his damp eyes. His attention shot to the sea and back to the pendant, nestled in his hand. ‘For years, I’ve dreamt about this moment, but I was starting to doubt it would ever come. I thought it would elude me or…’

‘Or what?’ I asked gently.

‘Or that others were right and I was wrong and that it didn’t exist after all.’

‘Well, you were right and it does exist,’ I croaked, my voice filling with emotion as I gazed at the cross in his hand. ‘You did it.’

‘We did it,’ he corrected. ‘And I’m glad you’re here with me, Darcie.’ He let out a happy, disbelieving sigh. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? The craftsmanship it would’ve taken to create this…’ His appreciative gaze trailed over it for a few quiet moments. ‘The Vikings didn’t tend to use gold when they crafted their pieces. It was mainly silver and occasionally bronze.’

‘They were very talented.’

‘Indeed, they were. They would’ve crafted something like this by using a wax mould and pouring melted metal into it. Then the mould would’ve been broken once the metal had cooled and the piece buffed until it shone.’

I admired the solidity of it still resting in Campbell’s palm. ‘Logan told me the Viking warrior Garth hadn’t considered it enough of a tribute to his late wife, but I disagree.’

‘Me too. I think he was so consumed with grief that the poor man wasn’t thinking straight. Not to mention, nothing was probably ever going to truly reflect the beauty and love he felt for his late wife.’

I admired the cross again and glanced up at Campbell. I was thrilled for him. He finally had validation, after so many years of struggle and mockery.

I let my attention wander to the hole Campbell had dug underneath the rock. Hold on. What was that? It looked like there was something else concealed in the dirt. It looked like white paper.

‘And what’s that?’ I asked, dashing a happy tear from my face.

Campbell tried to compose himself. ‘What is what?’

‘There. That little shard of white sticking out of the dirt. Can you see it?’

Campbell peered at the earth. ‘Oh. There is something else there.’

He shuffled beside me, leant over and very carefully glided the paper out of the earth. ‘It’s an envelope!’ Campbell gasped. He slid the cross back into the mysterious jewellery bag we found it in and discovered that the envelope wasn’t sealed. Inside it, was what looked like a letter, consisting of two folded sheets of writing paper. He unfolded the letter, taking great pains not to inflict any further damage on them. Campbell brushed the dirt from it with his special basting brush. The letter consisted of familiar black handwriting. ‘Thank goodness the earth here is dry and no light has managed to get in, otherwise the letter would’ve rotted and decayed.’

I blinked down at it. ‘Wait! I know that elegant script. It looks like Victoria’s.’

Campbell’s expression was riven in shock.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I don’t know.’

I let out a laugh and patted him on the arm.