“Really?” I hesitated, the cover so worn from reading it was hardly legible.
“Why, o’course.” His weathered cheeks rose in a mischievous grin. “Tales of murder and betrayal cast a spine-chilling shadow over Skye. All of the Highlands, really. My favorite story isThe Salt Witch. She’s rumored to haunt Leith, but many of the old manor houses up here have stories like this one. When the room temperature drops suddenly and the air fills with the scent of salt and roses, it’s said you’re in the presence of the Salt Witch. Some say her ghostly laments can be heard outside on the full moon. You can still visit the ancient salt caves where she first cast her curse, maybe find yourself a weeping stone for a souvenir and try to decipher the ancient drawings of kelpie and forest children on the walls of the cave. Many tourists come searching for the burial chamber of the Salt Witch, but they won’t find ’er. Some believe her remains are locked in the walls of Leith, her spirit set to roam these passageways forevermore.”
He knocked on the bookshelf nearest to his weathered palm.
“Leith must have countless lore and legends buried in these walls.”
He nodded, plucking another book off the shelf and passing it to me.
“What is this one about?”
“Aye, you don’t want to read that one. It’s a cautionary tale about a horrible fact of life here in the Hebrides. Living alongside wild and dangerous things takes a toll. Great truths are told in great fiction.The Fairy Loveris one such tale. Mind ye not find yourself too close to tha wicked deep, for the fairy lover lives along the edges of the lochs in the northern reaches of Scotland. He lures young women to the loch under the guise of passion, but it isn’t long before they drown in their own reflection.” He leaned in, his gravelly voice sending shivers down my spine. “’Tisthis story that’s my favorite.”
He moved out of the room as quickly as he’d come. He reached the door and paused, eyes on me a moment before he grinned. “Beware the loch, fair lass. Its beauty calls, and its dangers are well concealed—like love, I s’pose.”
He was gone a moment later.
I held the book in my hands, interest inThe Fairy Loverstory and the old man getting the best of me. I opened the pages of the leather-boundLegends and Loversbook, eyes scanning the faded paper in search of a copyright date. The printer’s name was listed asJ. McKnabb, Inverness Press.
I pulled out my notepad, scratching down the name next to the others from the graveyard before closing and tucking it back into my pocket. I nestled between the two big dogs on the couch,Legends and Loversin hand, and I began to read.
Fable
Iwoke with a jolt. One giant paw was wedged into the crook of my neck, a wet nose in my ear. “Move over, would ya?”
The dog with the most gray hair peppered in his muzzle groaned loudly. I laughed back at him, sliding my book closed and pushing myself out from under the dog.
A slow headache throbbed behind my temples from the last few hours of being curled up with Thing One and Thing Two on the couch. I’d read to chapter two inThe Fairy Lover, as far as I could remember. I blinked away the sleep in my eyes and moved to the wide windowpanes that overlooked Dunvegan. White puffs of clouds clung to the farthest reaches. A shiver raced down my spine when a dark shadow moved at the edge of the loch then.
I set the tattered copy ofLegends and Loverson the nearest end table with the pages spread open, following the streams of early light through Leith’s hallways. I turned the corner, jumping back a step when I nearly ran into the wide expanse of Keats.
“Came over to tell ye I was headed in’ta Kylemore if ya need anything.”
I placed a hand over my heart, apologizing quickly. “I’m sorry, you caught me off guard. I can’t believe I slept all night on that couch between those two dogs.”
“Shoulda kicked those old fur bags off the furniture. I try, but they just help themselves as soon as I’m turned around.” I smiled, hearing the soft padding footsteps of one of the dogs behind me now. “Get on outta here.” Keats tapped one on the hindquarters as it passed him. The dog didn’t seem to pay any attention to him.
“Shoulda woke ya, but ye looked so peaceful I couldn’t bear’ta.”
I was drawn to the warmth that illuminated Keats’s eyes as he spoke. “Thank you for stopping to ask if I need anything. I don’t, but you’re kind to offer.”
“Jus’ what folks do around here.” He moved into the kitchen, opening the pantry and perusing it with his gaze. “Don’t eat much, do ya?”
I shook my head. “I got caught up in that book last night, I guess.”
“Travel musta stolen your wind.”
I nodded. “I was just going for a walk if you want to join me.”
“Not today, lass.” His voice was gentle but clipped.
I nodded. “Well, see you later, then.”
He grunted in response. “Should be back aughtnoon.”
I hummed a reply so he knew that I’d heard him before slipping out the doors. The dogs trotted at the tree line on the other side of the graveyard. Veiled in clouds was the jagged crag I’d passed on my way in yesterday. I imagined discovering that at some point, whenever the mist and clouds cleared.
My feet pulled me toward the calm loch, rugged shore dark with the ever-present damp that clung to the granite faces of the rocks. I moved easily down the dewy path that edged one side of the graveyard. My feet worked quickly as I crested a small hill sprinkled with heather, the lapping waters of Dunvegan new on my ears.
