“Just stories,” Meg said.
“Easy to say, now that you are a fine rich lady with a castle and servants,” Elga said. “When your heart was pure and your life was simple, you knew the truth.”
“I am learning the truth of it,” Meg murmured.
“Does this Stewart know who you are?” Elga asked. “His bride?”
“He recognized her,” Thora replied. “In the harbor yesterday, I saw the very moment he knew her. His eyes went wide.”
Meg felt her cheeks grow hot. “Even if he suspects, he does not know about Lady Strathlin. And you two must keep quiet.”
“He has come back for his son.” Elga nodded.
“Hush! The very thought frightens me.” Meg glanced toward the chamber where Sean dozed. “Stewart knows nothing of my son.”
“You must tell him,” Thora said.
“When the time is right.”
“I looked into the fire and knew he was the one for you,” Elga said.
“The kelpie? Or the engineer who makes my life miserable?” Meg asked bitterly.
“The one that heaven and the magical ones intend for you to have,” Elga replied.
Meg took a sip of tea and did not answer. Her great-grandmother blithely mixed religion and myth, and there was no harm in it. But too much talk of the kelpie of the rock was unsettling.
“Tcha,Mother,” Thora said, as if she knew Meg’s thoughts. “It is bad luck to talk so often of the kelpie.”
“Why not? He’s part of our family now. Bring him to supper, Margaret dear.”
“Oh, do stop,” Meg said.
“A prince of the deep builds a tower on his rock for his bride, while he is disguised as a working man,” Elga said, nodding.
Meg sighed and leaned her chin on her fist. Through the window, the sky was taking on the blue of morning.
She loved and respected her great-grandmother, growing up on Elga’s endless stories of ancient heroes, gods, goddesses, mythic trials, and magic. As Caransay’s oldest inhabitant, Elga was in a way its mystic and its bard, respected by all. Elga seemed more eccentric and stubborn with age, clinging to the old ways, the legends and superstitions, and she sometimes practiced spells and charms as she had always done.
Mother Elga lived in a medieval world in a way. The rest of the world had moved on, while she kept to her beliefs, certain they were right.
Though Meg loved Caransay and its isolated traditions, she felt removed from the world of her childhood. Living on the mainland had changed her. Wealth, education, and privilege had given her a pragmatic and modern bent, though she saw the benefits of both the mainland world and the older island ways. Time rolled slowly and reliably in the Hebrides. Here on Caransay, tradition, routine, and simplicity ruled beautifully. She would not interrupt that or expect it to change with the times, as life had forced her to do. Besides, following the old ways had caused her deep hurt.
“Mark me, that man is the one,” Elga said. “You made a binding promise with the kelpie by bearing his child. Now you must honor your agreement.”
“I have honored and paid more than anyone can know.” Meg fought back sudden tears.
“It was our bargain as much as hers, Mother,” Thora said. “Margaret did that for us, for the island. Our homes and our livelihoods are safe. We have all we could ever want, thanks to the blessings that came to her, and thanks to her generosity.”
“The luck of the kelpie,” Elga said stubbornly. “Good fortune, and a sweet little lad too.”
“The good fortune came to me through my maternal grandfather’s will,” Meg said.
“And would not have come to you at all if the other heirs had lived,” Elga said. “Unexpected luck, just after your marriage to the kelpie. He made that magic happen.”
“No water horse could have arranged that much money,” Meg said as her patience slipped. “There is no magic. And he is not my husband!”
“He is. You did not resist him that night, girl,” Elga said. “Once the kelpie loves a woman, he will haunt her dreams and hold her heart forever.”
