She ducked her head in hot shame, her head much clearer now. What had happened? Was he a kelpie, as her grandmothers expected, or was he just a man after all?
She glanced toward him, yearning, but knowing she must leave soon. If he woke, touched her again, she might lose herself to him forever. Legend or none, she knew part of her wanted to follow him down to the deepest part of the sea if he beckoned.
He sighed, stretched, and the plaid fell away. He was a long, lean, tight-muscled, beautiful man. His face had the uncommon symmetry of classical beauty, his hair was deep glossy brown, his whiskers a dark smudge on his jaw, his taut chest and belly dusted with dark hair. She blushed to remember what she had allowed and what she had craved last night.
His eyes fluttered open. Sea green. The eyes of a legendary creature.
He sighed and slept again. Meg gazed at him—her husband now by an ancient agreement. He had roused her with magic, and she would never forget him. But she had to leave. A girl could not stay with a kelpie, but the eerie pink dawn, and the lingering effect of whisky and herbs, made her wonder.
What if he were just a man, and no legend? And if so, what had she done?
He stretched, yawned. Meg stood, unsure what to do. Hearing distant yet familiar voices, she went to the mouth of the cave, realizing she was expected to leave now.
Slipping out of the cave, she ran barefoot over the rocky plateau. At the farthest end of the rock, a boat pulled closer, oared by Norrie, herseanair,her grandfather on the island. Grandmother Thora sat with him. They beckoned.
“Lass, are you well, then? In quickly,” Norrie said, waving her toward the boat.
“I am fine,Seanair,” she told her grandfather. He beckoned again for her to step down into the rocking boat, but she hesitated. A pull, tangible and strong, kept her there. She could not simply strand him on this wicked rock. She had to know if he was real or magical, needed to understand if she should go or stay; had to know the truth and the risk.
She looked back. The man stood in the cave entrance now, tall and golden in the dawn light, her plaid draped around him.He gazed toward the open sea, yet away from the corner of the rock where the water lapped at her grandfather’s boat.
“Oh! Look there,” Thora gasped. “What a beautiful creature!”
“Huh,” Norrie grunted, picking up the oars. “Margaret, hurry.”
“He found you, then?” Thora asked.
Meg stood as if caught between two worlds. She felt again that deep tug in her heart, her gut. What if he was not a kelpie, but a human. If she left him on this cold, cruel rock, his fate would be her fault.
“Margaret,” her grandfather urged.
“Wait,” she said, and whirled to run back.
Taking a few steps on the sloped and slippery black rock, she paused for balance and watched the man, prayed he would turn and see her, open his arms to welcome her, tell her he was legend or lover, that he wanted her, waited for her.
Then she noticed the dark blur of another boat gliding through the fog from the west. Fishermen. Would they see a man or a magical being?
She wiped a hand over her eyes. The dregs of the whisky potion were still with her. She was neither seeing nor thinking clearly, and the dawning sun had not yet topped the horizon to dissolve the sense of the Otherworld.
Then her lover walked down the slope, but not toward her. He waved, called. As the other boat approached, a man tossed a rope, which her lover caught. He climbed in.
Not a sea creature, to slip into the waves and disappear. A man, needing a ride in a boat.
Dear God, what had she done?
Meg turned away. Her grandparents had not noticed the other boat, and waved to her again. She went to the edge, let Norrie assist her into the boat, and sat.
As her grandfather pulled away from the rock to go east, her grandmother tossed a thick, dry plaid around Meg’s shoulders, and their boat plowed through restless waves toward Caransay.
She said nothing. Inside, she felt ill and ashamed. She had loved a man, not the great kelpie. Just a man. She felt a fool after all.
Had some rugged fellow heard that a maiden would go to Caransay that night to fulfill the old legend? Had he gone to the rock on a drunken bet? Would he gleefully tell all to his friends?
Gasping, she bowed her head.
Thora hugged her. “I am sure the great kelpie was tender with his magic,” she whispered. “The herbal potion made you willing. If a child comes of last night, the kelpie’s bairn will have a good home with us. And his father will protect Caransay and bless it with good fortune.”
Oh God,Meg thought.A child.
