“They placed a rope about my neck, thinking I should be hanged for my crimes of passion. As they hauled me up…”
She could still hear the loud gasp that came from her brother, as his mouth gaped in disbelief.
“And then?!”
Mortified by her inquisitive son, Rosalyn closed her eyes and shook her head.
Holding his laughter, Kai continued with his story. “As I watched my condemners ride away, it seemed the weight of my body was too much for the piece of string they had called a “rope”. The impact of hitting the ground caused me more pain, I must admit. And here, as you have seen, is my battle scar. However, to my real misfortune, I was rid of all my possessions.”
“Not quite all,” she had told him. “They failed to take your life.”
“Indeed!” he had replied, smiling gloriously at her.
* * *
Despite Kai’s purchase, Farrow somehow continued to find his way home, on a daily basis.
She laughed to herself, recalling her mother’s annoyance, each time the horse reappeared on their doorstep—and afterwards, always insisting the steed was returned to its new owner.
Eventually Kai surrendered to the losing battle, letting Farrow stay where he truly belonged. A vow was made to pay him back, but he had refused, instead, offering Eleanor a position as a maid, at the Ferry Inn. At first, her mother had refused, insisting it was “Out of the question!”, when she begged for her approval. But after leaning on her grandmother’s softness, the old woman’s influence had finally won over, and it was agreed, “Only on weekends”, allowing her to be more involved in the local gossip—and as long as she reported back anything scandalous.
Kai had settled in to his new position as though he had done it most of his life.
Perhaps he has, she mused.
Little was known of his origins. Despite it, he became a good friend to her family, taking Gill under his wing like an older brother. She noticed how skilled her sibling had become in archery, not to mention his use of a sword—almost matching that of their father’s. Paw would have been proud. Thinking of her father again, she hoped her mother would pass-on his sword to Gill. No doubt, when he comes of age, she assumed.
No one had questioned Kai’s privacy, until the night the stranger walked into the Ferry Inn.
Burdened with full tankards of ale, Eleanor had been tending to two elderly locals. She recalled the moment the individual stepped across the threshold, ignoring the notable “warning” above the door. There had been malice in his demeanour; it reeked from his pores. At first, Kai did not see him, until her reaction had alerted him to the unwanted guest. She would never forget the look on their faces as their eyes fell on one another. The stranger looked as though he had seen a ghost, while Kai’s expression had been one of shock.
The silence that killed the local’s chatter, had given her cause for concern, at the time. She surveyed the stranger as he moved cautiously towards the serving counter—eyes fixed on the proprietor. It was clear they had known one another.
Kai, a man of integrity, had kept his poise as the stranger approached him. She recalled all eyes watching them with expectation. Ignoring the heaviness in her hands, she had waited in anticipation, as the landlord drew some ale for the unwanted visitor, sliding the tankard towards him. In the meantime, one of the elderly, and impatient, locals, had swiftly relieved her of his ale, supping on it, hoping they would see Kai draw his sword. The silence had frightened her as the tension mounted. She remembered how the stranger stared into his drink, before spitting on the contents.
“I’ll not drink that from the hand that poured it,” he had sneered.
“Then I invite you to leave this place—sir,” Kai had returned.
“Hah! Sir, you say! Aye, that’s it! Know your place!”
“I suggest you leave… now!”
A deep rage, she had never seen before in Kai’s warm eyes, had forced her to step away from the looming threat.
The stranger stood back, laughing, before turning to address his eager audience. “Do ye know who—what he is?” he had said, raising his voice.
The Inn had remained silent, waiting for answers.
“I’ll take that as a “No” then, shall I?” The stranger then strolled around the open space, sneering into the faces of her friends and neighbours. She recalled the moment he chose to stop, his grey, lifeless eyes falling on hers.
She shuddered, still haunted by his lecherous stare.
“Leave her be!” Kai had yelled, moving closer.
“Have ye asked yourselves, why he has no wife or bairns to speak of?” he had said, in his thick, northerly accent.
She recalled the smell of stale whisky from his breath when he leaned towards her. His skin was like that of leather—parched from the elements that nature had inflicted on it. And his face—it had been born with the indented scars of a disease that had latched itself to him as a child. She could never have envisaged him bearing such innocence.
“I have no care to know, or enquire,” had been her brave reply.
“Ah, but a fine young lass like yourself would give him no pleasure at all. Is it not a crime in these parts? I should imagine the—"
She could still hear the scream that erupted from inside her, when Kai held his dagger across the reprobate’s throat.
“I will match that, which you inflicted on me, as a constant reminder of what you stole.”
The stranger had struggled to breath, and she was certain, by the look of revenge on Kai’s face, his intent had been to slice his throat. But Kai had seen the terrified look in her eyes and chose to release him. Tension had gripped the on-lookers as the stranger cradled his throat, his bulging eyes, wild with rage.
“I thought you surely dead!” he had croaked.
“As you shall be, if you do not leave this place,” Kai had threatened, leaning into his ear.
It was as if he had delved into the depths of the stranger’s soul; as he released his final grip on him, the stranger had stared back at Kai, petrified, before promptly taking his leave.
Since then, she had always wondered what words had passed between them—but had been afraid to ask.
When he had left, Kai turned to face the villagers. The Inn had been particularly busy that evening—full of the gossip mongers Ned McGregor had warned him about, before taking his post. He had become accustomed to their wagging tongues. However, despite those warnings, she had noticed, for the first time, on that occasion, his struggle to speak, prompting Ned to volunteer as spokesman.
“Is it true, lad?” he had asked gently. “What he implied?”
Everyone had held their own as Kai lowered his head. She recalled him taking a deep breath, which seemed to lengthen with every passing second. He lifted his head, without shame, then stepped into the centre of his establishment. It had been the bravest thing she had seen anyone do, that day.
“It’s true,” he had admitted, at the top of his voice. “And if you wish it, I shall leave Balloch, for good. I will return this Inn—the place I have grown to love—to Ned… which will, again, play into the hands of those who brought nothing but gloom on it.”
His words had had no threat or malice in them, his caring nature only providing them with the grim reality of what would happen—had he been forced to leave.
That night had been a reminder to her—regardless of idle gossip—how loyal the villagers were to those who looked after them.
They had all looked to one another for guidance, waiting for the first to speak. Protected too long from the outside world, she had learned the brutal reality of what happened to those whose preferences were regarded as unchaste and immoral. She realised, then, how grateful she was for her unprejudiced upbringing, choosing to be the first to support him.
“Well… I see no harm in it,” she had defended him, trying to conceal her shyness, when everyone looked at her in surprise.
She beamed, still remembering the relief on Kai’s face, when he provided he
r with one of his infectious smiles, while forced to wait in the quietude of the Inn, for a response.
“I second that!” Ned had added, punching the air with a determined fist.
“Sure, you’ll no hear a word spoken against the laddie from me,” another had voiced.
She remembered the swell of pride when, one by one, they had stood in defence of their landlord, bursting with laughter as the, aptly named, Alastair Boyd, had to say his piece:
“Aye! Agreed. Sure, if it were not for him, would we be sitting here this day? And I’m certain many of ye would miss his heavy hand, when pouring a sup for us. Aye, I’ll be keeping whist, as will me missus.”
“A true word spoken from a true defender of mankind, Alastair,” Ned had remarked.
KELPIE
Chapter Nineteen
‘Eleanor!’
She woke with a start.
Torn from her thoughts and memories, Eleanor quickly sat up, looking round her. She was still alone.
‘Gill?’ she called out.
Her brother was nowhere to be seen.
Tilting her head slightly, she listened, narrowing her eyes.
All was still.
She then looked down, seeing the loch’s flat surface, noting how it mirrored the perfect blue sky above—the wind’s absence now making it feel increasingly warmer.
“Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”
The line from a well-known poem jumped into her mind, and she suddenly felt thirsty, regretting leaving the fresh water with Gill. Shading her eyes from the hot afternoon sun, she searched for the boy and his dog.
Where are they? she thought, wiping the sweat from her brow.
‘Gill!’ she cried, her raised voice carrying through the serenity of the day.
Still no sight nor sound.
Strange, she thought, frowning. Placing her fingers in her mouth, she prepared to whistle.
“That’s not very lady-like!” her mother had said, the first time she did it, with great success.
“Ah, but effective,” she had returned.
“And whom, may I ask, taught you?”
“Blair.”
“Blair Grant?!” her mother had replied, stunned by the revelation, at first.
“Aye, and why not?” she had challenged.
But when her mother had paused for thought, smiling to herself, it was clear she had been impressed by another of their neighbour’s “talents”—gathering local gossip, also Blair’s speciality. “Why not, indeed!”
As she took a deep breath, ready to whistle, she heard her name being whispered again.
‘Eleanor!’
She stopped, realising it was not her brother.
‘Eleanor!’
There it is again! she determined, rising sharply. But, in doing so, the heat of the day took its toll. Dehydrated, her head became light, forcing her to reach out for something to hold. As the weight of her body tumbled towards the hard ground, she felt the strength of someone’s hold, breaking her fall.
Dazed and confused, Eleanor found herself seated in the shade of a tree, cradling her head in her hands, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
‘Nori! Nori! Are you alright?’ her brother cried, taking her hand, while Rave barked continuously into the woods. ‘Enough, Rave!’
The dog ceased immediately, returning to her Master’s side.
‘I am, thank you,’ she said, patting Rave on the head. ‘If it had not been for you, I’d have injured myself. The sun’s heat is—’ Eleanor stopped, seeing the confused expression on her brother’s face. ‘It was you—who caught me—wasn’t it?!’
He slowly shook his head, offering her a drink. ‘I found you here… like this.’
Accepting the water-skin, she placed the tip to her lips, instantly feeling the quenching benefits from its cool contents, on her parched throat.
Rising, he smirked as she gulped the water to its last drop.
‘Better?’ he said.
‘But it had to be you!’ she insisted, handing it back. ‘Who else could it have been?’
‘Perhaps the hero in your day-dreams,’ he teased, rolling his eyes.
Eleanor scowled and looked up at her brother, ready to scold him, then hesitated. Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes. He looks… different! she mused, as though he had suddenly come of age—all grown up. Almost.
For his sixteen years, Gillis Shaw reached an impressive height—a little more than six feet. Like his sister, his skin was tanned by the unusual hot autumn. His dark, hazel eyes lit up when he smiled, softening his notable, maturing squared features. Wanting to rid himself of the last of his youth, he had decided to let his black, wavy hair grow, constantly pushing it behind his ears while he got used to its new length. Also—thinking it would make him more appealing to a certain young lady—he had decided to add to it, by growing a beard. However, Eleanor would often mock him over the faint, bristled shadow on his chin, telling him how it would take years to grow.
Eleanor observed his clothes; they barely fit his broadening frame—the cuffs of his faded, black shirt, stretching half-way up his muscular forearms. She noticed a tear on the shoulder, where he had clearly overstretched the worn material. A quick glance, then, at his scuffed, brown trousers, told her they would part from his toned legs, soon enough. Also, his body had seemed to take on a new strength of form. She surmised it was due to his, over-enthusiastic, displays of archery skills—clearly to impress his young beau, Meghan Downy, who lived at the far end of Balloch.
‘What are you staring at?’ he slowly asked, casting his sister a sideward glance.
‘Oh! ’Tis nothing…’ she answered, her voice trailing as she reached out for him to haul her up. ‘Are you certain it was not—’
‘Aye, positive,’ he said.
A thought then occurred to her. Opening her hands, she looked down at her palms. There were no cuts or grazes.
‘Then look!’ she said, holding them out to him. ‘You see?! Had I hit the ground, there’d be—’
‘Nori—you’ve been deceived by the sun,’ he said, interrupting her again. ‘Nothing more.’
She frowned at him, still determined. ‘I clearly heard someone say—no—whisper my name—more than once.’
Gill gave her a dubious look as he folded his arms and dropped his head.
She glared at him, frustrated by his doubt. ‘I tell you, Gillis Shaw, I—’
‘Do you not think Rave would have sensed the presence of a stranger?’ he debated, turning to pick up the three hares, whose lives he had cut short.
Eleanor pulled a face, seeing their evening meal dangling from the piece of knotted rope—eyes bulging and lifeless. She cringed, when an image of her grandmother skinning the hides entered her mind. She had tried it once—at her mother’s insistence—but the mere sight of the blade, slicing into its dead body, made her stomach churn.
‘Then, what was she barking at?’ she challenged, pointing at Rave.
‘You know how excited she gets when we’re hunting,’ he replied, dismissing her daydreams. ‘She’s a hound—she’ll bark at anything.’
Eleanor pursed her lips as doubt closed in. Perhaps he’s right, she thought.
‘I must admit, Eleanor,’ he added, his tone now serious. ‘I saw and heard nothing. You have my word.’
Shrugging it off, she smiled, feeling a little silly. For the first time, she felt like the younger sibling. He had been the one she’d looked after, protecting him from things he was not yet ready to experience. The boy was slowly passing into the fortitude of maturity. It was apparent a great change was taking place—one she was reluctant to accept.
‘I’ve something to share with you, Nori,’ he suddenly whispered, distracting her, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘Can I show you?’
She drew her head back, raising her brow, throwing him a suspicious look.
‘’Tis no daydream!’ he quickly added.
‘Aye, right,’ she said, rolling her eyes, while
observing the twinkling tell-tale sign in his. Then, for a moment, she saw the welcome return of the boy—eager to tell his older sister another story.
‘I hate it when you say that!’ he snapped.
She blinked, surprised by his small outburst.
‘I am more than aware, the stories Heckie told me, when I was younger, were nothing more than that. But this is different, Eleanor. Let me prove this one is real.’
She looked into his pleading eyes, trying to grasp his honesty, knowing he was serious, when he used her full name. She then watched how he chewed his lip, waiting patiently for her to show genuine interest.
She sighed. ‘Right, then,’ she said, pulling on her mochs. ‘Lead the way!’
Casting their evening meal aside, Gill checked his bow and dagger before setting off at full speed, back towards the loch, with Rave and Eleanor at his heel.
‘Slow down!’ she called out, finding it difficult to keep pace behind her brother. It only seemed a short while since she could outrun him. When did he learn to run so fast? she thought, trying to catch up. In the distance, she heard Rave’s over-excited bark, followed by Gill’s raised voice, telling her to “Keep up!”.
Eleanor then stopped, hearing the sound of branches cracking, a few feet behind her. She swallowed, trying to catch her breath, then held it a moment, listening—the sound of her heavy breathing echoing loudly in her head.
‘Nori!’
She spun at the sound of her brother’s voice, to find him standing a few feet from her. She jumped back. ‘How did you…?’
‘I’ve been calling you,’ he said. ‘What are you doing?! Never-mind—hurry—it’s this way! We must be quiet from here. We don’t want to frighten it.’
Giving her no time to reply, he took his sister’s hand, leading her close to the water’s edge. Then, raising a finger to his mouth, he motioned her to sit still. ‘Rave!’ he called to the hound, lowering his voice, as she noisily lapped up the cold water. ‘Come!’
The dog crouched by their side, attentive and obedient.
‘What are we looking for?’ Eleanor whispered.
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