the hill. He said nothing, just grinned without warmth or welcome.
“Well, and what have you got?” demanded Mina, turning upon Kelpie with
greedy fingers held out.
“Nothing at all,” muttered Kelpie defensively. “The red-haired _uruisg_
took back the silver and the snuff box and said if I was taking anything
else he would be setting all the Camerons and MacDonalds against us.”
Mina cursed Alex and Kelpie both, but with her mind so clearly upon other
matters that Kelpie didn’t feel the curses would be very effective.
“Well, so!” concluded the old woman suddenly. “And just as well, perhaps.
For we are wanting you to bide here for a time.”
Kelpie stared, her mouth drooping open. _Dhé!_ Now Mina was being as
unpredictable as anyone in the glen below! “And whatever for, if I cannot
be stealing anything?” she demanded. “And why would they be letting me
stay?”
Mina struck at her. Kelpie ducked automatically, and Bogle chuckled. He
would also have chuckled had the blow landed.
“You’ll be persuading them, just,” commanded Mina. “Play upon their
sympathy. Let them be making you a maidservant if they will—and mind
that you be a good one. ’Tis a spy you’ll be, to watch and listen, for
the lads are fresh from England and knowing about affairs. Be learning
how they feel about the King and Mac Cailein Mor and the Lord Graham of
Montrose. And keep them feeling kindly toward you, for we may use them
one day.”
Kelpie hooded her eyes thoughtfully. She had already learned a good
bit—but why tell Mina now? Better to wait and see where her own
advantage lay and learn what Mina was up to.
“And where will ye be going?” she ventured to ask.
“Never you mind!” snapped Mina. “We will be returning for you when we are
ready, and then it may be that you can learn some of the witchcraft you
are wanting so badly.” Beneath their wrinkled lids her faded old eyes
gleamed at Kelpie watchfully.
Kelpie kept her own eyes veiled. She knew how much Mina’s promise was
worth, but here was hope that Mina might really be going to teach her at
last, for her own profit. Kelpie must be very docile, then, and never let
Mina suspect what was in her mind.
“Very well so,” she agreed indifferently, it being best to show neither
reluctance nor enthusiasm.
“Once more with the crystal, then,” ordered Mina, producing it; and
Kelpie obediently sat down in the dew-heavy clumps of long grass. Her
face was lowered meekly, to conceal the knowledge that Mina depended on
her to see the picture. The gray light was now growing rosy over the bare
top of Meall Dubh. The rosiness was reflected in the shining ball and
then moved and scattered.
“A battle!” whispered Kelpie, her eyes large and fixed on the scene. But
it wasn’t like the other battles she had seen in the crystal—no cavalry
charge of armored men on green slopes, but a charge of Highlanders on the
steeper, wilder hills of Scotland. She could clearly make out the bright
tartans, and the double-handed claymores flashing, and she could almost
hear the wailing skirl of the pipes. There was a red-bearded giant in the
thick of it, and a slight brown-haired man on a horse, wearing a blue
bonnet, and it was he who seemed to be the power behind the charge—though
Kelpie couldn’t say how she knew. And now the others were fleeing in the
fury of the attack, and it seemed to Kelpie that she saw the blue and
green Campbell tartan among the defeated.
Her voice muted and hurried, Kelpie described the scene to Mina, leaving
out the name of the tartan and any other details that she guessed Mina
might not be able to make out for herself.
And now there was a different scene, and there was the brown-haired
man, dressed quite unfittingly as a groom, clasping the hand of the
red-bearded one, who was looking altogether astonished and overjoyed, and
behind them, on the hillside, was a cheering crowd of Highlanders.
“Well?” demanded Mina.
Kelpie shook her head. “A hillside and a crowd of people,” she murmured,
“but ’tis all cloudy.” And then she held her breath.
But Mina didn’t seem to know that Kelpie was deceiving her. “I wanted
news of Argyll,” she grumbled and put the crystal away. Then, after a
parting cuff, she strode up the hill with Bogle—and not so much as a
parting glance from either of them. Och, they had some pressing purpose,
the two of them, and whatever could it be?
The eastern sky was apricot now. The sun would be up in a few minutes,
and already golden light was pouring across the very tops of the hills
on the far side of the glen, but a fitful wind was coming from the west,
promising to bring rain clouds over those same bright hills....
What if, after all, Glenfern refused to let her stay? Feeling excited and
forlorn at once, Kelpie turned her back on the sunrise and walked slowly
down the hill.
* * * * *
She approached the house on lagging feet, suddenly nervous. Ian’s father
was outside the door, talking to Lachlan and an old man. Lachlan already
disliked her, and Glenfern looked as if he could be stern indeed. Kelpie
drooped her mouth into an expression of wistful apology, arranged the
sling on her arm so that it showed up well, and hovered tentatively a few
feet away.
Glenfern’s face was kindly enough when he looked up and saw her. “Good
morning,” he greeted her. “And how are you feeling?”
“Good morning,” replied Kelpie, “and well enough,”—making it sound like a
brave lie. “But—” She stopped, looking frightened. “Mina and Bogle came,”
she began, and paused.
“Oh. And you’ll be wanting a bit of breakfast before you’re away off
with them?” suggested Glenfern with a smile.
“They’re away off without me,” blurted Kelpie, looking helpless. “They’re
not wanting me any more.”
“_Dhé!_” said Glenfern. He didn’t seem overjoyed.
“I have nowhere to go,” added Kelpie pathetically, in case he hadn’t got
the point.
“Aye,” said Glenfern, who had got it very quickly. “Well, come away in,
and we’ll see my wife.”
“_Mise-an-dhui!_” said Lady Glenfern when they told her. She looked even
less delighted than her husband.
Eithne looked up from sorting and polishing silver. “Och, what a wicked
thing!” she exclaimed, her creamy oval face troubled and sympathetic.
“And have you no other relations?”
Kelpie shook her head. Wee Mairi, gathering that something was wrong, ran
over and slipped her warm little hand into Kelpie’s, and the twins looked
up in surprise, for they had thought everyone had more relations than
could be counted.
“Perhaps she had better be staying with us,” they suggested through
mouthfuls of buttered scone—an extra breakfast, no doubt. “She could put
the Evil Eye on all our enemies, whatever,” added Ronald hopefully.
“You’re not really a witch, are you?” asked Lady Glenfern seriously. A
white witch, of course, was a great benefit to have around, since all
her powers were used for good; and the Kirk of the Lowlands had not
yet reached far enough into the Highlands to make even white powers
dangerous. Still, the lass of Old Mina was more likely to be a black
witch, than a white one.
“No!” Said Kelpie vehemently, and with perfect truth. (How she wished she
were!) “And I would never be wanting to harm anyone,” she added, less
truthfully.
Alex, sitting cross-legged on the far window seat, sent her a bright
hazel glance of derision, which Kelpie ignored.
Glenfern raised an eyebrow at his wife, sighed, and smiled kindly. “Would
you be wanting to stay with us, lassie?” he asked.
“I would so,” replied Kelpie forthrightly. This was easier than she had
hoped—if only Alex didn’t spoil it. “I could be working,” she offered
meekly. “’Tis little enough I am knowing about the insides of houses, but
I learn quickly.”
Alex muffled a snort of laughter. They all glanced at him, but he merely
gave Kelpie a look that was both warning and mirthful.
Kelpie, who would have made a good general, seized the offensive boldly.
“He is thinking I want to steal things,” she announced, nodding her
tangled black head in Alex’s direction.
“And do you not?” asked Glenfern bluntly.
“Of course,” admitted Kelpie candidly. Didn’t everyone? “But I would
not be doing it,” she went on, her blue-ringed eyes fixed on Glenfern’s,
“because you would be sending me away if I did.”
It was the best thing she could have said. Glenfern lifted his dark
head with a shout of delighted laughter. Everyone seemed pleased and
amused, and Kelpie made a mental note that truth was sometimes even more
effective than a lie. She looked demure and managed at the same time to
shoot a triumphant glance at Alex. But, disappointingly, he only grinned.
“Very well so,” decided Lady Glenfern, smiling at her. “It is not many
people can claim to having a friendly Kelpie staying with them. And I
think you have it in you to be a good lass, and trustworthy.”
Kelpie looked at her, deeply shocked. How could a great lady like this be
so foolishly trusting? And all of them seemed the same—excepting Alex,
of course, who was sensibly suspicious. Kelpie definitely approved of
this, although she hated his uncanny astuteness and his mockery. As for
the rest of them, indeed and indeed, it was a wonder they had managed to
survive so long. Fooling them was almost too easy, like catching a baby
hare with a broken leg.
She felt the same way all over again on that very afternoon, after a most
difficult morning.
The difficulties had begun almost immediately after Kelpie’s too easy
acceptance into the life of Glenfern. It seemed that Lady Glenfern had
peculiar ideas on the subject of cleanliness and propriety. To begin
with, there was the bath, the first Kelpie had ever had, supervised by
the mistress herself, and executed by Fiona and her formidable mother
Catriona. Catriona grumbled constantly, and Fiona crossed herself every
time Kelpie looked at her—which she did frequently and maliciously.
Then there was the matter of her name. “Have you not a proper Christian
name?” asked Lady Glenfern while Kelpie’s matted hair was being violently
combed and plaited into two long, thick tails. Kelpie, unable to shake
her head, and with eyes smarting from the pulling, made a sound that
meant no.
“My sorrow!” remarked her new mistress. “A strange thing to be naming a
lass for a water witch! Would you not rather be called something else?
Rena, perhaps, or Morag?”
But Kelpie caught a glimpse of herself just then in the small mirror that
stood on a table, and a fleeting shaft of panic shot through her. It
wasn’t herself at all! Her face was a stranger, with the dirt off and the
hair pulled back wetly to show all of her eyes and forehead and even her
fawn-shaped ears. _Dhé!_ If they changed her name as well, perhaps she
would cease altogether to be herself and become someone else entirely!
“No!” she said vehemently. And the subject was dropped.
But when they gave her a fine-woven blue woolen dress of Eithne’s for her
very own, and even something to wear under it, she began to take a more
favorable view of the situation. And when, in the afternoon, she met Ian
coming in the front door, he hardly seemed to know her at first. His eyes
opened wide as he shook the heavy rain from his plaidie, and then he gave
her one of his rare and sudden smiles that was like sunlight out of the
drenching sky. Kelpie grinned back, preening herself frankly in her new
finery.
“Och, aren’t you grand, just!” Ian said admiringly.
“Oh, aye,” agreed Kelpie, seeing no reason to deny it. “But I should have
a pocket and a wee bit of silver to put in it,” she added hopefully.
Ian laughed at her cheekiness. “Perhaps some day,” he said. “But I know
that you will not be stealing them, for you have said you won’t, and I
trust you.”
There it was again! Kelpie shook her head in wonder. That wasn’t at all
the reason she wouldn’t be stealing, and how could he be so daft as to
think it? His warm brown eyes and the lovely chiseled, sensitive curve of
his mouth quite melted Kelpie, and before she could stop herself she was
warning him.
“Och,” she blurted. “You mustn’t be trusting people so easily! It is not
safe whatever!”
“Mustn’t I trust you, then?” asked Ian gently. “Are you not wanting to be
trusted, Kelpie?”
“Indeed so,” explained Kelpie kindly. “Everyone is wanting to be trusted,
because then it is much easier to fool the ones who trust them. And you
may be trusting me because you have a stick over me, but it is foolish to
do so otherwise.”
They looked at each other pityingly.
“Perhaps people are not so good as I would like to think,” said Ian
slowly. “But I think they are not so bad as you have found them, either,
Kelpie. And I would liefer trust mistakenly than to mistrust unfairly. Do
you understand that?”
“No,” said Kelpie.
5. Bewitchery
It was a strange new life she was in, indeed! Walls and roof were like a
trap at first, although it was a grand thing to be warm and dry with all
the storm demons howling over the earth. It was strange to have certain
tasks at certain times, too, and not easy for a gypsy lass to whom time
was nothing. It was strange to eat hot meals three times a day, and at a
table, with the heat coming from the huge kitchen fireplace. But it was
not so strange to have the servants lowering at her suspiciously. For the
clanspeople of the glen, unlike their chief and his family, never trusted
this water witch for a moment. An evil sprite she was, and no mistake
about it. They watched every move she made.
Still, suspicion was less after her first Sunday there, after she had
gathered with the others to hear Glenfern read the service. It was well
known that no witch would dare enter a church or hear the Holy Word,
lest the roof fall in or some other dire thing happen. Kelpie herself was
uneasy about this at first. True, she was not a witch, but she wanted to
be, and she had read the crystal with Mina, and she wasn’t altogether
certain what might happen. Still, it wasn’t a proper church, with a
priest, but only Glenfern reading the Anglican service—and in any case,
she dared not refuse. So she went, heart beating faster than usual, and
was greatly relieved when nothing dreadful happened.
True to her promise, Kelpie was diligent and learned quickly. Her reward
was free time to wander in the encircling hills or to be with the other
young people—and this was strangest of all, for they played and chattered
and joked in a way quite novel to Kelpie, with laughter among them, and
an ease and affection that held no wariness. Under the bewitchment of
it, Kelpie found herself dropping her own guard more and more often.
She liked being with them! There was more joy in it than in shouting
and dancing alone on a hilltop; a different excitement from that she
felt when cutting purses. As the days passed, she often had to remind
herself of the advice she had given Ian. To be too relaxed could be
dangerous—especially with that sharp-minded Alex about.
Still, she couldn’t help enjoying those hours, and presently something
clicked in her mind, and she understood the baffling thing they called
teasing.
Kelpie, Eithne, Ian, and Alex were sitting nearly waist-deep in the
tangle of heather and bog-myrtle that rimmed Loch nan Eilean on a sunny
afternoon.
“Are you _sure_ you’re not wanting a proper name besides ‘Kelpie’?”
Eithne asked, her soft voice worried and laughing at once. “It seems so
insulting, just, that your parents....”
Parents? Suddenly Kelpie remembered what Bogle had said. Suppose she had
truly been stolen? Suppose she were really the daughter of a chief? Och,
the glory of it! Wealth and importance, lovely gowns and jewels, silver
buckles on real leather shoes, and a silver belt around her waist, and
oh, the safety of never having to run from angry crowds....
“_Dhé!_” she announced eagerly. “Mina and Bogle will not be my parents,
at all.” She paused dramatically and prepared to launch the rest of her
news. How startled and respectful they would be! Why hadn’t she thought
of it sooner?
“Och, now!” Alex turned twin sparks of laughter upon her. “And haven’t
I been waiting, just, for you to be telling us? Kelpie has suddenly
remembered,” he explained to the others solemnly, “that she was stolen by
the gypsies when a wee bairn and is truly the daughter of a great chief,
or perhaps of royal blood.”
“How did you know?” began Kelpie and then stopped. The others were
chuckling as at a great joke. Alex had put the blight of ridicule on
her story—though it was at least half true. And now no one would ever be
believing it at all!
“Beast!” she spat. “It is _true_!”
“As ever was!” agreed Alex jauntily and ducked her angry fist. Then he
caught her wrist, put it firmly in her lap, and sat grinning at her.
“You’re a wonderful wee liar, aren’t you just?” he observed admiringly.
“Ou, aye,” admitted Kelpie a trifle smugly before she realized that he
had tricked her again. “But this time,” she pointed out with indignation,
“I am not lying.”
“And would you not be saying the same thing if you were lying?” he
persisted.
This time Kelpie saw the trap, but she was already in it. “Of course,”
she admitted with forthright logic. “For what would be the good of lying
if you did not say it was the truth? But”—she bristled, slanted brows
scrambling themselves darkly above her short nose—“_this_ time it _is_
true!”
Alex laughed.
Kelpie tried for at least the twentieth time to put the Evil Eye on
him. The result was a poisonous look, if not a blighting one. “Wicked,
evil-minded beast!” she told him earnestly.
Ian looked at Alex judiciously. “Och, no; not wicked,” he said. “He’s a
bit evil-minded, ’tis true, and surely daft.”
Kelpie blinked.
“Aye, daft enough,” agreed Eithne happily. “Were you knowing, Kelpie,
that he’s altogether foolish about an English lass, his cousin Cecily in
Oxford? And yet all he can be saying of her is that she is like her own
wee kitten, and that he will marry with her some day.”
Alex grinned brazenly. “Well, and with who else?” he demanded. “You would
not be having me, _m’eudail_.”
“_Dhé_, no!” agreed Eithne promptly. “I’d as lief marry the twins!”
“Mayhap Kelpie would have him,” suggested Ian lazily, and then he and
Eithne shouted with laughter at the looks of sheer horror on both faces.
“Mercy!” begged Alex, getting to his knees and clasping his hands
pleadingly. “Anything but that! Curse me all you wish, water witch, but
_please_ do not marry me!”
Kelpie looked at him. It was then that something clicked. “Very well so,”
she agreed with enthusiasm. “And what sort of curse would you be wanting?”
* * * * *
She went back to the house a little later, looking thoughtful and with a
pleasant feeling in the heart of her—not merely because, for once, she
had got the better of Alex, but also because of the thing that happened
between people when they teased. It was a warm and happy thing that
turned insults to joking and the hatred of Alex to something kinder. For
surely a body did not tease where he hated! And surely he had been half
teasing her from the first.
Kelpie’s blue eyes glinted happily as she hurried into the big
stone-floored kitchen, so that Marsali the cook almost smiled at her and
Fiona for once forgot to cross herself.
“And about time it is, too!” Marsali grunted, remembering her doubts
about Kelpie. “The mistress has been looking for you while you were
playing like a fine lady. Here, now, be helping to pluck this fowl, and
let Master Donald go tell her that you’re here.”
Kelpie glanced at the half of the twins who was arming himself for an
afternoon of fishing, with a huge packet of scones and butter. “That’s
Ronald,” she said absently as she picked up the small brown pheasant.
Three pairs of eyes focused on her in sudden sharp attention, for it took
far more than a brief glance to tell one twin from the other. In fact,
only their mother and Wee Mairi could invariably do it.
“I’m Donald,” asserted the twin, his eyes sparkling at her.
“You’re Ronald.” Kelpie contradicted him serenely, hardly glancing up
from her plucking job.
Marsali at once took sides. “Och, now, will you be calling the wee master
a liar?” she demanded indignantly, her fists planted against her hips.
“Ou, aye,” said Kelpie. “He will be teasing you,” she added, pleased to
recognize it.
Fiona looked shocked. Marsali peered suspiciously from Kelpie to the
twin, who giggled. “Och, well, then,” said Marsali, her ruddy face now
ruddier with indignation, though she was not quite sure at whom to
direct it. “Fine it is that Master Ronald has the wee mole on the back
of his neck.” And she strode over to the grinning lad and lifted up the
shoulder-length dark hair to look at the neck beneath. Kelpie went on
plucking, perfectly sure of herself and feeling rather smug.
“Master Ronald it _is_!” Marsali clucked, and Fiona crossed herself and
edged away from Kelpie. “How could you be knowing, save with the Black
Power?”
“Aye,” demanded Ronald. “How were you knowing, Kelpie? Was it witchcraft?”
Kelpie grinned and shrugged. She couldn’t really tell how she knew.
It wasn’t the look of them, but rather the feel. Donald had a more
aggressive and challenging tone, and Ronald more a feel of hungry
curiosity. But how could a body explain this kind of knowing? No, they
would just have to think it witchcraft.
“_Mise-an-dhui!_” muttered Marsali, regarding her warily. Fiona had
backed against the far wall. Donald appeared in search of his twin,
and the two went into a conference. Presently they came out of it and
presented a solid front to Kelpie, sturdy legs planted wide.
“That is no proof you are a witch,” announced Donald. “Mother and Wee
Mairi can tell us apart, and they are no witches, only Mother is knowing
us too well and Mairi has Second Sight.”
Kelpie yielded to temptation, made a horrible grimace, and began weaving
mysterious signs in the air with her fingers. Fiona screeched, and
Marsali turned pale. The twins stood their ground, grinning, belligerent,
deeply interested—and just faintly worried.
“Now whatever is all this?” It was Lady Glenfern herself, her full mauve
skirts nearly filling the wide doorway, with Eithne, round-eyed, just
behind.
“Witchcraft!” squeaked Fiona.
Kelpie flushed guiltily and found a sudden lump in her throat. Och, here
was a mess! Why had she done such a foolish thing? All in fun it was,
and yet who would believe her for a minute? Now she would be punished
and sent away—and, for once, for a thing of which she was innocent! The
novelty of the situation was so shattering that for once she lost her
glib tongue. She simply stared at her mistress, her eyes growing wide
with frustration and despair.
The twins and Marsali broke into simultaneous explanations—all slightly
different—with Fiona putting in exclamation points here and there, so
that it was some time before Lady Glenfern could get an idea of what had
happened. When she did, she turned questioningly to Kelpie, who was still
trying to think up some lie that sounded more plausible than the truth.
But Eithne spoke first.
“Och, then, Mother!” she said, laughter and distress in her voice. “She
was teasing; I am sure of it. Look you how the twins are always at her
to cast a spell, and Fiona just begging to be teased by the very look of
her. I am sure that was the way of it! Was it not, Kelpie?”
Kelpie nodded a bit sullenly. This was humiliating. She wished she really
had power to do a wee magic spell and dared show them, just to see their
surprise.
“Well—” Lady Glenfern hesitated, inclined to believe it, but not quite
sure. After all....
At that moment Wee Mairi popped into the kitchen, looking, in her full
skirts, like a fairy child caught in an overblown rose. And, like a fairy
child, she knew instantly that something was wrong, and what to do about
it. She pattered across the floor and slipped her small, soft hand into
Kelpie’s.
“This is _my_ Kelpie,” she announced, smiling angelically at her mother.
“’Tis myself loves her, and you must not be cross at her.”
“There, Mother!” crowed Eithne. “Wee Mairi loves her, and Mairi has the
Second Sight; you said yourself that she is never making a mistake about
a person!”
Lady Glenfern relaxed. “Aye so,” she agreed and smiled at Kelpie. “I can
well see how you were tempted to tease,” she admitted and then became
grave. “But you must be careful, lass. To joke about such matters could
cause you sore trouble.”