said. "Just stories."
"Easy to say, now that you are a fine lady with riches, a castle, and servants," Elga said. "Years ago, when your heart was pure and your life was simple, you knew the truth."
"Does this Stewart know you? Who you are?" Thora asked.
"His bride? Of course," Elga insisted.
"He recognized her," Thora said. "I was at the harbor yesterday—I saw it in his eyes when he looked at Margaret."
Meg felt her cheeks grow hot. "He knows nothing."
"He has come for his son," Elga said.
"Hush!" Meg glanced at the door of the sleeping room, where Iain dozed. "He knows nothing of my son. He does not even know that I am Lady Strathlin."
"Good," Thora said. "Keep that from him for now."
"I intend to tell him," Meg said stiffly. "When the time is right, I will tell him."
"I looked into the fire and I knew he is the one," Elga said.
"That he is the kelpie? Or the engineer who has made my life miserable?" Meg asked bitterly.
"The one who is meant for you," Elga replied.
Meg took a sip of tea and did not answer.
"Uisht, Mother," Thora said. "It is bad luck to talk so much of the kelpie. You must not say it so often."
"Why? He's come back for his bride," Elga insisted. "He's part of our family now."
"Oh, do stop," Meg said, and groaned.
"A prince of the deep, building a tower on his rock for his bride, but guised as a working man," Elga intoned, nodding.
Meg sighed and leaned her chin on her fist. Through the window, the early sky lightened to blue.
Since childhood, she had loved and respected her great-grandmother, and had listened to Elga's endless stories of ancient heroes, gods, and goddesses, and had given credence to Elga's divinations. The island's oldest inhabitant, Elga was also its mystic and its bard, respected by all—and perhaps indulged, Meg thought, as she became more eccentric and stubborn with age. Elga clung to the old ways, the old legends and superstitions, and she still practiced spells and charms as she had always done.
Mother Elga lived in a medieval world, with a medieval mind. The rest of the world had moved on, yet she was content in her ways and certain they were right.
Yet Meg felt removed from the world of her childhood at times. Years on the mainland had changed her—she had a practical, more modern bent, and knowing both the mainland world and the older island ways, she understood both, saw the benefits of both. Time rolled slow in the Hebrides, and on Caransay, tradition, routine, and simplicity ruled.
Meg had acquired Caransay's lease and had done all that she could for the islanders, but she knew that Elga would always live by the old ways, and so would Thora. Norrie's wife was kind but meek, and Mother Elga dominated the family with her old-fashioned beliefs.
Meg had not only outgrown the old ways, she had been deeply hurt by complying with them.
"Mark me, he is the one," Elga said. "You made a bargain and a binding promise with the kelpie, girl, and bore his child. Now you must pay your agreement."
"I have paid more than anyone can know," Meg said quietly. She turned away, caught her breath against tears.
"It was our bargain as much as hers," Thora said. "What she did, Margaret did for us, and everyone on this island. Our homes and our livelihoods are safe. We have all that we could ever want, thanks to her generosity."
"That fortune of gold and riches came to her through the kelpie," Elga said. "Just as much as that sweet child did."
"It came to me through my maternal grandfather's will."
"And never would have come to you at all if his first two heirs had lived," Elga said. "The old man died and left his fortune to his only granddaughter, an island girl. No one expected it. All of it happened within a few weeks of your marriage to the kelpie. He made that magic happen."
"No water-horse could have arranged that," Meg said, letting her impatience slip for a moment. "There is no magic. And he is not my husband!"
"You did not resist him that night, girl," Elga
"Easy to say, now that you are a fine lady with riches, a castle, and servants," Elga said. "Years ago, when your heart was pure and your life was simple, you knew the truth."
"Does this Stewart know you? Who you are?" Thora asked.
"His bride? Of course," Elga insisted.
"He recognized her," Thora said. "I was at the harbor yesterday—I saw it in his eyes when he looked at Margaret."
Meg felt her cheeks grow hot. "He knows nothing."
"He has come for his son," Elga said.
"Hush!" Meg glanced at the door of the sleeping room, where Iain dozed. "He knows nothing of my son. He does not even know that I am Lady Strathlin."
"Good," Thora said. "Keep that from him for now."
"I intend to tell him," Meg said stiffly. "When the time is right, I will tell him."
"I looked into the fire and I knew he is the one," Elga said.
"That he is the kelpie? Or the engineer who has made my life miserable?" Meg asked bitterly.
"The one who is meant for you," Elga replied.
Meg took a sip of tea and did not answer.
"Uisht, Mother," Thora said. "It is bad luck to talk so much of the kelpie. You must not say it so often."
"Why? He's come back for his bride," Elga insisted. "He's part of our family now."
"Oh, do stop," Meg said, and groaned.
"A prince of the deep, building a tower on his rock for his bride, but guised as a working man," Elga intoned, nodding.
Meg sighed and leaned her chin on her fist. Through the window, the early sky lightened to blue.
Since childhood, she had loved and respected her great-grandmother, and had listened to Elga's endless stories of ancient heroes, gods, and goddesses, and had given credence to Elga's divinations. The island's oldest inhabitant, Elga was also its mystic and its bard, respected by all—and perhaps indulged, Meg thought, as she became more eccentric and stubborn with age. Elga clung to the old ways, the old legends and superstitions, and she still practiced spells and charms as she had always done.
Mother Elga lived in a medieval world, with a medieval mind. The rest of the world had moved on, yet she was content in her ways and certain they were right.
Yet Meg felt removed from the world of her childhood at times. Years on the mainland had changed her—she had a practical, more modern bent, and knowing both the mainland world and the older island ways, she understood both, saw the benefits of both. Time rolled slow in the Hebrides, and on Caransay, tradition, routine, and simplicity ruled.
Meg had acquired Caransay's lease and had done all that she could for the islanders, but she knew that Elga would always live by the old ways, and so would Thora. Norrie's wife was kind but meek, and Mother Elga dominated the family with her old-fashioned beliefs.
Meg had not only outgrown the old ways, she had been deeply hurt by complying with them.
"Mark me, he is the one," Elga said. "You made a bargain and a binding promise with the kelpie, girl, and bore his child. Now you must pay your agreement."
"I have paid more than anyone can know," Meg said quietly. She turned away, caught her breath against tears.
"It was our bargain as much as hers," Thora said. "What she did, Margaret did for us, and everyone on this island. Our homes and our livelihoods are safe. We have all that we could ever want, thanks to her generosity."
"That fortune of gold and riches came to her through the kelpie," Elga said. "Just as much as that sweet child did."
"It came to me through my maternal grandfather's will."
"And never would have come to you at all if his first two heirs had lived," Elga said. "The old man died and left his fortune to his only granddaughter, an island girl. No one expected it. All of it happened within a few weeks of your marriage to the kelpie. He made that magic happen."
"No water-horse could have arranged that," Meg said, letting her impatience slip for a moment. "There is no magic. And he is not my husband!"
"You did not resist him that night, girl," Elga
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