by Susan King
“We will solve it. I will stay here as much as I can, and perhaps you will come to the city when I must be there. We can keep a house here and another there. And it may be,” he said then, surprising himself with the new revelation, “that I will want to be here always. I may decide to give up the university work and devote myself to research and writing—at Struan.”
“You might?”
“Aye. Good, then. How is this thing to be done?”
His heart was hammering. He was not uncertain but anticipated the risks, the challenges. Though he was not an impulsive soul by any means, something within him insisted that this was right, and had to be.
“We hold hands and say a vow of our own making,” she said. “And we need—let me see.” She looked around. “Over here!”
Tugging on his hand, she led him toward a narrow stream of water that cut down over the rock from the mountaintop.
“Here?” he asked.
“Aye, over water. It carries rain and melted snow from the highest point to the lowest spot, so it joins the power of the mountain and sky and earth. Step over to the other side, and I shall stand here, so the water runs between us.”
He stepped across the narrow runnel to face her. He had heard of such things, had read of them here and there. Joining hands over running water was believed to make any vow powerful and binding.
Elspeth turned, beckoned to her grandfather, who walked toward them. Silent, discreet, he folded his hands and stood a distance away. He nodded.
James took her hands in his. Her slender fingers trembled. Letting go, she drew off her gloves—his hands were bare—so they could touch skin to skin. He took the gloves, tucked them in his pocket.
Then Elspeth crossed her forearms, placing her right hand in his right, her left in his left. “The custom in handfasting is to form a love knot. A union forged with a knot and entwined with a blessing will last forever.”
“What of the vows?”
“Say what is in your heart,” she whispered. “Let the words come to you.”
James frowned, thoughtful, closing his eyes. After a moment—perhaps it was the place, perhaps the significance of what was happening—a feeling swelled within, heart and soul. The force gathered and filled him with awe, with humility. With love. Feeling earth beneath him, the quiet power of the water and mountain air, he felt the words come to him.
“I, James Arthur MacCarran, take you, Elspeth—”
“Eilidh,” she whispered. “My birth name.”
“Ay-lesh,” he repeated, gazing at her through misting rain. “I, James Arthur MacCarran, Lord Struan, pledge my troth and my heart and all my worldly goods to you, Eilidh MacArthur. I bless the day we met, and I give you my heart. Here in this place, I take you as my wife and my lover, in body and soul, forever and a day.”
“I, Eilidh MacArthur,” she murmured, “pledge my troth and heart to you, James Arthur MacCarran, Lord Struan. I too bless the day we met. I bless your strong will and your kindness, for they strengthen me. I take you as my husband and lover, in body and in soul, forever and a day.”
“May none put this asunder,” he murmured. Leaning forward, drawing her crossed hands toward him, he kissed her lips. Water burbled between and beneath, the rain fell upon them, and the tender kiss lingered. His heart pounded hard with the promise he had made. Forever. It felt as solid as the rock beneath his feet.
She lifted on her toes, leaning toward him, then drew back. James stepped over the water to join her, taking her in his arms. “Now, Lady Struan,” he murmured, “we will be safe inside the cave.”
“Lady Struan?”
“That is who you are now. Soon we will make it completely legal.”
“Come, Lord Struan, let us get on with it.” She tugged at his hand.
“Get on with it? Madam!” He laughed.
“Not that,” she said, smiling. “The cave. The search.”
“I thought perhaps the condition of finding treasure might be lifted now.”
“The condition is lifted, but we still have to find the gold, if it exists. We must save Donal MacArthur,” she said, wrapping her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Mr. MacArthur,” James said, looking up as Donal MacArthur came close.
“Congratulations, lad. And my wee girl. Eilidh,” Donal said, his voice choking suddenly as he embraced her. Then he shook James’s hand. “Now I can know that you will be safe. And happy always, aye.” He grinned.
“Come inside with us, Grandda,” Elspeth said. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Tendrils of dark hair escaped, curling, over her brow.
Donal shook his head. “Go with Struan. I will go down the mountain a bit, and wait for you there.”
“But Grandda—”
“Keep the wee blue stone close,” he advised. “You will need its power.”
“It is raining,” Elspeth said. “Inside you will be dry. We need your help.”
The old man touched her cheek. “I never meant to go inside with you. I cannot go in again.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I see them again, it will be the last time, and I will not return home. This thing is for you to do, not me. I know that now.”
“But you have searched for the treasure all your life.”
“You are my treasure, lass. You have always been my treasure. Take care of her, Struan.” He turned to James.
“I will,” James answered. “Take care, sir. We will be back soon.”
“And for now, this will be our secret, this marriage. You tell the world when you want. But if any should question, it is proven by me.” He nodded, then turned to follow the course of the runnel track as it led downward.
“Come ahead, then, lady wife,” James said, buoyed by the power of their new status, the strength of decision made together. He kissed Elspeth, then took her hand and walked toward the cave.
Elspeth shivered in the cool darkness of the cave. The space seemed ordinary at first glance, irregularly shaped and not large, its rough arched walls fell into deep shadow toward the back, where the floor sloped downward.
No fairy halls of gold, no luminous fey creatures awaited them here. She sighed in relief, having been unsure what to expect.
Her husband—she tried out the thought, felt a thrill—brushed his hand over a span of the rock wall. “A good bit of metamorphic dolomitic limestone is here. Limestone deposits,” he explained, “when large enough, can contain caves and caverns, which we believe were pockets of air as the stone formed and cooled. A fine cave indeed,” he added as he walked further inside.
Elspeth stayed by the entrance, chilled and wary, while James explored, sweeping his hand over undulations and textures in the rock. He glanced at her. “I have a tinder box in my satchel. We can make a fire and warm up if you like. Is there something wrong, lass?”
She wrapped her arms snug about herself, shoulders tense. “I am wondering if there are others here.”
“The Fey? Your grandfather’s comments were a bit unsettling, but we assured our safety against the fairies only a few minutes ago.” He smiled, took her in his arms, kissed her gently.
“This is not just amusing fairy nonsense, you know.”
“My apologies. Do you want to stay here and wait while I look around?”
She shook her head. “I would rather not be alone here.” Nodding his understanding, he turned slowly in the low, vaulted space.
“This cave has been in use recently.” He gestured toward a side wall, where a long, hollowed stone sat. “Accommodations for a horse—here’s a stone trough with oats still in it,” he added, peering inside. “And iron hooks hammered into the wall here for reins and such. Not fairies,” he said wryly. “Smugglers.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” She laughed despite an anxious sense. “There is some smuggling in this region. They must come up here to stash goods in the caves to hide it from excise men and sheriffs. We have MacGregor cousins who indulge a little the fair trade.”
“The
ones who make that excellent brew your grandfather keeps? I would think any smugglers would stay in their homes on such a dreary day as this, so we need not be concerned about trespassing. And I believe this part of the slope is still on Struan lands, which are quite extensive, from the documents I have seen,” James went on. “Does that make their whisky mine?”
“Could be,” she answered with a smile. “But that would also make you responsible for any criminal actions on your lands.”
“Ah. Then we will not dispute ownership.” He took her hand to walk toward the back, where he ducked his head to peer into the shadows there. “This cave has two chambers at least. Not uncommon,” he added. “Looks as if there is a second chamber here.” He crouched to peer into it. Then he beckoned and went inside.
Elspeth followed him down a natural ramp of rock into the lower cave, a dark, close, narrow space just high enough for James to stand upright. Enough daylight spilled from the outer cave to reveal shadowy objects inside the smaller cave—boxes, blankets, a rock ledge with bottles, candles, bowls and other items.
“They have made themselves comfortable here,” James said. “Honestly, after your grandfather’s ominous remarks, I am glad to see hints of human presence. I would far rather meet a smuggler than a fairy in here.”
Laughing softly, Elspeth turned. “Are those wooden crates empty?”
James peered into a few of the boxes stacked against one wall. “Aye,” he said, then opened one. “Ah, a bit of whisky. The laird of Struan may just want to share it.” He looked up. “Would this be fairy whisky, by chance? We may not want to indulge in any of that just now. I wonder if Donal came up here for his fairy brew.”
“No, Cousin Dougal brings it to him once a year, and they have a merry night together sharing it. He is a bonny braw lad, a good laird to his folk and his kin. Perhaps you shall meet him someday.”
She felt a sudden thrill, a chill, go through her. Fiona, she thought suddenly, seeing a quick image of James’s sister and her own cousin Dougal MacGregor standing together—but bit her lip against the words. This was no time to share the Sight with James. And perhaps it was only imagination; she quite liked Fiona, and had always hoped her handsome cousin Dougal would find someone to love. Bonny, braw, and very lonely, he was, with much responsibility—which he was solving by taking some dangerous risks.
James turned. “Love? What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I am satisfied that this place belongs not to fairies, but to smugglers—my cousins or others—and I think we should leave.”
“All right, then. Let me examine the rock and we will go. First, a little light.”
Taking one of the candles from the ledge, he removed his tinderbox from his satchel and knelt, flashing steel to flint, and made enough sparks on the wick to create a little flame. He stood to hold it high, its golden glow spilling down.
Elspeth saw more inside the cave then—a stack of blankets, a crate used as a table with a whisky bottle, a small sack of oats, a few dishes.
“A man could live in here,” James said.
“Not with his wife,” she said wryly.
“A moment, lass. See, the rock in here is different than the outer cave.” He gestured. “The walls out there are mostly limestone, with patches of basalt and granite. Here, there is more granite composition. Interesting. That means layers that show different ages in the rock.”
“And this cave is below the other, so this granite layer formed first?”
“A quick student! I did not think you listened to my ramblings.”
“I have listened to everything you said. And it made me more curious about silly rocks. Oh, it is cold and damp down here.” She rubbed her arms.
“There is a devilish chill, and we’re damp from the drizzle. The whisky and those blankets will help. Here.” He found cups on a shelf, quickly removed a cork from a bottle, and poured a little. Sniffing, taking it in, he nodded. “Very good.”
Elspeth took the cup he handed her and sipped a little, and he drank from his cup. The whisky burned like fire, warmed her inside, took the chill away for the moment. “Highland whisky,” she said. “Very good quality. I wonder whose it is.”
“The fairy sort?”
She closed her eyes, tasted. “The ordinary sort.”
“Any Scot knows Highland whisky is never ordinary, even without the fairies brewing it or whatever your cousin claims.” He sipped again, turned. “What is in that small chest over there? Fairy treasure, I hope?”
Seeing a wooden chest in a corner, she went there and knelt to open it. Tartan and linen were folded inside. “More plaids, some shirts.”
“If the smugglers ever found treasure here, it would be long gone.”
“The legend is quite old. You still do not believe any of this, do you.”
“If some of it can be explained rationally, it does make it easier to believe. Though missing fairy treasure makes a better legend than whisky smugglers.”
Setting down the cup, Elspeth untied her bonnet ribbons, as the hat obscured her vision in the dark little cave. She set it with the whisky bottle and cup, as her dark hair slipped free of its pins. She caught them and tucked in her pocket.
When James draped one of the plaid blankets around her shoulders, and she smiled her thanks, leaning against him, feeling his cheek press against her head.
Married. She had willingly made the commitment, after weeks of doubt and fear that she realized now she had learned from her grandfather, for he feared more about these legends and possible fairies than she ever had. Now that she was wed, what then could she expect from life—and the Fey? But she could not shake the feeling of wariness. Something might yet happen.
James held the candle high and went to a shadowed corner of the cave. “There is another space here,” he said, as his reaching hand and arm disappeared into a crevice. Turning sideways, he slid into the darkness, the candle’s glow blooming on rocky walls.
“James!” Elspeth followed, not eager to be alone. The dread feeling was still with her. Yet she and James had made a promise between them that warmed her heart, made her feel safe. Nothing could harm her, or either of them. She had to trust in that. Where he went, she would call up courage and go too.
She slid easily through the narrow cleft, following the light of the candle, and looked around. This space was more like a narrow passageway in the rock, and the shadows dissolved into pure blackness beyond. From somewhere, she heard the faint drip of water.
“A channel through the rock. A subterranean passage.” James moved cautiously to follow the curve in the walls, stooping and crouching to examine the character of the rock. He pulled a small chisel from a pocket and pounded at a section of the wall, the sound echoing as something broke away. He extended his hand, showing a chunk of dull stone.
“What is that?” she asked. He turned it in his palm and shone the candlelight on it, revealing a green glow inside the husk of rock.
“Agate,” he said. “Not your blue sort, but nonetheless an excellent find.”
She had hoped, however foolishly, for treasure. “How good for your work!”
“It is. I will need to return here to make detailed notes and pick up samples. Caves and channels like this can run in clusters, but I am not sure yet if this leads anywhere. I can see agate and common quartz, but little else. I doubt the smugglers have even been back here. It would be of little use to them.”
She turned slowly. “It might be a good place to hide something.”
“Aye, but there is nothing here. I wish it were otherwise, for your sake and for Donal. I know how much you want to find the treasure.”
Elspeth sighed in disappointment. “Perhaps we never will.”
He put an arm around her shoulders. “It was worth it to come up here. We are handfasted because of it, after all.”
She smiled in the darkness. “That is worth more than agates and granite layers. And worth more to me than treasure.”
“It is indeed.” He kissed
her hair. “I know you hoped to find something more.”
“A bit,” she confessed. She felt elated over the marriage—had no more doubt or fear—but she still felt an ominous awareness that her birthday was approaching, and Donal had warned of the trouble it could bring, “Could we go back now?”
“No one expects us for a while yet,” he murmured, pulling her close. “We are nicely alone here. Let us enjoy that.” He set the candle on a natural niche in the rock, then took her in his arms, skimming his hands downward, raising delicious shivers in her. Resting her hands on his chest, she felt her heartbeat quicken, felt a tender pulsing inside.
“No smugglers. No treasure,” she said. “No fairies.” She hoped that was so.
“Only the beautiful one in my arms,” James whispered. The velvety sound of his voice thrilled through her. She laughed quietly, pressing into his arms as he kissed her, deep and lingering. Whisky flavored the kiss, sweetened it with fire.
Elspeth drew in a soft breath as he began to unbutton her jacket downward, hands grazing over her breasts. As the cloth opened, she shivered in the chill air, but his kisses warmed, and his touch teased at the neckline of her gown where her lace-edged shift peeked. She had not worn a corset that day to allow for more freedom while hill-walking, and she felt glad of it again. James traced his fingers over her collarbones, brushed lower.
Spreading her hand on his chest, she felt his heartbeat beneath her fingers, running fast as thunder. He drew her into his embrace, turning her so that her shoulders braced against the rock wall, immersing her in a richness of kisses and touches.
“I am not done treasure hunting, are you?” he asked in a husky whisper, nuzzling his lips over her cheek. She felt sultry, warmed, blushing all over.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “James—did you know that handfasting is legal, but no more binding in Scotland than an engagement—unless it is consummated?”
“I did not know that,” he murmured against her lips. “We had best make this legal, then, if you are sure—”
“I am certain,” she murmured, as his lips touched her ear. She moaned.
“It feels almost as if time has slowed inside this place, do you feel it?” he asked against her mouth, her cheek.
