Gathering my senses, I got to my knees and pushed my head out the window, startled to find the lead stallion from the herd charging like a great mountain ram up the steep rise from the beach and toward us.
The mighty creature reared to a standstill when he reached the summit, his thick, heaving chest nearly colliding with the side of our coach. His nostrils flared with each heavy intake of air as he flung a screeching whinny at the driver, but then his wild cerulean eyes fixed themselves to mine.
Feeling lured by the great beast—black as onyx and fascinating—I reached out the window to touch him, but snapped out of my strange daze and jerked back when I considered the angry-looking thing might take off my hand with his big teeth.
I heard panic in the driver’s voice as he yelped something in Gaelic while whipping our team forward. I looked down and shrunk back at the sight of the steep drop just beneath our wheels.
Assessing the situation, I saw we’d not followed the curve of the road and had hit the embankment at the ledge.
Fear shot through me when I grasped what was happening. The weight of the coach was shifting, and I braced myself.
With an eerie creak of the frame, two wheels lifted as we started over the steep ledge. I screamed and clutched the doorframe, certain I would fall out the window to be crushed beneath the coach. We gained momentum but then jarred to a halt. My terrified gaze flew to the stallion only to find his riveted on me.
Harsh, still silence hovered between us as the coach hung precariously in place over the lip of the cliff. Though my eyes never left the great beast, I was aware of the descent of my book as it plummeted out the window, skipping from rock to jagged rock until it hit the beach below.
It was then I tore my gaze from the stallion and realized he was the reason we hadn’t already splintered into a thousand pieces. The full weight of the coach rested on his trembling back and muscled rear.
I heard the ground shifting beneath the mass of weight and he dug his hooves in as he shoved hard with a strained whinny. There was another jarring shift of weight and the two wheels that had lifted high slammed suddenly back to the ground, as I slammed back into the seat. The heart-stopping moment had passed.
That magnificent beast had kept us from tumbling to our doom, and I would swear his eyes now looked distressed.
He butted his head against the coach and with a sudden release, our wheels cleared the mound and we went bouncing back onto the road. The driver didn’t let up, but whipped and yelled, urging our poor team until we attained a racing gallop up the hill.
With the fear of our mishap fading quickly from my bones, I sprang to the rear seat and watched out the back window. I knew something amazing had just happened. My lips drew wide in a smile at the bold stallion’s acumen, and I realized it was my first sincere smile since Papa died.
The breathtaking creature snorted, stomped the earth, and circled the ground, continuing to watch me as the distance spread out between us.
Beyond him, I saw the rest of the herd waiting for him below, and they began to whinny and toss their heads. He abruptly turned with a mighty charge and leapt over the ridge, disappearing from my sight and giving my heart a terrible start. I clutched my chest, releasing my breath only when I saw him reenter the scene on the beach below.
He rejoined his herd in the tide just as our coach went over the rise and broke my view, taking me away from the wonderful creature that had just saved my life.
Chapter one
Jinny Fairchild
We arrived in Balfoureigh to the sound of gushing water and wheels clattering across a bridge. I pushed up from my lounging position to watch out the window.
We turned onto High Street and my lips fell open. The town was bigger than I had expected. Two-and-three-story stone buildings stood connected on both sides of the street. The town was a lovely sight.
Oh, how I hoped I would adore living there.
I was nervous to meet my mother’s only relatives and the only family remaining from either of my parents’ sides. I wasn’t sure how they would feel about me coming to live with them. I’d never met them, and in truth they were not my blood kin. My mother had been orphaned, and my uncle’s parents had taken her in.
The driver turned, leaving the lively High Street behind, and headed down a quieter lane lined with large stone mansions. I watched an ample Gothic Revival with fenced gardens filled with lovely blooms come into view, and we pulled to a standstill before it. The Baronial-style house with its many chimneys jutting from various heights of rooftops was just the sort of dwelling I’d admired from afar, when I’d dreamed of Papa and me laying down roots.
Bag in hand, I stepped from the coach with the assistance of the driver, and drew a steady breath, squaring my shoulders.
Well, get on with it.
I walked up the path and ascended the steps. My knuckles met the wide door with a brisk rap. A rosy-cheeked woman, so petite she was surely a dwarf, opened it.
“Ye must be Miss Fairchild.” Her small voice put me at ease right away.
“Yes,” I said with a smile.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m Mrs. Fowlie, the housekeeper. And tonight whatever else ye might find use for.” She took my bag from me. “Come in, dear. Yer uncle is waiting for ye in the drawing room.”
She sat my bag aside and yelled out to the beefy driver lugging my trunk up the walk. “Ye wait on the steps until I take the miss to himself. I’ll be back to show ye where that chest goes.”
She dabbed the sweat from her brow and tucked a few fallen strands back into her dark, upswept hair.
“Ye’ll have to forgive that the other servants are no’ here this evening. The master gave them the night off to attend the church fête. It’s only me tonight.”
I nodded and followed her quick steps through the elaborate hallway. My uncle had certainly done well for himself and his family.
I said to Mrs. Fowley, “I saw the busy activity at the cathedral on High Street on my way in. I suppose that was the fête.”
“Aye.”
“Are my aunt and cousin at the fête, also?”
“Nay. They’ve been away to Glasgow this full month of May, visiting the mistress’s sister. But don’t worry; according to a letter that arrived three days past, they’ll be home in another fortnight or so.”
When we entered the large drawing room, Mrs. Fowlie announced me and then excused herself, whisking back out the door and down the hall to assist the driver.
A kilted gentleman of average height came to his feet. He was manly, with muscled calves, and broad shoulders flanking a wide chest. I saw he was noticeably attractive, even with the thick shock of silver-streaked hair on his head that stood in disarray, and the short wool on his weathered face showing more gray than brown.
He stepped toward me with a thoughtful smile on his face and took my hands. “Jinny. I was so sorry to hear about Nathaniel.”
The gruff brogue in his voice somehow made it warm and engaging. Looking into the bright blue of his eyes I could imagine the ladies had loved him in his youth.
“Thank you, Uncle. I’m so very grateful for you taking me in.”
“Ye did the right thing in writing to me. How was yer journey?”
“Long, but the beauty made it worthwhile. Thank you for asking.”
“Good, good.”
He backed away. “Now, let me look at ye. My lands, ye’ve turned out to be a right fine lass. By God’s mercy ye’ve grown up to look just like yer bonnie maw.”
“That’s what Papa always said.”
“He was no’ lying. The only time I seen ye, ye didnae strike me as looking like her, other than yer hair and eyes. ’Tis true those things ye take after her, but I thought yer face favored that of yer da.”
“I’m sorry … I didn’t realize we’d ever met. Forgive my dearth of memory.”
“Aye, ye would no’ remember. Ye were only three or four I believe, and a wee bairn—a bonnie little thing with those long curls the color of
sunbeams and eyes the color of Scotch whiskey.
“Nathaniel had sent me a letter saying the two of ye were in Dalmahearn and requested I bring Lachlan to meet his cousin. The four of us shared a meal and a fine day. That was the last time I ever seen either of ye, though Nate did stay in touch through letters over the years. He was a good man, Jinny, and over the moon for ye. I’ll always think fondly of him.”
“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll cherish your kind praises.” His words melted my heart, but I couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “I must say, though, that I believe you’re the first and only person to ever tell me I resembled Papa.”
A brief look of awkwardness, and then he chuckled. “Na, lass, I would no’ imagine people would tell ye ye looked like Nathaniel. I should add that the man didnae always have the face of a Billy goat.”
I cupped a hand over my mouth, laughing as I thought of Papa’s long, straight beard. I couldn’t help but ask: “Was he quite handsome when he and my mother wed? Before the beard?”
Uncle nodded. “Aye, I suppose he was. The lassies all seemed to think so anyway.”
He smiled. “Now, are ye hungry? Ye arrived just in time for supper, and even though the servants are off tonight, I’m sure Mrs. Fowlie has something simple that will tempt our bellies.”
“I’m famished, to be honest with you. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“What d’ye mean, since breakfast?” His face soured. “Did yer driver no’ stop for ye?” He stepped around me and toward the door.
I turned. “Oh, please don’t be upset with him; it was my choice. He stopped at an inn and insisted I eat something, but I was too nervous then, not knowing what to expect. But thanks to your kindness, and Mrs. Fowlie’s, I feel quite capable of eating now.”
He relaxed. “Good then. ’Tis something I can see to right away.”
He offered his arm and I took it, thinking it would not be wise to tell him about the earlier accident. If the mere thought of the driver not stopping to let me dine upset him, what would he do to the poor man if he discovered he’d nearly killed me, and in fact would have if not for that intelligent creature?
Uncle escorted me into supper, where Mrs. Fowlie had laid a lovely table with blue and white Staffordshire dishes, and had set out a pretty tureen of steaming Scotch broth, with a block of Cheddar, a plate of oatcakes, and a pitcher of ale. The blended aromas of the oatcakes and broth made my mouth water and my belly growl its protest that I’d neglected it.
We were seated—he at the head, and I to his right—and there we ate in silence for the first bit as my stomach, being assuaged of its mistreatment, quieted its objections.
But my mind wasn’t quiet. I couldn’t stop thinking of the mysterious Clan McGrail and those magnificent horses I saw on the beach, especially the great, black stallion. If the herd belonged to the clan, I wondered how a dashing young clansman might look sitting atop a beast so superb.
I watched my uncle fill his bowl a second time, and I gave in to my curiosity. “Just outside of town, I saw an enchanting castle.”
Uncle’s gaze met mine. “Cainneach-Balfour,” he said flatly.
“Yes. That’s what the driver called it. He told me it was the home of Clan McGrail.”
“Aye, ’tis true.” Uncle sprinkled some pepper over the top of his steaming potage and stirred.
“Can you tell me about them?”
Aiming to take a bite, he held his spoon in midair near his mouth. “What is it ye want to know?” He blew briefly and wrapped his mouth around the utensil, pulling it out clean, and chewed.
“Well, why are they referred to as mysterious?”
He swallowed and washed it down with a long swig of ale. “And who said they are?”
“The driver. Would you disagree with him?”
“Nay. I suppose that’s as good a word as any to describe them, although I might have said they are a strange lot. Keep to themselves they do.”
“Do you know any of them personally?”
“Only their collector—he comes into my mercantile each month to make an order as well as a deposit when he’s been out collecting rents; the rest are strangers. I’ve seen a few of them at times, but the look they cast off says right away that a man should no’ feel free to approach them.” He popped a cut of Cheddar into his mouth.
“Are there any who are my age?”
“Aye, a few, I would imagine. Don’t know for sure. Why all the questions, lass?”
I traced my spoon through the remainder of thick broth bathing the last chunks of lamb and root vegetables in my bowl. “Just curious. I saw a marvelous herd of horses led by a great black stallion on the beach near the castle. They were bigger even than draught horses. Do they belong to the clan?”
“Aye. A big white stallion usually leads that herd, but when the white one is missing, I have seen the black one ye mentioned leading them. Mighty strange, that; but stranger still, I’ve seen the two lead together when they are both with the herd. And stranger even than that is that all the horses in the herd seem to be stallions—no’ mares.”
He continued, “I’ll warn ye to stay away from them. The story goes that they are mean as the dickens, and some strangers and even townsfolk have gone missing when getting too close. Of course, it can no’ be proven ’twas the horses, and has been written off as people giving into superstition, claiming the legend of the each-uisge.” Uncle’s strong burr stressed the pronunciation—ech-ooshkya. He tore his oatcake in half. “Some believe one might be roaming these parts and mingling with that herd.”
“Really?” A bevy of thoughts swirled through my brain.
“Aye, really. Have ye heard of the ech-ooshkya, lass?” He sopped his bread, poked it into his mouth, and pushed his bowl away, leaning back in his chair and looking content as he chewed.
“Oh, yes.” I said. “Being raised on the sea, I’m aware of all the legends of the deep. Papa used to tell me stories of such creatures. He said the ech-ooshkya is a mystic water horse inhabiting the sea bordering the Highlands, and that it is the fiercest and most deadly of all the water horses.”
“Aye, he was right—it is a brutal beast, and loves the taste o’ human flesh. And I’ll warn ye to no’ mistake him for the kelpie—the creature that inhabits the flowing waters of rivers and streams. Beware that the ech-ooshkya is the ruler of the deep, as it does indeed make its home in the sea, as well as sea lochs, and e’en the freshwater lochs.”
“I didn’t realize it lived in lakes.”
“Aye, if the loch is deep enough, it might be home to one of the creatures.”
“Is it true its flesh becomes like glue when one sits atop its back, making it impossible for the rider to loose himself?”
“Aye, ’tis true. If a man mounts the beast when it’s in horse form, he is out of harm’s way only if the creature is mounted inland.” Uncle’s voice resonated with the sound of a true storyteller’s. “On the other hand, the instant it sees or smells water means death for the one who’s fool enough to fall prey to the cruel thing.”
“Is the beast truly cruel? Does it kill any and all who would dare to straddle its back, or only those who mean to do it harm?”
“’Twould be argued ’tis indeed cruel. The creature is said to have no loyalty to us humans, or to our livestock. We are simply a tasty meal to it. Without mercy, no matter who is on its back, it will head right for the deepest part of the water.”
“So that ghastly bit about it drowning its prey so it can tear the poor soul apart and then devour the entire body, guts and all, is true as well?”
Uncle nodded. “All but the liver, which he lets float to the surface. I guess e’en the beast has its aversion to that pungent organ. I never ha’ cared for it myself.”
I shivered, despite the warmth of the room. “Why would anyone risk mounting such a creature?”
“Ah! Ye must keep in mind the beast is a changer and has at least two forms, although some say more. It has the form of a splendid horse, w
hich would lure a man, or the form of a splendid man, which would lure a woman. How can either be refused? I suppose ’tis gluttony that makes a man or woman lose all their wits and take chances that should no’ be taken. Akin to when a man steps out on his lover. He gets swept up in the moment and swept away by the lusting of his flesh, only to wake up and realize he’s traded all he’s loved and worked for o’er the years for a mere moment of pleasure.”
“How might one protect oneself from the creature then?”
Uncle’s features softened into a friendly smile. “Go the other way if ye come upon it, lass.”
“Well, yes, of course, there is that.” I laughed. “But what if it’s in human form? How could one be sure they were in the presence of the ech-ooshkya?”
“If the legends are to be believed, ’tis said that in its human form the only way one might know ’tis the deadly creature is by the waterweeds, sand, or mud in its hair. So, ’tis best to steer clear of such a man, eh?” He chuckled, making me smile. “Do ye believe in the creature, lass? Ye sound like ye’re expecting to meet one first thing in the morning.”
I studied Uncle’s expression and considered all he’d just told me about the clan, the herd, and the missing people. Was I expecting to meet one? I’d heard that Highlanders were often suspicious when seeing a lone horse or a stranger by the water’s edge—believing it could be the ech-ooshkya—and I wondered at the moment if the elusive Clan McGrail, or “strangers” as Uncle had referred to them, might be more than they seemed.
They certainly lived by the water’s edge. That herd of horses had been at the water’s edge … in the tide, actually. Their mighty leader had possessed a wisdom mere horses did not. It had made the split-second decision to prevent a tragedy, and had figured out on its own how best to accomplish that. Could it be possible a whole herd of ech-ooshkya was living and ruling the land and the surrounding sea right in plain sight, and no one knew?
Falling in Deep Collection Box Set Page 117
