Chapter Eighteen #3
“Miss MacCarran! This way!” Jamie called. “I can feel some fresh air. I think we can all get through!”
The channel he indicated was very narrow, but they turned sideways, sliding and pushing their way, passing through step by step until it opened wider and the going was easier.
The highlights on the rock glistened and grew brighter, and now Fiona noticed other glittering elements threading and weaving through the dark stone.
Veins of gold, she realized, here and there, and there again. Catching her breath as she studied the wavering lines cutting through the stone, she said nothing, smiling to herself as she urged her charges on.
The watery trickle grew stronger, dripping down the walls, puddling on the floor. “The loch will crash down on us!” Jamie cried.
The girls whimpered, but Fiona shook her head. “He is only joking, lassies.”
Jamie thrust back his shoulders. “I will go first and protect you!”
She smiled, seeing increasing courage in the wee lad who had let Lucy best him more often than not. He was enjoying the adventure.
“I think we are past the loch in this section,” Fiona told them. “The passage through the rock continues upward, see. We are at the level of the loch or above it now. Climb with me, dears, and go carefully.”
“We are walking through a stream,” Lucy said. “My feet are wet.”
“Mine too. You will be fine,” Jamie said. “I will take care of you. And then I will come back and mine all this gold—it is gold, is it not, Miss Fiona?”
So he had seen. She nodded. “I think so. The stream rushes right through where the ore is located. The water might even carry the flavor of gold.” And that would bring gold to the laird, and bless his whisky, and bless the glen as well, she thought.
“Gold would make excellent whisky,” Lucy said. “We must tell Uncle Dougal.”
“We will.” Fiona said, sending up a little prayer that they would see him very soon indeed. Then she paused again, realizing that they were very close to an exit now.
“Look!” Lucy said, pointing. “A pool of water!”
“And a hole in the roof of the cave!” Annabel cried, as Jamie ran ahead, and Fiona reached out to slow and caution him.
Ahead on the upward slope, she saw the gleam of water, the surface of a shining pool that whirled at its center, bubbling riotously enough to propel upward to the rock ceiling above it, where a hole of rock and earth—and grass and flowers and sky, she saw now—allowed the water to surge upward.
“A well!” Fiona said. “A natural well with a fountain—the water comes up from an underground source.”
“Water does not flow upward,” Annabel said pragmatically.
“The fairies make it do that,” Lucy said, nodding.
“It is an artesian well,” Fiona said as they approached.
“It bubbles up from below, and bursts out like a fountain. There must be a heated spring beneath it for it to bubble like that, and push up into the hillside above. Come on, and watch your step. We will have to go through the water to get out.”
Closer now to the natural exit, she peered through the fountain’s opening. Bright sunset colors glowed purple and red and amber. Thick grass edged the opening in the rock.
“Step into the pool—carefully, let me see how deep it is,” she said, setting foot in it first. The water was warm indeed, the water swirling about her ankles and calves and the hem of her skirts, the bubbling frothing water wetting and splashing all of them as she assisted each child to step into the water.
The opening in the rock overhead was so close overhead, a wide, raw oval shape, that she could easily reach up and grasp its turfed edge.
Boosting one child after another, she made sure each one was firmly out, kneeling on the grassy layers overhead.
Then she took hold of the edge herself, and setting her feet on the rise of rock that formed a bowl around the small bubbling pool, she pulled herself upward, the children laughing and tugging and helping her, until she half kneeled, half lay on the grass, laughing with the awkward effort and sheer relief.
Soaked, laughing with the children, for a moment Fiona felt as if they had all been birthed into a new life and a magical place. They had entered a place of beauty and peace. As she stood, she knew with stunning certainty that she wanted to stay forever in Glen Kinloch.
They stood together in a grove of birches, with the beautiful fountain bubbling at their feet, a sunset of lavender and pink beyond the trees, and a thick carpet of bluebells underfoot.
She smoothed her drenched skirts and laughed as she helped the children straighten their wet clothing and damp hair.
Gathering them close as they shivered and giggled, she smiled with them and rubbed their backs and shoulders for warmth.
“Look at the bluebells!” Lucy said. “They are so beautiful!”
Fiona looked around in earnest then, enchanted by the sight of the flowers—thousands of bluebells in full bloom, covering the ground in a haze of purple blue that poured through the trees in a liquid wave of color—perhaps the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.
“This fountain will make good whisky, flavored with gold in the rock and the bluebells too,” Lucy said.
“You will be an excellent distiller when you grow up, Lucy MacGregor,” Fiona said. “And this place makes the very finest fairy brew, I suspect,” she mused.
This must be the secret protected place, she thought, as she spun slowly around.
“Aye,” Lucy said. “This is the place where my uncle goes. He does not talk of it much, but I have heard what the uncles say. This is the place that holds the fairy magic, you see.”
“Ah,” Fiona said, understanding. Here was the place where Dougal and his father and grandfathers before him collected water for the fairy whisky.
He had told her only a little, but she cherished that he had shared even that much with her.
And she hoped that someday he would tell her, and their children, the whole secret of the fairy whisky of Glen Kinloch.
“We must keep this secret always,” she told the children, setting a finger to her lips, waiting as they did the same. Then she led them through the deep bluebells to find the way out to the bowl of the glen, and home.
Then she heard a rumble grow beneath their feet, a sound like low thunder and a shaking underfoot. The well burst upward in a high spike of rushing water.
Dougal, she thought. Oh, God. He and the others could be trapped. She had to find help, bring men to the caves—
“Hold hands!” she called. “This way!” She hurried the bairns through the grove.
*
Running out of the cave with Patrick and Hugh, Dougal turned to dash back and drag Eldin, who had collapsed to his knees, free of the rubble and falling stones and into the air.
They were all stunned, filthy, exhausted, and Eldin, hampered by a limp, struggled to make his way up the hill.
Shocked and silent, Dougal stood in the sunset light, coated in limestone dust, looking around as the cave entrance shook, cluttered with rocks, and the thundering continued underground.
“Fiona,” Patrick said, turning to him. “And the children—they will be trapped!”
“They might have made it through,” Dougal replied.
“Fiona took the bairns to the back of the cave even before the rockfall began. There is an old water channel in the back of the cave—I think she saw it, and took the chance that the passage would lead out and away. I believe it does, though I have never followed it all the way through. So there is a chance. Either way, we will make sure they get out.”
“She knows rocks, that lass,” Patrick said. “If anyone could find a way through the caves, she could.”
“What if the walls collapsed on them?” Hugh came toward them, assisting Eldin, who limped heavily, looking exhausted. “We must search for them.”
“We will. But if they got out, I think I know where they will be,” Dougal said. “I will go there first. If I do not find them, we will gather the lads and go into the caves.”
“The whisky!” Eldin rasped. “All of it—gone—”
“Not all,” Dougal said. “The collapse was lower, among the smaller caves. Most of the kegs are stored near the upper entrance. But we are more concerned about Fiona and the children now.”
“Fiona is fine. I know it,” Eldin said. “I would feel it if she were not safe.”
Dougal frowned at that, and met Patrick’s gaze. “Cousins,” Patrick explained. “Fairy blood and such. I do not seem to have much of it, myself. But those two do.”
“Ah.” Dougal nodded his understanding. He had seen it in Fiona. So Eldin had the manifestation of the MacCarran fairy ancestry too; interesting, he thought.
“Where do you keep the fairy brew?” Eldin asked. “Is it ruined now?”
“That lot is stored elsewhere,” Dougal answered. “But I will not sell it. Patrick, stay with Hugh and Eldin. I will go look for Fiona and the bairns.”
He hurried through the gap between two hills, following upward along the ridge of the glen. Feeling as weary and as anxious as he had ever felt in his life, somehow his legs found the strength and his heart found the will. He could not rest until he found Fiona and the children safe.
Yet he felt heartened that Eldin, albeit a scoundrel, sensed the lass was unharmed. Dougal wished he felt so sure himself. He only knew his heart slammed with worry and exhaustion, only knew he must find her, and Lucy, Jamie, and Annabel.
Hearing shouts behind him, he turned to see men on horseback coming along the loch road. Patrick and the others, standing on the hillside above the loch, waved and waited as the riders went toward them.
Recognizing Tam MacIntyre with a few gaugers, Dougal gave a grim nod and continued on his way.
So the law had found them—and soon would discover that the men of Glen Kinloch had done nothing amiss following the wild ball game.
But they had been caught in a rock collapse caused by Lord Eldin’s pistol shot as he tried to demand a fairy whisky that only went by that name, an ordinary brew attached to a legend.
He was sure that Patrick MacCarran would keep the focus on Eldin and away from any smuggling in the glen.
As for Hugh MacIan, the reverend was not a bad fellow by nature, just grievously misled by the earl.
Dougal guessed Hugh would feel remorseful.
And Mary MacIan would not let her grandson hear the end of it anytime soon.
Dougal walked onward. He would find them soon—he had to.
Following that, he hoped that Patrick would be his brother-by-law, nor could he ask for a more trustworthy fellow.
He hoped the rest of Fiona’s brothers would accept him—a poor Highland laird, wealthy only in his heart.
And indeed fortunate in that, if Fiona would agree to marry him.
For now, all he wanted was to see her safe and unharmed and tucked in his arms.
With a fresh burst of strength, he climbed, breathing hard as he went up the steep slope.
He moved steadily, as if he had not played to utter exhaustion in the glen’s wild ball game, then somehow escaped a cave-in and averted a disaster of worse events.
He ran now as if his life, and those he loved, depended on his muscle and will.
If Fiona had found the way out of the caves, as he suspected she might, then she would have emerged nearby, along a path hidden in a grove of birch trees.
Reaching the crest of that hill and the meadowland edging the birchwood, he stopped to look around, seeing the thick cluster of birches with their roots deep in a frothy skirt of bluebells.
“Fiona!” he shouted. No answer. “Fiona! Lucy!”
Spinning again, he saw them coming out of the birchwood, wading through the blue-violet haze of flowers.
Fiona held hands with Lucy and Annabel, Jamie following.
Rosy golden sunset light poured its gleam over them.
They were drenched, Dougal saw then, hair and skirts and jackets wet.
The bubbling spring, he realized. They were laughing, the girls skipping.
Lucy and Annabel clutched bouquets of bluebells, and Jamie chattered excitedly, holding a chunk of rock for Fiona to see.
Bluebells. They had found the bluebell wood. Fiona had discovered the very tunnel that led to the spring, just as he had hoped. The fairies, he felt sure now, had watched over his loved ones, guiding them to safety.
Laughing outright with relief and a burst of love, he ran toward them.
Fiona’s smile brightened to see him, and she left the children to hurry toward him.
Reaching out, he took her in his arms, lifted her, spun her about.
She circled her arms around his neck, laughing in sweet relief too, her cheek soft, his prickly with a day’s beard.
Around them, the children danced and jumped, giggling.
He set her down then and kissed her, tasting heaven on her lips in a slow, gentle kiss that he never wanted to end.
“Stop kissing!” Lucy said. “Come look what we found, Uncle Dougal!”
Fiona laughed, her lips to his, and he chuckled too, knowing she was as thrilled to see him, as thrilled and committed to their love, as he was. He kissed her brow, her damp, dark, beautiful hair. Then he winked at Lucy.
“My wee lass,” he murmured, touching his niece’s hair. “I feel a rich man, indeed.”
“So rich, Uncle Dougal!” Lucy held up the bluebells clutched in her hand. “We found these, and the pool and fairy fountain. And we found gold too!”
“Gold?” He saw all of them nod.
“Aye, in the caves,” Jamie said. “Lots of it!”
“Gold in the caves?” He was astonished.
Fiona smiled. “There is granite under the earth over there, veined with gold. Even if you never tap all of it, you can count yourself very fortunate.”
“I am fortunate already, to have all of you.” He swept his arms wide to encompass all of them, ruffled the children’s heads, and then kissed Fiona again. The bairns whooped around them in a circle.
“Enough! We need supper,” Lucy said, “and baths!”
“That, my wee lass, can be arranged. Come this way.” Dougal shepherded them along, snugging his arm around Fiona as they walked.
“I am hungry! But who will make supper?” Lucy asked. “Uncle Fergus is a terrible cook, and Maisie might be at her Da’s house.”
“I can make supper,” Fiona said.
“We would be most grateful,” Dougal said. “Will you stay in the glen, my love?”
She smiled up at him. “I might.”
They descended the hill together, and Dougal raised a hand to wave as he saw Fiona’s brother climbing the slope toward them, waving and hallooing.