Chapter 11
“Can we go outside now? Please?”
Connor’s question came the moment Piper set down her spoon, his eyes bright with hope. He’d been bouncing in his seat throughout the entire meal, barely able to sit still.
“Connor, Miss Armstrong just arrived yesterday,” Amara chided gently. “She probably wants to rest, nae traipse around the grounds with two wild bairns.”
“I’m nae wild!” Connor protested. “I’m very civilized. Tell her, Miss Armstrong. Tell her I’m civilized.”
Piper couldn’t help but smile. And after the tension of last night and the anxiety of this morning, the idea of getting out of the castle—away from memories of Elijah’s kiss and the empty seat beside her—sounded wonderful.
“I think a walk sounds lovely,” Piper said. “If that’s all right with ye, me lady?”
“Of course it’s all right.” Amara looked pleased. “Fresh air will do ye all good. And it’ll give ye a chance to get to ken each other before lessons start in earnest.” She turned to Masie. “Ye’ll go with them, aye, dear?”
“Do I have a choice?” Masie muttered.
“Nay,” Amara said cheerfully. “Ye daenae.”
Ten minutes later, Piper found herself walking through the castle gates with Connor practically skipping beside her and Masie trailing several paces behind, her expression suggesting she’d rather be anywhere else.
The morning was beautiful—crisp and clear, with the sun burning off the last traces of mist.
The grounds around Castle McMahon were expansive, stretching out in all directions. To the left were gardens, still green despite the approaching autumn. To the right were training yards, where she could see men practicing with swords and shields.
And straight ahead, past a sloping hill, she could see water glinting in the distance.
“Is that a loch?” Piper asked.
“Aye!” Connor said excitedly. “Loch McMahon. It’s huge! We can go swimmin’ in the summer, and there’s fish, and sometimes Da takes us out in a boat, except he hasnae done that in ages because he’s always too busy, but maybe ye could ask him? Maybe if ye asked him he’d—”
“Connor, stop talkin’ her ear off,” Masie interrupted. “She’s goin’ to think we’re both mad.”
“I’m nae mad, I’m enthusiastic. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Aye! Mad people do things that daenae make sense. Enthusiastic people just really like things. I really like the loch. Therefore, enthusiastic.”
Despite herself, Piper laughed. Connor’s logic was endearing, if not entirely sound.
They walked down the hill toward the water, with Connor keeping up a steady stream of chatter about everything they passed—this tree was good for climbing, that rock looked like a sleeping giant, that path led to the village, and on and on.
Masie remained silent, but Piper noticed she’d moved a bit closer. Still maintaining her distance, but not quite as far behind as before.
When they reached the loch’s edge, Piper stopped to take it in. The water was dark and deep, stretching out toward distant mountains. The surface was smooth as glass, reflecting the sky like a mirror.
“It’s beautiful,” Piper said softly.
“Aye, it is,” Connor agreed. “But it’s also full of monsters.”
“Monsters?” Piper looked down at him with exaggerated concern. “What kind of monsters?”
“I daenae ken exactly. But Da says there are things in the deep water that we shouldnae mess with. And old Mrs. MacTavish in the village says her grandfaither once saw somethin’ huge rise up out of the water, somethin’ with a long neck and—”
“That’s just a story,” Masie interrupted, finally speaking up. “There’s nay such thing as monsters in the loch.”
“How do ye ken?” Connor challenged. “Have ye been to the bottom to check?”
“I daenae need to go to the bottom to ken that monsters arenae real.”
“They are so real!”
“Are nae!”
“Are so!”
“Children,” Piper said, trying not to smile. “Perhaps ye’re both right in a way.”
They both turned to look at her skeptically.
“What do ye mean?” Masie asked.
“Well, maybe there arenae monsters in this loch specifically,” Piper said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “But there are stories of water beasts all over Scotland. Ancient stories, passed down for generations.”
Connor’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Aye. In fact, there’s a loch nae too far from here where people have been reportin’ sightings of a water beast for hundreds of years. A creature with a long neck, a massive body, and a temperament that ranges from playful to deadly dependin’ on how ye approach it.”
“That’s brilliant,” Connor breathed.
Even Masie looked interested now, though she was clearly trying to hide it. “What kind of creature?”
“They call it a water beast, or sometimes a water horse,” Piper said, settling down on a large rock near the water’s edge.
The children moved closer, Connor sitting right at her feet and Masie standing just close enough to hear.
“But the most famous water creatures in Scottish lore are the kelpies. Have ye heard of them?”
“Nay,” Connor said immediately.
Masie hesitated, then shook her head. “I’ve heard the name, but I daenae ken the story.”
“Well then,” Piper said, letting her voice take on the storytelling cadence Alexandra had once used with her. “Let me tell ye about the kelpies.”
She launched into the tale, describing how kelpies were shape-shifting water spirits that usually appeared as beautiful horses near lochs and rivers.
How they would entice travelers to climb on their backs, promising a swift ride across the water.
But once someone mounted a kelpie, they would find themselves stuck, unable to dismount as the creature plunged into the water, dragging them down to drown.
“But sometimes…” Piper continued, watching Connor’s rapt expression.
“A clever person could outwit a kelpie. There was a blacksmith once who captured one using a bridle made of iron; kelpies cannae abide iron, ye see. He forced the kelpie to work for him, usin’ its supernatural strength to help build his forge.
But he had to be careful never to let it near water, because the moment it touched the loch, it would be free. ”
“What happened to the blacksmith?” Connor asked.
“The story says he kept the kelpie for years, growin’ rich and powerful from its labor. But one day, his daughter felt sorry for the creature and loosened the bridle. The kelpie escaped, returnin’ to its loch. And do ye ken what happened next?”
“What?” Both children asked in unison.
“Nothin’.” Piper smiled. “The kelpie never sought revenge. Because the daughter had shown kindness, the blacksmith’s family was left in peace. Some say ye can still see it in that loch on moonlit nights, but it only appears to those with pure hearts.”
Connor was silent for a moment, processing. Then he said, “That’s the best story I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s just a fairy tale,” Masie said, but her voice lacked conviction. “None of it is real.”
“Maybe,” Piper agreed. “Or maybe there’s truth in old stories. Maybe they’re ways of teachin’ us lessons, like be careful around water ye daenae ken, or that kindness can turn an enemy into a friend.”
“Or that magic is real, and adults just pretend it isnae because they forgot how to see it,” Connor said firmly.
Piper laughed. “Aye, maybe that too.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the water. A fish jumped, creating ripples that spread across the surface. Birds called from the trees behind them.
“Ye ken a lot of stories,” Masie said finally. It wasn’t quite a compliment, but it wasn’t hostile either.
“Me neighbor taught me,” Piper said, her hand going to her necklace. “She knew hundreds of tales—Scottish legends, French fairy stories, Greek myths. She believed that stories were important. That they helped us understand the world and ourselves.”
“What happened to her?” Connor asked.
“She died.” The familiar ache settled in Piper’s chest. “An illness took her. I was with her at the end.”
“That’s sad,” Connor said quietly.
“Aye. It was.” Piper looked out at the water. “But she left me with all those stories. And her lessons. And the belief that kindness matters, even when the world is cruel.”
Masie was watching her now with those sharp green eyes. “Is that why ye’re here? Because ye need a position and daenae have anywhere else to go?”
“Masie!” Connor protested. “That’s rude!”
“It’s nae rude, it’s honest. I want to ken why she really took this job. Because if our faither just hired her to get us out of his hair, I want to ken that now.”
Piper considered the question carefully. She could lie, making up a story about always wanting to be a governess. But these children, especially Masie, would see through it immediately.
“Ye’re right,” Piper said. “I did need a position. I had nowhere else to go and nay other prospects. So, when yer faither offered me this job, I took it.”
Masie’s expression hardened, as if this confirmed her worst suspicions.
“But,” Piper continued. “That’s nae the only reason I’m here. I took this position because I want to teach. Because I want to help. Because I remember what it was like to feel alone and forgotten, and I thought maybe… maybe I could make sure ye dinnae feel that way.”
“Well, that’s a nice thought,” Masie said bitterly. “But we already feel that way. Our faither barely kens we exist most of the time. At least if he wanted to get rid of us by hirin’ a governess, he picked a good person who tells good stories.”
The casual way she said it, the resignation in her voice, made Piper’s chest tighten.
“I daenae think yer faither wants to get rid of ye,” Piper said carefully.
“Do ye nae?” Masie crossed her arms. “Me faither doesnae spend more than five minutes with us without him givin’ orders or yellin’ about somethin’ we did wrong. I daenae ken the last time he asked us how we were, or what we were thinkin’, or if we were happy.”
“I—” Piper started, but Masie wasn’t done.