Chapter Twenty-Three #2
One of the men, less stunned than the others, handed her another iron bar.
“Dougal Stewart,” Norrie called into the funnel, “your lass is coming down for you.” He turned toward Meg. “Go find your kelpie, lass!”
“The kelpie, aye,” she said. Taking a deep breath, feeling the cold bite of the wind through thin cotton and silk, she looked down at the water below and drew a long, deep breath, let it out, and drew another.
The iron bar took her down quickly, and she plunged feet first into the waves.
*
Eerie, murky, the watery world around him was colder, dimmer.
Dougal shivered as the deep cold entered his bones.
The rubber suit, normally inflated with air to add buoyancy and warmth, had torn along the sleeve and water was seeping in, making the suit even heavier and exposing him to the water’s cold brunt.
The valves in his helmet clicked and whooshed with the reassuring sound of air, but it was thinner.
He could not seem to fill his lungs properly.
He was tapping all of his strength to shove, with Evan pushing beside him.
Alan Clarke had appeared a few moments earlier to lend his effort, setting his bullish shoulder to the block.
They repeated the attempt, and this time he heard the scrape of the stone on the underwater hillside and felt his lead boot give way.
He pulled it back, motioning sluggishly to show that it was free.
But he could not escape to the surface. Shifting the block from his foot had further trapped his hoses, compressing the flow of air into his helmet. The world was growing dimmer, fainter.
Alan surged up for air, returned, set his shoulder to the stone to push again.
Dougal pushed too, but a strange buzzing began in his ears. Sucking in a breath, he could feel the constriction in the airflow. He was in real jeopardy now.
The stone shifted a little more, and a stream of air came through the hose. Dougal pulled it in, exhaled, glad to hear the click-click of the valves. The stone shifted a tiny bit, and the valves quieted ominously again.
He had to get free, or die here, at the base of the reef where his parents had died so long ago. He had faced risks, stared down danger too many times now. Sooner or later, the wheel of fortune would spin again, and he would lose.
But he had too much to live for now. The woman he adored held his heart in her keeping. She waited for him above the water with their son. He could not leave them. Not yet, and never.
Gasping for stale air, he gestured to the others—he was suffocating. He would have to detach the hoses and take his chances going up in a beast of a suit that could just drag him down to the bottom of the sea. There had to be a way—he could not die here like this.
He looked up at the fast-swirling water, the sea dusky green. His lungs were burning.
Alan burst away and surged upward again. Dougal pressed the last of his strength into the unyielding stone that compressed the hose. His head was in a fog. He clutched at the valves, ready to tear out the hoses, ready to tear at the bolts in the oppressive helmet.
Another tiny shift in the stone and a trickle of air came in, enough for another breath, enough to clear his head for a bit. Alan surged down again, lungs refreshed, and the three of them shoved once more at the granite block.
Dizzy, Dougal felt the airflow stop again. His head pounded.
Then he looked up to see a vision sinking down through the greenish water.
Sliding down on a beam of eerie light, a pale, graceful sea fairy streamed toward him, veiled in white garments, golden hair streaming outward.
She lowered beside him like an angel, reached out to hand a wand to Evan—a bar, an iron bar—and placed her hands on either side of his helmet to look at him.
Meg. God, how he loved her. He reached for her but she slipped away, turning, to help Alan and Evan work the bar under the lip of the stone. They pressed, pushed, pressed.
The stone gave way, long enough for Dougal to snatch the air hose free. He looped it around his shoulder, moving slow, as if in a dream.
Evan and Alan grabbed him by the arms and pulled him onto the platform, tugging at the ropes in a frantic signal.
As the tilted deck began to rise, creaking with the load of two divers in gear, Alan let go of the ropes and took the sea fairy’s hand.
He pulled her upward with him as they rose toward the swirling surface.
Moments later, they burst through the surging water into air and freedom.
*
Meg stood shivering, draped in a blanket Norrie had draped over her, while men worked frantically to free Dougal’s helmet and Evan’s as well. When Dougal’s helm came away at last, she cried out in relief. His pale, ashen face was the most blessed sight she had ever seen.
She waited impatiently while the crew loosened his gauntlets, weighted belt, and boots, and as others worked to free Evan of his gear. Alan, draped in a blanket too, helped.
As Dougal met her gaze, she stifled a sob with a trembling hand. His slow, weary smile told her he was well, he was here. He reached out a hand and she stepped closer.
When the men finally lifted away his brass collar and heavy belt, she sank to her knees beside him.
He lifted an arm to draw her closer, his suit of treated canvas stiff and wet, seawater dripping between them, and she slipped her arms around his neck.
She did not care a whit who saw or what they thought as she pressed her cheek to his.
“My love,” he said. “When I saw you down there, I thought—my sea fairy has come back to me. I thought I was dreaming—or dying. I thought you were not real. My God, I am glad you are real.” He kissed her wet hair.
“I am here. I am yours, love,” she murmured as he held her close. Overhead, the wind gusted, carrying rain.
“We’d best get into the boats,” Norrie said. “Or we must crowd into the caves on this rock to wait it out.”
“Oh, not that,” Meg said with a laugh.
“Alan, can you take a group in one of the boats?” Dougal asked. “Are you fit for rowing?”
“Very fit,” Alan said, and ran toward the steps and ramp to hurry down to the boats.
Meg stood, waiting as Dougal was divested of his boots and the canvas suit. She tossed a blanket over his shoulders.
“Where’s Sean?” he asked.
“With Fergus—oh!”
She heard a shout at the same time as she saw Fergus running across the plateau of the rock. Seeing why, she screamed in protest and ran there as well.
Sean stood at the edge of the rock, looking down into the water. Meg hurried to him, stockinged feet slapping on wet rock as the wind shoved at her.
“Sean! Come away from there!” The wind tore her words away, and rain began to pour. Waves sloshed and slammed against the rock, each higher than the last.
“I want to see the kelpie!” Sean called. “I want to see him!”
“Come here, please, come here,” she told him as calmly as she could.
He sighed and turned, and she grabbed him into her arms. Dougal appeared at her side, clad in the damp long-limbed woolen underthings, a blanket around his shoulders. He crouched beside them, wrapped his arms around both of them.
“Sean, lad,” he said. “Aye, now you’re safe. Come with your mother away from the edge.”
A blast of wind knocked at them, and Meg closed her eyes for a moment, feeling Sean in her arms, and Dougal’s arms around both of them. The wind tore wildly at them, at clothes and hair, but she felt their spirits snug and warm together.
“Let’s go,” Dougal said, standing, bending to pick Sean up. But the boy stepped away.
“I found a wee rock! I forgot it,” he said, and ran back to the cliff edge, stooping in the wind, which pummeled him as Sean stretched a hand to grab a loose rock.
Meg gasped and Dougal whirled, strode forward. But in that moment, Roderick pushed past them to snatch the child up in his arms, standing at the very edge of the rough precipice. Wild spray from the heavy waves spattered over them, receded.
Meg cried out, running with Dougal, fear filling her throat, her heart.
Roderic turned, wind shoving at him, and walked toward them. He handed Sean to Dougal.
“Your son, sir. Madam,” he said, and moved past them.
“Roderick!” she called, as Dougal held Sean in one arm and gathered her close under the other. “Roderick, thank you,” she said in a hoarse voice.
He turned to stared at them, and nodded.
“Of course. Sir,” he said to Dougal. “What I saw today was incredible bravery—from all of you. Margaret, you as well. Incredible devotion. I will not forget it. You need not fear anything from me. I give you my word.” He frowned at them for a moment, then nodded again, turned, and walked away, down the steps toward the boats.
With a little sob, Meg put her arms around Dougal’s waist, sensing his exhaustion, propping him up even as he held her, little Sean snug between them. Dougal smoothed a hand over the boy’s golden hair, then kissed Meg’s head.
“We must go,” he said.
She nodded, but no longer felt the sting of the rain and cold wind.
She only felt Dougal’s strength, his love, with their child tucked safely between them.
She tipped her head for the warmth of Dougal’s kiss and returned it with relief, with love, with fervor.
She felt full of love. Nothing, no storm or threat, could weaken that.
“Come on!” Norrie called from the rough-cut steps. Meg called a reply as she walked with Dougal, arms about each other, Sean safe between them.
In that moment, the wind lessened, the rain lightened, and the waves quieted a bit. A pale green, eldritch light cut through the gray clouds to touch the rock where they walked.
“The gift of the kelpie,” she said. “He calms the storm to give us a chance to get home.”
“Where is the kelpie?” Sean asked, looking around.
“Right here, lad,” Dougal said, laughing. “He has always been here. Let’s go home, my lady,” he added. “We all need some rest.”
“Rest, and dreams. Wonderful new dreams,” she said.
He smiled. “They do seem to come true. Coming, Norrie MacNeill!” he called, ushering his family down the steps to the waiting boat.