Chapter 23 #2
She had to do this. She could not bear to watch this any longer, knowing that she could help as well as any of the men, and better than some, with her smaller frame and nimble hands and her ability to swim and dive.
Not all the men could help, she knew. Fergus, for all his fishing skills, did not swim well.
"Lady Strathlin!" one of the commissioners in black called.
"I'm going in," she insisted, while the men stared at her in dumbfounded shock. She walked to the edge of the cliff.
"Dougal Stewart," Norrie said into the funnel, "your lass is coming down there after you. Go find your kelpie, girl," he added to her.
The wind bit cold and cruel through the thin cotton layers of her garments. She stood in the open, looked down at the water below, bent her knees and poised her hands.
* * *
Eerie and murky, the strange watery world around him grew chilly and dim.
He shivered, felt the deep cold entering his bones.
The rubber suit, normally inflated with air to add buoyancy and warmth, had torn along the sleeve and now filled with water, growing heavy and exposing him to the cold brunt of the water.
The valves in his helmet clicked and whooshed, the reassuring sound of air—and life—but the air seemed odd, thin, and he could not fill his lungs.
Nor did he have strength left to shove. Evan pushed beside him, and Alan Clarke had appeared not long ago to lend his power to the effort, setting his bullish shoulder to the block.
Now they repeated the attempt, and he heard the scrape of the stone on the underwater hillside, 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 trapped his hoses, compressing the flow of air into his helmet. And the world was growing dimmer.
Alan surged upward for fresh air, came down again, carrying a long iron rod used for levering stones into place. He set its narrow tip against the base of the stone and directed Evan and Dougal to push again.
A strange buzzing began in his ears as he pushed. He tried to fill his lungs but could not. The airflow had diminished so much due to the compressed hose that he was in serious jeopardy now.
The stone shifted a little, and a burst of fresh air came through. Dougal gasped it in, exhaled, heard the clicking valves. The stone shifted again, and the air valves quieted ominously.
He had to get free, had to, or die here, at the base of the reef where his parents had died so long ago. He had faced risks, stared down enough danger in his life to realize that sooner or later the wheel of fortune would spin away and he would lose.
But he had far too much to live for now. The woman he adored, who held his heart in her keeping, waited for him on the sea rock. Their son waited with her.
He could not leave them. Gasping for breath, the air stale and still, he gestured to the others—he was suffocating. There had to be some way—he would not die here like this.
He looked up,where the water swirled fast, heavy, the sea an obscure and dusky green. His lungs were burning.
Alan burst away and surged upward. Dougal pressed his strength into the unyielding stone. The dimness in his head alarmed him. He clutched at the valves, ready to tear out the hoses, tore at the bolts in the helmet.
The stone shifted again and a trickle of air came in, enough for him to breathe, enough to clear his head for a moment. Alan came back, and the men shoved once more at the granite block.
Dizzy, Dougal realized that the airflow had stopped yet again. His head pounded.
He looked upward and saw a vision emerge through the green sea.
A pale, graceful sea fairy undulated through the water toward him, her white garments veiling her beautiful form, her golden hair streaming outward.
She lowered beside him like an angel, placed her hands on either side of his helmet, and looked at him.
God, how he loved her. He reached out for her, but she slipped away, turning, to take the bar from Alan's hands. The three of them worked the bar under the lip of the stone and pressed, pushed again.
The stone shifted—and this time stayed up long enough for Dougal to snatch the air hose free. He looped it around his shoulder, his movements slow and lethargic, 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 deck began to rise with the two helmeted divers, Alan Clarke 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, Dougal burst through the water into freedom.
* * *
Meg stood shivering, draped in a blanket produced from somewhere, while men worked frantically to free Dougal's helmet. When it was lifted away at last, she saw his ashen face, though it was the most blessed sight she had ever beheld.
She waited while the men worked to loosen his gauntlets, weighted belt, and boots; others worked to free Evan of his gear while Alan stood ready with blankets for their shoulders. Dougal's eyes met hers, and his gaze told her that he was well, and safe. His slow, secret smile was for her alone.
She stepped forward as the men lifted away his brass collar and removed his heavy belt, and then she sank to her knees beside him.
Dougal lifted his arm to draw her close, his treated canvas suit stiff and wet against her, seawater dripping from the fabric.
She slid her arms around his neck and did not care who saw or what they thought.
"Oh, God, Dougal," she whispered, pressing her face to his.
"My love," he said, "you came down there like a sea fairy. I thought I was dreaming—or dying. I thought you were not real."
"I am real. I am yours, love," she murmured beside his ear, and suppressed a sob. He pressed her shoulder and she felt his lips against her hair.
The wind gusted, damp with rain, and Meg looked up at the mass of clouds coming nearer.
"We'd best get into the boats," Norrie said. "Alan, can you take another boatload of men from this rock? Are you fit for the rowing?"
"I'm fine," Alan insisted, and ran toward the vessels.
Meg stood while Dougal was still being divested of his boots. "Where's Iain?" she asked then. "He should go with Norrie. Fergus—where—oh!"
She heard a shout at the same time as she saw Fergus running across the plateau of the rock. Then she saw why, and she screamed in protest and began to run as well.
Iain stood at the lower edge of the rock, where the incline slid down to the water. He turned to look at them as Meg ran toward him, her bare feet slapping on the wet rock while the wind shoved her back, but she pushed onward.
"Iain! Come here!" The wind tore away her words, and rain pattered all around. The waves were sloshing hard against the rock, each one higher than the last.
"I want to see the kelpie!" Iain called. "I want to see him!"
"Not now," she told him calmly. "Come here."
After a moment, he turned and went toward her, and she reached toward him. Dougal appeared at her side then, out of his diving suit, clad in layered shirts and leggings, a blanket round his shoulders.
"Iain, lad," he called. "Come here. Careful now—good. Keep away from the edge." He began to walk forward.
A blast of wind knocked Iain to his knees, and he cried out and scrambled back up. Then Meg saw a wave arching behind him, over him, and she reached toward him just as Dougal did the same, hurrying toward the boy.
A new wave surged upward and sucked back, pulling Iain with it, soaking him, drawing him into the sea. Dougal lunged forward, and Meg went with him as Iain scrabbled for a hold on the rock.
Then a blur went past them as a man plunged down the rock into the water to snatch the boy—Frederick was there, Meg saw, tossing Iain back in the spray toward Dougal, who caught the child up in his arms. Another wave arched and crashed, and the wind tore wildly, and as Frederick scrambled up the slippery rock, Meg stretched forward to grab at his hands. She missed.
"Take the child! Go!" Dougal called, shoving Iain into her arms and pushing them both higher on the slope. Then he stretched toward Frederick, grabbing his arms, hauling him back as the wild, swollen water washed heavily over them.
A moment later, as the spray cleared, Meg saw both men clambering to their feet. Hugging her son, watching her lover and her enemy approach together, she nearly sobbed in relief. They were all bound to one another now, she realized, obligated and saved, however unwilling the bond might be.
"Frederick—thank you," she said hoarsely.
He stared down at her, breath heaving. "Of course." He turned to Dougal. "Thank you, sir. I will not forget it—any of it. Neither of you need fear anything from me. I give you my word." He glared at them, then turned and slowly walked away.
With a little sob, Meg went into Dougal's arms, feeling his exhaustion, leaning against him even as he leaned on her, Iain snug between them. Dougal smoothed his hand over the boy's hair and touched his brow to Meg's while the wind and rain whipped at them.
She did not feel the sting of the rain—she only felt Dougal's strength, his caring spirit, with their son tucked safe between them.
She only felt the warmth of Dougal's hand along her cheek as he cradled her face and kissed her, and she returned the kiss with fervor, with relief, with bliss.
She filled to the brim then with warmth, with love, with a sense so enduring that nothing, no storm, no human, could weaken it.
That kiss ended and another began, and another, until she was laughing and tearful, until Dougal was chuckling against her mouth. He drew back and gave her a sweet, private smile.
And suddenly the wind lessened, the rain lightened, and as Meg looked up at Dougal in that strange, greeny, eldritch light, she realized how deeply, truly fortunate she was.
"The gift of the kelpie," she murmured, "has blessed us beyond measure."
Dougal tilted a brow, then nodded. "Let's go home, Mrs. Stewart," he said. "We need some rest. And we will dream a few more dreams, aye?" He touched Iain's golden head. "They do seem to come true."