Chapter 24 #2
My breath caught. “Lachlan—”
“They killed people, Agnes. Not just Wrights. Other people, across the years. Fishermen. Swimmers. Anyone who got too close to the island.”
“I know.”
“And now they’re just ... good? Because the curse is broken? All that death, all that suffering, and we’re supposed to just accept that they’ve changed?”
I didn’t have an easy answer for that. Didn’t have any answer, really. The Kelpies had done terrible things under the Beithir’s influence. They’d been weapons, executioners, instruments of the Cailleach’s revenge. The fact that they’d been corrupted didn’t erase the harm they’d caused.
“I don’t know if we’re supposed to accept it,” I said slowly.
“I don’t know if forgiveness is even the right word for something like this.
But I think ... I think we have to decide what future we want.
Is it one where we keep fighting the darkness, even after it’s changed?
Or one where we try to build something better? ”
Lachlan was quiet for a long moment.
“Sophie wants to work with them,” he said finally. “She thinks she can use her connection, her Knight’s bond, to help them become what they were supposed to be.”
“What do you think?”
Lachlan shrugged one shoulder, his lips pressed in a tight line as he looked out the window. He was one of my oldest friends and I knew this wasn’t easy for him. Hell, it wasn’t easy for me. Many of us had suffered great losses because of the Kelpies.
“I think … it’s going to take time. And trust. And probably several difficult conversations.
Zara can help. She said she’s able to communicate with them.
” He turned to look at me, and some of the tension had eased from his face.
“But I also think ... if you could face the Beithir and speak truth to it, after everything your family suffered, maybe I can learn to see the Kelpies differently too.”
“That’s very mature of you.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m mostly running on adrenaline and whisky.”
As if summoned by the word, Brice appeared at Lachlan’s elbow with a bottle and two glasses.
“Whisky,” he announced, pouring generous measures. “Finest single malt in the castle. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”
I still couldn’t get over the fact he was speaking instead of his usual soft chittering sounds he made.
“Is nearly dying a special occasion?” I asked.
“Not dying is,” Brice said firmly. “Very special indeed.”
I took the glass and raised it toward Lachlan. “To not dying.”
“To not dying,” he agreed, and we drank.
The whisky was smooth and warm and exactly what I needed. It spread through me, loosening the last knots of tension, replacing the cold of the loch with a fiery warmth.
Across the room, Graham was sitting up now, Faelan having finished her work. He looked exhausted—pale and drawn, shadows under his eyes—but he was alive. He was breathing.
Our eyes met across the crowded hall, and he smiled.
Goddess, but I loved that smile.
“Go to him,” Lachlan said, nudging my shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Sophie’s going to yell at you more later anyway, so you might as well enjoy the reprieve.”
I crossed the room, weaving through clusters of people who kept trying to stop me for hugs and congratulations and what seemed like a hundred variations of “you bloody fool.” By the time I reached Graham, I was half laughing, half crying, and completely overwhelmed.
He pulled me down onto the bench beside him and wrapped his arms around me.
“Hi,” he said, brushing a soft kiss across my lips, causing my toes to curl in my soggy shoes at his touch.
“Hi yourself.”
“You broke the curse.”
“We broke the curse.”
“No, I was very definitely drowning for most of it. You broke the curse. I was just the damsel in distress.”
I laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest. “You’re a terrible damsel.”
“Don’t I know it?” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Agnes Wright, soon to be Agnes Kincaid, you are the most infuriating, stubborn, reckless, brave woman I have ever met.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Not even close.” Graham sighed. “And, aye, it’s also a compliment.”
He leaned in, lingering over his kiss this time, and I sighed into it, happiness making me almost dizzy with need.
Around us, cheering erupted. I’d forgotten we had an audience and I broke the kiss to see the entire Order, their partners, various familiars, and what appeared to be a hedgehog honor guard that had formed a circle around us at some point.
“It’s time to celebrate!” Lia shouted.
Sophie was smiling, her earlier anger apparently fading in the face of general celebration.
Lachlan had his arm around her shoulders.
Willow was crying openly while Ramsay patted her back.
Orla and Finlay were holding hands. Faelan was pretending to be annoyed but couldn’t quite hide her smile, even though her face was wreathed in exhaustion.
Even Quilliam had stopped trembling on my shoulder and was making small sounds of approval.
Matthew appeared with more whisky and glasses, distributing them with the efficiency of someone who had clearly been a server at some point in his life.
Hilda, Lia, and Lottie had taken over a corner of the hall and were organizing food, as Brice kept appearing with trays of toast, platters of sausages, and every conceivable fixing for a full breakfast spread.
“We should have a real party,” Liora announced, appearing beside us. Her eyes looked bright with mischief. “The curse is broken. We need to properly celebrate!”
“What did you have in mind?” Sophie asked, looking around. “I mean, it’s the morning, so…”
“And?” Liora turned to Lachlan. “We need speakers.”
Twenty minutes later, the great hall had been transformed.
Apparently, a breakfast party was properly underway. The tables had been pushed against the walls and Liora had appointed herself the official DJ of the unofficial “Holy hell we actually fulfilled the Order of Caledonia and protected Loren Brae” party.
I supposed I would need to come up with a better title, but I also hoped, for our sake, we never had to attend such a strangely unique party again.
“Is everyone okay with this?” I asked, watching Finlay attempt to teach Orla some kind of line dance. “People nearly died tonight.”
“Which makes it that much more important,” Sophie said, appearing beside me with an espresso martini and an armful of dry clothes. “Go change.”
I looked up and realized that Graham had already been poured into a dry set of clothes, so I followed my orders, sighing in relief as my soggy clothes hit the floor of the bathroom.
For a moment, I stopped and stared into the mirror.
The color hadn’t returned to my face yet, but the line of tension that had banded my forehead for a while now seemed to have smoothed out a bit.
“We did it, Gran,” I whispered, tapping a finger on the mirror, and swung back out to join the party.
Graham pulled me onto the makeshift dance floor, despite my protests that he needed to rest. He ignored all of it, wrapping his arms around me and swaying to “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurythmics.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” I warned him.
“I know. I’ve seen you at the pub’s ceilidh nights.”
“Then why are you making me dance?”
“Because I nearly died, again, and I want to dance with my fiancée. Is that so much to ask?”
“When you put it that way, no.”
We swayed together, not really moving, not really dancing, just holding each other while the celebration swirled around us.
Willow and Ramsay had joined us on the dance floor.
Lia was to the side, teaching Munroe how to make a proper bloody mary …
with relish and a beer chaser. Even Owen had pulled in Shona, the two of them moving with surprising grace.
“Agnes!” Lachlan’s voice cut through the music. “Agnes, you’re up!”
I looked up to find him pointing at one of the tables—where Gnorman was standing … on the table … with a microphone.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Graham said gleefully. Too gleefully.
“Where did he even get a microphone?”
“Brice found it in a closet. Apparently, the castle used to host karaoke nights.”
Gnorman swung the microphone, producing a screech of feedback that made everyone wince. Then he cleared his throat—a surprisingly loud sound for someone roughly the size of a garden ornament—and began to sing.
It was, naturally, “I Will Survive.”
His voice was deep and gravelly and absolutely, horrifyingly sincere. Gnora had joined him on the table, providing backup vocals that consisted mostly of enthusiastic hip swivels that kept distracting Gnorman to the point he would just trail off mid-lyric and gape at her.
“This is the strangest morning of my life,” Graham said.
“This is the strangest morning of everyone’s life.”
“I love it.”
“Goddess, help me, but so do I.”
The song ended to thunderous applause and Gnorman took a bow so deep he nearly toppled off the table. Gnora caught him at the last moment and took the microphone.
“Who’s next?” she demanded, her voice surprisingly high and sweet. “Come on, don’t be shy. We’ve broken a curse tonight. That calls for karaoke.”
“Lachlan,” someone shouted from the back. “Make Lachlan sing.”
“Absolutely not,” Lachlan said.
“Yes, absolutely,” Sophie said, shoving him toward the table. “Consider it payback for all the times you’ve made me deal with village politics.”
“But I put on a kilt and modeled in your marketing campaign to make up for it.”
“That barely scratches the surface.” Sophie winked at him. “But I’ll let you put your kilt on for me later, if you’d like.”
“I wouldn’t mind it either,” Matthew called across the room.
Lachlan was pushed, cajoled, and eventually manhandled onto the table by a coalition of Finlay, Ramsay, and an unexpectedly strong Brice.
The opening notes of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” filled the hall.
“I’m going to kill all of you,” Lachlan announced. He looked frustrated and flustered, but also, nobody really cared.