Chapter 13
ELENA PIERSON
“Where’s the passenger pick up line?” Lachlan asks.
His voice is filled with excitement, and he’s practically bouncing with it by my side just outside the railway station where we’ve been sitting on a metal bench the last thirty minutes or so.
“For the buses? Over there I think,” I say, and show him by pointing to our right under the hazy fluorescent lighting. It’s very early in the morning and the crickets are still chirping their song in the long grass nearby.
I’ve been telling him about what the different modes of transportation are, and he’s been peppering me with questions about each one. So far he’s seen trains and cars, but hasn’t seen a bus yet, and is like a kid in a candy store about it.
I grin, knowing he’s just as overexcited about being around people. And who could blame him, after being cooped up inside the train for so long?
I glance down at my phone in my hand for the time, trying to see how much longer of a wait we have before continuing our journey to Dozmary Pool.
I huddle into his side for warmth, liking the way he squeezes me to him every so often to his side, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling the chill at all.
I’m dressed for brisk weather with a light jacket, meanwhile he’s outfitted in his regular outerwear of jeans and today’s color of plaid, green, bringing out the magical undercurrent in his eyes.
Any minute now, a tourist service is picking us up from London to take us there since it’s too remote for buses.
The railway is bustling this morning, even as the stars twinkle like diamonds in the sky. The dark doesn’t seem to dissuade the British from their ongoings, however, making me feel grateful that I don’t have to walk for a while still.
Having traveled by train for what feels like weeks instead of days now, it’s nice to sit somewhere that’s unmoving and stationary.
The persistent bobbing and swaying of a train is unlike anything I’d ever ridden in before, but I’m betting the train legs subside like jetlag does, and it won’t be long before my feet feel normal again.
Lachlan pulls me close to kiss the top of my head randomly, and I grin at the sensation, continuing watching the tiny driver icon on the map make its way to where we sit at the curbside with our luggage.
In the last couple days, I’ve noticed he does little things like that a lot, and I’m growing quite fond of how affectionate he is without seeming to notice, always touching me and never far away.
Ever since the kiss in the bathroom, neither of us have tried to get too close, as if some unspoken truce has been made that we wait until we at least get his trident fixed.
So far, Lachlan’s favorite pastime has been asking me about my family and what it was like growing up in Massachusetts, and he’s had so many questions I’ve barely had time to ask him any of my own.
I feel his fingers graze my scalp lightly sending shivers down my spine as he twists a lock of my hair absentmindedly, and I bite my lip as a comfortable calmness overtakes me at the move.
Once Lachlan asked the staff to speak with the conductor about less stops to reach London faster, it only took another day to reach the bustling city, although we’ve not seen much of it.
“Oh look. Is that one for us?” He nudges me, and I glance at the nearby curbside across from where we’re seated.
A van pulls to a stop and the driver hops out. “Hello! Would you be Lachlan Macbeth?” a little old lady with a dark cap covering part of her curling gray hair that sprigs around her face like a halo asks.
She stands arms planted wearing a black and white matching jogger suit and pink glittery sneakers next to a blue van with the tourist logo on the side.
“Aye, I am,” Lachlan says, giving her a showstopping smile of his.
“You’d be a highlander if ever I saw one.
Well, come along lad and don’t just stand there, help get the luggage to the car,” she waves us over, a bright grin on her weathered face.
She backs away quickly to the small van and pushes a button on the key fob to lift the hatch, with all the vivacity of a seventy year old woman who’s told the world to piss off and she can do anything.
“Aye, born and raised,” Lachlan replies.
I suppose he’s right; the Scottish Highlands have been the highlands for thousands of years.
When it comes time to actually put the luggage into the back of the van, I sit back and watch as Lachlan wins over the little old lady, making her laugh while she lets him manhandle the bigger bags.
“Well, isn’t she precious,” Lachlan says.
After a long while on the road, Patricia, the cabbie from Cornwall, turns on the radio and the silence stretches as we pass through the British countryside.
The mountains are lush and full of wildflowers blowing with the wind as the sun rises in the sky.
“Och, look, Elena. The heather is beautiful this time of year,” he says.
“It really is beautiful.” I settle back into the leather seat of the van, but move to sit up when my gaze lands on a large stretch of water in the distance.
“Aye, we’re almost to the lake now,” Lachlan announces.
I note he seems more excited than anxious at the prospect of facing his ex, but last night he explained they hadn’t known each other long and she was actually the fated mate to someone else.
I suppose I can understand since a great many people I know are friendly with their exes, but still.
How should I know when dealing with what were supposed to be mythological creatures?
“I know you said you wanted me to drop you off, but there aren’t any buses coming again for a few hours you know,” Patricia says.
“Aye, but the old inn is still open nearby? We won’t mind the walk,” Lachlan replies.
“It’s still a fair bit, more than a walk I say,” she grumbles, her sharp gaze coasting over me from the rearview mirror.
“We’ll be fine. Not to worry.” Lachlan moves to sit up, and waves a hand toward the driver. A palpable energy seems to spread through the vehicle, and Patricia visibly relaxes in the driver seat, but still operates the van as if nothing happened.
“What did you just do?” I whisper, wondering what he just did to her.
“I just eased her mind a bit because she’s a stubborn old boot, and she’s right.
The lake is remote, at least it was the last time I was here and after looking at the map today, it doesn’t look like much has changed to the area.
I mean for us to stay a while, and don’t need her poking around to stay in case we change our minds about the hike. ”
“Okay.”
Satisfied with the answer, I sit back in the taxi and watch as we get closer, scanning the area for anything that looks like it could lead to the Lady of the Lake’s house.
Oh my god. What the hell is my life?
The road turns into a small narrow lane, but the lake stretches in the distance. The lake looks calm and isn’t as large as what I expected it to be. It’s smaller than a lake near my parent’s back home, and I can easily make out the houses dotted a few football fields away.
Nothing about the English countryside looks out of the ordinary, and I definitely don’t see anything nearby that would even remotely resemble what I think of when I think of the Lady of the Lake.
I’ve watched my fair share of movies about King Arthur and the woman who gifted him the sword of legend, but of course never thought any of it could possibly be real.
There are over a handful of films alone where the enchantress is using magic of some sort, and to think we’re going to meet her, a legit sorceress I thought was a fairytale.
I glance over at Lachlan, watching as the sun sends his beard glistening like it’s kissed by fire.
My lips lift into a grin. I thought the Loch Ness Monster was only a myth too, and here I am mated to him.
The van comes to a stop. “Right you are. I hope you enjoy your walk, sir. The inn is just in that direction when you decide to take your leave,” the sweet old cabbie says.
We step out of the vehicle and the trunk pops open.
Lachlan busies himself seeing to the luggage while I look around.
I bring my coat around my ears to ward off the chill and cross my arms over my chest as I wait, noticing there’s nothing near the lake that even remotely looks like what Lachlan described.
“Take care,” Lachlan says, waving Patricia off as she speeds away, leaving us essentially deserted.
My stomach flips.
“Hey, can you tell me before you do more magic like you did in the car?” I ask him, realizing now why the cabbie had concerns when leaving us there stranded, with clearly miles to walk to the nearest anything.
But she still did it. This magic of his must be potent, and I’d rather know when he’s about to use it.
“Of course. I promise I won’t unless necessary again if it bothers you. I just didn’t want her asking questions when I didn’t know how to answer,” he says, tugging the luggage upright.
“Okay. So what now? We’re not really stranded out here are we?” I gaze around wondering what exactly he can see that I can’t, because so far I don’t see anything like a cave, not even a hill to hide under.
“This way,” he says. He gathers up our luggage to pull behind him, and starts walking toward the lake, coffee cup of train water and key in hand.
I frown but follow behind, gravel crunching beneath my boots and the stray howl of the wind the only sound in the early morning.
I come to a stop beside him when he pauses at the lake’s edge, and glance up at him as he stares out across the water. When he looks down at me, his expression transforms before a small frown pulls at his brow.
“If you ever begin to feel out of sorts or uncomfortable, you’ve only to say so and we’ll leave. We aren’t staying long, if I can help it.” He says the last bit under his breath, and I get the firm impression that we definitely aren’t staying.
“Okay,” I reply, unsure of how to take this serious side of him I’ve not seen yet.