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“Is that right? Do tell,” I said, my curiosity piqued. I crossed to the cabinet by the crackling fire, nodding to Archie, who snapped his newspaper pages in response, and poured myself a wee dram of Edradour.
“Well, now, I can’t be embarrassing the wee one, can I now?” Hilda shot me a chiding look, and I glanced back at where Sir Buster stared at her in adoration.
“This is a dog that has no shame,” I said, crossing to the table where Hilda had placed bowls of creamy potato leek soup and crusty bread. “Can I help with anything?”
“Och, no, it’s a bit of soup to warm your bones on a blustery night. And chicken for you, Sir Buster. Yes, sir, nothing but the best for my baby,” Hilda cooed, bustling through the door into the kitchen and returning promptly with a small dish for the dog. So the dog ate chicken and I got tatties? Roundly put in my place, I pulled out my chair and sat. Archie folded his paper and rose. A limber man with a shock of silver hair, glinting brown eyes, and a terse way with words, Archie preferred to spend his time among the gardens where social skills were not required. Nevertheless, when he did speak, he often made a fair point.
“He had a disagreement with a hedgehog this morning before the rain came on. Seemed the hedgie had the right of it, and Sir Buster wasn’t pleased,” Archie said as he joined the table.
“Took on more than you can handle, did ya, wee man?” I laughed when Sir Buster paused from his dinner to glare at me.
“That’s enough out of the two of you,” Hilda said, sitting down with her glass of wine. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than Sir Buster’s battles.”
“What now?” I took another sip of my whisky, the liquid trailing heat to my stomach, and braced myself for more bad news. We’d had a string of it of late, with more businesses closing, tourism drying up, and the people of the village talking of ancient curses. I’d tried my best to assure the town that it was just an economic slump, but even I was beginning to have a hard time explaining a few odd occurrences lately.
“The last of the Order has died,” Archie said, and I brought my glass to the table with a resounding thump.
“We’ve been over this…” I began, frustration rankling in my gut.
“Aye, we have, yet you refuse to listen. What’s it going to take, boyo? A Kelpie hurting one of your own before you believe?” Archie slapped his hand on the table. This, from Archie, was akin to him skewering me with one of the ancient swords that hung in our weapons room.
“Lachlan,” Hilda said, her tone serious. “The Order of Caledonia isreal. You can bury your head in the sand all you want, but it won’t make it go away. The last of the Order has died, and the Clach na Fìrinn lies unprotected. The last line of defense has been triggered. The village is no longer safe unless we restore the Order.”
“The Stone of Truth…” I shook my head and cursed, softly though so Hilda couldn’t quite make out the words, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Och, that’s nothing but a myth, Hilda.”
“It’s not,” Archie said, sweeping his spoon into his bowl of soup. It was the angriest I’d seen him in ages. “And your stubbornness will have good people getting hurt.”
At that, I paused. Archie was rarely adamant about something that didn’t truly matter unless it was fly fishing, and his words stung.
“I understand this is sensitive for you, what with the way you lost your mum, but…” Hilda winced as I burst out of my seat and strode to the bar to pour another dram of whisky. There, I stood, memories of my mum’s death swirling around me as I stared at the dancing flames.
She drowned, Lachlan.
It wasn’t an accident.
The Kelpies, Lachlan.
She was too close to the island.
As a child, I hadn’t wanted to hear about the myths and legends that had supposedly stolen my mum from me. No, I had wanted a solid answer that I could make sense of. She’d been swimming, as she did most days of the year in a wetsuit to keep her warm, when she’d developed a cramp and drowned. It was a human, and normal, way to die. That was it. That was all it had to be. It was the truth I’d clung to for all these years and had refused to let anyone tell me differently. If it wasn’t the truth, then I’d have to avenge her death against mythological water horses and, well, the thought of that was just crazy enough to make me take another long sip of my whisky.
“I’ll listen,” I finally said, as much to my surprise as theirs. My hand tightened on my glass, and I stayed where I was, staring into the fire. How many times through the years had another man stared into this same fireplace while contemplating difficult decisions?
“We need to restore the Order if we want to keep the stone protected. Per legend, it starts with the knight. I finally found the last Knight of the Order. Arthur MacKnight is his name. He, well, he was receptive at the time. Enthused, even. I’d hoped he could be the start of a new Order of Caledonia, but he’s just passed this week,” Hilda explained.
“MacKnight?” I stared at her. MacKnight was the surname of the new owner of MacAlpine Castle. “The one and the same who bought the castle?”
“Aye,” Hilda said softly.
I turned and looked at her over my shoulder. I didn’t need her to elaborate who the family was. The MacKnight family, owners of this castle, and much of the town along with it. Owners that had abandoned their people and took seemingly no pride in the care of their castle or village.
I reminded myself, once again, that my mum had loved MacAlpine Castle, though, as well as Loren Brae. Everything I did for the people now, I did for her. Even if it meant entertaining this nonsense.
“What, exactly, does this Order entail again?” I asked. Hilda had tried to tell me more than once through the years, but I’d always stopped the conversation.
“The Order of Caledonia was created to protect the Clach na Fìrinn from falling into the wrong hands. Well, any hands, really. Traditionally, the first of the Order is a knight, and he recruits others to the Order who meet the criteria to protect the stone. Without the Order intact, the Kelpies in the loch will rise and protect the stone themselves. They are the last line of defense and do not discriminate over friend or foe who draws too near to the island,” Hilda explained.
Sir Buster trotted over, his belly now full, and turned circles on the little tartan bed in front of the fire. With a small sigh, he settled in, his reign of terror concluded for the night. Did I need to take a tip from Sir Buster about letting go?
