At this point Kelpie’s instinct and gypsy training took over. Without stopping to wonder was she right or no, she turned to the left and trudged along the southern bank of the loch. She found berries and roots to eat. She lay down in the wet heather and slept, her plaidie around her, when she could go no farther. And then she awoke and went on. To the end of the loch she went, and down a glen, and around a mountain.
And late on a drizzly afternoon old Alsoon MacNab heard a faint scratch at her door and opened it to find her own plaidie back—wrapped round a morsel of wretched humanity that for once was not shamming in the least.
16. Morag Mhor
It was pleasant to be cared for, pleasant and strange. Kelpie lay for several days on the pile of springy heather which served for her bed. At first she just slept and awoke to eat and sleep again. But then she began lying awake, her eyes on the smoky fire, or on the mortarless stone walls that leaned a little inward against the black rafters and thatched roof. Alsoon was always busy, cooking or sweeping the earthen floor with a besom broom or weaving or knitting, one eye always on her patient.
And why should they take her in and care for her so, when they had nothing to gain by it? Glenfern had done the same thing—no, best not to think of Glenfern, for that was too painful. She must learn to wall off those memories from her feelings, so that they would become like a witch-spot on the body, a spot that could feel no pain even though a pin was stuck in to the head. Kelpie had no witch-spots, though Mina did. But then, Kelpie was not a witch, and what was more, she never would be, however hard she might try!
The knowledge crept upon her stealthily, while she was still too weak and drained to resist it. She had no power at all. None of her spells had ever worked. And Mina had lied about teaching her the Evil Eye. It came to her with bitter clarity that the Evil Eye was a thing one must be born with; it could never be learned. All Kelpie had was the Second Sight, and many Highlanders had that.
She received the knowledge with a strange kind of indifference. Later, when she wasn’t so tired, she would no doubt feel a savage sense of loss. But she could not think about it now—not yet.
Alsoon was bringing her some broth now and crooning to her wee dark love to drink it and sleep. Callum must have tramped far over the hills to find a deer to make it, and they knew very well that she could never pay for it at all, and they would be hurt even if she offered payment. Highland hospitality was a warm, strong thing with rules to it. It made a grace between host and guest and a bond not to harm each other. This was why Alex had been so angry at the way she left Glenfern, and Eithne so hurt, and—and Ian—