Kelpie shook her head. “A hillside and a crowd of people,” she murmured, “but ’tis all cloudy.” And then she held her breath.
But Mina didn’t seem to know that Kelpie was deceiving her. “I wanted news of Argyll,” she grumbled and put the crystal away. Then, after a parting cuff, she strode up the hill with Bogle—and not so much as a parting glance from either of them. Och, they had some pressing purpose, the two of them, and whatever could it be?
The eastern sky was apricot now. The sun would be up in a few minutes, and already golden light was pouring across the very tops of the hills on the far side of the glen, but a fitful wind was coming from the west, promising to bring rain clouds over those same bright hills....
What if, after all, Glenfern refused to let her stay? Feeling excited and forlorn at once, Kelpie turned her back on the sunrise and walked slowly down the hill.
She approached the house on lagging feet, suddenly nervous. Ian’s father was outside the door, talking to Lachlan and an old man. Lachlan already disliked her, and Glenfern looked as if he could be stern indeed. Kelpie drooped her mouth into an expression of wistful apology, arranged the sling on her arm so that it showed up well, and hovered tentatively a few feet away.
Glenfern’s face was kindly enough when he looked up and saw her. “Good morning,” he greeted her. “And how are you feeling?”
“Good morning,” replied Kelpie, “and well enough,”—making it sound like a brave lie. “But—” She stopped, looking frightened. “Mina and Bogle came,” she began, and paused.
“Oh. And you’ll be wanting a bit of breakfast before you’re away off with them?” suggested Glenfern with a smile.
“They’re away off without me,” blurted Kelpie, looking helpless. “They’re not wanting me any more.”
“Dhé!” said Glenfern. He didn’t seem overjoyed.