“I have nowhere to go,” added Kelpie pathetically, in case he hadn’t got the point.
“Aye,” said Glenfern, who had got it very quickly. “Well, come away in, and we’ll see my wife.”
“Mise-an-dhui!” said Lady Glenfern when they told her. She looked even less delighted than her husband.
Eithne looked up from sorting and polishing silver. “Och, what a wicked thing!” she exclaimed, her creamy oval face troubled and sympathetic. “And have you no other relations?”
Kelpie shook her head. Wee Mairi, gathering that something was wrong, ran over and slipped her warm little hand into Kelpie’s, and the twins looked up in surprise, for they had thought everyone had more relations than could be counted.
“Perhaps she had better be staying with us,” they suggested through mouthfuls of buttered scone—an extra breakfast, no doubt. “She could put the Evil Eye on all our enemies, whatever,” added Ronald hopefully.
“You’re not really a witch, are you?” asked Lady Glenfern seriously. A white witch, of course, was a great benefit to have around, since all her powers were used for good; and the Kirk of the Lowlands had not yet reached far enough into the Highlands to make even white powers dangerous. Still, the lass of Old Mina was more likely to be a black witch, than a white one.
“No!” Said Kelpie vehemently, and with perfect truth. (How she wished she were!) “And I would never be wanting to harm anyone,” she added, less truthfully.
Alex, sitting cross-legged on the far window seat, sent her a bright hazel glance of derision, which Kelpie ignored.
Glenfern raised an eyebrow at his wife, sighed, and smiled kindly. “Would you be wanting to stay with us, lassie?” he asked.