Page 88 of Laird of Twilight
“‘The Trossachs area of Loch Katrine has a striking majesty,’” Fiona read from Sir Walter’s letter. “‘Ben Venue towers on its southwestern shore with true grandeur, its massive shoulders crafted of ancient rock, from the Goblin’s Cave at its foot to the great crystals in its crown.’”
“Goblin’s Cave?” James sat forward. “That sounds intriguing.”
“Sir Walter mentions it.” Lady Rankin thumbed through her well-worn copy ofThe Lady of the Lake. “Where...ah, here it is.”
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung:
A softer name the Saxons gave,
And call’d the grot the Goblin-cave
“A grotto, as at Struan House,” Elspeth said.
“My sister fancied herself an expert on fairies and the like,” Lady Rankin said of Lady Struan. “She said that the grotto at Struan was modeled after a natural one in the Highlands.”
Elspeth and James exchanged glances. “Very interesting,” James murmured. “We may want to explore that.”
“Do you go ahead and look for little rocks, James,” Lady Rankin said. “I have no taste for hillwalking. A sail on the loch sounds just the thing. Fiona will come with me to make sketches for a keepsake. I think we can persuade others too. Miss MacArthur?”
“I would like to see the grotto cave,” Elspeth said.
“Miss MacArthur may come with me if she likes,” James offered. “Perhaps we can persuade your grandfather to act as our guide, while Mr. MacKimmie and Mr. MacDuff guide the others around.” Elspeth nodded eagerly.
“Invite Charlotte to go with you,” Lady Rankin suggested.
“She is not dressed for hillwalking,” Fiona pointed out. “She wore impractical shoes. We will ask her to sail with us instead. Though it may rain later.”
Elspeth glanced at the sky, where gray clouds rolled overhead and swirled around the mountaintops above the Pass of Achray. The wind was brisk and cool, the view wide and awe-inspiring. Sensing the elemental power in it, she drew a deep breath, sitting straighter, feeling a little of the strength of the earth.
Fiona was reading aloud from the folded page. “‘Ben Venue will appeal to ardent admirers of great landscape beauty. Its black and towering sides have a certain rich glossiness, and its craggy dignity houses many mysterious caves replete with legends.’ Glossy?” she wondered. “Why would that be, James?”
He glanced toward the black mountain, its multiple peaks above the low hills edging the pass. “Deposits of mica, I suppose, perhaps with granite and crystal. I am most intrigued.”
“Here, listen to this,” Fiona said. “‘One of Venue’s Gaelic names means ‘mountain of caves.’ The one most easily found isUamn nan Uruiskin, or the Goblin Cave, along its lower eastern slope near theCoire nan Uruiskin, or Goblin Corrie.’ How intriguing, though rather spooky. I will leave that to braver souls.”
“You’re not the least bit of a coward,” James told his twin, “but today you might prefer to sail so that you can sketch the hills from the perspective of the water.”
“If it helps you, dear brother,” Fiona murmured, “I would be happy to do that.”
“The ferryman keeps a rowing boat at this end of the loch,” Elspeth said, “though there is a steamer further up at Glengyle, I believe. If the wind stays down, the loch will be smooth, and either way, the beautiful scenery is well worth the trip.”
“A rowing boat?” Lady Rankin frowned. “Well, I did not come all this way to sit in an inn sipping tea and gazing through window glass. We will take the smaller boat.”
“Well done, Aunt,” James said.
“Let me read to you about Ellen’s Isle, named for the heroine of Sir Walter’s poem,” Lady Rankin said, flipping pages in her book. She began to read aloud.
Elspeth closed her eyes and listened, and tried to quell her fears. She did not know what the day would bring, but the Sight never showed her own future. She sighed.
Then she felt James’s hand, strong and sure, slide under the cover of her plaid. She savored the quick, warm, secret interlacing of their fingers, and the silent message there—love, strength, passion, hope—while his aunt’s voice droned on.
The coach drew to a halt, and the knotting of their fingers withdrew.
* * *
In the ferryman’s yard, outside a house that overlooked the lower end of the loch, both coaches drew up. Mr. MacDuff and his wife came out to greet them, and soon the group was served tea in the parlor, hot, fragrant and sweet, with warm oatcakes and rowan jelly. Seated in the small, simply furnished room, James looked out a large window that boasted views of Ben Venue to one side, and Ben A’an to the east, bordering the pass of Achray through which the coaches had come.
