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Temper, Temper
Asher lay propped under the trees in the orangerie at Castle Maclaren, his hat over his face, a book in his hands.
Nearby Geordie and Quinn were seated at a small table; his friends were discussing him. Again. “What’s eating him?” Geordie Maclaren, Viscount Kirkleith and owner of said castle, wanted to know.
Quinn was quick to respond—of course it was Quinn, Asher thought sourly. “He’s got a leave from the home office, so he’s at loose ends for a while.”
“Aye, but he’s like a cat dipped in paint,” was Geordie’s colorful reply. “I asked him if he wanted to go riding not ten minutes ago and he practically ate me.”
“I can hear you,” Asher replied loudly.
“So then answer the question,” Geordie returned promptly. “What’s roostin’ up your backside?”
“Nothing. Just because I didn’t want to go riding?” Asher knew full well his tone was defensive, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. “I suppose it’s not enough that I’m here when I could be anywhere else—you want me to dance like a good little puppet. And Ross is leaving in a few weeks, probably for good.” He removed the hat long enough to glare at the two of them, then plopped it back over his face. “Just let me be, will you?”
“Happy to, after the end of the week—you’ve your own place when we go to London to see Ross off, you needn’t stay at mine.” Asher could hear Geordie’s even temper beginning to fray, an unusual event in itself. “Why’d y’come all this way if you wanted to be left alone? What’s bitin’ you?”
“You know,” Quinn mused, “Elias’ niece was an awfully pretty girl. Smart, too, I’m told. She made quite an impression on the desk sergeant there.”
Asher growled, his knuckles going white around the book.
The conversation paused at the sound of approaching footsteps. Ross came striding up, hair a bit disheveled, an irritatingly satisfied look on his face. “So, are we going riding, or not?”
Asher huffed and got up. “Fine.”
“We needn’t, you know,” Geordie pointed out.
“No, you’ve been making such a...” Asher waved a hand, annoyed, “...thing about it that I can only conclude we must.”
“Are you feeling unwell?” Ross asked mildly, though Asher suspected he’d caught some of the conversation and was trying to avoid the remark about his departure. His friend’s earlier satisfaction was now carefully concealed behind a mask of concern.
“I’m fine,” Asher replied shortly. “I’ve just got the jim-jams. Maybe the exercise will do me good.”
“I see your mood is as charming as it was this morning,” Ross replied, and then Asher thought he heard his friend mutter something about the horses being likely to buck at the idea of carrying a spitting cobra.
He snorted. “Maybe Apollo’ll break my neck and put you all out of my misery.” He stalked past the other three and went to change into his riding gear.
In his room Asher had a dram from the whisky decanter so thoughtfully placed there by Geordie’s order, and stared out his window over the ocean. His friends must be thoroughly sick of him by now, and frankly Asher couldn’t blame them—he was sick of himself. More than anything he longed for another assignment to give his days some structure, some meaning—but Ross was leaving in another fortnight or so, and Asher wanted to be present for that, because it would be a long time before he’d see his friend again. An assignment would only get in the way, which was why he’d asked for this leave.
But this being at loose ends was trying his patience, the more so because he was surrounded by conjugal bliss and every instance of it made him miss—no. No. That was a closed door and he would not look behind it again. He’d allowed himself one slip. Anything more would only end in more pain, and so he’d done his best to make a clean break. Which did not explain why he was such a mess inside.
There were two light taps on the door, and then it opened a crack. “Is it safe to enter?” Ross' voice came through the barely opened door.
Asher poured himself another whiskey. “Go without me, hm? I’m no fit company for man nor beast.”
“That is not what I asked, and it isn’t why I’m here,” Ross replied, opening the door just a bit more. “You don’t have to go riding if you don’t want to.” A frustrated sigh followed. “May I come in, Ash?”
“Yes, of course.” Asher tossed back the whiskey and gestured to a pair of chairs in the bow of the bay window. “Why are you here, then?”
Ross closed the door behind him and studied Asher for a few seconds before speaking. “Let me preface this by saying it is not an... easy topic for me to bring up right now.” Asher caught a glimpse of the shadows in his friend’s gaze before he moved to one of the chairs. Ross waited for Asher to sit, a frown on his face when he began. “You’ve not been yourself. Is there any chance that the changeling you encountered was a...” He stopped entirely and took a slow, steadying breath. “... A redcap?”
Caught off guard, Asher studied his friend. “No, I don’t think so.” He winced. “That bad?”
“Considering recent events, I thought it was worth asking,” Ross replied quietly. It was the closest they’d come to talking about what happened at the docks since the morning after the encounter, and it was clear the experience was still raw. “But, to answer your question, it hasn’t been good, Burton. You all but bit my head off this morning when I asked you if there was any toast left.”
Ashamed, Asher hung his head. “Lord. I’m sorry, Ross.” That use of ‘Burton’, more than anything, conveyed his friend’s feelings on the matter, and Asher felt absolutely awful about it. “This is not how I want you to remember me.”
“It’s not how I’ll remember you, you gob. A few days of bad behavior can’t undo twenty years of good memories,” Ross was quick to reply. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “I’m worried about you.”
Asher was silent for a long moment. “It’s—have you ever made a choice that you really believed was for the best, and for a long time it is, until it... isn’t, anymore?”
His friend nodded slowly. “You’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that question. I can think of a few very recent examples.” He regarded Asher for just a moment, then relaxed. “There have been a good many changes to our group of late. Change can be uncomfortable, or it can be wonderful.” Ross smiled a little and Asher knew where his friend’s thoughts had drifted to. He turned his regard back to Asher. “I don’t know what happened to make you feel this way, but I am here for you. Even when I’m an ocean away and it has to be through a telegram, that won’t change.”
Asher smiled. “I’m going to miss you, Ross.”
“I’ll miss you too, but at least you’ll save on your brandy expenses,” Ross pointed out. He clapped his hands to his knees and got out of his chair, walking to the door. “Now, I am going to change into my riding clothes, and I will convey to the lads that you will be staying behind, but... perhaps we could enjoy a bit of billiards and brandy after dinner. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough. I might even let you win.” Asher grinned at his friend.
Ross rolled his eyes at that, standing in the open doorway. “When I do finally beat you, it will be on my own merit, and if I learn otherwise, I’ll have to come all the way back from America to restore my honor by trouncing you for real.” With those words he bid Asher a quick goodbye and excused himself to prepare for the afternoon’s ride.
Asher closed the door behind his friend, his expression sobering almost immediately. He was being selfish—and self-indulgent into the bargain—and if he didn’t take hold of himself he would ruin things even more than he already had. The vision of a pair of green eyes, swimming with hurt, rose before him, and he bit out a curse and stalked back to the whiskey decanter.
Another knock, this one a familiar, coded rhythm. “Oh, come in, Quinn,” Asher muttered as the door opened. “As though my telling you not to would keep you out.”
“Just observing the niceties,” his partner replied. “Something you could do a bit more of, frankly.”
“I know.” Asher let out a breath. “This last job...” He shook his head. “It got to me. Give me a little time—I’ll put it behind me.”
He could feel Quinn looking at him, and wondered what his friend saw. “I ought to have gone with you,” Quinn replied. “Then I’d have slept with the girl and we'd all feel better.”
Asher’s head came up and he actually took a step toward the other man, itching to push his face in. “You bastard...”
Quinn offered him a small smile instead. “I’ve got something for you. Miss Whitfield asked me to return it to you, but you weren’t speaking to me, so...”
“I wasn’t speaking to anybody.”
“Just so. D’you want this or not?” Quinn held out a piece of foolscap.
Asher took it, already knowing what it was: the sketch he’d made of Charlie, her hair gleaming in the firelight. He’d hoped she might keep it, but— He looked up at Quinn. “Thanks. Now go away.”
His partner nodded, but hesitated at the threshold. “I wouldn’t have slept with her, you know.”
“Not up to your standards?” Asher growled.
Quinn shrugged. “No, she’s lovely. But I don’t poach.” He closed the door behind him, and Asher let his shoulders slump.
He looked down at the sketch he’d made, then crossed to his desk. She hadn’t wanted the slightest remembrance of him. Well, that was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He’d made it clear that there was nothing between them; this was just her way of making sure. He couldn’t fault her for it, though in some ways he wished she’d burned the damn thing. But maybe she'd wanted to hurt him, the same way he knew he’d hurt her—and he couldn’t fault her for that either.
He pulled a folio from the desk drawer and opened it up, looking through the few drawings that lay there: Charlie by the lakeside; Charlie at the table, laughing; a careful, detailed drawing of her face, that intelligent, curious expression he knew so well. Asher sighed, caressing the cheek of the woman in the drawing with a fingertip. He added the sketch Quinn had given him and closed the portfolio.
The cottage was lonely and work no longer eased those feelings, so Charlie shoved them down and went about the chores with a sort of mechanical efficiency. The doctor insisted that Uncle Elias remain in the infirmary for a few days, and having seen the creature of the loch—touched it—Charlie found it difficult to return to the examination of evidence that only vaguely hinted at its existence. She felt like a lost child, standing at a crossroads with no way to know which direction would lead her home again.
After a day of this strange betwixt-and-between aimlessness, a brisk knock on the door caught her attention. Charlie set aside the book she’d been staring at in an attempt to distract herself. She hurried to the door, hoping to open it and find Asher smiling on the other side, ready to collaborate over the stove, or discuss Shakespeare as they sipped tea.
“Och, child, ‘tis only me,” Lorna Alvin said when the door swung open. “I know y’wish I was someone else. But I’ve somethin’ for you that might cheer you a bit, I’m hopin’.”
The moment of surprise and disappointment passed quickly and was replaced by a measure of relief. Charlie stepped outside the door and wrapped her arms around the other woman, clinging tightly to her. The sight of another person—a person she liked and trusted—made the fog of loneliness clear. “Mrs. Alvin,” Charlie managed, sniffling just a bit.
“Y’poor lassie,” the older woman cooed maternally, holding her close. “Come, let’s have a cuppa before I show you what I’ve brought.” She coaxed Charlie back into the house and put together some tea with her usual efficiency, and in a matter of minutes had two steaming mugs on the table waiting. “Now then, that’s more like. Come and sit, child. I’ve two good ears and broad enough shoulders, if y’care t’use them.”
Charlie wrapped her hands around the mug and tried to sort through her thoughts to find the words to begin. “My uncle is safe,” she began, reminding herself of that much and hoping that this time it would ease the hollow ache in her chest. It didn’t. “But... but nothing is the way I thought it would be.” Tears welled up and then slid down her cheeks. “The creature is real. I saw it—touched it. I should be happy, but I feel... lost.”
Lorna reached across the table to clasp Charlie’s hand. “Sometimes when an adventure ends, it’s time t’make a new beginning. But ‘tisn’t always easy.”
“I think I...” Charlie took a shuddering breath before she continued. “I fell in love with Asher Burton, Lorna. I knew he was leaving and I let myself get carried away by it all.”
Mrs. Alvin tilted her head. “And he felt nothing, you think?”
Charlie could have sworn Asher felt the same, that the kiss had been evidence of what they shared, but then everything changed and he couldn’t get away from Lochmuir fast enough. She shook her head. “I believe he felt responsible for my safety. I thought it was more, but... No, he made his feelings clear when we parted ways.” She dashed the tears from her cheeks and faced her friend. “I misread things, and I will recover. I just don’t quite know what to do with myself now. The world is not what I thought it was.”
“No, indeed. It’s far more.” Lorna patted her hand and rose from the table, carrying her mug. “Some doors have closed for you, ‘tis true. But there are others—you only need a key to open them.” She held out her free hand. “Come with me, hm? I’ve a message to deliver, from a mutual friend.”
Intrigued, and grateful for the relief that feeling brought, Charlie took the other woman’s hand and followed where she led. “What sort of message is it?” There had been some demonstrations of kindness in the last few days: cards and baked goods from members of the community, as word of the ordeal at the lakeshore had spread.
They stepped out into the yard and thence toward the loch. “One that I think will be delivered in person, as it were.” They arrived at the bank of the loch, just next to her uncle’s small dock. “Stand back a little, dear—she does tend to splash.”
Nothing happened for a moment, and then small lights emerged from the water, dancing and darting about. The surface of the loch in front of them swelled and then broke, and a large, greenish-grey head, gleaming in the sunlight, rose from the depths.
“It’s you,” Charlie gasped, taking a step forward and holding her hand out. There was no fear; the creature had imparted nothing but care and gentleness when it came to her after the confrontation with the Shaws. Charlie tore her gaze from the creature and looked to her neighbor. “You knew—she?—was here. How?”
The older woman seemed to be blushing a bit; she held out a hand and the beast gently bunted its head against her outstretched palm. “She’s why I’m here. Well—she, and you,” Lorna clarified, which made nothing clear at all.
Charlie glanced from Lorna to the beast, torn between her desire to look at the creature and her need for answers. “What do you mean you’re here for her... for me?’
“You know, I think, that there are realms beyond this—and folk beyond what we know?” When Charlie nodded, Mrs. Alvin went on. “I’m as human as you, but somewhere in my ancestry is the blood of the Fae. There are a fair few of us—Fae-touched, we call ourselves. My family has watched over Iuchair for generations, now.” She rubbed the creature’s nose and was rewarded with a whuffling sound.
The truth of the Fae was nothing new, and the idea that there were dalliances between the Fae and humans seemed but a step further into a world Charlie was slowly coming to terms with. “And you say your family has been watching over... Iuchair.” Charlie glanced at the creature. “Is that her name?”
Lorna nodded. “No one can know what a Fae is truly named, but ‘tis what she’s called, aye. It means ‘key’. She it is who opens that which is locked away—opens the portal between realms, among other things.” She paused, and then went on. “Do you recall when you first arrived in Lochmuir?”
“I do,” Charlie replied quietly. She would never forget that time in her life. Like now, there’d been so much sadness and fear that it was difficult to see the way forward. “At the time it was difficult to believe this place would ever be home.”
“You made one good friend here—young Oliver Shaw. Do you remember what he was like, back then?” Lorna shook her head. “A sunny youth, he was. Friendly, kind—happy to befriend a sad little girl.”
The tears broke again at the mention of her young friend. “I think something terrible happened to him, Lorna. That... person who died on the shore was not Oliver.”
“No.” The other woman’s voice was sober. “I wish I’d known sooner. Our Oliver died years ago in the realm of the Fae, at the hands of the Unseelie. The creature we thought was him for so long was a changeling.” She sighed. “I saw you go into the portal, you know. I didn’t realize he’d gone in too—I was only relieved to get you out quickly.”
Charlie sniffled. “I heard him scream, and then something came for me.” The memory of her dream aligned with the truth of the experience. “I tried to get away, but I couldn’t, not until...” She stopped and looked at the magnificent animal in the water. “She saved me. I couldn’t move and then there she was and I was able to run away...” The last piece fell into place and she turned to her friend fully. “To you. You were there.”
Iuchair whuffled again and then let out a low purr, pushing her head against Charlie’s side. “You remember now,” Lorna said approvingly.
Charlie reached out to stroke Iuchair’s smooth neck. “She’s saved me more than once. Why?”
“Och, that’s easily explained.” The creature laid her head down on the ground next to Charlie’s feet and gazed up at her. Lorna laughed. “She likes you.”
That made Charlie laugh a little as well, a relief after everything that had happened. “I like her too.”
Her friend was studying her. “She’s living up to her name, unlocking that memory for you. D’you feel like she might be unlocking anything else?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie answered honestly. So much had changed so quickly that it was difficult to sort through it all.
“Aye, well.” Lorna patted her shoulder. “Perhaps the way’ll become clearer when you’ve got your uncle home safe, hm?”
Charlie nodded, hoping that Uncle Elias’ absence was all that was keeping a sense of restlessness embedded in her soul. But a small voice deep within whispered that there would be no going back to the life she’d lived before.
With a final lowing sound Iuchair dipped back beneath the waves. Mrs. Alvin looped her arm through Charlie’s, and the two women went back to the house.
Days later, bundled warmly, Charlie stared out over the loch, a basket of eggs on her arm. Somewhere under those rippling waves Iuchair was watching over the loch—over her. The magnificent beast had come to her aid, it had allowed her to touch it, and had opened her mind to the possibility of a life beyond the shores of Loch Ness.
After so many years of investigation with Uncle Elias, the confirmation of Iuchair’s existence was life-altering, and in more ways than Charlie had ever imagined. But that was not the only experience that had made the world shift. Meeting Asher Burton had brought Charlie face to face with the depths of her loneliness. She’d enjoyed having the company of someone closer to her own age, of sharing thoughts and ideas—feelings—that had nothing to do with the pursuit of scientific endeavors.
And then Asher had left. There were no promises of future visits, nor even letters to be exchanged. It was goodbye, and he’d made it clear that their parting was a final one. He was returning to his life, and all would go on for him as it had before. The problem was that Charlie could not do the same.
She had tried, and when Uncle Elias returned home she’d had a day or two of relief. But her uncle was recovering from his ordeal, and as life returned to a familiar routine Charlie could no longer deny that it simply wasn’t enough. A broken heart was only one part of it, and her heart was indeed broken. Like a foolish and naive girl, she’d fallen in love with a man who’d never intended to stay. As sheltered as she’d been, it was not a wonder he didn’t return her feelings.
For all her curiosity and education, the scope of her existence was limited to one small corner of the world. Charlie had spent the past week wrestling with that, and came to the conclusion that she was at a crossroads. Whether Asher wanted her or not was beside the point; she wanted more than what Lochmuir had to offer, and that had prompted her to send a telegram to one Lady Therston, an old and very dear friend of her mother’s. The response received had been nearly immediate and filled with unbridled elation.
Charlie sighed and turned away from the water. She must speak to her uncle, and the matter could not be put off any longer. She trudged back to the house and hung her coat on the peg before putting the eggs away and setting a kettle on the stove.
“Uncle?” Charlie called, knowing if she did not speak now she’d never find the courage. “Could you come here for a moment, please?”
“Mm?” Elias bustled in, his hair all askew, his spectacles propped on top of his forehead. “Charlie, m’dear, have you seen my specs? I’ve mislaid ‘em again, dratted things.”
She smiled a little weakly, shaking her head and reaching to pluck the eyeglasses from his head and hand them to him. “At times one must see things from a different perspective to find the answers.” Her response was equally appropriate to the topic of which she wished to speak.
“Ah.” He chuckled, blinking at her happily. “What can I do for you?”
Charlie gestured to the table. “Have a seat and chat with me. There are... matters I must discuss.”
He did as she asked, folding his hands in front of him. “Well, my dear?”
Charlie followed suit, trying not to think of the cozy evening spent with Asher, knowing full well that her face went red at the memories that came flooding in, despite her best efforts. She cleared her throat and fixed her attention to her uncle. “I cannot express to you how very dear you are to me, nor will I ever be able to thank you for the life that you have given me.”
“Ah.” He removed his spectacles and polished them with his shirttail.
“But recent events have provided me with new information, new perspectives of my own.” Charlie bit her lower lip, tears beginning to brim. “And as any good scientist, which I hope is what I am, I feel that I must investigate these new ideas.” It was slightly easier to frame things this way. “I have seen the creature with my own eyes. I have seen how terrible the world can be... and how wonderful.” The last part was barely more than a whisper. “And I have seen that there is more that I want to learn and explore than Lochmuir has to offer.”
Uncle Elias was silent for a moment, then reached across the scarred tabletop and took her hands in his. “My dear child,” he said softly, “You have brought me so much unlooked-for joy over the years; but I have long known that our time was limited. Perhaps I have been selfish, keeping you to myself here.” He cleared his throat. “It’s long past the time when you should forge a new path. Just know that wherever I am, there will always be a home for you, should you need it. My arms will always be open for you, my little butterfly.”
Her uncle’s kindly reply broke through Charlie’s attempt to remain calm and composed. She started to weep in earnest, even as she nodded her gratitude. “I feel like Pandora’s box has been opened and I cannot put everything back as it was.”
He scooted his chair closer and stroked her hair. “Recall, my dear, what was at the bottom of the box, and take heart. You’ll find your path, I know it.”
“I know I will, uncle, for you gave me hope in my darkest day, and the tools to clear a path,” she replied, and managed to regain a small measure of control. “I have wired an old friend of my mother’s, the very Lady Therston who sent me combs for my hair last Christmas.” She took another cleansing breath. “She has invited me to stay with her in London for a time, to tell me more about my mother, and help me explore the life I might have lived if things had been different.”
Elias nodded. “Lady Therston is a good woman—she loved your mother dearly. She will see you have all you need—I’ll wire her funds first thing tomorrow.” He cleared his throat again. “When do you leave?”
“She said that I was welcome as soon as a train could get me to London,” Charlie answered with a little hesitation. She’d packed her trunk, but had not purchased a ticket yet. “I wanted to speak with you before I set the date for my departure, but I feel it should be sooner rather than later. I fear if it is not I might lose the courage to do this.”
He nodded. “We’ll go into town tomorrow and make all the arrangements. I can speak with my bank and we’ll have luncheon at the Cobbler’s Last, and see that everything is ready for a departure in a week. What do you think?”
“I think it’s an excellent plan,” Charlie answered with a mixture of relief, a bit of sadness, and a small thrill of anticipation. The kettle began to boil, and Charlie jumped to her feet. The task of preparing tea was something of a buffer, transitioning one stage of her life to the next. She turned back to her uncle. “Thank you.”
Elias got up too and came over to embrace her. “Wherever you go,” he whispered, “you’ll have my heart with you. Bless you, my dear.” He kissed each cheek and then her forehead, just as he had when she was small. “Now: let’s make sure you have all you’ll need.”