01
The 'Riders' are out.
It's a little after 10:15 on a darkening Sunday evening. I'm sitting on the bench outside my front door, cup of tea in hand. Overhead, branching fingers of lightning race west to east, illuminating the glen in shifting shades of blue light. Just audible above the stillness of the night, a distant growling – thunder or the wind. And across the empty paddock (the sheep had already taken shelter in a shed by the stables), beyond the dark line of trees along the Lonon and up in the pine forested hills, perhaps a couple of kilometres away, I'd been watching a line of faint lights weave its way slowly through the black woods, blinking in and out of sight.
The recent series of elevated solar storms have flooded the atmosphere with ionized particles. The air is prickly with them. St Elmo's fires once again dance along the outstretched arms of the pylons and on the tips of tree branches and the lightning rods that adorn the stable, sheds and cottages across the way. Were it not for the steady movement of those pale distant spots of light, I'd dismiss them as St Elmo, for the whole glen is speckled with the tiny electric fires. But they moved with too much deliberation. My best guess is that the 'Riders' are some form of ball lightning, though I must admit I'm unsure if the explanation is any less fantastic than Riders from the Otherworld. But I wasn't inclined to investigate them any closer. Sitting close to my doorway was my limit. Just when I was beginning to get accustomed to Glen Lonon, the Riders had to make their appearance.
02
Today started fresh and bright, promising tropical heat again. The weather service was predicting for a cool, damp upcoming week for the highlands, so I declared a holiday, packed a generous lunch and pushed my bike up to the lane via an overgrown trail through the woods behind my cottage to avoid the big house entirely. I headed west to explore the Maig Glen, infamous for its storms.
The map on my watson showed the road past Glen Lonon continuing on past Loch Maig and along the river valley until it reached the far end of Loch Bennerain, some 25 kilometres into the highlands. I set out to explore it to its end. I rode past the abandoned dam and power house I'd come across the other day and then along the shore of the narrow Loch Maig with pine, bracken, and heather hills looming to either side. I took my time, following the dusty lane between the steep hills, with higher mountains ahead, peeking over the ridges, blue in the distance. Eventually the loch reverted back to a river that wound through a valley devoted to pastures for sheep and cattle. I came across several strings of estate workers' cottages early on, but as I continued deeper into the valley, the cottages had been converted to sheep sheds, giving the whole glen an air of abandonment. Even the wide green fields along the river, dotted with grazing sheep, sheds and stone barns with their tall lightning rods seemed casual, temporary intrusions. Yet despite the pure loneliness of the glen, I began to warm up to it. I even took some touristy pictures to send to Penny. I reached Loch Bennerain around 11:00 and continued on until I came to a sturdy five barred fence laced with barbed wire striding down the steep bank from the dark, towering woods alongside of the loch, closing off the road, and ending only in the waters of the loch. Several weathered Scathroy Lodge, No Trespass signs graced the fence while beyond, the lane, which had all but disappeared after the last pasture gate, was lost completely in tall grass and ferns. I drank one of my bottles of ginger beer on the loch shore before turning back. It was getting hot, so I took my time riding back to Loch Maig, where I found a spot of cool shade amongst a grove of birches along the shore to eat the rest of my lunch.
I ate and wrote some letters on my watson to send off this evening – assuming Maryfield had a public Wi-Fi call box, when I heard shouting and laughter. Looking up, I spied a flotilla of kayaks rounding a small headland not far from me. I recognized Lonsdale's voice even before I saw him. It was the bloody Glen Lonon party again. The lads were larking about, accidentally catching crabs and splashing the girls, over their shrill, but laughing objections, all the while trying to tip each other's kayaks over. I envied them. Back in Cambridge I might not be splashing girls on the Cam, but I wouldn't be sitting around eating a sandwich made with three-day old bread all by myself either. Poor me. I wasn't concerned about being spotted. I was well hidden in the grove and anyway, there was nothing to connect me with Glen Lonon. I was just a tramp.
As I watched, Lonsdale lost the tipping contest and his kayak went belly up. He rose to the surface calling out for Nessie, his dear fiancée, to save him from drowning, though he, like everyone else, was wearing a life jacket. He splashed his way to her kayak and tried to climb aboard despite her strident objections. The kayak tipped this way and that before going turtle as well. When she bobbed up besides the overturned kayak, she was not happy. Not happy at all. She had apparently lost her glasses when the kayak tipped over and had some hard truths to say to Lonsdale about that, his intelligence, and general lack of maturity. She pushed him away when he made to save her, and struck out for shore, ignoring his pleas to come back and be a good sport. The loch must be pretty shallow here, for she'd not gone more than ten metres before she could find her footing and was wading carefully ashore. In the meanwhile, Lonsdale had stripped off his life jacket and was diving, presumably to see if he could locate her lost glasses.
The incident had put a bit of a damper on the proceedings, though Lady Flora called out laughingly, 'Oh, Nessie, don't be that way. Come on back. We'll all be swimming shortly!'
Seated against the rocky bank in the shade of the birches, there was no way I could slip off without attracting notice, but, as I said, I seemed well enough hidden that I'd not likely be noticed if I just stayed put.
Lady Nesta, stepping carefully amongst the rocks in the shallows, reached dry land some 30 to 40 metres away just as Lonsdale called out, 'Found them Nessie!' holding up her glasses and striking out for shore.
She scrambled up the bank, stripped off her life jacket and was wringing her long hair, when Lonsdale climbed out of the water, dripping and laughing. 'Here you go,' he said scrambling up to stand beside her. 'Your glasses, good as new, no harm done. My, you look pretty, in a sort of half drowned sort of way, my dear,' he added with a laugh.
She took the offered glasses and hissed, 'Just leave me alone. I don't see any humour in it at all.'
'Aw, don't be mad. We were just having fun. We're going to swim anyway.'
'I didn't find it funny when you were splashing me and I didn't find it funny when you tipped me over. I don't find it funny standing here in my wet clothes either.'
'You never think it's fun...'
'Sorry. But you've had your fun. I'm going home. I'll take the Rover and have someone drive it back around four...' she said grabbing the life jacket from the rock next to her and turning away from him, started towards the lane.
Lonsdale jumped forward and reached out to draw her back, wrapping his arms around her. 'I'm sorry Nessie. Really I am. You know I like teasing you, but there's never any malice in it. I've always teased you...'
'And I'm tired of it!' she snapped as she was struggled to get clear of him. 'Let go of me!'
'And you always get angry!' he added with a laugh, holding her tight. 'But you always get over that as well. Please, don't spoil the day for everyone. If you leave us now, you'll spoil the whole outing...'
'I don't care; I'm going home...' she said.
'Please, this is just like old times. You haven't really grown that old, have you, my dear? You always snapped out of it before. We've known each other since, like, forever. You know we all love you just the way you are. We've been dragging you kicking and complaining from your books since we've been kids. You always complain and always get as angry as... wet hen... Ouch! And always get over it and always have fun. Think of all the wonderful memories you have because we didn't take “no” for an answer....'
Lady Nesta, after giving him that elbow, had stopped her struggling and now rested in Lonsdale's arms.
'Let's not grow up just yet, Nessie,' Lonsdale said just loud enough for me to hear
. 'Please. Not quite yet.'
She sighed. 'Right, let me go.'
'Promise you won't run off?'
'Yes,' barely audible.
He gave her a kiss on the back of her head and said. 'That's my Nessie. Let me help you get that wet blouse and slacks off and I'll see if I can warm you up...'
Which put me in a panic.
'I don't need your help,' she said, unbuttoning her blouse.
Which only added to my panic. However, Lady Nesta had a legged swim suit under her clothes and Lonsdale waved to the others to bring the overturned kayak and collected bonnet to bring them shore. He helped Lady Nesta wring out her clothing until the rest of the flotilla arrived, and then waded out to bail out the kayaks. He brought them close to shore at a more rock free spot within 20 metres of my vantage point so she could wade out and helped her climb aboard. It was only as she started to paddle off that she looked around and, I'm certain, saw me in the shadows just over the rise of the bank since her mild scowl turned to an angry glare again. She turned away and they paddled off without looking back.
Twice in two days. There wasn't anything I could have done, but I imagine finding this stranger turning up every time something embarrassing happens had to be fairly annoying. I'd a feeling I'd best avoid her in the future. I don't think I'd enjoy any encounter.
I'll admit, however, that I find it harder to dislike Lonsdale. His concern for Nesta Mackenzie seemed genuine, treating her temper with patience, which upon my scant acquaintance, is not to be dismissed lightly. Perhaps I was wrong in ascribing his appeal to all those girls, to just his good looks, free spending and prospects for wealth. Oh, well. Live and learn.
I gave them a chance to drift across to the far shore of the loch for their picnic and then slipped out the grove to my bike and back to the cottage.
03
I spent several hours in the afternoon weeding the gardens at the co-op. I've no desire to be an outcast here, and given my status in the big house, I hope to find acceptance with the staff. I ran into Mrs Douglas on the way back and she showed me the co-op's clothes closet, an eclectic selection of clothing donated or left behind by the Mackenzies and their guests. I found a pair of wellies that fit, a well-worn moleskin pair of pants and several shirts more or less fit in keeping with my new character.
In the long evening I rode over to Maryfield, while the weather was still non-threatening and found a Wi-Fi call box. I downloaded my mail, sent messages and called Professor Blake and Penny. I gave Blake an outline of Learmonte's initial terms and our informal mutual accommodations and a quick appreciation of the material, since I was, on paper, reporting to him. He sarcastically congratulated me on not making a hash of things the first day and urged me to continue to pursue this course. I promised I'd try, which of course wasn't what he wanted to hear, so I promised I would.
I then called Penny and told her about my little adventures of travel and discoveries, though I avoided any mention about the nature of my work, per my NDA. She didn't seem to take my near brush with death by lightning very seriously. I'm going to assume that's the price I pay for being so casually brave in the story, as I told it to her.
And oh, yes, I told her about finding Renny Lonsdale a guest at Glen Lonon, and how I found out why he was here, which she found interesting.
I told her of my various encounters with the Mackenzies and Lonsdale and mentioned that I thought Lonsdale had matured quite a bit and seemed rather thoughtful and caring. She just laughed and told me to think back on all the girls who continued to hang with him at the uni, even after they'd auditioned to be Mrs. Renshaw Lonsdale. He was always considerate, she said. And generous, and handsome, and a good egg.
I told her how glad I was I hadn't realized she felt this way about him until now, and how happy I was to find that he was safely engaged to Lady Nesta Mackenzie.
She just laughed. 'Maybe I'm just playing really hard to get.'
'You are with me, anyway,' I replied.
I hung up feeling optimistic. Our conversation was so free and easy. Perhaps being away from her and having more than nano-technology to talk about is what the doctor ordered. The sky was growing overcast in the west by the time we finished talking, so I headed back to Glen Lonon, using my electric motor rather freely. The clouds were laced with lightning by the time I pulled up at my front door. The storm, however, held off for several hours.
04
As I sat outside in the deepening night watching the lightning silently streaking through the clouds, Guy came around on his evening rounds. He stopped for a moment or two to talk.
The Gate is open tonight,' he said.
'The Gate?' I asked.
He nodded to the hills. 'See all the fairy lights?'
'St Elmo's fires?'
'Fairy lights or St Elmo's fire, no difference. But look how many are lit. The Riders of the Seelie Court will be out tonight, mark my words. You might see their lights a'marching through the storm.'
'How will I tell them apart from all the other lights?'
'Oh, you'll know the difference if you see them. Well, I must be pushing on if I'm not to get wet. Maudie would be upset if I tracked mud and rainwater in, especially if I'd gotten wet telling you tales... We'll save that for a drier night, hey, lad?'
'Looking forward to it. I don't know much of anything about TTR Mackenzie, and would like to know more, facts or folklore. Where there's smoke, there's fire...'
'Aye, there's a lot of both in these glens when it comes to old TTR.'
The lightning's getting sharper now and the rolling thunder is growing louder and the wind is picking up, and big drops of rain are in the air, so I think I'd best close this account and get inside to finish this account.
I wasn't inside five minutes before the storm arrived with a mighty roar and wind driven horizontal rain from the north-west, with the cold taste of the Atlantic on its breath.
I don't know how much sleep I'll get with the storm roaring about me, but I think I'll crash on the settee again tonight, seeing how the pines above the cottage are thrashing about.