Lady of the Loch Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  LADY OF THE LOCH

  First edition. May 6, 2022.

  Copyright © 2022 Christen Stovall and Jennifer Sanders.

  ISBN: 978-1736266274

  Written by Christen Stovall and Jennifer Sanders.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Lady of the Loch (The Fae-touched Chronicles, #3)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  About the Authors

  For Saria and Callie C.

  Jennifer Sanders

  and

  Christen Stovall

  Chapter One

  The Professor’s Assistant

  Charlie Whitfield squinted out over the rippling waters of Loch Ness, shading her eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun. The chores were done for the day and all that remained was to clean up, get dressed, and see that Uncle Elias was presentable for the autumn gathering and bonfire at the Lochmuir Inn.

  Best get to it then, she thought, turning from the glistening water to hurry back to the house. Charlie opened the door to find things just as she’d expected: the house was quiet, with the light from her uncle’s study serving as the only evidence of his presence. She hung her coat on the hook by the door and glanced at the clock on the mantel, then double-checked the invitation on the kitchen table.

  Charlie resisted the urge to grind her teeth at the use of her given name, ‘Charlotte,’ knowing that it was to be expected, despite repeatedly asking innkeeper Fergus Shaw and his son, Oliver, to use the abbreviated form. The evening’s festivities were set to start in a few hours, which meant Charlie had better begin nudging her uncle immediately, and with a certain level of urgency.

  Uncle Elias often lost all track of time, and usually forgot to look after himself when he was certain he was on the verge of discovery. He’d been in something of a frenzy for the past few weeks. Livestock had recently been brutally slaughtered by some sort of predator on some of the local farms. Some were blaming the creature of Loch Ness for the carnage. Uncle Elias was determined to disprove this theory

  Charlie worried that his single-minded obsession with proving the existence of the Loch Ness monster would drive him to an early grave. He was all Charlie had, and she loved him dearly, despite—and because of, all of his eccentricities.

  As a man who’d devoted his life to the study of the mysteries of the natural world, Elias Whitfield had hardly known how to care for a small girl when he took Charlie in twelve years ago. She’d been a sad and frightened eight-year-old, reeling from the loss of both parents, far from everything familiar. Yet they’d managed to find a pattern and contentment in their strange life together, and if it meant that Charlie was now stepping into the role of caregiver, she was happy to do it.

  Charlie tapped lightly on the door to the study. When no answer came pushed it open to reveal the usual chaotic jumble of papers and books that were scattered throughout the room. Uncle Elias was snoring softly at his desk, his head pillowed by the day’s work. With a shake of her head, Charlie hurried round the desk to gently nudge her uncle’s shoulder.

  “Uncle, it’s time to get ready,” she coaxed him from his sleep. “Come now—you’re sure to be terribly stiff if you don’t get up and stretch a bit before the party.”

  “Mm, what?” Elias mumbled as he lifted his head, His hair was disheveled, and his spectacles hung haphazardly askew across his nose, none of which seemed to be of the slightest importance to the man. “Charlie? Oh, oh dear, is it afternoon already?

  “It is, and you’ve spent the entire day in here. I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so.” Charlie started straightening the papers on his desk, trying to lend some sense of organization to the chaos.

  Elias straightened his glasses and patted her hand absently. “Yes, of course, my dear, but discovery waits for no one, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, Uncle,” Charlie replied, setting a now orderly stack in front of her uncle. She offered him a helping hand as he started out of his chair with a grunt. “Come now, let’s get you presentable.”

  “Hm? Oh yes, of course, the bonfire at the inn,” he said, too busy shuffling through the papers Charlie had just put in order, re-cluttering the desk immediately.

  “Uncle,” Charlie scooped up the papers and made short work of tidying the stack a second time. “You need to change and wash up. Why don’t you get ready and then you can tell me all about it on the way there, hm?”

  It took a bit more urging, but Charlie was finally able to pry her uncle out of his study and into his room where she hoped he was changing, and running a comb through his hair. More than likely she’d have to knock on the door a few times to offer gentle reminders of the time.

  To Charlie’s relief, he proved to be more focused than usual; she only needed to knock on the door once to inform him of the time. Even more impressive, he’d managed to remember to change into his good Sunday waistcoat, and only had to spend a little while trying to figure out where he’d placed his spectacles when he washed his face. The result of which was that they were only running a few minutes behind by the time they were outside with the wagon hitched and ready to depart.

  “Care to tell me what’s had you so engrossed today?” Charlie asked, climbing up onto the wagon and settling into the seat beside Uncle Elias.

  He clicked his tongue at their dappled gelding, Tobias, and pulled away from the cottage before answering. “It’s these blasted reports of mutilated livestock. The idea that the creature could be doing it is utterly absurd.” He frowned and spared Charlie a quick glance. “Everything we’ve found to support its existence points to an aquatic animal, hardly suited to land travel, let alone agile enough on land to be capable of running down and killing cattle and sheep.”

  “Why do you suppose they believe the creature is responsible?” Charlie asked. She shifted in her seat, pulling her shawl up around her shoulders to ward off the autumn chill.

  “Oh, who knows? Half of them scoff at the very idea of the beast until there’s a drought or some other disaster. Then it’s all the fault of the creature of the loch,” Elias grumbled. “Yet they have no interest in anything I have to offer on the subject. My status as an Englishman has me firmly on the outside.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a wolf or some other animal that roams the highlands. Whatever it is will move on and life will go back to normal,” Charlie tried to reassure him. If she was being honest, there was something strange to the recent attacks. The bite marks and feeding patterns seemed different. There was a brutality to the killings that was difficult to explain away.

  Elias grunted in response, clearly unconvinced by Charlie’s suggestion. He clicked at Tobias again, giving the reins a shake. For a time, he seemed to be lost in his thoughts and Charlie left him to it, keeping an eye on the road to be certain her uncle didn’t drive them past their turn. She was hardly eager to arrive, but if they were too late someone was sure to comment on it.

  “This evening presents us with the perfect oppo
rtunity to lay some of this foolishness to rest,” Uncle Elias suddenly announced, breaking his silence with a resolute nod.

  That statement made Charlie perk up a bit. If her uncle only wanted to go in order to defend the beast, it gave her an objective, and everything was easier when the goal was clear. “It sounds like an excellent idea. Perhaps we’ll be able to discover the source of these rumors, or some information that could identify the true culprit.”

  “Yes indeed, my dear! At any rate, young Oliver expressed hope that we would attend. I could hardly tell him no after he came all the way out to the farm to deliver the invitation himself.”

  “Oliver Shaw,” Charlie repeated the name. Oliver was one of the few young people in the area who paid Charlie any attention, though it was sometimes a bit too intense for her liking. “That’s hardly extraordinary, considering his father is the proprietor of the Lochmuir Inn.”

  Her uncle shrugged slightly. “Truth be told, I’d nearly made up my mind to forego this evening, but this latest attack at the Carmichael farm will surely be a topic of conversation, and I’m hoping to speak to Mr. Carmichael himself.”

  “Of course—best to hear the details from the source,” Charlie agreed, eager to steer the conversation back to the business of the creature.

  The inn was a twinkling spectacle of lights and music as the Whitfield wagon drew near. There were several wagons and buggies parked near the barn, and a few more dropping off guests at the front gate. Charlie adjusted her shawl as her uncle steered their rickety wagon down the lane and pulled up close to the gate for her to climb down.

  The music that drifted through the evening air was filled with the energy and enthusiasm of the highland community of Lochmuir. Charlie waited by the gate as her uncle found a place to park the wagon, and together they walked through the trellis that served as the entrance to the party. She turned to study the gathered crowd, eyes lingering on the other young ladies who were happily chatting near the bonfire. None of them seemed to notice her arrival, and even if they had it wouldn’t have garnered a friendly greeting. No one was cruel to her, but Charlie was other, her interests vastly different from theirs. Occasionally, awkward attempts of inclusion happened, but it generally led to uncomfortable small talk that ended in equally uncomfortable silence.

  “I was hoping you’d be here this evening, Miss Charlotte.” Oliver sidled up next to Charlie. His smile was eager, his eyes alight. “You look lovely, but then you always do.”

  “Oh, well, my uncle thought it would be a good idea,” Charlie replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The compliment threw her off guard. The addition of ‘you always do’ gave the words more weight than a general remark on her appearance. “Thank you, it is kind of you to say so. All of the ladies look quite lovely this evening.”

  He bowed over her hand. “Are there any other ladies here? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Charlie felt her cheeks go hot. She pulled her hand back slowly, trying to detract from the movement by pretending to adjust the collar of her dress. “I believe Maggie Graham would be disappointed to hear you say so.” She pointed at a round-faced and rosy-cheeked brunette who was watching Oliver with thinly-veiled interest. “You ought to see if she would share a dance with you.”

  But as usual Oliver was impervious to hints, tucking her fingers into the crook of his arm and holding it there with his free hand, leading her away from Uncle Elias, whose entire focus seemed to be fixed on scanning the crowd. “Come, let me serve you some refreshments.”

  Charlie shifted her hand slightly, pulling her fingers out from under his. She was hardly in need of refreshments and Oliver’s focused attention was uncomfortable enough without the attention it drew from others. “Mr. Shaw, you are one of the hosts and it would be wrong of me to monopolize your hospitality. Besides, I think it would be best for me to stay close to my uncle.”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed for just a moment, then resumed their guileless expression. “If you think it best, of course. I hope you will save me a dance?”

  “Oh, I am sorry, but I don’t know any of the dances.” Charlie was quick to take the escape thus presented, and it had the added benefit of being the truth. She smiled at him. “But there is no need for you to miss out on anything this evening. It is very kind of you to offer your guests such a warm welcome.” She looked over her shoulder, searching for her uncle and hoping he hadn’t wandered off already. To her relief he was still lingering near the gate. Charlie slipped her arm away from Oliver. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe my uncle is gesturing for me to join him.” That was a lie.

  “Let me escort you,” was his aggravating reply, and there was nothing she could do to dissuade him. Oliver led her to her uncle’s side and deposited her there with a bow and a rather ridiculous flourish. It might have passed muster in a society ballroom, but at a country dance it just seemed silly.

  Uncle Elias smiled at Charlie as Oliver wove his way through the throng of people. Elias rubbed his hands together. “Mr. Carmichael is standing with our host, Fergus Shaw. Shall we make our way over and see if we can talk some sense into everyone?”

  Charlie was quick to agree, for turning their efforts to the defense of the beast provided a way to avoid Oliver’s attempts at charm. Though they’d been friends in the early years of her sojourn at Lochmuir, something had changed from their childhood days and in recent years his attentions had grown more persistent. The change put Charlie on edge whenever she had to be around him.

  Uncle Elias started weaving through the assembly of neighbors and townsfolk, exchanging greetings with the few people who acknowledged him. Charlie followed as closely as possible, though she started to fall behind when several children dashed in front of her, squealing and laughing as they chased one another.

  Standing quietly in a corner, carefully watching the crowd, was their neighbor Lorna Alvin, a widow of indeterminate age who’d been unfailingly kind to Charlie over the years. She caught Charlie’s eye and smiled, lifting her glass in greeting. The friendly gesture made Charlie’s shoulders ease into a more relaxed position. She smiled at Mrs. Alvin, waving to her before moving to catch up with Uncle Elias.

  Lorna disappeared briefly and then resurfaced nearby. She reached out for Charlie, taking her hand and following along. “I see your uncle is on a mission again—I had hoped he brought you simply to socialize, but that was clearly optimistic of me. What sort of bee is in his bonnet this evening?”

  “Oh, I don’t mind, I enjoy helping him,” Charlie was quick to point out, and she didn’t... much. She cleared her throat and leaned closer to the other woman. “He’s disturbed that the recent attacks have been attributed to the creature of the loch. He was hoping to speak to Mr. Carmichael.”

  The older woman frowned. “Do you mean old Ian Carmichael’s sheep up along the ridge pasture? That’s not even... the creature lives in the loch, for pity’s sake. How would it get up to the ridge pasture?”

  Charlie lifted a brow even as she inclined her head. “My uncle’s thoughts exactly. The idea makes little sense, and will do nothing to prevent the predator responsible from striking again.” Speaking of the creature was an easier topic than whether or not she ought to be there for social reasons alone.

  At least Lorna seemed to be on their side. It was typical of the residents of Lochmuir that the existence of the creature was rarely debated—only what the beast was like, what it was capable of. Their neighbor was firmly of the opinion that the mysterious beast was of benign intent and ought to be left alone, unlike much of Lochmuir’s citizenry who relished a good drama. The fact was that something had been killing some of the local livestock—killed and mutilated, like a mad thing. So it was not truly surprising that the blame was being placed on the ready-made monster of the loch.

  Mrs. Alvin held steady at Charlie’s side. “And Elias hopes to defuse the situation here? Now?” She huffed out a breath. “Of course he does,” she answered her own question, just loud enough for Charlie to hear. “One
sort of gathering is surely exactly like another, and all is wheat that comes to the scythe. Perhaps,” she added more loudly, “I may be able to help.”

  However, Uncle Elias had already cornered Mr. Carmichael. Charlie picked up the pace, knowing full well that her uncle was rarely as diplomatic as a situation might call for. Indeed, by the time she sidled up next to him, her uncle was already in the midst of a logical, if tactless, explanation for what might have happened to the unfortunate sheep on the ridge.

  “So you see, Mr. Carmichael, it’s highly unlikely that that the creature is the culprit. Everything we’ve compiled points to an animal that rarely—if ever—makes landfall and would have extremely limited movement outside the lake,” Elias explained emphatically. “In fact,” her uncle continued. “I think it fair to hypothesize that the creature is entirely aquatic. If these killings are the result of some kind of predator, I would hypothesize it to be a wolf suffering from some sort of physical or behavioral malady. It is undoubtedly something far more commonplace than the lake beast to be sure.”

  Fergus Shaw broke in. “Nonsense, Whitfield. We’re a community of farmers—most of us have been here for generations. D’you really think we know our business so little as to not recognize the attack of a wolf? That, you’ll excuse me, is a very Sassenach point of view.” He shook his head. “Those sheep weren’t simply attacked and eaten, as a wolf or other predator would do. They were savaged, Whitfield—dismembered, their throats punctured by great sharp teeth, this big around,” he demonstrated by touching forefinger and thumb together. “Show me a wolf with teeth like that, hm?” He turned to the rest. “A wolf, he says.”

  The expressions on the faces of the surrounding onlookers ran the gamut from outright amused to suspicious to hostile, a reminder that despite living among them for over a decade, the Whitfields were not part of the community, and therefore not to be trusted.