Page 91 of The Last Kelpie

Once. Twice. Thrice. He spurted cool into my hot channel. I shivered with the end of my climax and the feel of him slipping free. Then he lowered me to my feet and helped me sit down on the bed.

Panting, hands on his hips, Áedán grinned. “We made a bit of a mess.”

“I don't care.” I stood up, pulled him into my arms, and kissed him.

Yeah, we wouldn't be meeting Julian outside.

Chapter Thirty-Two

We arrived in Luss about an hour after the sun rose. I'd called Julian on the way, and he'd told me they were taking over my rental cottage and to meet them there when we arrived. Áedán and I stopped for coffee and tea first (and a few scones). We found Julian, Agnes, Mei Linn, and Rory in the cottage's front room, sitting at the little table and talking. When they saw our scones, they sent Rory to fetch some. Julian had already made tea for everyone in the kitchen.

But after all that urgency, we realized there wasn't much to do. Mei Lin had organized the festival with terrifying efficiency. She'd coordinated with the village council, secured permits, and recruited local musicians and storytellers. The only thing left to do was make the decorations. So, we just went over the details and went to bed. Áedán and I returned to his cottage for that.

Mateo and Eleanor arrived two days later with a van full of supplies. He set up a traditional cooking area behind Áedán's cottage and spent hours preparing dishes I'd never heard of. Clootie dumplings, cranachan, and atholl brose,—a drink made with oatmeal, honey, and Scotch whisky. Foods connected to Highland celebrations and water ceremonies. They all had to be prepared the night before the festival. Mateo brought massive coolers to keep them fresh, and we had to supply him with ice daily.

Moira joined us, helping Mateo cook. She would tell stories to the children at the festival, and her family was driving in from all over Scotland to attend. By nightfall on our third day back, the excitement became too much for Áedán. We went to his dock, and I kept watch while he swam. We were still worried about the Forgotten, but we had enough people there to help us that I felt it was safe for him to swim. Plus, the water had made the Forgotten vanish. Áedán was probably safer in the loch than on land.

The next morning found us at the very same spot, Áedán drinking tea while I sipped my mug of coffee. The smell of bread fried in a skillet wafted over to us, and with it came the sound of voices. Everyone was arriving to help move Matteo's tent and food to the festival area near the pier.

We rode over in a Velasca van to help them, snagging a few pieces of bread for breakfast, then came back to the cottage to get dressed. The plan was for us to wander through the festival and talk to people. I'd take a few videos for social media as well. I thought he'd be nervous, but Áedán was out the door before me, practically running down the path through the woods to the village.

Luss was more crowded than I'd ever seen. We wove through the crowd and passed by the village hall where a line of people waited to see Eleanor's exhibition. There were manuscripts under glass, photographs of stone circles, and maps showing ancient kelpie territories. She'd made it interactive, with touchscreens that let people explore the mythology themselves.

The day was uncommonly bright and warm, as if even God approved of the festival. We walked on and ended up stopping to talk to people every few feet. The conversations just happened naturally. The shops were open, with stalls out front to draw people in, but most of the people were down by the shore where the festival was. At least fifty tents stood along the shoreline, and only a few belonged to the Velasca. Merchants had come from all over the UK to sell kelpie-themed products, food, and clothing.

It looked as if Áedán's online presence had survived the Editor's attack. No, not just survived; his followers had defended him and came to Luss to show their support for him at his loch. Droves of people wandered through Eleanor's exhibition, sampled local food, listened to musicians playing traditional tunes on fiddles and whistles, and danced in flower crowns.

Most importantly, they met Áedán.

Oh, they all thought he was an actor playing a role, but they still loved him for it. They adored what he stood for, and his gorgeous looks didn't hurt either. Within half an hour of being there, word had spread that @BonnieLochBeast was present. Áedán got swarmed. People wanted pictures, autographs on their festival pamphlets (with his new myth written inside), and him. They all wanted him. He had his ass grabbed, his cheeks kissed, and more numbers shoved into his pockets than his pockets could hold.

But Áedán took it all in stride with a wicked grin. He played with the children, kissed the babies, and flirted outrageously with everyone. I was so damn proud of him. I wanted to be beside him, hold his hand, and show everyone that he was mine. But I knew he'd do better alone. The only thing better than a handsome, magical man was a single, handsome, magical man. So I backed away and watched over him from a distance, atop a low stone wall.

As I waited, I scanned the festival and observed the crowd carefully, looking for sudden movements and weapons. With so many people there, it would have been easy for the Editor to slip into the crowd and sidle up to Áedán. But the worst attack Áedán suffered came from an overly aggressive teenage girl who wouldn't leave his side until he took a selfie with her.

On the grass to my right, Moira held court. A bunch of children sprawled on the grass in front of her with their parents standing behind. Moira told the old tales the way her mother and grandmother had told them. Kelpies as guardians, judges, and beings of power who demanded respect. She told the rapt crowd that the kelpies were still with us. They had changed to become what we needed. She showed them her mother's diary as proof and spoke about her own interaction with the Guardian of Loch Lomond.

“They werenae tame,” she said, her voice carrying across the green. “But they werenae evil. They were wild. Like the water itself. Beautiful and dangerous in equal measure.”

Other storytellers joined her. There was an old man from Balloch who remembered his grandfather's tales, a woman from Tarbet who'd grown up hearing about a water horse that saved her great-aunt from drowning, and a teenager who'd researched kelpie mythology for a school project. The stories layered upon each other and built a collective.

Then a little girl pushed through the crowd around Áedán and tugged on his pants. She was maybe seven years old. “Are kelpies real?”

I watched Áedán crouch to speak to her. “What do you think?”

“I think they are.” She was very serious. “I think they live in the loch and watch over it.”

“Well, I dinnae sleep in it these days.” He winked at her. “I prefer a bed on dry land. But I do protect the water and those who respect it.”

“I'm always nice to the water,” she said solemnly.

“Then I wullnae nibble your toes when you swim in my loch.”

She squealed, “I'll be good. Don't nibble my toes!” She ran back to her parents, giggling as if it were all a game, and I saw her mother watching Áedán with confusion, as if she recognized him but wasn't sure who he was.

At last, the crowds thinned, and I rejoined my bonnie beast. I handed him a paper cup of tea and a clootie dumpling in a paper bowl, covered in vanilla custard. Áedán took a sip of tea and then handed it back to me so he could dig into the dumpling—basically a steamed pudding.

He groaned as he chewed. “Mateo made this?”