Stupid, stupid earthquake.
The travelling priest who comes to Ormscaula twice a year to remind us of our sins says the one true god caused the earthquake to teach us Highland heathens a lesson, and we should remember it, so I cast a wary eye to the sky for a stray lightning bolt. But instead of thunder, it’s my stomach that rumbles.
I’m starving. I didn’t bring anything with me to eat, and my stomach’s growling like a wild thing, which makes me think of the lugh, and I remember to look around, minding myself like I was told.
That’s when I spot something that makes me very grateful I didn’t strip down to my underskirts.
And it’s worse than a lugh. Worse than the devil talking through a magpie.
Watching me approach, leaning against a tree with his satchel of sins over his shoulder and his ice-blue eyes fixed on me, is Murren Ross.
THREE
“For mercy’s sake, what are you doing here?” I drop the handles of the cart and shove my hair out of my face before putting my hands on my hips. “Are you insane?”
“You stood me up. I thought we were meeting.” He pushes himself off the tree and walks towards me. Despite his limp, he clears the distance between us quickly. Then he’s right in front of me and I’m looking up into his amused face.
“If I could make it, I said.”
Ren raises one eyebrow. “So I wasted my morning waiting for you in a clandestine location? There was me thinking it was a definite commitment.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call Mack’s Tavern a clandestine location. And, for the record, I would throw myself in that loch before I entered into a definite commitment of any kind with you, Murren Ross.”
He clutches his heart. “Ouch.”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously, why are you here? I told you not to come up the mountain. I said I’d come to you.”
The look he gives me is appraising. “Aye. And then you didn’t show up. It might not have been set in stone, but you’ve always come before when you’ve said you would. So, I was concerned.” He gives me a sour smile. “You could try being a little grateful. I just climbed up half a mile of mountain and trekked ten miles around a loch to make sure you weren’t dead.”
I don’t mean to glance at his twisted leg, but I do, and he sees it. We both blush.
“Well, thank you,” I mutter, without meeting his eyes. “I’m fine. One of the nets needed replacing, that’s all.” I hesitate. “You should probably go. You know my father doesn’t like villagers coming up here, nosing in his business.”
Ren laughs.
“I’m not nosing in your da’s business. I’m nosing in yours. Besides, how do you think I found you? He told me where you’d be.”
For a moment I’m speechless, fingers of alarm tightening around my throat. “You went to the cottage? My cottage? You spoke to him?” I manage to choke out. “Ren, do you ever listen to anything I say?”
“Yes. Every word. But sometimes after I’ve listened, I choose to ignore you. I call it ‘free will’.”
“Seriously—”
Ren holds out his hands to calm me. “He didn’t seem to mind. He offered me tea.”
My jaw drops.
“I said I was in a hurry, but maybe next time.” Ren grins, exposing pointed canines that give him a wolfish look. I turn away, trying to reel my temper in.
Wolfish is the perfect way to describe Ren: all sharp cheekbones and watchful eyes. Rangy, canny, a bit unkempt. And, above all, not one to turn your back on, because he’ll be behind you before you know it. As if to prove me right, his arm slips around my shoulder; he’s got closer while I’ve not been paying attention.
“Don’t be mad,” he coaxes, pulling me against him, his too-long hair tickling the top of my ear. “He really didn’t seem angry.”
I push him away and fold my own arms over my chest. “How would you know?”
“I know what angry men look like. You’ve seen the type that court my mam.”
There’s a twist in his voice, but his expression is still amused, mouth curving upwards, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that makes him look older than seventeen.
“Can I help?” He nods to the cart behind me. “Make up for disturbing your peace?”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask.
“Night shift. I’m all yours until dark.” He grins suggestively.
“Stop it.”
Ren shrugs lazily. “I’m serious. Let me help.”
I hesitate, then nod. It’ll go faster with both of us and the damage is done, my da already knows he’s here; I might as well benefit from it. “All right. You see the posts along the side of the shore there?” I point to them. “There are loops at the top and bottom of the net. They need to be threaded on to the posts, both ends. We’ll keep the nets on land while we do that. You stay here, and I’ll go far. We’ll meet in the middle.”
Ren slips off his satchel and places it carefully beneath the tree while I fold my earasaid and drape it over the cart handles. He helps me carry the net and unroll it, and we begin hooking it to the poles. We work in silence, setting a good rhythm of lifting, threading and then threading again, working in tandem until a short while later we’re heaving the centre of the net on to the last pole.
He’s kept up with me the whole time, matching my pace, and – annoyingly – he barely seems worse the wear for it. The underarms and back of my blouse are soaked with sweat, and I know without looking my face is bright red, but he looks as though he’s just woken from a refreshing nap; there’s barely a hint of pink in his cheeks. I suppose working in the mill keeps you fit.
He straightens and pushes his hair out of his eyes.
“You need a haircut,” I tell him.
“Are you offering?”
I pull a small switchblade from my pocket. “Aye, come here.”
He laughs, sweeping his hair back, and nods towards the net. “Now into the water?” he asks.
“Coward,” I mutter, catching his grin as we push the bottom of the net into the loch. It sinks down, bubbles rising. And then they stop, half of the net still above the surface.
We take a moment to get our breath back, looking out over the glassy loch.
“It’s low,” Ren says, nodding at the waterline. “Look, you could almost walk out to the mountain, there.”
He points over to the right, where the shallows of the marsh expose parts of the loch bed, leaving a boggy trail out towards the mountainside. Along it is a dark line that marks where the water used to reach. The surface now is far below, and Ren frowns at it.
“Have you told your da—” he says.
“Of course I have.” I cut him off. I told my father what was happening before the waterline had even dropped to the first notch on the poles that measure the depth. “Besides, he isn’t blind.” I nod towards the nearest one, three nicks visible in its side, showing how just much the loch has fallen. “He can see for himself.”
As I stare at those marks, my stomach clenches. Because I know my da can see what’s happening, but he’s not doing anything about it. And he should be. It’s his job. It’s the only reason we haven’t been run out of the village yet.