laughing. Laughing.
Lana had nearly drowned once. She knew the terror of feeling the waters closing over her head, possessing her, claiming her. She knew the terror of struggling for something as simple as a breath.
That these heartless boys were creating a similar fear in a small motherless waif, creating a lifetime of dread, incensed her. Ignoring her own terror, that clawing fear of water, she stormed to the shore and then, sucking in a deep breath, waded in. Icy ribbons twined in her veins, but she ignored them, pressing deeper and deeper. It was summer. The water wasnât frigid. There was no ice to break through. No chance that she would collapse into the dark maw of the loch.
She tried to remind herself of this.
âJohn Robin,â she bellowed, allowing her ire to warm her blood, consume the fear. âWhat do you think yer doing?â
The boy froze and whipped around. Mercifully, he released his hold on Fiona and she burst through to the surface, gasping for air. Lana grabbed her and hefted her up, holding her in her arms as she glared at the miscreant. The other boys, who had been egging him on, scattered.
When John Robin whirled to flee as well, Lana caught him by the scruff. Nae. He wouldnât escape her wrath. Not until sheâd lashed him well and good with her tongue. âWhat on earth were you thinking?â she snarled.
The boy glared at her, a smirk on his too-young face. âLet me go,â he muttered, trying to jerk free.
She leaned closer, allowing her anger to rage at full force. âWhat would your mother think of this?â she hissed.
John Robinâs eyes widened. His nostrils flared. Trepidation flickered across his face. For once, Lana was glad her gift disturbed people. Someone needed to put the fear of God into this boy.
âM-my mother is dead,â he burbled.
âDo you noâ think she watches over you? Do you noâ think she sees everything you do?â
John Robinâs lips flapped.
âFor shame, John Robin. Frightening a puir wee thing like Fiona. Do you noâ think sheâs had enough fear in her life? Enough heartbreak?â Lana held her closer; the mite wrapped her arms around Lanaâs neck and clung. âMercyâs sake, the two of you have suffered too much. Doona make matters worse.â
âI was just playing with her.â Dear lord. Did he really think this was a game?
âYe could have killed her.â
âI dinnaââ
âNae. Because I came,â Lana spat as she carried Fiona from the loch. She tried to set her down, but the girl would not let go. âHow would you feel if you had done her real harm? Is that a weight you want on your soul?â
To his credit, he paled and then his cheeks pinkened. He appeared contrite, but that wasnât nearly enough.
Lana leaned in and caught his gaze. âIf I ever, ever hear of you tormenting this lass again, you will have me to deal with. Do you understand?â She attempted to make her tone as menacing as she could, and she was pleased with the result. The boy gaped at her; he looked as though he might faint. âDo you?â
âAye. Aye.â He shot a look at Fiona and then one at Lana, and then he turned tail and ran back to the castle.
Lana sighed and tightened her hold on the girl. âI am verra sorry that happened to you, my wee darling,â she said, scraping the wet hair from her tiny face.
âTh-thank you,â Fiona said, clinging tighter.
âMy puir thing.â She rubbed a shivering shoulder. âShall we go change our clothes?â Lana asked. âSomething dry perhaps?â
Fiona nodded. She nibbled her lip. âWh-why do boys have to b-be so mean?â she asked as Lana headed for the castle.
âAch, theyâre not all mean. And the ones that are, are usually afraid. The meanness is their way of dealing with it.â
âA-afraid?â
âAye. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of