“No, I mean, tell me more about the river itself —they actually are going to have a picnic there? Is that where everyone went?”

“Aye, mum. Trying to catch up with the laird and his men. ”

Lily was getting more furious by the minute. Not only was Rowena endangering young John by leading him on a trek in such inclement weather, but she was undermining Lily ’s authority. She ’d had a lesson planned for him that day—she had been threatening for weeks to quiz him on sums and today was to be the day. It was unacceptable for Rowena to swoop in and take him away without consulting anybody. Unless she had asked Ewen. Maybe he had given his consent and just not informed Lily.

She felt a surge of anger. “How fitting that the witch herself chooses to picnic near the Witch’s Pool, ” Lily hissed.

Lennox’s eyes widened in shock and confusion.

“Sorry, Lenny. I ’d just like to retrieve John. Can you lead me there? To the river, I mean. ”

“Aye, I reckon so, but all the mounts are gone.”

A breeze stole under Lily’s skirts and chilled her. Leaning out the barn door, she looked up and felt suddenly tiny underneath the ominous sky. An enormous cloud was cresting the mountain in the distance. It dwarfed the gray wisps of cumulus that skittered beneath it, oppressing the valley below beneath a slab of shadow. Watching the thunderhead make its ponderous glide across the sky, leaching color from its wake, Lily realized an urgent need to get John. She didn ’t trust Rowena with John’s safety, and she shivered at the thought of what a swift downpour would do to an already swollen and raging river.

“What about the ponies?”

There were a couple of shaggy old Highland ponies permanently put out to pasture. She had seen children from the keep challenging each other to catch and ride them bareback, but that was the extent of their use around the castle.

“The old ponies, mum?” Lennox began to guffaw, but was silenced by an icy stare from Lily.

“Yes, we need to get the laird’s son.” Lily assumed her most imperious voice. She hated to do that with dear Lenny, but she was starting to get frantic. “Please saddle up the ponies. ”

“Those ponies don ’t have saddles. Nobody rides them.”

“Well, throw a blanket on their backs or something. Just do what you have to do to get us out of here. Now. ” For the first time since her arrival, Lily was feeling nostalgic for a car. A nice four-wheel drive Range Rover perhaps.

Lennox had two ponies harnessed and ready to go in a surprisingly short amount of time. Lily looked with dread at the ancient and most certainly flea-infested blankets that were to serve as saddles. She hoped she remembered enough of her childhood riding skills to manage not killing herself. The ponies themselves didn’t look much better than the blankets. They stood glassy-eyed, twitching their tails lazily at unseen insects.

“Here goes nothing. ” Lily grabbed the halter of a shaggy white pony, jumped up over its back, and swung her leg over with a grace that surprised both her and Le nny. She saw that the pony’s legs were covered in mud from the rain-soaked paddock and felt even more urgently that she had to get to John as soon as possible.

From what she remembered about bareback riding, it was all about bruising her bottom while trying desperately not to fall off. She hoped her out-of-shape leg muscles were up to the challenge. The shorter gait of the ponies would be no help—she was certain she would get her brain rattled once they started with a brisk trot. Lenny mounted his pony and they were off, kicking madly at the sluggish beasts who were shocked that they were being asked to do anything but graze.

After riding for what seemed like an eternity, they reached Rowena’s party. Lily’s head pounded from clenching her teeth in an effort to avoid having her jaw repeatedly clack shut from the rapid-fire gait of her mount’s short legs. Her hands and nails were filthy from twining in her pony’s mane and her thighs burned from holding on for dear life.

In another circumstance, Lily would have felt a flush of shame at the amused looks that she and Lennox received upon their arrival. She supposed they did look a sight as they burst into the clearing, bouncing frantically on the backs of the old ponies. Rowena meanwhile looked particularly pleased with herself, crisp, rosy, and well put together, gloating over an adoring clutch of women that Lily was pleased not to recognize. But Lily didn’t care about appearances or her rapidly waning dignity just then. It was John she was concerned with, and he was nowhere in sight.

She looked around. The picnic party was nestled in a grassy clearing overlooking the river. Lily spotted a steep path that wound down to the water ’s edge and was shocked by the violence of the white -capped waves that churned inexorably toward distant falls and the Witch ’s

Pool far below. The contrast between Rowena’s pastoral party and the roiling water they overlooked was absurd. The roar of the rapids filled her head, yet Rowena’s friends sat on small quilted squares, blithely nibbling on bread and cheeses served from small baskets, trying to make their inane chatter audible over the thundering river.

“Where is John?”

“Well look who has come to join us! Welcome, Lily. The laird will be so pleased to see you. ”

Rowena’s friends tittered behind lace hankies.

“I’ve got no time for this, Rowena. Where did John go?”

“Oh, did he not do his schoolwork?” a simpering friend of Rowena’s called out in a high-pitched voice that matched her pert, upturned nose.

Lily answered with a satisfyingly withering look. She was doing all she could to keep her temper in check. She needed a cool head for this situation, even though what she really wanted was to assault these biddies with a flurry of well- chosen expletives.

The chirping of Rowena’s friends suddenly ceased and she heard it. The thin strains of a tiny voice trying to rise above the crash of the river. A cold knot of dread settling in her stomach, Lily turned to look at the cluster of picnicking women. Half smiles still frozen on their faces, they now watched the rapids below. She followed their line of sight until she saw him. The dread in the pit of her stomach turned to nausea as she recognized the small, flailing figure. It was John. He must have slid from the muddy riverbank and been swept in by the strength of the rapids. Now he was barely keeping above water.

Lily screamed, “John! Swim, John!”

A few of the women glanced her way with looks of curiosity and some distaste. They probably found her shrieking ill-mannered, but she couldn’t care. John needed help, and she didn’t understand why nobody was doing anything. Something made her look up. She noticed Ewen ’s hunting party standing high on a rise in the distance, mingling with their guns and hounds. They were too far off to do anything—even if they had noticed the drama below, none of them would be able to get there in time. She turned again to study the group of women and was shocked as it became clear that although they were now amply alarmed, they weren ’t doing anything to save the boy. They were merely spectators to the unfolding horror. Lily pushed back the wall of pure fury that rose in her as she told herself that she had to do something.

Time slowed to a crawl as Lily became intensely aware of everything around her. Suddenly she felt the burdensome weight of her clothes. The long heavy skirts, the linen shirt and vest, the thick wool of the plaid arisaid tied around her shoulders. If she had any hope of saving John and not drowning herself, she would have to strip. Her fingers were shaking as she tore off her shawl and raced to unlace her vest. She heard yelling coming from the hills above. The men must have noticed what was happening by now. Well, she figured, they would all get a show. She ran down the path to the riverbank, feet skittering on slick rocks and tree roots as she tore off her remaining clothes, all but the thin shift she wore in lieu of a modern bra and panties. That, she thought, would have to do for a bathing suit. She was thankful that she was already barefoot as she reached the bottom of the path and felt her feet hit the cold, slick mud of the bank. She had a split-second feeling of total freedom. Running as fast as she could, barely clothed, mud squishing between her toes. The act of pulling off some item of clothing or other had loosened her hair and she shivered at the feel of the wind whipping through her long mane. Her scalp never did like it when her hair was bound up, yet she had been wearing it in a variety of prim fashions since her arrival.

The second her feet hit the river, the moment rushed back to her, the freezing water jarring her senses back to reality. John was barely staying afloat now. Lily had to act quickly if she was going to save him. She battled the pull of the rapids and hiked her shift high above her knees, clumsily leaping from rock to rock, trying desperately not to slip into the river and get swept away from John.

She couldn’t bring herself to think about the cloud of mist on the edge of her vision where she knew the rapids crashed over the edge of the falls. To the Witch’s Pool that Lenny had told her about. What had happened to Lennox, anyhow? He’d shrunk from the judgmental glares of Rowena and her friends then simply vanished into the trees. She couldn ’t think about that now either. Lily’s only focus now was to get to John. She became dimly aware that the women had congregated on the riverbank. She could hear them talking excitedly, hollow sounds on the edge of her hearing.

Jagged rocks off to Lily’s left cut the river into a whirlpool of waves, roiling savagely between her and John. She inhaled deeply and, bracing herself, dove straight into the current. Her only hope was that she could cut across the rapids and get to the boy before he was swept any farther downriver. The water hit Lily’s head and back with a frigid slap, pummeling her into the rocky river floor. Immediately the undercurrent began sucking at her feet, pulling her down. She tried not to panic, knowing that it would surely do her in, and instead let herself get swe pt along, grabbing hold of tree stumps and slick razor-sharp rocks, moving herself across and down the river as quickly as she dared. She lost sight of John momentarily then spotted him, clinging desperately to a tree stump much farther downriver. Time was running out. His arms flailed above the water as he was sucked back under, and his head began to surface with less and less frequency. When he managed to break above the surface of the river for a gulp of air, the look of terror on the child’s face made her forget her own fear. She swam slowly and steadily toward him, and hoped that they would both make it out of the water alive.