Just… gone.
The empty surface yawned where he’d been.
Fiona’s breath snapped out of her. “HARRIS!”
She plunged forward without thinking. The loch seized her ankles, then her shins, the water cold enough to burn. Her skirts dragged like chains around her legs.
“Harris!” Her voice tore across the morning. “HARRIS!”
She stumbled over a hidden rock, went down to one knee, and came back up with a curse. The water climbed to her thighs, biting, numbing. Panic clawed at her ribs.
Don’t drown. Don’t drown. Don’t—
Something surged beneath the surface.
An arm. A shoulder. Harris broke through the black water with a ragged gasp, fighting something that yanked at him from below. He wasn’t swimming so much as being dragged sideways, like a hooked fish.
“GO—BACK—” he choked.
“Are you daft?!” She lurched toward him, water striking at her waist now, skirts ballooning with every step. “Give me your hand!”
“Fiona, get OUT—”
“No!”
She caught his wrist, bracing both feet as the current grabbed at them both. The pull was savage, invisible, like a living thing. He was wrenched away, and she nearly went under with him.
“Hold—on—!” she gritted, teeth clacking.
“Let—go—!”
“NO!”
Her boots scraped across stone, slick and treacherous. One found purchase on a submerged ledge. She dragged backwards with everything she had. He matched her, muscles straining under her grip. Yet, the loch fought them, greedy and furious.
All at once, the pull snapped sideways. Harris stumbled forward. They crashed together, momentum sending them sprawling into the shallows.
They ended in a heap on the rocky shore—soaked, shivering, chests heaving.
For a few brutal heartbeats, neither spoke.
Fiona stared up at the thin, pale sky, hair plastered to her cheeks, lungs burning. “Why,” she managed, “would… any sane man… walk into that?”
Harris coughed, a grim sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a choke. “Needed… to check something.”
“Oh, of course,” she snapped, pushing herself upright. “Ye nearly got dragged tae the bottom of Satan’s bathtub because ye needed to check something.”
He winced as he sat up, water streaming from his shirt. “It’s a current,” he said hoarsely. “There’s a cave under there. Draw’s stronger than I remember. Had to be sure.”
Fiona gaped. “You tested it?”
He wiped water from his eyes, not quite meeting hers.
“Ye’re worse than my brothers,” she muttered. “At least they had sense enough to fear drowning.”
“There’s no kelpie,” he swore, breath still ragged.
“Aye,” she retorted, “and that’s exactly what a kelpie’d want ye to think.”
