“Bloody hell!”

Icy water seeped into Blair’s wool socks. The croft house’s thick walls kept in the warmth but the thatch roof was lacking. Leaking rainwater in a house without windows was not a way to start the day.

“Blair, watch yer mouth!” Aunt Morna’s voice pierced dank quarters lit by peat fire. A squat, solid woman, she’d never been pretty and after six children, any goodwill in her was gone. “There are children here.”

Blair pulled the socks off her feet; she’d have to go without today. But she’d rather be out in highland weather with wet, sore feet than stuck inside. And away from cousin Ewan who looked at her with an eye that made her skin crawl.

“Look at ya, taking yer clothes off. A whore just like yer sister.”

Blair looked up to see Ewan’s thickset body silhouetted against the light of the singular fire.

“Eejit,” she muttered as she brushed by him.

She felt a rush of air as he attempted to grab her. She didn’t want to think what he’d do if he caught her.

“Ewan, swallow yer food.” Morna pushed the wooden bowl of thin gray porridge at her only son. “Yer father’s waitin’ on yer useless self.”

Ewan slurped his meal, gave Blair a lecherous look and left.

“Did ya want any of this?”

“I would,” said Blair, sitting at the table warmed by the fire.

Morna slid a bowl of porridge and a plate of cooked turnip in front of her. The aroma turned Blair’s stomach.

“Is there any of the cheese left?” she asked.

Morna stopped. She raised her scarred, porridge laden hand and hit Blair square in the face, knocking her to the dirt floor.

“Oh yer a fine one, ain’t ya? We put a roof over yer godless head and hot food in yer mouth and ya jist want more, do ya? Git yer arse out in that field and earn yer keep.”

Her nose bleeding and jaw throbbing, she stumbled over to her bed, managing to find her coat and boots.

In the safety of the field, she looked out to the loch, its ashen beauty buffeted by Atlantic winds through the mountains. Hamish, a town boy, said a monster ruled the loch and was seen raising its massive serpent head from the water.

“Eejit,” she whispered.

As her dirt clotted fingers pulled potatoes from unforgiving Scottish soil, Blair flashed back to the night two law men burst into the abandoned structure she shared with her sister. She kicked and screamed as they pulled her from the bothy, claiming her sister was in jail. Liars! Fiona would never let men touch her for money. Besides, Da promised he would be back for them. All was fine the men assured her: her dead mother’s family would take her in.

Blair’s thoughts returned to the present as the loch began to turn dark. She needed a plan to survive the life she’d been handed.

Blair lay awake on her mattress of hay that night, fully clothed in coat, scarf and boots. When all she could hear was the occasional bleat of a sheep, she slipped over to where Ewan was sleeping. She shook his arm.

“Ewan,” she whispered in his ear. “Ewan, wake up.”

He turned on his side and the stench of his breath made her gag. Raising the light to her face, she smiled and looked into his dull dark eyes.

“Come with me for a walk.” She forced herself to run a finger down his filthy arm. “Or something.”

Blair hid her revulsion as a lewd smile filled his face. He grabbed his boots and coat and followed her to the door.

“Let’s walk,” said Blair.

The sky was heavy with stars, the moon full. Blair told Ewan she felt she needed some protection following his mother’s outburst. She’d do anything to have someone in her corner.

Anything.

“I knew ya was the same cut of cloth as that sister of yers.”

He reached for her.

“Not here, Ewan. Your da’s boat is down on the loch still?”

He pulled her by the arm down to the rocky shore.

“Maybe go first and steady the boat a piece,” suggested Blair. “I’ll untie and grab the oars.”

“Going out, are we?” asked Ewan. “I can’t swim even a bit.”

“We don’t need to get seen now, do we?”

He trudged out and pulled himself into the boat. Blair untied the skiff and firmly grasped an oar. Wading in just far enough to wedge the top of the oar into the back of the boat, she shoved it with all her strength. The boat coasted out into the quick drop off of the loch.

As Angus and Morna Campbell’s only son screamed for help, she watched the small vessel capsize and disappear. She turned and headed for town.

“Eejit.”

The Lass and the Loch