Then, without warning, Megan got to her feet. “I can’t stand this heat for a moment longer. I’m going for a swim.”
I thought about trying to persuade her otherwise. The lake was shallow at the edge but fell away sharply just a few yards out. From experience, though, I knew there would be no talking her out of the idea now her mind was made up.
“Good idea,” I said, the exact opposite of what I was feeling. I insisted on going with her. Megan was a strong swimmer but anything could happen, and I wanted to be close by if she got into trouble.
Giggling like small children, we ran back to the lake. Megan got there first; she had always been quicker on her feet than me. “Turn around,” she ordered. “Don’t look at me until I say you can.”
I did as I was told and stared at the woods. My stomach lurched and tightened, and I felt a tingling between my legs. Then I heard her feet splashing through water. When she gasped with the sudden shock of cold it was all I could do to stop myself crying out.
“You can turn around now,” she called, and I did so gladly.
She had gone far enough out that the water had risen to the top of her chest. Her long blonde hair drifted out like a golden fan behind her. Squinting against the dazzling reflection of the sunlight I caught a glimpse of her body beneath the surface, the twin pink mounds of her breasts and, dimly, the mysterious dark triangle below her flat belly. It was wrong — oh, so wrong — but I made no effort to avert my eyes.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
“Don’t be such a baby. The water’s not cold.”
“It’s not that, I’m just hungry,” I lied. “Let’s go home and eat.”
“Once I’ve cooled down. Come on, you might as well get in. We’re not going back just yet.”
I knew how stubborn she could be once she got a notion inside her head. Uncomfortable with the thought of swimming naked like she was, I settled for slipping my shirt over my head and kicking my shoes off, and stepped gingerly into the lake. It was cold enough to take my breath away. Knowing she would only mock me if I scurried back out, I made myself wade out, squealing with each advance, until the water was over my waist, when I paused to get used to the cold.
Without warning, Megan put her hands on my shoulders and pushed. I stumbled, fell, went under. Suddenly my ears were filled with a booming rumble. All I could see was a cloudy blur as my feet kicked against the steeply sloping bank. I panicked and swallowed great mouthfuls, flailing uselessly. Then I felt a burst of pain in my scalp as Megan grabbed my hair and pulled me up.
I stood on unsteady legs, coughing and retching up water, snot running from my nose, my eyes streaming. I was scared and angry at the same time. Megan was an indistinct shape the other side of my tears. I almost yelled at her in fury. But then her arms reached out and she hugged me, crying that she was sorry, so sorry, over and over. The anger drained out of me. I pressed my face into her shoulder and whispered that it was all right and that I forgave her.
Then I had to hurriedly break free from her and turn away before she felt the painful hardness that had sprung up between my legs. I rubbed at my eyes and spat the last of the water from my mouth until it had subsided. Then I grinned at her and she smiled back. I could not stay angry with her for long; she teased me at times, but she looked after me too. She would never deliberately hurt me.
We swam around for a while, scaring away any fish that might otherwise have taken the bait. Eventually the cold started to get to us, and we decided that we’d had enough.
“Y-you get out f-first,” she said. “Keep your b-back turned.”
I nodded and splashed out of the water, hurrying past Megan’s clothes, which she had left just far enough away from the lakeside to keep them dry. I had dropped my shirt and shoes closer to the woods. The afternoon sun was still strong but the breeze was cold against my wet skin. I pulled the shirt on to keep off the chill while the rest of me dried and was just reaching for my shoes when I heard an echoing voice in the woods, calling out for Megan.
“Oh no,” she groaned. “It’s only bloody Arwel.”
Let me tell you about Arwel. He was our brehyrion’s son. It was said he had been born with the cord around his neck, stopping him from breathing. The midwife had shaken him hard enough to get his lungs working again, but it seemed as though it had broken something in his head.
Although the same age as Megan, he had the mind of a child and was apt to lose his temper if he did not get his own way. He was big for his age, too, tall and wide and ungainly with it. He had a habit of tripping over his own feet. Unfortunately for my sister, this bovine oaf was obsessed with her. He followed her around, trying to join in with whatever she was doing. I was convinced she escaped to the hills whenever she could simply to get away from him.
I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him, crashing through the undergrowth, calling her name. Having him find Megan would be bad enough; having him find her when she was as naked as a newborn babe would be mortifying.
I heard running feet from behind and turned to see Megan sprinting towards me, naked and dripping water, arms crossed over her chest, holding her clothes in an untidy bundle. “Don’t look,” she snapped. “Just get into the woods before he sees us.”
I ran for the cover of the trees and slowed my pace once I had reached them, lest Arwel hear me. We hurried away from him, moving as quickly as we could. I could hear the soft slap of my sister’s feet on the dry earth and her hitching, nervous breathing.
“Megan!”
I started. He sounded close but the woods made his voice echo; he could have been anywhere. Megan was not willing to risk being seen. I felt her hand grasp my forearm and she dragged me off the path. I kept my eyes on the ground, as though anxious not to lose my footing in the tangle of undergrowth. Megan put her hand in the small of my back, pushing me forward, guiding me between the trees.
“There,” she whispered into my ear, and I looked up to see we had reached a place where the ferns grew dense and tall.
We heard him call again. He sounded like he was almost on top of us. By chance, he must have taken the same path as us. We wasted no time, hurrying over to the tall ferns and hurling ourselves to the ground where we lay as still as we could, our faces pressed against the cool mossy grass of the forest floor, barely daring to breath. Heavy footsteps crashed towards us. I risked raising my head from the ground to peer through the greenery.
“Megan!”
Arwel was on the path directly ahead of me, walking slowly, looking into the ferns as though he could somehow sense us hiding there. He was big and ungainly, and ugly with it, piggy eyes squinting through the trees. His thin hair was parted down the middle and hung like damp fur on either side of his face. His heavy forehead glistened with sweat and his fat cheeks were flushed.
I ducked out of sight, afraid he would see me. I could neither see nor feel Megan, but I sensed her at my side. Despite our predicament I felt myself becoming aroused again, doubly so when her hand found mine and squeezed it. Lake water had cooled and softened her skin.
Then, from somewhere far away, came the barking of dogs.
I frowned. There were hounds in the village, of course, but these sounded as if they were coming from high in the mountains overlooking the lake and woods. But there were no villages to be found there; the land was too rugged and desolate for anything other than wild goats and sheep to survive. And there were so many of them, more than we kept in the village. The noise was cacophonous. I could not be certain exactly how many; at a guess I would have said two or three dozen. Not wolves, either. There was no howling, only the belling of hounds. I recalled the tales we had been told as children, stories of Cwm Annwn, the hell hounds of Gwynn ap Nudd’s wild hunt. Arwel must have heard it too. I heard him cry out with fear and he ran headlong back along the path as though in mortal danger.