Agnes screamed, once, and put her hand to her mouth.
Mr Lunan lifted his shotgun from the ground at his feet, slammed it to his shoulder and shouted something incoherent as Agnes stepped towards her husband.
Andrew gasped, more in surprise than pain, and jerked upright, with the arrow a feathered obscenity protruding from his ribs.
I heard the sharp report of Mr Lunan’s shotgun even as I sprang forward to catch Andrew, expecting him to fall. By the time I reached him, he had turned around, roaring in rage, and plucking at the arrow. I saw the blood staining Andrew’s jacket, rust-coloured rather than red, with his eyes wild with frustration and anger.
“Andy!” Agnes shouted, as a second and then a third of the Sidh emerged from the flood. All held small reeds in their mouths and bows in
