Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy Two 02] (43 page)

He spurred his horse again, his vivid imagination warning him of what was bound to happen split seconds before she fell in. She had briefly slowed the child’s progress at the ford, and the south-bank entry to it lay just yards away from him.

She bobbed up straightaway and still had hold of the child. But the river had both of them and moved fast enough to make him fear he’d not catch up in time, let alone get ahead of them as he must if he were to be of any help.

The woods near the river were thicker ahead where the river bent southward and then bent due east again a half mile later.

He could shorten the distance by cutting straight across the field instead of following the river. Then,
if
the two of them could avoid drowning before he got to them, and
if
his horse could avoid putting a foot in a rabbit hole or worse . . .

Sibylla held on to the child by sheer willpower. She resisted fighting the current, tried to relax a little, and put her energy into kicking and keeping her head and the child’s above water as she let the river carry them.

She hoped she could keep her wits about her long enough to think what to do, but the icy water made it hard to breathe, let alone think, and although the child seemed lighter now with the water bearing them both along, she knew they did not have long to survive unless they could reach one of the riverbanks.

Being adventurous by nature, and having grown up at Akermoor Castle within a mile’s distance of its own loch to the west and the Ale Water to the east, and having been blessed then with an older brother determined to teach her how to survive the commonest perils of Border life and to look after herself, she was an excellent swimmer and possessed the ability to remain calm in a crisis.

She knew she could not successfully fight the strong current but must try to work with it, so the first thing she had done was command the child to help. By shouting at it to kick harder, she managed to shift her grip to the back of its clothing near its neck, so that by floating it on its back, she could keep its head up by bending her wrist sharply and keeping her right arm straight while she paddled with her left hand. Her body had thus shifted almost onto its side, and she found it easier to kick hard while the child floated above her legs, also kicking.

Desperation had kept her going, and for a wonder, the water had pushed her skirts up nearly to her hips, enough for them to resist wrapping themselves around her legs. She was tiring fast, though, and knew she could not go on indefinitely.

She had to find something that would float, to cling to.

She could barely manage to watch where she was going, but she knew they were rapidly approaching the river bend. Without conscious effort, because of the way she held the child and because she faced the south bank of the river, she had drawn closer to it—close enough to see boulders poking their heads up out of the water. The closer she drifted, the likelier it was that they would collide with one.

Much as she wanted to feel firm ground beneath her again, she wondered if letting the river drive them into a boulder might not kill them both.

Telling herself sternly that such a collision was more likely to injure them than kill them, and that injury would be better than drowning, she tried to judge how safely she could ease them closer yet. Only then did she remember the log.

Most debris in the water consisted of branches, twigs, and other such useless stuff, none of it large enough to provide support for both of them. But, if she could grab the log, they could at least gain a respite. They might even manage to pull themselves out of the water if the log lay near enough to the shore.

She had no doubt that she would have managed the feat easily by herself, but her fierce grip on the child made everything else awkward, and exhausting. Other than telling the little one to kick and muttering as much encouragement as she could while fighting just to swim and breathe, she had had barely spoken.

The child, too, was using what energy it had to kick and Sibylla knew she dared not waste her own energy lest she need it later.

As a result, she did not even know yet which sex the child was.

It seemed to be wearing thin breeks rather than a skirt, but its fragile bone structure seemed feminine, as did its willingness to obey her. Despite the attempt to climb onto her after she fell in, one stern command to kick hard and look for something they could grab that would help them stay afloat had been enough.

That simple trust in her made Sibylla determined not to give up.

Nevertheless, she had no illusions. She had to work her way nearer the shore to have any chance at all.

When a break in the trees showed Simon he was a little ahead of the victims, he shouted at Hodge to stay near the river so he’d be at hand if they somehow managed to make it to shore before the river swept them around the bend. Then he turned his horse to cross the open field and get well ahead of them beyond the bend.

He had ridden only a short way, however, when a shrill whistle made him look back to see Hodge waving frantically. As Simon wheeled his mount, he saw Hodge dismount and disappear into the shrubbery.

Simon put his horse to its fastest pace, wrenched it to a halt near Hodge’s beast, and flung himself from the saddle. Following Hodge’s footprints through the shrubbery to the riverbank, he saw the big shaggy-haired Borderer trying to step onto a half-submerged log with myriad dead branches still appended to it.

Seeing the sodden, bedraggled woman clinging to one of those branches and the child clinging to the woman, Simon shouted, “Take care, Hodge, or you’ll be in the river with them.”

“I’ll no be going aboard it, m’lord,” Hodge said. “The blessed thing be so unstable I’m afeard me weight will dislodge it from whatever’s keeping it near.”

“Will it take my weight?” Simon asked as he drew near enough to see for himself that the log was anything but stable. It rocked like a ship at sea.

“I’m thinking I could hold it steady enough for ye,” Hodge said. “Like as not, though, ye’ll get a dousing.”

“I won’t fall in,” Simon said, noting that the woman had not spoken or even tried to push away the heavy strands of muddy hair that obscured most of her face.

She was shivering, clearly using what little was left of her energy just to hang on. The child, too, looked spent, but although its arms were around the woman’s neck, it seemed to have enough sense left not to choke her.

He moved up beside Hodge, who was holding a stout branch. The log looked like the upper part of a good sized tree, but the length of it was not near enough to the shore for him to step onto it. He’d have to make a leap, and the damnable thing was bound to be slippery, but if anyone could hold it steady, Hodge could.

“Mistress, pay heed to me,” Simon said as he shrugged off his cloak and draped it over a nearby shrub. “I am going to step onto that log whilst my man here holds it steady. When I do, I’ll take the lad from you first. Then we’ll have to decide the best way to get you out safely. Can you hang on a while longer?”

“I shall have to, shall I not?” she murmured, still not looking at him.

“Have faith,” he said more gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Hold fast now, Hodge. Don’t let the damnable thing get away from you when I jump.”

“I’ve got it, sir.”

The woman looked up then, her eyes widening as Simon set himself to jump. He saw that they were grayish brown, almost matching the muddy water. Her plaits and the loose strands that concealed so much of her face were a similar color, soaked through as they were. Her lips were nearly blue. Despite her bedraggled appearance, though, she seemed vaguely familiar.

He wondered if she was the children’s mother and perhaps a woman from one of the estates near Elishaw.

With no more time to think of aught but getting safely onto the log, he put a hand lightly on a sturdy branch, fixed his gaze on the flattish place he’d picked as the best spot to land, and jumped.

The log was indeed slippery, but he kept his balance by grabbing a strong-looking, upright branch. Holding on to it with his left hand, he bent toward the child, saying, “Reach a hand to me, lad, so I can pull you out.”

The child shook its head, clinging tighter to the woman.

“Come now, don’t be foolish!” Simon said curtly. “Give me your hand.”

“Obey him,” the woman said quietly. “He will not hurt you or let you fall.”

“Them others tried to hurt us,” the child said, teeth chattering. “Sithee, they said they was just drowning puppies. But them puppies was us!”

“His lordship only wants to help us now,” the woman said as calmly as before. “I’m very cold, and I know that you are, too. We must get warm.”

“Come, lad,” Simon said, forcing the same calm firmness into his own voice.

“Me name’s Kit,” the little one said. “And I’m no a lad.”

Stifling his shock that anyone would throw a wee lassock like the one before him into a river to drown, Simon said in a gentler tone, “Come now, reach up to me, lassie, so I can have you out of there and help the kind woman who rescued you. You do not want her to freeze solid like a block of ice, do you?”

Biting a colorless lower lip, Kit obeyed him, and as he grasped her arm, he reminded himself to be gentle. As stick-thin as she was, he feared her arm might snap in a too-hard grip.

Balancing himself and trusting Hodge to keep the log as still as possible, he braced a knee against the upright branch and squatted, using both hands to lift the child. Despite her sodden state, she seemed feather light to him.

“There now,” he said as he held her close. “Not so bad to be out, is it?”

She was silent, staring over his shoulder at the larger man beyond him.

“That’s Hodge Law,” he said. “He only looks like a bear. He’ll be gey gentle with you. I’m going to turn now and hand you across to him.”

“I’ve me cloak ready for her, m’lord,” Hodge said, reaching to take the child as Simon leaned out as far as he could and handed her to him.

Turning back to the woman, Simon saw that she had already begun to ease her way to the end of the log. “Be gey careful, mistress,” he warned. “That current is still strong and deadly.”

“You need not tell me that, sir,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I have been its captive for what seems like hours now.”

“Not as long as that,” he replied mildly. “I saw you fall in, and I warrant you were in no longer than five minutes, mayhap ten by now.”

She gave him a sour look, and the sense of familiarity strengthened, but he had been wrong about her being from a tenant family. Her manner of speech indicated a considerably higher birth. In any event, he wanted her out of the water.

Hodge was trying to shift wee Kit under his own cloak without letting go of the log, and Simon realized they had no idea how long the child had been in the water before they’d heard her scream.

The log tipped precariously, and he heard the woman gasp.

“I’m coming off, Hodge. I’ll hold the log now whilst you wrap that bairn up well. As thin as she is, it will be astonishing if she does not sicken from this.”

“Aye, sir,” Hodge said, firming his grip on the branch he held until Simon was ashore, then relinquishing it to give his full attention to warming the child.

That they had not seen the second child float by gave Simon hope that his lads had successfully plucked it from the water. It occurred to him that although Kit had said “us,” revealing that the villains had thrown someone other than herself in, she did not seem concerned about the fate of her erstwhile companion.

With these thoughts teasing his mind, he kept his eyes on the woman, but she was managing deftly now that she no longer had to worry about Kit.

Fortunately, the area where the log had snagged formed a shallow inlet of sorts, where the current seemed less fiercely determined to carry away everything in its path. When she had made her way round the end of the log, Simon released it and stretched out a hand to help her out of the water.

Her exit was anything but graceful, because she had lost her shoes, the bank was nearly vertical there, and she had trouble managing her sodden skirts to avoid tripping on them. How she had swum in them, he could not imagine.

By the time he got her out, Hodge had wee Kit swaddled tight in his voluminous cloak and held Simon’s cloak ready in his free hand.

Taking it from him, Simon wrapped it around the woman, pulling the fur-lined hood up to cover her head as he said, “The sooner we get you to a fire and see you both well warmed, mistress, the less likely you are to—”

He broke off in consternation as she gave him a bewildered look, turned sheet white, and fainted. Had he not been tying the strings of the cloak, she’d have fallen flat. As it was, he barely caught her before she hit the ground.

“Sakes, m’lord,” Hodge said. “What are we to do now?”

Simon did not reply. He was staring at the woman in his arms.

As he’d caught her, he had scooped her up into his arms so abruptly that the hood had slipped off again and the strands of loose hair that had hidden her face fell away as well, giving him a clearer view of her than he had had before.

He’d only met her two or three times before, but he recognized her easily.

“Ye look as if ye’d seen a boggart, m’lord. D’ye ken the lass then?”

“Aye,” Simon said curtly, glancing at him.

Hodge raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting further information, but Simon said no more, striding off with her toward the horses instead.

He was hardly going to tell Hodge Law, when even his own family did not know, that just over four years before he had nearly married the woman.

Becoming slowly aware of hoofbeats and motion, Sibylla realized she was on horseback and that someone was holding her. The hardened, muscular body behind her held her securely and moved easily with the animal he rode.

She had no doubt who it was.

Perhaps this will teach you, the next time you try to drown yourself, to do a better job of it,
she told herself with a touch of amusement—doubtless born of exhaustion or perhaps incipient hysteria.