Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (3 page)

He spurred his horse again, his vivid imagination warning him what would happen split seconds before she fell in.

She bobbed up straightaway, still gripping the child. But the current had both of them and was flowing fast enough to make him fear he could not catch up in time, let alone get ahead of them as he must if he were to help them.

The woods lining the river were thicker where its course bent southward, but he knew it would bend east again half a mile later. He could shorten the distance by cutting across the field. Then,
if
the two 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, 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 together long enough to think what to do, but the icy water made it hard to breathe, let alone to think. Although the child seemed lighter with the water bearing them both, she knew they did not have long to survive unless they could reach one of the river’s banks.

Adventurous by nature, Sibylla had grown up at Aker-moor Castle, which boasted its own loch a short way to the west and the Ale Water to the east. Having likewise enjoyed the blessing of 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 had acquired the ability to remain calm in a crisis.

She knew she could not successfully fight the child and the strong current, so to divert the child she commanded it to help them stay afloat.

“Kick hard!” she shouted, managing to shift her grip to the back of its clothing near its neck. By floating the child on its back, keeping her right arm straight, and bending her wrist sharply, she could keep its head up while she paddled with her left hand. Her body shifted almost onto its side, but she found it easier to kick hard in that position with the child kicking its legs above hers.

Desperation kept her going, and for a wonder, the water had pushed her skirts nearly to her hips, enough for the fabric to resist wrapping itself around her legs.

Sibylla was tiring fast though, and knew she could not go on indefinitely. They had to find something that would float and to which they could cling.

She could barely see where she was going, but she knew they were rapidly approaching the river bend. Without intent but because of the way she held the child and because she faced the south bank of the river, she had drawn close enough to it to be wary of nearby boulders poking their heads out of the water.

Much as she wanted to feel firm ground beneath her again, it occurred to her that letting the river smash them into a boulder might 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. Only then did she remember the half-submerged log.

Debris in the water consisted mostly of branches, twigs, and other useless stuff, none of it large enough to provide support for them both.

If she could grab the log, they could at least gain a respite. They might even manage to drag themselves out of the water if the log lay near enough to the shore.

She had no doubt she could manage that feat for herself. But her grip on the child made everything else gruelingly awkward. Other than reminding the little one to kick, and muttering occasional brief encouragement as she fought to swim and to breathe, Sibylla had barely spoken.

The child, too, was exhausting what energy it had left in kicking, and she knew she dared not waste her own lest she need it later.

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

It was 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 up her when she fell in, a single stern command to kick hard and look for something they could grab to keep them afloat had been enough.

Such simple trust in her made Sibylla determined not to give up. She had no illusions though. She had to get closer to shore for them 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 Law to stay near the river, to be at hand if they managed to make it to shore before the current swept them around the bend. Then he turned his horse to cross the open field, hoping to get farther ahead of them beyond the bend.

He had ridden just a short way, however, when a shrill whistle made him look back to see Hodge waving frantically. As Simon wheeled his horse, he saw the big man thrust himself off his own mount and vanish 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 huge footprints through the shrubbery to the riverbank, he saw the big shaggy-haired Borderer trying to step onto a half-submerged log with a multitude of dead branches thrusting from it.

Seeing the sodden, bedraggled woman clinging to a branch and the child clinging to the woman, Simon said, “Take care or you’ll end in the river with them!”

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

“Will it take my weight?” Simon asked as he drew near enough to see for himself that the log 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 exhausted and using the last dregs of her energy to hang on. The child, too, looked spent. But although its arms were around the woman’s neck, it seemed to have sense enough left not to choke her.

He moved up by Hodge, who held on to a stout branch. The log looked like part of a good-sized tree, but it lay too far from shore for him to step onto it. He’d have to leap, and the damnable thing was bound to be slippery.

But if anyone could hold it steady, Hodge could. “Mistress, heed me,” Simon said as he shrugged off his cloak and tossed it over a nearby shrub. “I am going to jump on that log whilst my man holds it steady. When I do, I’ll take the lad from you first. Can you hang on a while longer?”

“I shall have to, shall I not?” she murmured, still barely moving.

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

“I’ve got it, sir.”

The woman looked up as Simon set himself to leap, her eyes widening.

They were an odd grayish brown, matching the muddy water. Her plaits and the loose strands that concealed so much of her face—soaked through as they were and doubtless painted with mud—were a similar color. Her lips were blue.

Despite her bedraggled appearance, she seemed familiar. He wondered if she resided on one of the estates near Elishaw.

Shifting his mind to getting safely on the log, he put one hand on a sturdy branch, picked a flattish spot as the best place to land, and leapt.

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

The child shook its head fervently, 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 harm you or let you fall.”

“Them others t-tried to hurt us,” the child said, teeth chattering. “S-sithee, they said they was j-just drowning puppies. But them puppies was us!”

“His lordship only wants to help us get out,” the woman said as calmly as before. “I’m gey cold, and I know 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 such a wee lassock into a river to drown, Simon said in a gentler tone, “Come now, reach up to me, lassie. I want to have you out of there so I can help the kind woman who rescued you. You do not want her to freeze hard like a block of ice, do you?”

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

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

“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 large, shaggy man behind him.

“That’s Hodge Law,” he said. “He only looks like a bear, lassie. 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 across to him.

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

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

“Not as long as that,” he replied. “I saw you fall, and I’d wager you were in no more than five minutes, mayhap ten by now.”

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

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

The log tipped precariously, making the woman gasp. Simon said, “I’m getting off, Hodge. I’ll hold the log whilst you wrap that bairn up. As thin as she is, it will amaze me if she does not sicken from this ordeal.”

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

That they had not seen the second child go by gave Simon hope that his lads had plucked it from the water, too. It occurred to him that although Kit had said “us,” revealing knowledge that the villains had thrown someone in besides herself, she seemed unconcerned about the fate of her companion.

As these thoughts teased him, he watched the woman, who was managing deftly now that she no longer had to worry about Kit. When she had made her way around the end of the log, he extended a hand to help her from the water.

Her exit was not graceful. She had lost her shoes, the bank was nearly vertical, and she kept tripping on her soaked skirts. How she had swum, let alone held on to the child, he could not imagine.

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

Taking it from him, Simon wrapped it around the woman and pulled the fur-lined hood up to cover her head. As he did, he saw that her eyes were not muddy brown but a clear, reflective gray. 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, lost what remained of her color, 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 do we 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 fallen off and the strands of loose hair that had hidden her face had fallen back, too, giving him a clear view of her features.

He had met her only 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.

Although he saw Hodge raise an eyebrow, clearly expecting explanation, Simon said no more but strode off with her toward the horses instead.

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

Slowly becoming aware of hoofbeats and motion, Sibylla realized she was on horseback and that someone was holding her in front of him on his saddle. His hardened, muscular body supported her securely and moved easily with the animal.

She had no doubt who he was.

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

Of all the people who might have rescued her, the one who had was the would-be bridegroom she had humiliated in Selkirk three years before, the man who had fiercely warned her afterward that he would someday see that she got her just desserts.

To be sure, due to her service with the princess Isabel and his with Isabel’s brother the Earl of Fife, now Governor of the Realm, they had met a few times since then but always in company, where he had behaved with chilly civility.

He had spoken to her only once, and she had never been alone with him.

Forcing herself to stay relaxed so he would not know she had regained consciousness, she peeked through her lashes, hoping to see where they were and judge how far she was from the safety of Sweethope Hill House.