by Nancy Morse
“Not at all, Lord de Rowenne. ’Twould be very foolish of me to offend the man rowing me out into the middle of a lake when I cannot swim.”
He laughed; he simply couldn’t help it. Sometimes this English lass was delightful. As she draped one arm over the side of the boat and trailed her fingers in the water, he said, “Your sire mentioned you also have a brother.”
“I have a sister, too. My brother is older than I am, and my sister is younger. We get along well, I think.”
“They look up to you.”
Sadness touched her gaze. “Mother died three years ago. It became my responsibility to care for my siblings, but in truth, I never minded at all.”
Helena had endured a lot for one so young. “I am sorry about your mother,” Tavis said.
“’Tis the way of things,” she answered with a stiff shrug. “So Father said.”
Tavis put extra effort into his rowing. After a long moment, he braced the oar handles on the sides of the boat and it glided to a stop. They were about a quarter of the way across the lake; the perfect spot to enjoy the scenery.
Water, propelled by the wind, gently lapped against the side of the boat. Helena sat quietly, as did he. He drew in a slow breath of the crisp air and savored the intense silence. A sense of peace filled him, as though he’d left all of his concerns behind on shore.
He stole a glance at her. In her expression, he saw the same reverence that he experienced every time he went out on the water.
A warm ache spread through his chest as she held his gaze, for no one else had ever shared that sense of awe—not until Helena. God’s bones, but he wanted to kiss her. He burned to press his mouth to hers. Her lips would taste like the sweetest heather honey.
Her lips parted, as though she’d drawn in a quick breath. Did she realize how much he wanted to kiss her? Did she long for his kiss, too?
His arms still braced on the handles of the oars, he slowly leaned forward.
Her eyes shone. Her attention dropped to his mouth, as if she imagined their lips brushing, molding together…
One of the oars suddenly shifted, sliding off the side of the boat to clatter on the bottom. She startled, bouncing on the narrow seat.
The vessel rocked.
“Oh!” She grabbed for the sides of the boat.
Tavis retrieved the oar. “Stay still,” he warned. If she wasn’t careful, they’d capsize.
“T-take me back to the dock,” she said, her face turning scarlet.
“I will, in a moment.”
“Now.” Desperation rang in her trembling voice.
“Helena, stay calm.”
“You were going to kiss me just then, were you not?”
He might be wise to deny her accusation, but he wouldn’t; he wasn’t a liar. “I was. I thought you wanted me to.”
“I do not want your kiss.”
A rough laugh broke from him. “You looked like you did.”
She glowered. “You are highly knowledgeable about kissing, are you?”
His male pride fought to the fore. “I have kissed quite a few willing women, if ’tis what you are asking.”
“Why did you want to kiss me?” Eyes widening, she looked at the dock. “Did you plan to trap me into a betrothal by telling our sires that we were intimate? Is one of your friends on shore, watching—?”
“What? Nay—”
“Why should I trust you?”
Tavis’s breath lodged like a steel-tipped arrow in his chest. “As I told you before, I have no wish to marry.”
“As I told you, neither do I. Now, take me back to shore, or I—”
“How do I know you were not trying to trick me?” Tavis demanded. “Mayhap you were pretending to want my kiss so that—”
Shrieking, she grabbed for the oars. The boat jostled.
“Helena!” He tried to steady the vessel while maintaining his grip on the oars. “For God’s sake—”
The boat wobbled, causing water to splash inside. She lost her balance, fell against him, and as he cried out in alarm, the boat tipped over.
A shrill scream searing her throat, Helena tumbled sideways into the frigid water. She barely managed to close her mouth before she plunged down, down, water filling her nose and streams of bubbles billowing around her in the murky darkness.
She was going to die.
She kicked hard and flailed her arms. Water gurgled, the sound akin to the rumbling gut of a submerged lake monster.
Oh God, Oh God.
Her lungs burned. Her heart pounded as, struggling, she looked up at the surface, where the overturned boat listed, the oars drifting nearby. Where was Tavis? He must be in the water too.
She kicked harder, tried to propel herself upward with her arms. The two waterlogged cloaks around her shoulders weighed her down.
Helena grabbed for the pin securing the top garment, but her numb fingers slipped over the jewel, unable to find the catch.
She couldn’t hold her breath much longer.
She was going to drown.
Panic seared through her. She didn’t want to die.
“Helena!”
’Twas Tavis’s voice, distorted by the water. She fought the painful pressure in her breast and kicked as hard as she could, a last, desperate attempt to reach sunlight and air. If she could hold on for just a moment more…
The cloaks pulled her back. Down…
Bubbles rushed from her nose, and her vision filled with shadows.
Water sloshed close by, and then strong arms grabbed her. Tavis. He propelled her upward toward the sunshine with strong kicks, his legs knocking against hers, her garments tangling around them both. The darkness around her lightened as he forced her up…up…
Her face broke through the surface, and her burning lungs filled with air. Water ran into her mouth, and she coughed, gasped, and vomited out water as she clung to Tavis.
The soggy cloaks tightened around her neck, trying to pull her back down into the depths.
She clawed at Tavis’s shoulders. “Help me—”
“Kick your legs,” he commanded, “as hard as you can. Do not stop kicking.”
His tone was so ferocious, she immediately obeyed. But, she could hardly breathe. “Cloaks,” she wheezed. “Cannot…unfasten…”
Tavis swore. His right hand fumbled with the cross-shaped pin, while his left arm continued to hold her up. At last, the pin came loose. The weight of the cloak sank from her shoulders, and her lips parted on a shaky but relieved moan.
“I do not…want to die,” she sobbed.
“You are not going to die.” Water ran down his face from his wet hair. His arm tightened around her. “Hold this. Do not let it go.” He pressed the pin into her hand and closed her fingers around the jewel. Her hand was so cold and numb, she couldn’t even feel the brooch against her palm.
His hand shook as he swiftly unfastened the second cloak. The silver pin—it had been her mother’s—fell into the water. Helena grabbed for the jewel, her fingers bumping against his belly, but with a despairing cry, she watched the pin sink beyond her reach, followed by her garment.
“M-my mother’s pin—”
“You cannot get it back,” Tavis said firmly, spitting out water. “Now, listen to me. I need to remove your gown.”
“W-what?”
“We must lose as many garments as we can.” Still supporting her, he reached down to his belt and drew a knife. He must have shed his tunic earlier, for he now wore only a sheer linen shirt.
His hand moved, slicing through the front of her costly gown. She gasped, but he kept cutting, tugging, and tearing, until the garment fell away, revealing her gossamer-thin chemise. She longed to cover her breasts, and yet, such modesty seemed foolish when she was close to drowning.
His gaze locked with hers. “I can get us to shore, but you must not struggle. All right?”
Teeth chattering, she nodded. Tears filled her eyes.
<
br /> “I need you to turn around. I will support your body with mine as I swim.”
Shivering, and with his help, she slowly turned. He set his arms under hers and then drew her backward so she was lying with the back of her head and shoulders pressed to his torso. His breaths warmed the crown of her hair as he kicked hard, drawing them both backward through the water.
“Kick, Helena,” he said.
She moved her legs, but they felt as if they had been turned to stone.
The breeze hissed, spraying water over her face. She coughed, unable to quell a sharp flare of panic.
“Stay calm,” Tavis said, his breathing labored.
“I do not…want to die,” she moaned.
“Then you must be calm and kick. Do it. As hard as you can.”
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to kick. Soothing blackness taunted. If she closed her eyes, surrendered to it, she’d be free from the terrible coldness and fear…
Do not give in. Keep fighting. Kick, Helena. Kick!
She and Tavis were going to reach the shore…
“Helena.” Tavis’s voice reached her as though he spoke from a distance.
“Helena, please…”
The darkness clouding her mind dissipated. With a low groan—Oh, mercy, she ached all over—she opened her eyes and winced at the bright light. Tavis hovered over her, his face ashen. When their gazes met, he exhaled, a sound of immense relief, and bowed his head.
As her senses sharpened, she became aware that she was reclining on a hard, uneven surface. She turned her head, and stones pressed into her nape. Tavis had brought her to the lakeshore. She was safe.
Relief catapulted through her, and her stomach twisted violently. Bile flooded the back of her mouth and, rolling onto her side, she emptied what was in her belly. Sobs wrenched from her as she remembered losing her mother’s pin and the terror of almost drowning.
Tavis stroked her hair. “I am sorry,” he murmured, his tone ragged. “I am so sorry.”
Once she’d finally finished vomiting, he tore off part of his wet shirt and handed it to her to wipe her mouth.
She lay limp with her eyes shut. Icy tremors rippled through her, for she was cold right to her bones.
Tavis was shivering, too.
Meeting his gaze, she croaked, “I…want to see…my father.”
“Of course. I will carry you—”
“I will walk.”
Tavis’s lips flattened. “You are too weak to stand, let alone walk.”
“Thanks to you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I told you I could not swim,” she rasped. Tears streamed from her eyes. “Still, you convinced me to get in the boat—”
“Later, we can discuss blame. Right now, we must both get warm and dry.”
Despite her feebly slapping his arm, he crouched beside her and lifted her into his arms, as if she weighed no more than a rolled blanket. Her cheek resting against his shoulder, she sucked in a breath to protest, but he shook his head. “Hush, Helena. Save your strength for that scolding you are sure to give me.”
Tavis stumbled to a halt in the field surrounding the castle’s outer wall. His lungs were on fire, and his arms ached, but he would rest only for a moment. Helena’s lips were blue, and her hands linked around his neck felt like ice. She’d lost consciousness a short while ago.
Dragging in a fortifying breath, he pushed on, hoping to catch the attention of the sentries patrolling the wall walk.
“Lord de Rowenne?” a guard shouted down.
Misgiving clutched at Tavis. “Summon Lord de Verre,” he yelled. “’Tis urgent.”
The man vanished from view. Tavis reached the postern, stepped through, and saw his lordship hurrying toward him, along with Helena’s father. Several guests, whispering behind their hands, followed close behind.
“God’s holy blood,” Lord de Verre shouted.
“Helena?” Her sire rushed to her side. “What happened?”
“I took her out on the lake. The boat capsized.” Shivers racked Tavis, but he forced his shoulders back. He would not yield to discomfort or cowardice. He would accept full responsibility for what had taken place.
Scowling, Lord Marlowe yanked off his cloak. “Helena cannot swim!”
“I know.” Tavis swallowed hard. “She told me.”
“Where is her gown?” Lord de Verre demanded, as Lord Marlowe draped his cloak over his daughter’s almost nude body. “What happened to her cloak?”
“All lost in the lake.”
“Tavis?” Shock and disapproval blazed in his liege’s eyes.
“I never meant for her to be hurt. You must believe me.”
Turning to a maidservant hovering nearby, Lord de Verre said, “Summon the healer to tend to Lady Marlowe. Heat water and have it sent up to the guest chamber near the solar.”
“Aye, milord.” The servant hurried away.
With an indignant huff, Lord Marlowe took Helena from Tavis’s arms. As her hand brushed against her sire’s tunic, she stirred, her eyelids fluttering. Her fingers uncurled, and the cross pin fell to the ground. “F-Father?” she whimpered.
“You are going to be all right,” her sire said gently, his love for her easing some of the fury from his expression.
Tavis’s gut clenched with regret as he bent and picked up the pin. “Lord Marlowe—”
“Tavis, go and don fresh garments,” Lord de Verre cut in. “You will remain in the garrison until I summon you, and then you will give a full account as to what happened.”
“Aye, milord.” Ignoring the conspiratorial murmurs of the onlookers, Tavis strode away. Shame burned within him. The brooch in his hand gleamed, its cold inner fire akin to a silent mockery of his torment.
Mayhap the jewel was cursed after all.
Helena lay on her side, blankets heaped over her. Her sire sat in a high-backed chair nearby, holding her hand. He’d been there when she’d woken to find herself tucked into an unfamiliar bed, wearing a linen chemise that wasn’t her own, in a chamber she didn’t recognize. Her last, hazy memory had been of her father taking her in his arms and assuring her she would be all right.
She sighed against the soft linen pillowcase. The servants who had tended her had been very kind. Still, she felt utterly wretched. Her eyes ached, every limb hurt, and she felt as if she’d run into a tree trunk.
All because of him.
A knock sounded on the chamber door. She tensed, and her sire squeezed her fingers before he rose and answered the door. He spoke in hushed tones, but she discerned his displeasure.
Her father returned to the bed. “Tavis would like to speak with you.”
Fury and dismay warred in her breast. “I do not want to see him.”
“He says ’tis important. I know you are upset, and rightly so, but he did save your life.”
Hot, angry tears threatened. She blinked them away as she slowly pushed up to sitting, holding the bedding to her bosom.
“Will you see him for just a moment?” When she didn’t answer, her sire added, “’Twould be best if today’s incident does not destroy the growing friendship between his family and ours.”
Helena averted her gaze, barely able to control her resentment. She’d almost drowned, and her sire was still thinking about alliances?
The mattress jostled as he sat beside her and touched her arm. “Forgive me if I sounded insensitive. These are troubled times in England, Helena, and I…I must think about what might happen in the coming months. I would be foolish not to. Since we will be leaving Bremworth as soon as you are well enough to travel, this might be your last chance to see Tavis.”
The plea in her father’s voice wore down her anger. “I will see him if I must.”
“I will be right here with you.”
Her sire strode to the door, opened it, and motioned for Tavis to enter. She turned her face away and stared at the stone wall, although she hea
rd his footfalls on the planks.
The chamber door clicked shut.
“Tavis,” her sire said firmly, “you must keep your visit short.”
“I will, milord.”
Her spine rigid, Helena listened to Tavis approach the bedside. “How are you?” he asked, his tone lacking any trace of arrogance.
“I am improving,” she said crisply.
“’Tis excellent news.” Silence lagged, and she fought the urge to glance his way. She sensed his gaze traveling over her wrapped in the blankets, and her skin tingled, the way it had done in the tiltyards. “I really am sorry for what happened, Helena. If I could start this day all over again, I would.”
She trembled, for there was no mistaking his genuine remorse. Yet, fury crackled within her; she had every right to be angry with him.
“I hope one day, you will be able to look upon me again and…forgive me.”
One day, mayhap. Now? Not a chance. Tightening her hands on the bedding, she said, “Please. Just go.”
“Helena, I—”
“Go.”
A strangled sound broke from him. With a faint rustle, something landed on the bed, and then he hurried out. She remained as she was, not moving, until the chamber door shut, and her father crossed to the chair by the bed.
She dared a glance. Lying on the coverlet was a perfect, dried thistle.
Helena curled beneath the blankets and wept.
Chapter Three
Kellenham Castle, Cumbria
Early July, 1214
Standing beside her father in the bailey, Helena watched Lord Lyndon Crandall swing up onto his horse’s saddle, his four armed guards already mounted and waiting to depart. Afternoon sunlight fought to break through the blackening clouds overhead, and a harsh wind howled down off the battlements. Without doubt, a bad storm was gathering. Yet, despite her sire’s offer of lodgings for the night, Lord Crandall had insisted on riding on to the next fortress on his list of estates he’d been ordered to inspect on behalf of King John.
“The storm is moving in quickly,” her sire noted with a frown. “Are you certain you will be able to reach Fremley Keep before the tempest strikes?”