by Aileen Adams
Rufus saw it, freezing for a moment before taking the reins more firmly in hand. “Come on, then!” he called out to the horse, pulling it, breaking into a run while Davina held onto the saddle horn for dear life.
The horse, poor beast, did not want to move. Rufus grunted and pulled and cursed, dragging it down the length of the bridge, where the other men called out for them to hurry.
“Run, lass!” His eyes met hers. “Run!”
She couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t move, would certainly not allow her to dismount and find her feet and run for the bank. Instead, she dug her heels mercilessly into the horse’s ribs.
“Yah! Yah!” she screamed when she found her voice, her eyes always on the tree which was mere moments from striking the bridge.
It did little good, the poor animal too confused and frantic to obey their commands. Rufus reached for Davina, grabbing at her waist with one hand and pulling her from the saddle.
That was when the tree collided with the bridge, a great cracking sound filling the air when it struck.
So many things happened at once. The horse took off with a terrified whinny, and had Davina not been concerned with keeping her balance she might have laughed. Now the daft thing decided to run.
Rufus’s arm, strong as ever, wrapped around her lower back and for a moment, she was safe. He would see to it that she was. There was nothing to fear.
Just for a moment.
For she was already falling, never catching her balance after leaving the saddle, never getting her feet under her. She reached for Rufus, hands grasping, clawing, catching hold of his tartan and tearing it free from the waist of his tunic.
And then, there was nothing beneath her but air.
She toppled over the edge and into the river.
14
It was something out of a nightmare.
One moment, she was there, his arm about her.
The next, he was losing her. She was falling away, beyond his grasp, into the rain-swollen flood.
“Davina!” he shouted, his heart in his throat.
She landed in the water with a splash, bobbing up to the surface, then back under. Even if she could swim, her skirts would pull her under again and again until she could no longer fight her way to the surface.
Even if she could swim, which she could not.
“She canna swim!” he screamed to no one in particular.
“Rufus, don’t!” Drew shouted, but it was too late.
He was already on his way into the river, leaping from the bridge before good sense could tell him otherwise.
Instantly, he saw the folly in this. The water pulled him, pushed him, making him bob like a cork before dragging him beneath the surface. He fought against it, breaking the surface and taking in a gulp of air before being pulled down again.
When he broke the surface and stayed there, still traveling with the rushing, racing river, he looked about himself while reaching for something. Anything. Whatever might help him keep him afloat.
There she was. A flash of auburn, nothing more, but it was enough. “Davina!” he shouted with all of the air in his lungs just before a wave crashed over his head. He fought it, arms and legs cutting through the flood water, searching for her once again on breaking free.
She raised a hand, her skin white as chalk, before her head sank beneath the water again. “No!” he shouted, his cry lost beneath the river’s roar. He began swimming with the flow rather than struggling to keep his head above water. He had to get to her.
She would only stay strong for so long, and then…
The water was muddy, having run down the sides of hills and mountains on its way to Loch Tay. His tunic tore in a dozen places as branches and other debris tangled with it, cutting his skin. He barely felt it, his eyes always searching for her as the current tossed him back and forth in its angry, powerful arms. As though he were nothing but a leaf on the wind.
There was a drop-off ahead, and he braced himself for the fall before tumbling several feet into yet more water. It seemed the world was nothing but water and sky, the roar deafening him, his muscles already tiring from the effort of reaching Davina.
Where was she? He managed to get a single, clear look about him before being pulled under once again, but he’d managed a glimpse of the lass. She’d either reached out for or been thrown against a tree which bobbed up and down in the water and had held on.
No matter how she came to it, the thing was saving her life at the moment.
“Hold on!” he called out once he broke the surface again, coughing up water after he did. Nothing in the world mattered more than reaching her. Nothing.
He put the entire force of his body into stroking through the river, legs kicking, allowing the current to do some of the work for him but using his arms to guide himself closer to her. He struck a rock, sending pain shooting through his hip and down one side, but still, he struggled to reach the tree before her strength gave out and she let go.
“Do not let go!” he shouted, and she turned her head at the sound of his voice. Her eyes looked hollow, exhaustion already ringing them, hair stuck to her pale face. She was going to give up. He felt it in his very soul. She was going to let go in spite of his ordering her not to.
“Davina!” he yelled, fighting harder than ever, arms and legs propelling him through the rushing current even as he was battered on both sides by stones and limbs. Still, he fought, until his right hand closed over a branch attached to the floating tree.
“Davina, hold on,” he called out, working from branch to branch, his arms fairly burning from the effort. One of the branches snapped, leaving him scrambling to reach another. He grasped it just in time, before the entire tree raced away from him and he was left with nothing.
“Rufus…” Her voice was little more than a whisper when he reached her, her eyes sliding shut. “Rufus, I can’t…”
“Ye can!” he barked close to her ear, startling her into wakefulness. He slid an arm about her waist and clasped her tight, instantly noting the way she dragged at him. Those skirts, weighing her even further. She was a slight lass, almost tiny, yet she may as well have been made of lead.
He could rest for the moment, holding onto the log, allowing it to keep them both above water. But they could not hold on forever. The time would come for them to let go, for him to keep hold of her and get them both to the riverbank.
Otherwise, the river flowed into Loch Tay, and by then they would both surely drown.
She clung to him with one arm while holding onto the log with the other, her fingers like claws in his shoulder, her heart hammering against his chest.
“Look at me!” he ordered. When she did, he stared into her wide, terror-filled eyes. “I will get ye to safety. We will live through this. Do ye hear me, lass?”
“I do,” she nodded.
“Ye will not die today. Understood? Tell me. Ye will not die today.”
“I will not die today!” Her voice trembled, but it sounded stronger than it had before.
“Not while I’m with ye, I promise.” He looked over her head to where another drop-off loomed in the distance. He could not risk them going over while still in the other’s arms—the chance of losing each other, or the log, or of the log crushing one of them while the other continued to hold on was very real, and looming larger with each passing moment.
“We shall have to let go soon and swim for shore!” He forced a smile. “Dinna let go of me, lass. I’m afraid of doing this on my own!”
“Rufus!” she whimpered. “Do not… do not let go of me, please.”
He pressed his lips to her cheek, her forehead. “Never. Trust me. When I count to three, I need ye to kick as hard as ye can and do everything ye can to swim with me. Ready? One… two… three!”
They released the log as one, and Davina obeyed by kicking hard, if ungracefully. Her feet made contact with his knees more than once, but she aided in moving them closer to shore. “That’s it!” he shouted. “Keep your head up
and kick!”
Meanwhile, he used his free arm to direct them to the muddy riverbank which crept closer with each stroke. But not close enough, not quickly enough. “Harder!”
“I’m trying!” she gasped—then, “Rufus!”
He felt it before she shouted in surprise. A sharp tugging, pulling them away from the bank and into the worst of the flood. No matter how he struggled against it, he felt himself being pulled along with her.
Her skirts. They were caught on something—or, rather, something was caught on them. He reached down, still kicking madly, holding her about the waist with one arm while tearing at her skirt. A limb, its branches having snagged the cloth, pulling her away from him.
“Rufus!” she screamed, flailing in panic as he lost hold of her.
He caught her hand before she was swept away, and she grabbed him about the neck. “Dinna strangle me, lass,” he gasped, reaching for his dirk.
He sawed madly at the garment, cutting it free with one eye on the drop coming closer and closer. He would certainly lose her, the limb would drag her under and hold her there, and he would not be able to reach her.
“Rufus! Hurry!” she shrieked in his ear, water covering her head for a moment before she came up sputtering and coughing. His arm moved up and down, the water slowing him, and he found himself grunting and gasping in a mix of strain and panic with each frantic slice of the blade against the fabric.
At last, the weight pulling her away from him released, and it was just the two of them again. The log bobbed away before disappearing over the drop.
“Come on!” he grunted, giving it every last bit of strength he had, fighting to make it to the riverbank. She fought along with him, kicking again, using an arm to help. Her cries of desperation were knives in his heart, yet they pushed him forward. She was stronger than she appeared, and just as determined to live as he was.
When his foot struck solid ground—at least, what would be solid if it were not flooded—he shouted out with joy and relief and gratitude. Still holding Davina by the waist, he dragged both of them out of the water and into the mud.
“Och, thank ye, God,” he groaned, rolling onto his back, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He ached everywhere, he was certain he would never breathe easily again, and he knew not how the men would ever find them so far downriver.
“Och, thank ye,” he repeated, again and again, rejoicing at the ground beneath his back, the mud sliding between his fingers as he clutched at it.
He knew not how they would continue, but they were alive. They had survived, together.
“Oh, Rufus.” Davina was weeping, still clinging to him, and he wished he could take her in his arms and kiss her and assure her they were alive, they were safe, nothing would ever harm her. Yet he could not so much as move a finger or even open his eyes.
He could only murmur softly, so softly he could barely hear himself. “What did I tell ye, lass? Ye will not die today.”
With that, he let go, allowing himself to slide into unconsciousness.
15
“Rufus! Davina!”
Davina’s eyes fluttered open, giving her a glimpse of the sky through the branches above her head before darkness settled in again. She had never known such exhaustion. She would never have imagined it existed until then, the sense that she was sinking into the very ground beneath her, that it held her still and would not allow her to lift her head or arm.
It was so easy to give in. To allow herself the luxury of letting go.
“Davina! Rufus!” Louder, this time. It seemed to be coming from above them. The men were looking for them. How far downriver had they gone? The water rushed so fast, it could have been many miles.
Her hand slid over the mud, searching for Rufus. She touched something. His arm? It did not move, even when she squeezed. “Rufus. Rufus, wake up. They’re looking for us.” She could barely whisper. Could not even turn her head to the side and open her eyes to look upon him.
He was likely in just the same shape she was. They would never be rescued if neither of them cried out for help—Davina remembered both of them being covered in mud by the time Rufus dragged them onto the riverbank, which meant they would blend into the surroundings.
A voice cried out in her head. Her own voice, stern and unforgiving. Move, damn ye! Move now! Scream if ye have to! But she could not scream. She could not even seem to draw enough air into her lungs to make more than a broken whisper come from her throat.
She’d screamed so much already.
“Davina! Answer me, lass!” Who was that? She did not recognize the voice. Of course. Clyde, his deep rumble piercing the air.
She forced her eyes open, blinking hard, digging the nails of one hand into her palm until tears sprang to her eyes. She would do this. She had no choice but to do it. Rufus needed her to.
“Help…!” she gasped. “Here!”
No response.
Summoning every bit of her strength and determination, she rolled onto her stomach. The ground was slippery, muddy, granting no purchase as she tried to claw her way up the steep bank. The earth simply gave way under her hands, her legs, as she scrambled. “Help!” she gasped between dry, broken sobs of pure anguish and frustration. “Down here! Help!”
The river was too loud, filling her head with its rushing, roaring sound, and the voices which called their names grew quieter as the men moved further downriver, away from where she fought to live.
Concentrate. She stopped struggling, allowing herself a moment to rest, taking deep breaths which filled her lungs to their limit. She could not continue tiring herself, making weak efforts. If she was to survive, to make them hear her, she had to try as hard as she could all at once.
One more deep breath—then, “Help us!” she shrieked, as loud and as strong as she could. “Please! Here!”
“Davina! I hear ye! Where are ye, lass?”
She closed her eyes, weeping, prayers of thanks overlapping in her head. “Here! Here, please, help!” The sounds of shouts, of horses and the rustling of brush grew louder as the men drew nearer.
Turning her head, she saw Rufus. Eyes closed, legs and arms akimbo, his chest rising and falling in short breaths, face covered in mud, leaves, and twigs sticking to him in a hundred places. She clawed her way over to him, pushing aside great handfuls of mud, collapsing on his chest.
“Rufus…” she whispered, looking up into his face. She reached for him, brushed hair away from his forehead, and closed her eyes a moment after hearing Drew shout to the others that he had found them.
“They found us,” she breathed, stroking the mud-crusted cheek of her savior. “They found us. Ye can rest now. Thank ye.”
She did not have to struggle any longer. She could rest, too. The river’s roar faded to nothing in her head as darkness overtook her.
When she opened her eyes again, all was dark. Black. She panicked, her head moving from side to side as she fought against the darkness.
“Lass! Calm yourself. Davina!” When Alec barked her name, he startled her into calmness. She got a hold of herself, breathing more slowly, thinking clearly.
The darkness came from it being night, and late into the night judging by the state of the dying fire. Alec must have been left awake on guard duty, the others stirring in sleep. She could see them more clearly now, their forms revealed bit by bit as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
“Rufus?” she whispered.
“Still sleeping, as ye were until just now.” He set a bucket down near her. “I just filled it. Water. Ye ought to drink.”
Her hands shook as she dipped them into the water, and she only noticed then that they were clean. “We washed ye as best we could,” he murmured, sounding apologetic. “Hands, face, the like. Nothing more.”
She drank deeply from her cupped hands before sharing a weak smile. “Ye must not defend yourself. I know ye would not take advantage. Thank ye for finding us. How long did it take?”
“Hours,” he grimaced. “The
river carried ye quite a way, and that’s a fact. We’ve nearly reached Loch Tay.”
“That far?” she gaped. It hadn’t seemed that far at the time—yet, just the same, it had seemed like a hundred years in the water. How could an event seem to pass in the blink of an eye and over the course of a century, all at once?
“We were afraid we would never find ye,” he confessed, and the slight tremble in his voice betrayed the depth of his feelings. It could not be easy, being a man. Never feeling as though one could admit when they were afraid.
She took a chance, reaching for him, covering his hand with hers. “Ye did well, and I cannot thank ye enough.”
“We didna do so much. It was him.” He nodded to Rufus. “The fool, pardon my saying, jumped in after ye. I thought I was imagining things, truth be told.”
She was certain she’d misheard. “He jumped, did ye say?”
“Aye.”
“I thought he fell in, as I did. Are ye certain?”
“Completely certain,” he agreed without a shred of doubt in his voice. “Ye were already in, and I thought my heart would burst from worry—if ye dinna mind my saying so, between the pair of us, and he shouted to us that ye dinna know how to swim. And he jumped.”
Yes, that sounded like the actions of a man making a choice rather than a man tumbling off a bridge. He’d had the time to explain, or at least to tell the others of her inability to swim before following her. If he’d fallen, he would not have been able to do so. There would have been no chance.
“Not that it mattered,” she whispered. “My not being able to swim, that is. I was not strong enough to fight the water.”
“Nay, but he was,” Alec reminded her, and the pride in his voice was clear as day. “He did well.”
“That he did. He might have died in the doing.” She watched him sleep, unaware of what was being said around him, and wondered what he would have thought if he’d heard.