by Tamara Leigh
When the water rose to the middle of his thighs, he caught sight of her again. Moving near the cavern’s entrance, she struggled against the tide and the weight of the chest she dragged.
Collier corrected his course, and soon heard her labored breathing in the pauses between waves breaking on the rocks outside.
She was within arm’s reach when she snapped her head around. Her cry echoing around the walls, she released the chest and lurched away.
He grabbed her, but the sleeve of her tunic slipped through his fingers, and she lost her footing and disappeared beneath the water. Plunging his hands into the chill tide, he gripped her arm and pulled her upright.
She struck at him, twisted, and tried to slam her knee into his groin.
“Stop, Catherine! We haven’t much time.”
Her teeth scraped his hand, but before she could bite down, he snatched his arm away and wrapped it around her waist.
Shaking violently, she cried, “Loose me!”
“Hear me, Catherine. The passageway will be flooded if we don’t—”
“’Tis already f-flooded!”
He wasn’t surprised. “The boat is surely long gone.”
“B-boat?”
Angered by her deliberate obtuseness, he snarled, “You expect me to believe you weren’t leaving so you could deliver Strivling’s wealth to your beloved Lancasters?”
She turned her face away.
Knowing they wasted precious time, he said, “We have to get to higher ground.”
“There is only the s-sea.” Her teeth chattered. “Swim, if you think you can m-make it.”
If the entrance to this cavern was the rock below Strivling that jutted out into the sea, swimming would be difficult, perhaps not even an option. But what else was there?
He tipped up Catherine’s chin. “Can you swim?”
“I am not going with you.”
Then there had to be another way out, one she didn’t intend to reveal. No time to argue, he began pulling her toward the cavern’s opening.
“What do you?” she exclaimed.
“We are going out there, Catherine, and we are going to swim.” God willing, they would make it to the shore, and if God proved unwilling, they would drown as surely as if they remained here.
“I cannot swim.”
Her words drew him up short. “Another lie?”
“I vow ’tis true. But you should g-go.”
“Not without you.”
“What do you care what becomes of me—a woman you believe tried to murder you?”
Had she? Though her face was shadowed, he picked out the familiar planes of the one who had welcomed his touch before he had called her by another’s name. “I came a long way to find you, Catherine. I’m not leaving you now.” Explanation enough. It was time to go.
“There is another way,” she blurted.
“Where?”
She pointed toward the cavern’s opening. “A ledge lies above. We can wait out the tide there.”
That or fight her fear of the water which would likely see them both drowned. “Show me.”
“What of the chest?”
He had forgotten about it. What had been its fate in that other past? Wherever Catherine had hidden it before her death, it would have remained there until discovered by those who survived her. As its contents were likely valuable enough to impact this civil war, it had to be returned to its original hiding place.
“I’ll carry it.” Collier released her and bent to search for the chest beneath the water. He found it, but it was heavier than expected—doubtless, not just from the water seeping into it. Gritting his teeth, he hefted it. “Lead the way.”
To the left of the cavern opening, they climbed steps cut into the rock. They were not as steep as those in the shaft, but they were just as treacherous.
Though dark on the ledge, the chattering of Catherine’s teeth guided him to her. As he settled the chest against the wall, a clang of metal on metal sounded. He groped and discovered two sacks, each bulging with what was surely the plate, gold, and jewels of Strivling. Doubtless, this was Catherine’s third trip into the cavern.
“You have been busy,” he said as he lowered beside her.
“How did you l-learn of the passageway?”
“You are considerate toward servants, which made me question why you were eager to commit them to unnecessary work.”
As water breaking hard against the cavern opening rained droplets on them, she said, “So you c-came looking for me.”
He gripped her arm, but she wrenched away. “Do not touch me!”
“You’re chilled, Catherine. I’m also wet, but I can warm you.”
She scooted farther down the wall. “I do not need, nor w-want your warmth.”
He could force it, but like most twenty-first century women, she wouldn’t appreciate being manhandled.
He considered the cavern floor. The darkening day reflected its light on the writhing, steadily rising tide. Would it reach the ledge? Very possible.
Catherine huddled deeper into herself, clasping her knees to her chest and burying her face against them to prevent the chills from shaking her apart. But it was useless. Each came harder than the last, jarring her from wet scalp to toes that had lost nearly all sensation. She had been cold before, but not like this. Only in her dreams had she known such pain.
Gilchrist touched her shoulder. “Catherine, let me help you.”
I will not, she told herself as a wave hit outside the cavern, spraying more water on her.
“Catherine.”
His breath was wonderfully warm in her ear—like the sun breaking through a clouded day. She lifted her head, but rather than refuse him, gasped, “’Tis so very cold!”
Then she was on his lap, in his arms, with his mantle pulled around her. “You are stubborn, Catherine Algernon.”
Indeed. But more, she was weak. Hildegard would have died before allowing an enemy so near.
She sank into Gilchrist. Though his clothes were damp, he exuded heat that made her want to cling to him forever. Pressing her face against his chest, she slid her arms around him.
As the chills began to recede, she vowed, Just for this moment, then never again. On the morrow, Gilchrist will be my enemy the same as before.
But then he stroked a hand down her back and lightly trailed his fingers up her neck, causing a delicious sensation to slide through her. She knew she should protest, but she could not—nor when his mouth found hers in the dark.
The taste of him was a slow, heady trickle that further warmed her cold places.
“I won’t lose you,” he said against her lips.
As a fine mist fell over them, she clasped his lightly-bearded face between her hands and, deepening the kiss, felt even more than he had made her feel the night he had prevented her from reaching the storeroom.
Was this what put smiles on faces, light in eyes, and songs on lips? That which Hildegard had said was so far beneath a noblewoman only trollops succumbed?
Always there was Hildegard to answer to, and that reminder caused the light in her to sputter. However, it was not anger that made her pull her back from Gilchrist. It was remorse—and sorrow that her life was not her own.
Catching the glitter of Gilchrist’s eyes, she said, “You cannot lose what you never had.”
He cupped her cheek. “You are not leaving Strivling, Catherine. Not without me.”
How she longed to turn her mouth into his palm! Pained by the silent admission, she said, “There was no boat.”
“Then what did you intend? To swim when you profess not to know how? And with a chest and sacks on your back?”
“’Tis true I cannot swim.”
“Then?”
It no longer mattered if he knew. Having discovered the passageway, the cavern was of no further use to the Lancastrian cause. “I was to leave Strivling’s wealth on this ledge.”
“And?”
“Get word to the Lancasters who would send
a boat for it.”
“Then you were not leaving?”
“To do so would endanger my family,” she reminded him of Montagu’s threat.
“Whom you hardly know,” he pointed out.
True. Hildegard had become mother and father to her, making strangers of those of her own blood. “I do not, but I remember them, and I loved them.” Memories of early childhood causing sorrow to pour through her, she said, “Have you not a family?”
Gilchrist’s silence spoke louder than words. He answered to no one. His life was his own.
Feeling the cold again, she shivered. “I am resigned to wedding you,” she said, then added, “until King Henry takes back his throne.”
He sighed and pulled her down against his chest. “His reign is over, Catherine. You will see.”
“You are wrong. You will see.”
He did not argue.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They couldn’t stay.
Having turned to the wall to shield Catherine from the spray, Collier looked over his shoulder at the waters churning three feet below. Hardly had the tide begun to ebb when a wave crashed against the cavern opening, sending water streaming down his face.
“Catherine!”
She stirred and pressed herself nearer him.
“You must awaken!”
She lifted her head. “Collier?”
Certain she was too drowsy to realize she called him by his first name, he said, “The water is near the top of the entrance. We have to leave.”
Her silence stretched, then she moved off his lap and peered over the ledge. “Surely ’twill not rise further.”
He straightened beside her. “I believe it will reach this ledge, and by that time, it will be too late to escape. If it continues to rise—”
“’Twill not.” Desperation pitched her voice high. “We shall remain here until the water recedes.”
“No, we’re leaving.”
“I cannot swim!”
“It’s possible you won’t have to.”
“What say you?”
He pulled her to him. “All you have to do is hold onto me.”
She was shaking again.
“Catherine?”
“I am afeared!”
She had every reason to be. Though he was a strong swimmer, even he might not be able to resist the currents. “I won’t fail you.” Lord, he silently beseeched, let me not fail her as I did Aryn. “I promise, Catherine.”
She was too long in responding, but finally she said, “I will hold to you.”
He slid his hand down her arm and meshed his fingers with hers. “Let’s go.”
Choosing his footing carefully over the slick rock, he guided her across the ledge. The first three steps remained above water, but beyond that the tide surged. As he pulled her after him into the stinging cold, she gasped and strained backward.
“It’s the only way, Catherine.”
She whimpered, but yielded to the water that rose around their thighs, hips, and chests as if to swallow them. And given a chance, it would.
With one hand, he secured a firm grip on the step above, and with the other, turned Catherine to face him. “Put your arms around my neck.”
She complied, and with the water supporting most of her weight, he searched along the cavern wall for his first handhold, then a foothold beneath the tide. It was something he had done many times, his passion for rock climbing driving him to challenge mountains, cliffs, even a glacier. But never had he done it submerged in water with a current dragging at him. Nor with an arm weakened by its recent injury.
Slowly, he worked his way toward the cavern opening, stopping only to press himself and Catherine to the wall when the larger waves hit. Twice he lost a handhold, three times a foothold, but he quickly regained them. Fortunately, the water was more forgiving than the heights he was accustomed to—far more forgiving, he amended as memories of his accident crept from the recesses of his mind.
Catherine was silent, the greatest evidence of her presence bouts of shivering that came closer and closer together.
She was in the beginning stages of hypothermia. He had seen it before and experienced it himself. Though fairly warmed by the effort of traversing the wall and maintaining his holds, he gave off too little heat to help her.
The currents became more treacherous near the cavern opening. They thrust him side to side and bloodied his fingers as he clung to the rock. Though years of free climbing had toughened his hands until it was unnecessary to tape them for scaling rock walls, since the accident, his fingers and palms had softened. And now he felt the pain.
Focus, he silently commanded and maneuvered nearer the opening. Then, blessedly, they were on the other side. But the relief was short-lived. An incoming wave slammed into him, thrusting him against Catherine and her against the rock.
She cried out.
“Don’t let go,” he said. “We’re nearly there.”
Gross exaggeration. He knew it even before he lifted his face into the slashing rain. As thought, the cavern was located at the tip of the rock jutting into the sea. High atop that cliff perched Strivling Castle. Even were it a clear day, it was unlikely anyone on the walls would notice them clinging to the rock below.
He braced himself for the next wave, and when it finished battering him, looked to where the shore should be. It was not, the sea having claimed it. That left only this rain-swept outcropping. Alone he could scale it, but not with Catherine. He would have to work his way around to the side and pray he found a way up from there.
“Ready?” he asked.
She shivered hard.
“Look at me.”
When she raised her face from his shoulder, he saw confusion there. Her condition was worsening.
Another wave hit, and when it drew back, he once more set his mind to keeping his vow to her, blocking out the pain of bloodied fingers and strained arms as he forged onward.
The sea was cruel. It pounded and drenched him, and time and again tore his fingers from the rock, but he didn’t pause until they made it around the side of the outcropping.
Settling his gaze on a shelf of rock thirty feet ahead, he murmured, “Thank you, Lord,” then turned his mouth to Catherine’s ear. “Not much farther,” he said and reached for a crack in the rock.
It was easier going along this side, but nature wasn’t finished with him. Still, he proved himself as he had done often before his accident. “We’re there, Catherine.”
“There?” Her face was gray, lips tinged blue.
He maneuvered her around. “I’ll help you up.”
She dropped her head back against his shoulder, and seeing the shelf of rock she must climb, croaked, “I cannot.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Nay!”
If not for the handhold he had to maintain, he might have shaken her. “You are Catherine Algernon. You can do this.”
She shuddered, panted, then jerked her head in assent.
Collier shielded her against the next wave, and when it drew back, released a handhold and began boosting her up. Having only one arm to assist her, his leverage was poor. Worse, she was so stiff with cold her grasping hands were unable to find purchase to pull her onto the shelf. But he couldn’t help her anymore. If he released the rock, the sea would snatch him to its depths. And then her.
“That’s it, Catherine,” he urged.
She struggled again to raise herself, and just when he thought she would fail, she pulled her torso onto the shelf. But another swell was coming, and by the roar preceding it, this one was near and of a size that provided too little time for her to drag her lower body after her upper. She would be swept away.
Collier tightened his hold on her, but he had only begun to pull her down when the water crashed around them and tore her from him. “Catherine!” he bellowed as the wave lurched back, laying a path for others rising in the distance. He wouldn’t lose her. Would not!
He had just loosened his grip on the rock
when she surfaced ten feet out, her frantic gaze finding his a moment before she went under again.
His first instinct was to jump in after her, but the only way to save her was to stay where he was. Otherwise, they would both be hurled against the rocks.
She appeared again—five feet away, the water rushing ahead of the swells having carried her nearer. But it also meant he had only seconds to reach her before the wave overtook her.
Tightening his hold on the rock, he rasped, “Please be here, God,” and threw out an arm.
Catherine reached for him as she sank beneath the surface, and he felt her splayed fingers brush his.
“God!” he pleaded, and though he thought he had stretched as far as he could, suddenly he had her.
Fingers clenched around hers, he dragged her through the water. “Hold onto me,” he said as he sandwiched her between the wall and himself.
Coughing and spluttering, she wrapped her arms around him.
The wave struck as he found his handhold again. When it drew back, there was no time to comfort her. “We have to try again, Catherine.”
He glimpsed terror on her face as he turned her, but she made another attempt, and this time reached the shelf.
He quickly followed, and gripping her arm, pulled her over the rough terrain. She stumbled after him, but he gave her only enough support to keep her from falling. If there was any hope of warding off hypothermia, she had to move.
Once clear of the sea’s threat, he halted. As the wind blew stinging rain across them, Catherine raised her gaze to his, and in her eyes were a tumult of emotions. Fear. Sorrow. Regret. Even anger. Then she fell into his arms.
With sobs causing her slight body to spasm and warm tears to bleed through his wet tunic, he vigorously rubbed her back and sides.
“We must find shelter, Catherine.”
Her head bobbed. Possibly a nod. Possibly a shudder.
Though his mantle was soaked, he removed it and draped it over her shoulders. If nothing else, it would keep the wind off her.
As they picked their way over the rocks toward the cliff, he searched for a place to shield them for the remainder of the storm. There was none, and Catherine wouldn’t tolerate the elements much longer.