A River Runs Through It (4 page)

Deciding that discretion was indeed the better part of valor,
Kate stayed on all fours, unwilling to take the chance to stand, only to lose
her bearings in the darkness and plunge headlong over the cliff. Such was not
the way she’d planned to meet her maker.

On hands and knees, her skirts and cloak tangling in her legs,
Kate inched her way backward till she touched the wall with her shoe tips.
With great care, she sat up, then stood, pressing her back against the wall.
Some of her blind fear drained away now she had her back to the wall--no one
could come up behind and push her over the edge.

Now safe, her common sense, flimsy though it was, told her
that to confront desperate criminals with no light was a trifle foolhardy, even
for her. With no thought in her mind save that of getting safely out of the
underground maze of tunnels, she felt along the wall until her fingers found
the opening to the tunnel. Anxious to get out of there, she turned to flee,
only to bang smack into clammy stone.

Kate pressed her hand to her cheek. “Bloody hell!”

Her heart almost leaped out of her chest when a disembodied
voice whispered in her ear.

“'Tis better to light a single candle than to curse the
darkness.’”

The words bounced off the stone, echoing eerily in the immense
chamber. Kate’s skin crawled, the hackles rising on her neck like a dog’s.
She wondered who was screaming and realized it was herself. Blending with the
noise from the river, a cacophony of sound echoed wildly, until it seemed as
though all the devils of hell were in the cavern with her, in front, behind, to
the side. There was nowhere to run, no place to hide. Hot tears of fright
stung her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she braced herself to die.

Footsteps came faster, nearer, louder. In the pitch
blackness, she felt rather than saw a shape whip around the corner. Without
hesitation, she stuck her foot out and the figure fell sprawling to the ground.
Automatically, she reached for the pistol in her waistband, forgetting she
wasn’t wearing her Cavalier ensemble. She fumbled in the pocket of her cloak,
but lost precious seconds and never saw the vicious punch which sent her
crashing backwards into the stone wall.

Her head cracked against solid rock. For a split second, she
was conscious, willing herself the strength to fight, but the pain crashed over
her in waves. The pistol rolled uselessly from her grasp and she slid down the
wall into a heap on the balcony floor.

***

By the time Edmund fought his way through the underbrush to a
clearing just below the castle’s massive keep, he was battered, bruised, scratched,
torn, and covered with what he strongly suspected was poison oak.

Thankfully, the information he’d entranced out of the local
misses at the assembly that evening proved extraordinarily precise, even in the
black autumn night. What these young girls were doing with that sort of
information would curl his liver if he was their brother or father. He made a
mental note to keep any future daughter of his own locked up and burdened with
an omnipresent duenna, those proper ladies so dreaded by randy soldiers in
Spain.

Treading carefully, he eased down the overgrown path, rounded
the corner by the disused fountain and nearly shouted. Right in his path stood
a glowing ghost of a woman with leaves growing out of her hair and hands.
Behind her was a man, also white, reaching toward the maiden with both arms
outstretched. Whew. Edmund mopped his brow. Daphne and Apollo. He’d found
the grotto.

His instructions had been less clear on whether it was the
second or third bunch of grapes--or was it the fourth apple? But in any case,
he didn’t know whether to be relieved or apprehensive that the door was
standing open.

Edmund pulled his pistol out of his pocket and held it down at
his side. War was a terrible business. Blood, fear, the stench of death, but
it was something he understood and was experienced in, fighting alongside
soldiers trained as he was. With Lady Katherine, he pretty much believed she’d
get overly dramatic and shoot on sight. And he’d be damned if he’d allow her
to get the better of him this time.

He listened at the door, then stepped inside, pausing to allow
his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He walked slowly, hand to the wall, no
idea where he was going. Unwilling to tip his hand, he’d not allowed himself
to question too specifically about the underground passages themselves, lest it
raise undue suspicion.

So he continued. At the fork he hesitated. He turned left,
but the path stopped no more than a few yards ahead. Huge stones and rubble
filled the tunnel with an impassable cave-in. Edmund turned and took the right
fork. Each step was small and slow as he felt his way, his eyes no more
accustomed to the dark than before. Several times he stumbled on the uneven
path. He paused, and when he heard no sound, felt in his pocket for his
phosphorous box. It was either risk the small light being seen or breaking his
neck. Dipping a match into the phosphorous, he flicked it against the cork.
With a hiss and sputter, the match flamed into life. Edmund lit a candle and
followed the path, shielding the small flame from unexpected drafts. Finally,
he heard the sound of water where the pathway ended in a T. As he debated
turning left or right, he smelled the coppery stench of blood.

Carefully, he dripped wax onto the floor and stood the candle
in it. He pulled the pistol out of his waistband and inched forward, bent
nearly double in the short passage. Again he paused. Barely, below the sound
of rushing water, he could make out the faint sound of breathing. He paused
again to listen. His soldier’s instinct, honed sharp in the terrible war, told
him no assailant waited. Still he paused. The sound of the water was louder
now. Whoever breathed did so without the tense gasps from the fear of assault.
With a yell, he charged into the chamber, wisely keeping his back to the stone
wall.

No enemy answered his call to battle. Edmund paused, barely
daring to breathe. He forced himself to wait, ears on the stretch; his knees
bent slightly to run or absorb a blow. When none came, he took the chance to
reach around the corner and grab the candle. Though no one surged forward to
strike, it was clear someone already had, for in the corner near a huge rock
was the sickening outline of two bodies, one on top of the other.

A man on top lay face up, eyes open sightlessly. Edmund bent
closer, but he was beyond help. There was a gaping wound in his chest, wet
with blood. Edmund touched the corpse’ face lightly. Still warm. He had
probably died only within the last hour or thereabouts.

Swallowing his bile, Edmund focused on the sound of breathing
coming from underneath the body.

Devil a bit! Edmund grabbed the corpse under the arms and
dragged him away. Returning to help the man underneath, his jaw dropped as he
realized it was Kate. She was coughing, her eyes unfocused in the candlelight.
Then she saw the body. Her eyes widened in panicked revulsion. Before he
could stop her she screamed.

Even as the sound bounced and echoed the rushing water below,
she came to her senses, clapping a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.
Whoever had killed had heard, and was running down the tunnel in their
direction.

Edmund stood, holding up a hand up as he strained to hear.
Footsteps, ever closer, but only one set. Not a woman’s stride, definitely a
man. Quickly he handed Kate the candle. With a grim set to his jaw, he
positioned himself fully in the center of the balcony, right at the entrance to
tunnel and braced himself.

The footsteps grew louder as the murderer rounded the corner.
His either saw or sensed Edmund and tried to stop, but his momentum carried him
forward and the two men went down with a whacking great thud.

Edmund damned his skin-tight jacket even as he struggled with
his captive. Wildly, each man grappled to get a punch at the other. They
rolled from side to side, bumping off the walls of the tunnel. Edmund heard
Kate gasp. He reached out with his hand and felt nothing but air. With every
ounce of strength he had, Edmund heaved himself away from the cliff edge. The
faint, flickering light of the candle was little help, but finally, Edmund
jabbed his knee into the man’s stomach. His assailant gagged for breath.
Drawing back his fist, Edmund reached for the man’s collar, but with a
desperate burst of strength, the man bashed his head into Edmund’s neck.
Staggering, choking, Edmund fell sprawling to the stone floor. As he fought to
his feet, he heard the man’s heavy breathing recede and footsteps echoing down
the passageway. Edmund raced after him. In the dark, he stretched out his
arm, put on a burst of speed. With a grunt, he grabbed the man’s jacket,
jerked him back, and landed a wicked punch to the kidneys. The man howled and
fell to his knees. Edmund braced himself against the damp stone wall and
wrenched off his cravat. Panting, he turned back to tie the man up, only to
feel the felt the cold barrel of a pistol at his neck.

Instinctively, he grabbed the man’s arm and brought it down
hard over his knee. Bones cracked sickeningly. The man screamed in pain and
fell to the ground. Edmund scrabbled for the gun. Whimpering, the man hauled
himself to his knees. A sudden glow of light illuminated the passage.

“Kate, get away,” Edmund yelled.

“By your foot,” she screamed back

There was a pause, then both men spotted the gun. As if one,
they lunged for it. Edmund’s hand stretched for it, but his assailant jerked
it away. Sweat dripping down his face, Edmund kicked out, the blow hitting his
attacker in the shin. The man grunted in pain and fell to his knees, and pointed
the gun at Edmund’s chest.

Without a second’s hesitation, Edmund turned and raced back
toward Kate. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her around the corner, back onto the
balcony, stumbling over the corpse as they ran.

“Is there any way out but the passage?”

She shook her head. "No. There was rope swing, but it’s
rotted away.”

There was no time to hesitate. Even now the gun might be
pointed at them. Even under the cover of darkness, a bullet might hit its
mark.

“Where does the river go?”

“It joins the Inswith, by the village. Why?”

“How far down?”

She pulled away. “Are you mad?”

“How far?” He shook her when she didn’t respond. “How far?”

Kate struggled against his hold. “I don’t know! Twenty feet.
Fifty. We’d be killed.”

There was the sound of a trigger being cocked.

“It’s either that or be shot.”

"Then I’ll be shot!”

Edmund pulled her, struggling, to the edge of the balcony. “One,
two, three--jump!” Her hand held his in a grip so tight he had to pry her
fingers from his. He pulled her to him to break her grip, then pushed her out
and over, trying to fling her as far from the wall of the cliff as possible.
Her scream echoed weirdly about the cavern. Edmund waited to hear Kate hit the
water, but it was a second too long. A split-second before he jumped, there
was a flare of orange flame to his left and the white hot pain of a bullet
seared through his body. He jumped.

***

Kate hit the water feet first, but the impact still knocked
the wind out of her. Her skirts floated up over her head, wrapping about her
arms as she descended to the depths of the river. She gasped and choked on the
icy water, instinctively clawing upward, even as momentum continued carrying
her further below the surface. Her clothing grew instantly heavy. Water filled
her mouth. Her lungs hurt with lack of air. The pressure built, but she kicked
and struggled, finally breaking the surface. It was so cold her lungs seemed
paralyzed, but finally they worked and she took huge, gasping breaths.

She tried to look about for Mr. Dalrymple but it was
impossible to see anything. The swift current of the river carried her away
from the Great Cavern. Kate didn’t know whether it was minutes or hours that
she kicked with her arms and legs to keep afloat. Her sodden clothes and shoes
were lead-heavy with water. Finally, when she thought she could struggle no
more, she saw a hint of lighter black which changed to grey. Her head hit the
top of the river’s tunnel. She held what breath she had and dived, staying
below the water as long as she could though her lungs were bursting. Finally,
she kicked to the surface, arms raised for protection. But her hands felt no
rock ceiling and she lifted her head, choking for air.

The air was fresh and cold, with no dankness of the cavern
about it. With great relief, Kate looked about for shore, panting, arms ready
to go limp with fatigue. In the glow of the moon she could just make out the
great pile of crumbling stone which was the castle on the hill. With a sob of
relief, she kicked hard for the riverbank. Finally, just when she thought her
strength was spent, her flailing feet touched bottom. It took every ounce of
will she possessed, but she waded to shore and collapsed on the ground.

Her muscles trembled weakly. Her head whirled. Her stomach
roiled and she retched. Wiping her mouth, she forced herself to her feet and
scanned the river for Mr. Dalrymple. On the far bank, she saw a figure pull
himself up. For a moment she froze, the immediate memory of her assailant in the
Cavern flooding back, but she recognized the tall length of her nemesis and
relaxed.

She glanced about, but no one seemed to lurk in the shadows,
so she waved to Mr. Dalrymple. He must have seen her, for he raised a hand in
acknowledgment and began wading across. He pulled himself up on the bank and
leaned over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. They stood there for a
moment, each savoring the joy of simply being alive. Now that she was out of
the freezing water, Kate’s skin burned hot from the inside, almost as though
she were on fire. In the scant inches which separated them, she could feel an
answering heat from Mr. Dalrymple.