Ariadne's Diadem (26 page)

“I can call out if he does anything!” Without further ado, the nymph slipped silently into the Wye and swam down into the weed-laced depths, which were as much home to her as the open air.

The occupants of the rowing boat had no idea at all that she was cleaving through the water only a few feet away, nor did they see Gervase and Sylvanus slipping from bush to bush on the shore, keeping the boat in sight all the time. The distant thunder of the rapids carried on the breeze as Anne tried to reason with Hugh, who had been prolonging their moments alone together by arguing passionately in favor of keeping the match. He was so convincingly dismayed that when he begged her to accompany him on the river, claiming that rowing would provide him with a welcome distraction, she felt obliged to agree. His evident distress puzzled her, for she could see no reason for him to want her as his bride-to-be. On his own admission he wasn’t compelled to take only her, and as Duke of Wroxford he could have his pick from the length and breadth of England, so why on earth was he almost
begging
her not to withdraw?

Confused, and becoming a little discomforted by his vehement defense of a contract she certainly had no desire or need to preserve, she began to wish she’d stayed on the shore. She lay back uneasily in the stem of the boat, trailing her fingers in the water and gazing fixedly toward the far shore, where St. Winifred’s Well had now come into view. She hadn’t looked directly at Hugh for several minutes because she was embarrassed, and so she wasn’t really aware that he had ceased to row. He kept talking as he shipped the oars and then stood, and it wasn’t until the boat swayed as he stepped forward to seize her that she at last began to look around to see what was happening. Someone shouted from the shore. She thought it was Charles, but there was no time to heed the warning because Hugh lunged at her. She tried to scramble away as he grabbed her, his hands at her throat. Her screams were choked and terrified, but then someone, or something, reached up from the water and began to rock the boat so fiercely from side to side that the oars fell overboard.

Another shout rang from the shore, and Hugh hesitated as he thought he recognized the voice. The boat was rocked even more violently as he half turned to look, and he staggered, lost his balance, and with a cry was pitched headlong into the river. He fell against Penelope and in spite of his shock was aware as she tried to squirm away. His clawing fingers twisted instinctively in her long, flowing hair, and she gasped with pain as her head was wrenched backward. His murderous resolve wasn’t diminished as he thought that Anne must have been thrown overboard as well, and as he began to hit the diminutive nymph furiously with his clenched fist, it was Anne he believed he was knocking unconscious in order to more easily hold her under the water.

The boat had begun to be carried downstream from the moment Hugh had shipped the oars, and as he fell into the water without succeeding in his monstrous plan, Gervase began to run desperately along the shore. The dull roar of the rapids could now be heard clearly in the darkness ahead, and from the thunderous sound he realized the flimsy vessel would not survive them. He knew nothing of Penelope’s plight, for his thoughts were all of Anne, who had to be saved before the drifting boat reached the gorge.

Sylvanus’s alarmed attention remained fixed upon the threshing water where Hugh was attacking Penelope. The faun began to dash helplessly up and down the shore. He knew Penelope needed him, but he was terrified of the river. The desperate struggle went on, though, and then he heard the little naiad sob his name. It was too much. His love for her overcame his dread, and with a silent prayer to Bacchus, he leapt into the river.

At first his panic was almost overwhelming, but then knowledge came from nowhere, and he began to swim like a dog. His limbs moved swiftly and rhythmically, and his lifelong fear was suddenly vanquished as he began to close the gap between himself and the nymph he adored so much. “I’m coming, my love! I’m coming!” he bleated so fiercely that he felt as if his heart would burst.

Penelope was frightened. She had always thought naiads would be indestructible in water, but now it was clear she was as vulnerable to drowning as any human. She struggled with all her might, but Hugh merely held her hair more tightly, and all the time rained blows upon her. Suddenly, Sylvanus was there, kicking and punching as he hurled himself upon his beloved’s assailant. Caught unawares, Hugh had to release Penelope in order to defend himself properly, and the moment she was freed, the battered, barely conscious nymph swam down into the depths of the Wye.

Hugh pulled back, unable to withstand such a frenzied attack, and at last he saw the faun’s horns and snub-nosed face, the horror of the Neapolitan grove returned and a scream of terror was wrenched from him. With triumphant bleat, Sylvanus delivered an upper cut to his jaw that was worthy of a trained pugilist. Dazed, Hugh floated away in the boat’s wake toward the maelstrom of the rapids.

Sylvanus trod water and glanced around desperately for his adored nymph. “Penelope? Where are you? Are you safe?” Suddenly, she floated limply up into his arms, and the devastated faun bore her back to the shore, where a shingle bank made it easy for him to carry her to safety in the cloak of bushes. There he cradled her in his arms and showered her poor bruised face with kisses, but she didn’t stir. Not by so much as a flicker of her eyelids was there a sign she was alive.

 Chapter Twenty-nine

The pounding of the rapids shook the air as Anne lay in dazed confusion in the drifting boat She was hardly able to believe that Hugh had just tried to murder her, and yet there was no doubt that was what he would have done if someone hadn’t saved her. She remembered hearing a man shout from the shore—Charles, she was sure of it. At the same time she’d seen small feminine hands reaching up out of the river to shake the boat in order to unbalance Hugh.

Gradually, she became aware of the rapids and with a frightened whimper pulled herself up to stare into the darkness ahead, where the sheer wooded cliffs of the gorge marked the rocky descent that surely spelled death. Then she heard someone shout again and saw a man standing on the boulders that forced the river through the first rapid.
Charles!
She tried to call his name, but no sound passed her frightened lips. Tears stung her eyes, and she continued to cling to the edge of the boat, grasping the damp spot left by Penelope’s fingers.

Gervase had sprinted along the bank. The current was much more swift as the river neared the confines of the gorge, and he knew he stood no chance of being able to swim out to the boat. Once on the rocks, he would be about four feet above her, and his only hope would be to pluck her from the boat. But did she have the strength, and the wit, after what had just happened? His heart pumped exhaustedly as he scrambled onto the damp stone and began to shout and wave. He saw her pale face looking toward him. The roar of the Wye was deafening as he lowered himself above the shining water and held his hand down.

“Take my hand!” he called, but his voice seemed lost in the racket of the river.

She knew what she must do, but her muscles seemed
to have lost their strength. All she could do was cling to the side of the boat.

“Anne!” Seeing her frozen immobility, he shouted her name like a command.

His tone cut through her fear, and suddenly she found the will to move. Somehow she made herself let go of the side of the boat and braced herself to reach up to him. The current was racing now, and she was skimming toward him so quickly that she knew she would have only a split second in which to catch his fingers. Tears stung her eyes, and she felt more daunted than she ever had in her life, but she found the courage somewhere in the depths of her soul, and as the boat shot between the rocks, she stretched up with all her might. His fingers closed firmly around hers, and suddenly she was swung from her feet.

The boat skimmed on, grating and cracking against the rocks as the river began to claim it, but Gervase had Anne tightly in his grip. It took all his strength to pull her up onto the rock, but at last she was in his arms, precious and safe, her body trembling with fear and relief.

“It’s all right now, my love, it’s all right,” he whispered.

The Wye drowned his words, but she knew what he said, and her arms moved around his waist. As she sobbed and buried her face against him, however, there was renewed danger only a few feet away. While the river’s main current sped furiously between the rocks, on both sides just before the bottleneck there was an almost gentle swirl of relatively quiet water, where Hugh, who had recovered sufficiently from Sylvanus’s punches, managed to swim. As he looked up and saw someone hauling Anne to safety, bitter disbelief erupted through him that not only had she survived, but someone had also witnessed what happened. Now both she and her rescuer had to die if he was to save himself! Her hem trailed within his reach, and he lunged up to grab it.

Anne screamed as she was jerked back toward the waiting water. As she tried to kick free, she saw Hugh’s hate-filled face and the whiteness of his knuckles as he pulled with all his might.

Gervase pitted all his strength against his cousin. “No, Hugh!” he cried, gripping Anne tightly as his boots slithered a little on the rock.

At last Hugh realized with whom he was dealing, and his face changed as he stared up at the man he thought had died in the Italian grove. The moment of distraction cost him dear, for the main current snatched at him, and had it not been for his hold upon Anne’s hem, he would have been whirled into the rapids. Desperate to save himself, he clung to the lifeline, and Gervase felt himself being dragged down. Unless Hugh let go, they would all three drown in the Wye!

“For pity’s sake, Hugh!” he cried.

But Hugh’s hold did not weaken. Anne was suddenly his only hope for survival, and even though he knew he stood little chance of succeeding, he began to use her in order to haul himself out of the water.

Gervase’s boots slipped a little more, and he shouted desperately. “You’re going to kill us all!”

Hugh hesitated. Moments from their shared childhood glimmered in the darkness before him, good moments, of which there had been many, and at last he realized the enormity of what he had done. His eyes changed, and he reached up desperately—whether in hope of miraculous rescue or simply to touch for a last time the cousin he had wronged so much would never be known, because the Wye finally plucked him into its watery depths. For one heart-stopping second the cousins looked at each other, then Hugh was swept away through the rapids and dashed so ferociously against the rocks that he was dead before reaching the calmer water a hundred yards downstream.

Gervase was numb, for no matter what, Hugh had still been his cousin, but then his attention was snatched back to Anne, who was still suspended perilously above the eager current. Pulling with all his strength, he at last managed to drag her to safety, then he carried her to the shore and laid her gently in the lee of the rocks, where the noise of the rapids was much more dull.

There he held her to his heart while she sobbed. “It’s over, sweetheart, it’s over; he’s gone forever now,” he whispered, resting his cheek against her hair and exulting in the joy of her heartbeats next to his. After a long while he cupped her tear-stained face in his hands. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She managed to overcome her tears and nod. “Why did he do it?”

Gervase touched her hair gently. “Look no further for a reason than that Hugh Mowbray was a monster without principle.”

“I thought he was so sincere. At least...” She recalled that brief moment in the entrance hall when she perceived a chill behind Hugh’s smile. She searched Gervase’s face. “What was he to you? I mean, you called him by his first name, so your relationship could hardly be one of duke and lawyer.”

Oh, how he wanted to tell her everything, but even now he was afraid to break Bacchus’s condition.

She took his hand and indicated the scratch. “You are the statue, aren’t you?” She could hardly believe she was actually putting the question to him, but she was so sure that his answer would merely be confirmation.

“Yes.”

She stared at him, for much as she had expected it, that single word despatched common sense into oblivion.

He drew her fingers to his lips. “I can’t tell you about it yet, but I will as soon as I can, I promise.”
The moment you tell me you love me...

“Why can’t you explain now? Surely we can trust each other after all that has happened tonight? Or am I perhaps dreaming everything? Will I shortly awaken? Is that it?”

“No, of course not, and trust has nothing to do with it, for I would trust you with my very soul. Believe me, when I beg you to be patient, it is for a very vital reason.”

“Vital? You make it sound as if—”

“As if my life depends upon it? Maybe that’s because it does.” He looked away, for what else but a form of death could he call his fate if she did not confess her love for Charles Danby? He pulled her close suddenly, putting his lips over hers in an agony of emotion that made him brutal, then he drew back. “That is all the answer I can give now, but it tells you what is in my heart.”

She was about to speak again when something on the river-bank upstream made her gasp and shrink against Gervase, who followed her glance and saw Sylvanus. The sobbing faun was holding Penelope in his arms, and the nymph was limp and seemingly lifeless. His tail drooped forlornly, and his cloven hooves slithered on some shingle as he gazed imploringly at Gervase.

“Please help! I think Penelope is dying!” he called, his love for the naiad overriding all other consideration, even Anne’s presence.

Gervase took Anne by the shoulders and looked urgently at her. “His name is Sylvanus, and he means you no harm; in fact I suppose I claim him as my friend.” Then he got up to run to the distressed faun, who placed the unconscious nymph on the ground and then cradled her battered head on his furry but still rather wet lap.