Linda Barlow (20 page)

"No! Don't leave me. I might be dying."

"You're not dying. I know 'tis difficult, but please try to keep your nerve up for a few more minutes." She leaned over and embraced him, kissing his face. "Courage, Alan. Please!"

He nodded weakly and she kissed him again. His lips were cold. In sooth there was no time to lose. She had heard of people dying of a broken bone or some other minor injury if they were left out in the damp air for long. It was not cold. The night air remained warm, but there was a stiff breeze, and Alan's clothes, like her own, were drenched.

Alexandra coughed violently as she rose to her feet and ran down to the side of the lake. Alan wasn't the only one who was suffering from this exposure to the wet night air. She just hoped she had enough strength left to help him.

On the edge of the lake, she hesitated only for a moment before sitting down and removing her boots, her breeches and hose, and finally, her wet doublet. Clad only in her thin linen shirt, which hung down around her thighs like a shift, she dived into the dark water of the lake.

Swimming was the quickest way to get to Merwynna's cottage. She would fetch the boat from the other side and use it to transport Alan to the wisewoman. If Roger sought her there, it would be a problem, but she forced herself not to consider that possibility. Alan's welfare was her primary concern now.

Alexandra was a strong swimmer, but even so, she would not have leapt into the lake at night if there had been a choice. She loved the water, but she was also wary of it. Even strong swimmers, she knew, could drown.

Besides, there were legends about this lake, legends that one could laugh at by the light of day. Some said a demon dwelt within its depths, a huge primitive creature that poked its ugly head out of the water on moonlit nights. Alexandra had never seen it, but Merwynna smiled inscrutably when she asked her if such a creature existed.

The moon was up, if once again behind the clouds, but its glow was enough to lend some light to the lake now that she was out from under the trees. She stopped briefly, treading water, to orient herself. Merwynna’s cottage on the far shore was faintly visible. She struck out toward it, trying not to imagine the lake’s monster stalking her. Once she thought she felt the water heave beside her, but nothing appeared. She reminded herself that no water creature had ever troubled her before, and Merwynna's words also comforted her: "Water is your element. Trust the water."

Coughing and exhausted, she finally reached the bank where Merwynna's cottage stood. She found the boat, and left it ready while she ran up to the cottage to summon her friend. But no one answered to her knocking. Flinging open the door, she found the one-room cot empty. Merwynna must be attending a childbed or a deathbed. Alexandra cursed and bit her lip in frustration as she realized she would have to manage alone.

She lit a lantern and placed it in the front window of Merwynna’s cottage. She might need the light to steer by while she was rowing. Grabbing a blanket and a bottle of blood-warming cordial, she raced back to the boat. Jumping in, she rowed fast, looking over her shoulder every few strokes to be sure she was headed in the right direction. When she reached the opposite shore, she steered the little boat in beside the rocks and tied it to a low-lying branch. The breeze felt cold on her wet body as she ran to find Alan.

He was still conscious when she reached him, but his breathing was quick and low. There was no time to lose. She wrapped the blanket around him and made him drink a few swallows of the cordial she had brought to warm him. He obeyed, complaining about the taste. She then ordered him to put his arms around her shoulders. "This will not be easy, but we'll manage. You'll have to take some of your weight on your uninjured leg. You’re too heavy for me to carry you."

As they tried to rise, Alan moaned, "I can't. It hurts."

"You can."

He tried once more, then sank back again in despair. "Leave me. I'm going to die."

"Alan, don't be silly. Lean on me. Come, try again."

She managed to drag him a few steps toward the boat; then he stumbled and they both fell. Alan began whimpering. She tried to raise him, but he refused to cooperate. "It’s impossible. I’m in agony, Alix. I can’t make it."

"Are you going to just lie here until you rot?" she cried, as all the tensions of the day erupted. "Dear God, I'm trying to help you! But you're not afraid of death, you're afraid of living. You love death. You court her like a mistress. Go to her, then, and be damned!"

At her wits' end, she stalked several paces away. She wished she had the strength to pick Alan up in her arms and heave him into the boat. Recklessly she picked up a piece of dead wood and slammed it against the nearest tree trunk until it disintegrated. "I hate you all, you bloody Trevors!"

"Alix?" Alan had pushed himself up on one knee and was trying to stand. "I’m sorry. Don't leave me."

"Oh, God, Alan." Her anger drained as shame rushed in to take its place. She felt so horrified by her own words that for a moment she thought she was going to sink down to the ground beside her friend and burst into tears. She hurried back to him and stroked his hair. "Forgive me. I didn't mean it. I’m so sorry, Alan. It’s just been a really vile day."

"No, you're right. I haven't your courage. I've never had it. But I don't love death."

"Prove it," she challenged.

He complied, and somehow or other they managed to move the last agonizing steps to the edge of the water. But when she hauled him into the small boat, Alan fainted. Alexandra covered him snugly with the blanket and pushed the boat away from the rocks with one of the oars, then settled down to row. The crossing seemed to take forever this time. Her shoulders ached, and her left arm was hurting where Roger had twisted it during their struggle. It struck her that this was the only thing he had done to hurt her. He had suffered far more at her hands than she had at his.

Why? she wondered. If he had intended her death, why should he care whether she suffered in the process? He'd had her helpless, completely at his mercy. He could have stripped off her clothing and raped her. He could have picked her up in his strong arms and thrown her over the cliff.

He was a tough, ruthless man whose physical prowess was far superior to hers. It came to her like a hammer blow that she would never have escaped from the cave if Roger hadn't deliberately set a limit to the amount of force he would use against her. He hadn't wanted to injure her. There could be no other explanation.

Oh, sweet Jesu, what if the rocks she had launched at him had killed him? What if
she
was the murderer? The shame she had been feeling ever since she’d yelled at Alan seemed to be spreading to every corner of her being. What if it had all been a ghastly mistake?

The rowboat struck the rocks in front of Merwynna's cottage. Alexandra jumped out and pulled the little boat up on the stony shore. Alan was still unconscious, although he moaned every once in a while. How was she going to get him inside? Damn Merwynna for not being there when she needed her!

She was bending over the boat when she felt a prick on the back of her neck. Thinking it was an insect, she reached around to slap it. Her fingers encountered steel. Slowly she turned. Roger was standing there just behind her, his legs braced slightly apart, his graceful, slender body taut and hard as an ancient colossus. Once again he held a blade to her throat.

Chapter 10

They stared at one another, two quiet shadows in the gathering dark. Roger's face was pale, his forehead streaked with blood where the rock had struck him. He lowered the dagger, but it still glinted between them, a reminder of what she had just recognized while rowing: he had all the strength, all the weapons on his side.

The clouds parted briefly, allowing moonlight to wash her poised, silent adversary. Alexandra could see the way his eyes were taking in the wet shirt sticking to her breasts, her bare legs and thighs, her long waves of soaking hair. In her concern over Alan, she'd forgotten her near-nakedness. A knot squeezed in the pit of her stomach, while the rest of her sagged in weariness. She knew she could run no farther.

Roger reached out and took her by the shoulder, his fingers melting through her flesh to grip her very bones. With his injured hand he thrust the dagger into his belt, then pulled her roughly against him. "No," she whispered, but his mouth came down and smothered the syllable.

He kissed her with a fierce, single-minded fury that unnerved her just as much as anything he'd done in the cave. When she twisted her face away, he wrapped his fingers in her thick hair and jerked her lips back to his. She struggled against him, her mind numb, her body beginning to burn. Through the flimsy barrier of her shirt she could feel the tense contraction of his sinews, the rapid thud of his heart.

"You expect all manner of mayhem and lechery from me?" he muttered against her mouth. "Far be it from me to shatter your expectations, particularly since I've lain awake night after night imagining this."

This
proved to be the slow descent of his palms over her wet breasts. Her nipples buttoned against his fingers and the inside of her head buzzed.

"I'd have wagered my richest cargo that you'd have fled home to Westmor Abbey, yet here you are, bare-limbed as a water nymph, swimming or rowing or some bloody thing. Did you guess that I'd come to the witch to have my wounds tended, or are you a witch yourself?"

"Merwynna's not here."

One of his hands slid over the curve of her hip and down to the place on her thigh where the skin was bare. "All the better." Her flesh burned where he touched her. "I'll be able to ravish you undisturbed."

He hadn't seen Alan in the rowboat, she realized. Alan was safe. No, no, he wasn't safe. If he were left outside for much longer, he would die.

Alexandra tipped her head back, looking into Roger's eyes, trying to see the essence of him. Not the man she imagined him to be, but the man he truly was.

His mouth twisted under her scrutiny. His good hand moved up again to grip her chin between his thumb and two fingers. He stared; his forefinger rubbed the surface of her bottom lip; then he said something unintelligible and bent to kiss her again.

As the heat of his body warmed her, Alexandra recognized that she had stepped into another realm, a place where there were no thoughts, only feelings, only instincts. For good or ill, there was some fundamental part of her that trusted this man. "Ye must learn to follow yer heart," Merwynna had told her. "Not yer reason and not yer imagination, for yer fancies may lead you wrong, but your true heart…"

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, listening for the voice of her true heart. It was as if everything around her paused for an instant. Roger's kiss ended. The clouds stopped moving, the wind stopped blowing, the random sounds and scuffling of the forest stilled…and then something slid into place inside her, and she knew. Opening her eyes, she smiled up at him as she made the leap beyond reason into faith. "I've found Alan," she said.

He said nothing, thinking, no doubt, that it was another trick. Leaning backward, she reveled in the feel of the hand that was so tightly fastened in her hair. His body was all around her, hard, insistent, overwhelming. In response, she was soft and open to him, unafraid. But despite the excitement running in her veins, she couldn't forget about the injured boy. "He's in the boat."

Just at that moment Alan made a low sound. Roger tilted his head. His face was contorted by passion. He stared blankly at her for a moment before his eyes cleared; then he looked back toward the rowboat.

"His leg is broken." She was gasping for breath, and the pit of her stomach felt congested and achy. "He needs dry clothes and a hot fire at once. I found him on the other side of the lake. I had to swim across for the boat."

Roger pushed her away and stalked back to the boat, bending over Alan and feeling for his pulse. "What happened to him?"

"A low branch swept him off his horse. He was trying to crawl around the lake, seeking Merwynna's aid, but the shore is rocky and overgrown with vegetation, so I doubt he’d have made it. Fortunately I heard him groaning." She spoke calmly, but she was beginning to shake.

Roger's breath hissed out in a low whistle. "Fortunately for him, but not so fortunately for you. You'd be safely out of my clutches if you hadn't stopped for him." His eyes ran over her bare limbs again. "You took your clothing off to swim more freely?"