They made it back to the pool quicker than the journey from it. At one point, he wondered if the anxious woman would break into a hard run and race him. He spread the pallet and blanket back in place beside the cold, wet ashes of last night’s fire, alert to whatever strange plot this curious lady intended. He waited, no longer fearing her but watchful. She might be English but had proven herself a kind and caring soul. But something troubled her, and he stood poised to discover what her next move might be.
With the fidgetiness seen in unruly children and thieves about to be sentenced, she paced around the rim of the pool. Her knuckles whitened against the dark green shoulder straps of her bag. He counted three times that she glanced up at the source of the falls. What in Heaven’s name did she see up there? Or hope to see?
“Do ye see what ye missed?” he asked, baiting her to reveal the truth of their return to the campsite.
After another fretful glance all around, she licked her lips, wetting them to unleash another lie. “No. No.” She shot him a nervous smile. “I think I’ll check up there. Be right back.”
As she passed, he snagged hold of her backpack and stopped her. “Leave yer bag here, aye? No sense in toting it up the hillside, is there? Just to look around?”
With a strained, huffing laugh, she shook her head. “No. You’re right. How silly of me.” Her tone crackled with uneasiness. After forcing another tense smile, she slipped off the bag and swung it to the ground. “Be right back.” Then bolted up the hillside.
Quinn strode closer to the water’s edge, his attention pinned on her fine, taut arse as she scrambled upward. A sense of befuddlement made him tilt his head. As she stepped out onto the stone ledge partially hidden by the tumbling waters, startled realization took hold and shocked him into motion. What the hell did she mean to do? Jump? Did she plan to end her life?
Ignoring the grinding ache in his head, he charged up after her. “Evie! Woman, ye must stop!”
She cast back an apologetic flip of a hand, then slipped behind the waters.
If she meant to jump and survived it, he would save her from drowning. He thundered back down the hillside and waded in, never taking his eyes from the source of the falls. “Dinna let her die,” he prayed. “If ye let her live, I willna thrash her arse for her. I swear it.”
Her gurgling scream shattered the peacefulness of the clearing as she broke through the wall of cascading water, arms and legs thrashing. Several large slabs of stone fell alongside her, tumbling downward at a faster speed. He lurched backward, dodged the falling rocks, then dove forward as the churning surface swallowed her.
Even though the calm part of the pool was clear enough to see everything in it, the swirling froth at the base of the falls blocked everything from view. But fate granted him a boon. He caught sight of her shadowy form, grabbed hold, and kicked them both back up to the surface.
Limp in his arms, her head rolled against his shoulder as he swam back to the shallows. He scooped her up and held her. “Fool woman. What the hell were ye thinking?” He had promised God he wouldn’t thrash her arse, but he’d not said he wouldn’t scold her ’til kingdom come.
Head pounding with the same beating of his heart, he lowered her onto the sleeping pallet and hovered over her. “Dinna ye dare die on me, Evie. I’ll be sorely cross if ye rob me of the pleasure of ranting at ye for giving me such a scare.” He blinked hard to clear away an onrush of nauseating dizziness. “And ye made my head hurt worse, ye foolish lass!”
Determined to ignore the sickly feeling, he gently squeezed her arms and legs, checking for breaks. She appeared whole. No blood anywhere either. Her neck and back looked straight enough. She had hit the water at a twisting turn, entering right shoulder first. That side of her face was deeper red than his sister Fern’s best roses. It looked to be swelling, too. He rolled her to her side, remembering how he had awakened on his side after she pulled him from the water.
“I wish I knew what else ye did to save me,” he whispered, resting his aching head on her shoulder. She must live. He would consider nothing else.
He stretched over her and pressed an ear to her chest, praying for the sound of life. A faint thumping echoed, but he couldn’t hear any wind moving inside her. With her face framed between his hands, he held her nose to nose. “Evie!” He was determined to yank her back among the living by the sheer force of his will alone. “Evie Wortham, ye bloody Sassenach! Dinna ye dare die on me! I forbid it!” This blessed woman had saved him. He’d be damned if she’d deny him the satisfaction of returning the favor.
She shook with sudden coughing and choking, spitting in his face. But he didn’t care. At least she breathed, wheezing and sputtering, but she breathed.
He gathered her up and hugged her, smoothing away the hair plastered to her face as he rocked her. “That’s it, lass. Pull that air in and spit out the pool. Hard as ye hit, ye probably gulped in half of it.”
“The ledge,” she rasped out with a weak thump of her fist against his chest. “The ledge gave way.”
“Aye, those were the rocks that fell with ye. Ye’re lucky they hit first.”
“I can’t get back now.” She hit him again. “I can never get back.” Face turning into his chest, her muffled moaning grew louder. She jerked with hiccupping sobs.
“Get back?” He rubbed and patted her back, at a loss as to how to console her. “Course we can get ye to the other side. All we must do is take the long way around the water. We’ll do it once ye’ve rested, aye?”
“You don’t understand,” she argued, her tone so bleak and pitiful his heart swelled. Her hiccupping gulps faded, but she still snuffled and eked out despondent cries. Occasionally, she shuddered in a deep breath and beat on him again as she whimpered, “I can never get back now.”
So he held her. Not knowing what else to do, since the poor thing seemed too distraught to explain it. She had saved him without question, and he felt sure she would hold him, too, if he needed it.
“It will be all right, lass,” he said softly, then without thinking, kissed the top of her head. “I dinna ken what’s happened here, but I swear to make it right for ye. ’Twill all be fine, m’wee hen. I promise.”
If not for his worries about her, he would laugh out loud at himself for calling her hiswee hen.His father had called his motherwee henuntil the day she died. A loving pet name that always made Mam smile and give Da a kiss—even if the bairns were looking.
After what felt like a long while, she stirred in his arms and frowned up at him, her eyes red-rimmed from her tears. “You got your stitches wet.”
Her quiet scolding dragged him from his pleasant daze. A warm woman in his arms. Gentle breeze cooling the ache in his head. Softly twittering birds harmonizing with the continuous splashing of the water. All had lulled him into a feeling of contentment he hadn’t known in a long time. He smiled down at her, his gaze settling on her mouth and staying there, making him wonder how sweet her kisses might be. “What say ye, lass?”
“You got your stitches wet,” she repeated, her voice still weak and quivering. “I told you I didn’t want them wet. Remember?”
