“Guess who holds thee?”—“Death,” I said. But there,
The silver answer rang... “Not Death, but Love.”
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Amy was going to die.
Once the little girl with the gun had appeared, everything happened so fast. The gun went off; Amy went in the water. When she resurfaced both the girl and Georgina were gone. It was as if the sea had just reached out and swept them away.
Her parents must have told her a thousand times when she was growing up: if you’re lost, stay in one place so someone can find you. But she never had been lost or separated from them. ’Til now.
So she had stayed in one place for the longest time, watching the cave fill up while she waited to be found. Now she realized that the only thing that had found her was the rising tide.
She spotted a single starfish on the wall behind the lantern. It clung there the same way she clung to the rock ledge. Alone. Even the black crabs were long gone. Water glistened from the cave wall in front of her like mirrors reflecting a kaleidoscope of what her short life had been.
She wondered if drowning was an easy way to die. If it was instant. Did people really sink to the bottom? Would she look up and see a dark cloaked figure floating toward her? She couldn’t quite conjure up a mental image of Death approaching her with a sickle gripped tightly in one white hand and the last breath of her life held in the other. Was dying alone the best way? Or the worst way?
If Georgina were still there she wouldn’t be alone. But Georgina wasn’t here. Amy felt certain that Georgina wouldn’t abandon her, no matter how brittle she tried to be. Amy trusted her.
Besides she had heard Georgina call her name. She could be lost out there somewhere. She could die, too. But the Georgina Bayard she knew wouldn’t let a little thing like the Atlantic Ocean defeat her.
Amy looked out at the sea, wondering if she had any of Georgina’s nerve within her. She wished she was a better swimmer. She took a deep breath and tried to climb out of the water. Her heavy skirt and the constant cramp in her side stopped her. No matter how many times she tried to pull herself up, she just couldn’t find the strength.
She suddenly regretted all those doughnuts she’d eaten. They sat in her stomach like a tub of mud and made her side ache terribly whenever she even tried to swim a stroke.
She gripped the jagged and slippery edge of the rock ledge and looked out at the cave entrance. The water was so high she could only see a sliver of mist; it floated like sea smoke.
The lantern sat on the ledge near her hands and still flickered weakly. One more inch of water and the wick would be out.
She propped an elbow on the rock, rested her head on it for a moment or two, and tried to calm herself. Her heart was thudding fast. Her breaths were shallow and hurried. She was just plain scared.
She bit her lip hard and slowly tried to pull herself along the rock toward the entrance, afraid to let go. Afraid not to.
Calum MacLachlan swam through the cave entrance a second later, a lonely figure making steady, methodical strokes that cut through the water easily. One more stroke and his head came up and turned toward the light while he treaded water.
His spectacles were gone and his black hair was slicked back like a sea lion’s. Light from the fading, sputtering lantern cast the sharp angles of his cheeks and strong jaw into hollow shadows. Water clung to a deep smudge of thick beard stubble that made his jaw and cheeks look like they were dusted with coal.
Amy looked into that darkly handsome face of his and felt a nervous mixture of fear and thanksgiving. How strange he was to her, this man who had kept hollering to his brother that he didn’t want her. Yet he had fully expected her to go willingly into his bed. She had been scared of him then.
She was scared of him now. Until he moved closer with an intense look of relief that surprised and confused her. Before she could speak he was next to her in the water. One large hand reached out and cupped her jaw and cheek as tenderly as any lover’s touch she could ever dream up.
“You’re okay.” For a moment she wondered if she had imagined the wealth of emotion she’d heard in his voice. In those two words.
It had been so long since she had heard that kindness and protectiveness in a man’s voice that she couldn’t respond. She thought of her father, the only man she had known who had loved her for herself. It was a difficult memory for her and thinking about him had brought tears to her eyes.
Calum MacLachlan mistook those tears for fright.
“I know you hit me with the glass because you were frightened. Don’t be. I won’t hurt you, lass. I give you my word.”
She stared at him.
The look he gave her fell over her like magic. “I’d sooner cut out my own heart.”
That was the last thing she’d expected to hear from him. Common sense told her she should be quivering with fear. His arm slid firmly around her and he pulled her to his chest, which was warm and real and made her feel safe.
“Will you trust me?”
She looked at his face, really looked at it, and saw nothing there to be afraid of. His expression was full of only honest concern for her.
