She nodded, suddenly as serious as he was.
“We have to let go.”
“Are you afraid?” she asked in a rush.
“Frightened witless,” he said calmly, taking a firm hold of her hand. “We’ll push off from the wall three times, then on my command, we’ll let go of the ropes together.”
She nodded and kept her eyes on his, as they planted their feet on the wall side by side, and shoved off, once, twice…thrice…
“Let go, my love,” he said as simply and evenly as if they had been walking in the woods.
Hands threaded together, they fell through the air frighteningly fast, like heavy stones, and echoing out over the water, his scream was as loud as hers.
The water was cold;it slapped and stung and was endless, swimming through it was truly endless. When Lyallfeet’s finally hit the silty bottom, he pulled Glenna into shallow water, while the mewing cat, slung over his shoulder, squirmed and scratched at him. They stumbled together onto grassy land, breathless, spent and soaked.
Lyall dropped the sling between them and lay there, then rolled onto his back, breathing so hard it hurt and staring up at the blue sky, the grass feeling strangely warm beneath him.
“Solid land has never been so welcome,” Glenna muttered, laying face down on the grass next to him, her head buried in her arms. “Do I still have arms and legs? I cannot feel my limbs.”
The cat coughed and sneezed and spat, and sneezed again, shook itself and sent water in all directions. It looked like a drowned rat as it butted up to Glenna, and sat there with a thoroughly puzzled look that said, how could you do that to me? When she ignored it, the cat squealed plaintively and batted her with its paw.
Glenna opened one eye, stared at the cat for a moment, then said, “Vengeance is mine, puss.” The cat only meowed and ran off into the bushes. "Traitor," she muttered. "I save you and you go running off for a life of your own."
Her words were never more true. She had a life of her own, the future she was born into. Lyall watched her. She did not know he was trapped by his actions, nor that his stepfather would make him face what he had done. Bits of moss clung to her long hair and her face was smudged with dirt or ash. Water dripped from her tunic, trouse and head. She was soaked from head to foot, and she had just leapt from a tower. Lyall closed his eyes.What have I done to you?
As if she had read his thoughts, she turned to glance at him, and frowned. “Don’t look so fretful, Montrose. A little water never hurt me. ”
He shook his head and said, “We just leapt from a rope that was hung from a chain in burning tower that belongs to one of your father’s enemies—a tower I was responsible for putting you in—and landed in a lake…with a cat. I am not certain what your father would have to say about all this but I expect he will say plenty.”
“Since my father--a man I have never met, mind you--is not, nor has been, on home soil for most of my lifetime, I do not believe he has any say in what has gone on with me…and you. I am alive. He should be thanking you.”
“I do not think royal gratitude is in my future,” he said dryly. “You are his daughter.”
She scrambled to her knees and leaned over him, her hair dripping on his chest. “Aye. I am his daughter and you have my gratitude.” She leaned down and kissed him, softly, tenderly. “My eternal gratitude,” she murmured against his mouth, and his hand cupped the back of her head. “Kiss me, Montrose.”
“There is where we have a problem.” He picked a strand of lake moss from her hair. “I am not Montrose.”
“Kiss me, Sir Lyall Robertson,” she said laughing. “Kiss me now! I love to kiss. Consider it a royal command.”
He looked up into her eyes, filled with humor, with challenge and that fine line, the spark in her eye that bespoke her deepest desire, along with a touch of avarice. “You look at me the same way you eyed that plump pearl.”
“Aye,” she said nonplussed. “I have a keen eye. I can gauge your worth.”
His worth? What was his worth? He no longer had his good word and felt as if he were searching for the good in himself somewhere in the depth of her eyes. He wiped the wet hair from her cheek, moving his thumb to her mouth as he drank in her face, drawn to her because of that odd thing she seemed to see in him--something worth saving.
He came close to believing it was true….close.
“You love me,” she said, in almost a whisper, but without hesitation, and as if she were telling him a secret no one else knew.
He was not a strong man. He could not fight this. With all the lies he’d told her, now he owed her the truth. “Aye, witch, Ido love you. But I believe you are the only one happy about it. You forget. I am a traitor and you are the daughter of the king.”
She gave a sharp and bitter laugh. “You are no traitor.”
“You say that after what I did.” He shook his head. “You forgive me far too easily.”
“Aye, if there were anything to forgive. I know why you did what you did. How else were you to get Dunkeldon? I have spent most of my life taking what I want.” She shrugged. “You bartered me for what you wanted. Why would I not understand?”
He looked at her for a long time. “What do you see, that I cannot believe?”
