Michael caught her arm as she swayed, steadying her. “Helena, stay back!” he said sharply.
She didn’t hear him. Her entire world had narrowed down to the river below, her mind racing with fear and disbelief.
“He’s gone,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Alexander…”
James and the other men rushed to the edge of the river, their faces grim as they scanned the water. But there was no sign of either man, only the violent current as it carried them downstream.
Helena sank to her knees, her tears mixing with the rain as she clutched her chest. Michael knelt beside her once more, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.
“Helena,” he said softly.
“Find them! Downstream! Get the horses!” Helena ordered.
The five men stood there, speechless.
Helena’s heart ached with a pain she had never felt before, her mind filled with images of Alexander’s bloodied face, his determined eyes as he fought for her, for them.
And now he was gone, lost to the river that had swallowed both him and the man who had caused her so much pain.
The storm raged on, the wind howling through the trees as she stood defiantly, unwilling to give up just yet.
“I said, get the horses!”
The cold rain had soaked through her dress, the fabric clinging to her skin as she stood beside the riverbank, her chest rising and falling with determination. James and the other three men had gone to fetch the horses, but Michael remained by her side.
She wiped her tears, no longer willing to let despair take hold.
“We’ll find him,” she said firmly, her voice steady now. “He’s nae gone. I ken it.”
Michael stood silently nearby, his face pale and grim, his eyes fixed on the rushing water. His sword hung at his side, forgotten, as he leaned against a tree for support. When he turned to her, his expression softened.
“Helena,” he began, his voice hesitant. “Ye need to rest. Ye’re soaked through.” He shrugged off his heavy woolen jacket and held it out to her. “Take this, at least.”
She shook her head, her wet hair plastered to her face. “Nay, Michael. I dinnae need it. What I need is to find Alexander.” Her voice was sharp, unyielding, as she glared at him.
Michael frowned, lowering the jacket. “Ye cannae do this to yerself. Ridin’ through this storm, the cold—ye’ll make yerself ill.”
Helena stepped closer, her doe eyes fierce. “And what would ye have me do? Stand here and wring me hands like some helpless maid? I’ll nae stop until I find him, even if I have to swim to the sea!”
He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but her glare silenced him. He looked away, running a hand through his damp hair.
When he glanced back at her, his expression was strained. “Ye think I’m nae afraid?” he asked softly. “Ye think I dinnae care? He’s me braither, Helena. I cannae lose him.”
The defiance in her gaze faltered. She saw the raw pain on his face, the disbelief in his hazel eyes. For all his strength, Michael was hurting too.
Guilt tugged at her chest, and she reached out to touch his arm.
“We’ll find him,” she said gently, her voice steady and filled with resolve. “Alexander’s nae a man to succumb to a river. He’s strong. He’s comin’ back.”
Michael nodded after a moment, though his jaw remained tight.
He looked past her, scanning the river again. “Aye,” he said, though his voice lacked the conviction hers carried.
They didn’t have to wait for long before the sound of hoofbeats broke through the steady patter of the rain. Helena turned, her heart leaping as James and the others rode up to them, leading the rest of the horses.
James jumped down from his horse and handed her the reins of her mare.
“Me Lady,” he said quickly, “the horses are ready. We’ll head down the banks and search every inch. We’ll find him.”
