His lungs, about to give, cramped in his chest.
Briana had called to him, he was sure. She was alive. Desperation overcame him and he tried again to swim up, but still the ship’s suction held him down. Every muscle ached and he could hold his breath no more. He stopped fighting. He was going to die.
Briana’s image filled his mind. She had disappeared from the trap and he thought then he would never see her again. But he had seen her—she had tried to rescue him but was captured, taken aboard the sinking ship.I can’t lose her again.In that moment he realized everything she said did indeed make sense.
Her image in his mind seemed so real he could almost touch her cleft chin, her cheeks, her lips. He saw for the first time, she was truly Garlain and Patricia’s daughter. Not only in her looks but in her very personality, her mother’s humor and beauty, her father’s strength and courage.
She would not give up and she would not expect him to. That thought snapped him back to reality and his head cleared. He changed direction and instead of fighting the ship, he went with it to the bottom. With no more air in his lungs, he swam along the deck and let the current take him downriver a ways, then with a huge effort, he turned his body upward, fighting the blackness that threatened to retake him under. The pain filling his chest had him wanting to scream, but he kicked and pulled the water out of his way.I cannot die without seeing Briana again. Without telling her I love her.
His head plunged through the surface and he raked in a mouthful of air. His lungs screamed in pain at the onslaught, but he took another breath and another until his chest eased and with exhausted muscles, he made his way to the reed-encased bank.
BREE WATCHED THE SHIPdisappear under the water’s surface. She looked out over the fleeing brigands. Some followed their cohorts and swam around the bend of the river and others scrambled into the bush, fleeing the mayhem.
With her heart heavy in her chest, she wondered how they had all survived when her father and Horland never had the chance.
“You’re killing Horland just like you killed my father. Why?” she screamed. “Why?”
After several minutes, Morla quietened and steppingforward, she brought her arms to rest at her sides. She pointed. “There.”
Bree followed her gaze, and she couldn’t mistake the head that appeared out of the water, and then the upper half of his body that fell onto the riverbank.
“Horland,” she cried out, as she pushed Morla out of the way and ran to the edge of the river.
Clasping her hands under his shoulders, she tried to drag Horland free of the water, but he was too heavy.
“Help. Someone help me!”
Tears erupted from her eyes and trailed down her nose. She sniffed. “Please be alive, please be alive.”
Mayland was by her side in a heartbeat. “‘Sir Horland,” he breathed as he grabbed the knight’s arms and dragged him clear of the reeds.
Horland coughed. “Briana?”
Briana let out a sobbing laugh. “Yes, it’s me. You’re alive.” She patted his shoulders and sides. “Are you injured?”
He shook his head and with Mayland’s help, got to his feet. But as soon as he took a breath, he coughed and had to take a moment to regain his breath.
He wiped his hands down his face and faced Bree, gazing into her eyes, and she was caught by the deep emotion there.
“Not fatally.” He stared downriver where the last of the bandits had disappeared around the bend. He pierced her with his gaze. “Wy would you give over your life to the brigand to save me?”
She searched his eyes, trying to make out what he truly felt. Was he angry or thankful? “What else could I do?”
Before she had a chance to react, his lips were on hers, gently brushing against her mouth as if asking for admittance. She opened her mouth in answer and he crushed her to him. His kiss sucked the very life from her, and she didn’t care, freely giving him what he wanted, what she wanted.
“Briana,” Kieri called, pulling at Bree’s cloak. She ignored the child. Not wanting Horland to remove his lips from hers, she resisted the real-world intrusion. She didn’t want to think about what had happened she wanted to stay in the blissful fog that Horland’s kiss induced. Bree waved Kieri away. “Briana.”
The child’s voice broke through her abstraction and the real world crashed in on her senses. She refused to think about her father, how she had travelled so far back into the past only to lose him for all time. She needed to stay in Horland’s arms, safe, and consumed by his touch, but now that the thought of her father intruded on her mind, she couldn’t reclaim the euphoric feelings she had experienced moments before.
Horland pulled away from Bree. “You can speak?” Horland asked Kieri. “What magic is this?”
“Not magic,” Bree whispered, drawing further back from Horland. The sounds around Bree began to coalesce into being. She looked up at the veranda. Morla was gone, and so too was that awful screeching. She gazed at him and smiled. “It’s a long story.”
As she spoke, light rain fell on her head. The men, women and children prisoners fled for refuge in the ruins, and Bree gazed at the drops falling on the surface of the now empty and peaceful river.
Horland put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her into his side. “Is Sir Garlain well?”
Bree shook her head. “No. He was in the hold of the ship.”
