The ground beneath them was slick with rain, roots twisting like ropes across the path. They picked their way carefully, his stride shorter than usual to match hers. The scent of wet leaves clung heavy in the air, and now and again a gust sent water sluicing down from the branches above.
Already soaked to the bone, he was trying to gauge how much further they had yet to go when the earth shifted beneath his boots whilst in the midst of pulling weight off one foot, transferring it to the other. One step, then the next—and the ground gave way.
He wasn’t even given time to scramble out of danger, had only enough time to shove at Claire’s hand and release her before the forest floor collapsed beneath him in a sudden, gut-wrenching drop. He crashed down into darkness, landing hard on his back, the breath knocked clean from his lungs. Pain jolted through his arm as it struck stone, but worse came an instant later—his leg twisted beneath him, ankle wrenching with a sickening snap of pain. He rolled with a groan, teeth clenched against the shock, every nerve screaming at once.
Above, Claire’s scream pierced the night. He twisted his head up, vision swimming in white hot pain, just in time to see her stumble forward at the edge of the pit.
“Claire—nae!” His voice was hoarse with warning, but too late.
Her foot slid in the slick mud, balance gone. She pitched forward, arms flailing, the basket tumbling from her grasp. He forced himself upright with his good arm, bracing beneath her even as she dropped.
The impact rattled his bones. She was slight of weight, but struck him directly in the chest, driving the breath from him a second time. He caught at her instinctively, trying to shield her as she landed. Agony seared through his arm, but he locked it tight around her waist, keeping her from striking the rock. Herknee slammed against the top of his thigh, blessedly not any higher.
They came to a stop in a tangle, Ciaran on his back, her face pressed against his shoulder, her hair whipped across his face. For a moment there was only the sound of their ragged breaths, the patter of rain above, and the thud of small bits of earth still sliding down around them.
Ciaran clenched his teeth, forcing air into his lungs. “Are ye hurt?” His voice came rough, winded.
Claire pushed back enough to look at him, eyes wide in the dim light filtering down. Her hair was loose from its kerchief, damp strands clinging to her cheeks, other wet locks pulled away from his face as she reared up in his arms.
“I—I think I’m all right. Oh, God, I’m so sorry for landing on you,” she said, her thigh wedged between his legs.
He lay still another moment, with Claire pressed close on him in the dark pit, the rain trickling down through the opening above. She smelled of crushed leaves and lavender, her breath warm against his jaw. He shut his eyes briefly, fighting both the pain and the unnerving awareness of her body draped over his.
He had aches and pains that suggested he should be sorry, too, that she’d landed on him.
But he wasn’t, not really.
Chapter Ten
Into the Hollow
––––––––
She shifted, and he couldn’t stifle the hiss of pain that tore from him.
“Ciaran?” she ventured, freezing above him. “I’m afraid to move. I’ll get off you,” she said, a wince in her tone, “but just tell me what not to touch.”
“My leg,” he acknowledged. “Left leg, I’ve thrawn my ankle.”
“Oh, no. Okay,” she said, sitting up fully on top of him without using her hands to push against him.
Straddling him, she hesitated a moment, appearing to decide in which direction to move, the darkness obscuring the exact breadth and depth of the hole.
Ciaran gritted his teeth, the pain in his ankle and that in his left arm impossibly forgotten. There was nothing wrong with his right arm or hand, and it was resting right now on the side of her thigh—Jesu, but her skin was soft!—her skirt having ridden up in her tumble and scampering. For the briefest moment, he let his fingers sink into her lean flesh, rolling his eyes with this new agony before he growled, “Just move.”
“All right, all right—sorry,” she said. She did, sliding off to his right. “Sorry, I can’t see—there’s probably spiders everywhere down here.”
“The absolute least of our problems,” he said, sitting up just as she scrambled to her feet. His breath hissed again as he dragged his legs closer to stand, his left ankle throbbing like fire inside his boot. He braced a hand against the wall of earth, careful of his left arm, and forced himself to rise. The motion wasslow, careful, his right leg taking most of the burden, until at last he stood, and glanced around more fully now.
The hole was no shallow pit but a gaping cavity in the earth, its walls sheer and damp, root-laced soil rising almost twice his height. It stretched wide enough that four or five men could have stood shoulder to shoulder within it, the air close, heavy with the scent of loam and old rot. The scant light from above revealed jagged edges where the ground had given way, the rim too high and too far to reach without aid.
Bluidy hell, and how were they to escape this?
“What is this?” Claire asked. “Some kind of sinkhole?”
Ciaran dragged in a breath, supporting himself with his right hand anchored to the wall, all his weight on his right foot. “Nae,” he said grimly, some long ago recollection coming to him. “I ken what this is.”
She turned toward him, eyes wide in the gloom.
