Cam rose to stand beside him. “He’s right, Simon. You and your bloody father failed. The statue in Ventnor didn’t kill us, nor did the ceiling beam in the abbey. Graham’s right, you’re a coward and a failure.”
“Shut up, you bitch!”
“Why? Look at you, just listen to you. You are pathetic. I’ve never seen a more contemptible man.To want your own brother dead.How despicable you are. You are evil walking.”
Simon was cursing her, running toward them, heaving with rage, his gun straight out, screaming, “I’ll kill you this time, brother, and then I’ll throw your bitch of a bride off the cliff.”
When he was no more than six feet from them, panting hard, beyond himself with rage, his arm raised, his gun trained on his brother, Graham aimed the rock he held and threw it as hard as he could. The rock struck Simon hard square in the chest. Simon stumbled, went down on his knees. Graham was on him. He smashed his fist in his face, knocking him to the side. He grabbed Simon’s wrist, bending it to make him drop the gun.
But Simon managed to jerk up the gun and strike Graham’s head, knocking him onto his back.
Cam yelled, picked up a rock and ran at him. She raised the rock to bring it down onto his head when he lurched sideways and knocked her away with his fist.
She rolled over to see the two men fighting, fists striking flesh, blood spurting, and their grunts and curses filled the air. They were evenly matched until Graham stumbled over one of the loose rocks.
Simon reared back and kicked him in the belly. Cam screamed as Graham went backward over the cliff to the beach fifty feet below. She was beside herself. She was screaming as she ran at Simon. She struck his face with her fists, kicked him. He tried to grab her but she was beyond herself, so enraged he couldn’t prevent her fist hitting him again in the face so hard his head whipped to the side and blood spurted out of his nose. He grabbed a rope of wet hair just as she punched her fist as hard as she could in his chest. At the same time she brought up her knee and slammed him in the groin. He yelled, hunched over, and she shoved him with all her strength backward toward the cliff edge. She kicked him again, hard in his belly. Simon flailed the air as he lost his balance. He went over. She heard his screams. She was breathing hard, numb with rage, with pain so deep it was unspeakable. She couldn’t make herself look down at the beach below. She knew she’d see Graham there, dead. Cam fell to her knees, hugged her arms around herself, rocked. An unearthly moan filled the air. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t—
“Cam! I’m here, I’m here! Hurry!”
She heard his voice, but it couldn’t be, couldn’t—
“Cam!”
She crawled to the edge of the cliff, saw only Simon speared on the sharp point of a giant boulder. She leaned forward over the edge and she saw Graham, saw his arms tightlyholding a rock that stuck out from the cliff. He was alive, alive, his brilliant blue eyes fastened on her face.
“Don’t move!”
Cam looked around but didn’t see anything. Then she knew what to do. She ripped off her skirt, her petticoats, and began frantically knotting them together, but the material was wet and she pulled and tugged, her fingers numb and cramping, but she was strong and her bone-deep fear made her stronger. Finally, finally, she managed to tie the second petticoat to the skirt. She ran to the cliff edge, lay on her stomach, and scooted as close to the edge as she could. She threw over the cloth rope, praying it would reach him, praying it would stay knotted. She yelled, “Graham, grab the end. I’m going to run behind a boulder to brace myself and pull you up.”
He stretched up his arms and managed to grab the end of a petticoat and gave it a tug. It pulled taut. How could she be strong enough to pull him up? The rock loosened. It wouldn’t hold him much longer.
Cam yelled, “Now! Pull yourself up!”
As he pushed off and grabbed the petticoat with both hands the rock pulled free, crashed and broke apart. It sounded like bullets striking the cliff as it fell down to the beach.
Graham pulled. The knots held. He didn’t want to die. He thought of Cam, thought of their life together, only begun. He kept his feet moving upward against the limestone, and prayed. The material was wet so his hands didn’t slip. He pulled and climbed, and prayed.
He heard her yell, “You’re doing it. I’ve got you! Climb!”
How could she keep pulling him up? How long could her knots last?
“Hurry, Graham!” The strain was immense, but she had her legs around the largest boulder, the end of a petticoatwrapped around her fists. She held fast against the incredible strain, she had to, had to. The knots would hold, she prayed harder than she ever had in her life.
Time crawled. Her arms, shoulders were screaming with the strain, with the grinding pain, and she would swear the wretched boulder was beginning to move.
She leaned to the side and finally, finally, nearly a lifetime later, she saw Graham’s hands, his arms, and finally, his head clear the top of the cliff. She heard him grunt as he pulled himself over the cliff edge and rolled away.
Graham collapsed on his back, breathing hard, disbelieving he was alive, disbelieving that he’d landed on that narrow out-jutting rock ledge as he’d fallen. He saw the blue sky, then Cam was on him, feeling his heart, her hands all over him, feeling, pressing, then she was leaning down and kissing him, stroking him, kissing him more, her breath catching, tears streaming down her face.
Graham looked up at his wife, saw she was stripped down to her chemise, her hair straggling in wet ropes around her dirty face. He’d never believed her more beautiful. Amazingly her glasses sat crookedly on her nose.
They’d survived. He had his memory back. His wife had saved his hide, and—he was coming to accept it all the way to his soul—they were alive, yet again they’d survived. To his own astonishment as he stared up at her beloved face, he began to laugh. Cam stared down at him, kissed him again. He stopped laughing, brought his arms around her, squeezed. “We’re all right. I’m all right, you’re all right. Thank you for saving me.”
“I couldn’t have borne it, Graham, if—” She stopped, swallowed. He kissed her, settled her on top of him, kissed her throat, her chin, her cold mouth. He swallowed because he suddenly saw his brother flailing in the air, screaming, as he fell to his death. He swallowed tears and the dreadful pain. Memories, so many memories of the two boys, alwaystogether except for their lessons, the laughter, the fights—no, he had to place both Tally and Simon in the past. He saw his brother’s body, knew it was all a dreadful waste. Was it all Tally’s fault? Or had Simon—Graham cut it off. Simon was dead. Tally was dead. He didn’t know how she’d managed to push Simon off the cliff, but it could wait.
He and Cam were alive. Graham pulled her over to her side, hugged her close. What if he hadn’t remembered? What if he hadn’t managed to pull himself through the passage. What if … He stilled. No more questions, most of which would never have answers. It was over. They’d survived.
Her arms tightened around him.
