Surely she wasn’t feigning her collapse? Was this what she’d intended to do? God help him, scaring everyone to death—including him?
Now he kicked his steed into a gallop, the villagers scattering out of his way.
Anger blurred his vision—all thoughts of patience and gentleness flying from his mind.
He could feel her breathing steadily. Was that a hint of a smile upon her face or had he imagined it?
Och, there was one way to find out—the lough only a short ride away. A good dunking in shallow water would tell him if she had truly fainted. Holding her close, his own breathing came hard as his chest tightened that she would cause such a ruckus in front of his people.
Men, women, and children thanking her right and left with such earnest gratitude that she should have been moved by it and not spurred to upset everyone!
Did the woman have no heart? Was she so determined to return to her blasted convent that she would do anything to achieve it?
Gabriel’s jaw so clenched now, matching the fierceness of his embrace, that he wondered if the discomfort alone might encourage her to wake from her feigned swoon.
It didn’t, but what did that matter? He was already to the lough, the surface of the dark water sparkling in the sunlight. He reined in his mount and slid from the saddle with Magdalene held tightly in his arms, and still she didn’t squawk or open her eyes or start to struggle as if guessing his intention.
In three strides, he reached the water’s edge and tossed her in—cloak, gown, and all!—though Gabriel cursed at the painful twinge in his shoulder.
Yet it was nothing to his curse that resounded from the mountains around him as Magdalene sank—like a stone.
Nothing left to mark her presence but the ripples radiating in ever-widening circles as Gabriel lunged into the water.
“Magdalene!”
Immediately he sank, too, over his head, no rocky bottom to catch his feet upon as the water was too deep, his mind screaming that he had made a deadly misjudgment. He struggled, weighted down by his clothing, his boots, his sword—but desperation to find her before she drowned made him wildly flail his arms.
Where was she? He coughed, sucking in water, nothing but murky blackness around him as a terrible realization struck him that they might both drown. God forgive him, he’d never been the strongest swimmer, but somehow he kicked himself to the surface to draw in a great heaving breath—
“Good God, man, have you gone as mad as your wife?”
Gasping, Gabriel felt himself hauled bodily to the shoreline even as he fought Finlay, who appeared a great, russet-haired drowned rat.
“Let me go! Magdalene—she’s down there!”
“You mean laying on the bank where I’m trying tae drag you, Gabriel—wipe the water from your eyes! Canna you see her? Canna a man enjoy an afternoon fishing without having tae dive into the blasted lough?”
Gabriel did swipe away the moisture in his eyes, relief overwhelming to see Magdalene coughing and shivering only feet away from him. His chest still heaving, he dragged himself toward her…though the paleness of her face chilled him more than his wet clothing.
What had he done? She hadn’t feigned a swoon at all—while he might have lost her if not for Finlay’s quick action.
“You better get her back before you both catch your death.”
His cousin’s grim words spurring him into action, Gabriel hauled himself to his feet though he staggered. Finlay caught him by the arm to steady him, shaking his head.
“You were never an able swimmer, Gabriel.”
“Aye, I know.” He didn’t say more, but went to Magdalene and grabbed her up from the wet ground, though this time she did try to fight him.
Weakly. Shivering uncontrollably. The only thing not chilled the hot tears coursing down her face and dripping onto his arms.
* * *
“She shivers still,Laird. I canna stop it—and here I bade you tae be gentle with her—”
“Enough, Clovis,” Gabriel grated, as disgusted with himself as he imagined the healer must be. He glanced at the bed where Magdalene lay pale and shaking under a mountain of blankets while logs blazed hot and crackled in the fireplace.
The room was as warm as he’d ever felt it, but it wasn’t enough.It wasn’t enough! Magdalene had turned her face away from any attempt to feed her soup or warmed cider, and the potion Clovis had concocted to aid her in falling asleep had dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
