Page 18 of Mail-Order Viscountess

Her hands shook where they pressed against the frozen ground, trembling so badly she couldn’t make them stop. “I’m fine.” The lie scraped her throat raw.

CHAPTER 7

Thomas pushed himself to his feet, though his ribs screamed at the movement.

The ice wouldn’t hold—not here, not with the break already spreading cracks through the surface like spider webs.

Kate still crouched in the snow beside him, her shoulders heaving with ragged breaths that sent white clouds into the swirling air.

“Can you stand?” He kept his voice level despite the way his side felt like someone had driven a knife between his ribs and twisted.

She nodded, though the movement looked more automatic than certain.

He gripped her elbow and helped her up, his fingers finding purchase through the thick wool of her coat. She swayed when she found her feet, and he steadied her with his other hand at her back. “We need to go upriver.”

She lifted her head, those hazel eyes finding his through the snow. For once, the suspicion had drained from her face, leaving only exhaustion and the remnants of terror. “Upriver?”

“Above the waterfall.” He released her arm but kept his hand hovering near her elbow in case she swayed again. “The ice should be solid there.”

Understanding flicked across her features. She glanced at the river—at the jagged break that had nearly swallowed the wagon—then nodded.

He glanced to the far side. The wagon had made it safely to the far bank, thank the Lord. The horses stood with their heads down, sides heaving, while Rose and Clara clustered near the wheels.

All safe. Everyone accounted for.

Except him and Kate, stranded on the wrong side of a river that had just proven itself deadly.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted across the ice. “James! We’re going upriver to cross.”

His brother’s response came faint through the wind, but the wave of acknowledgment was clear enough.

When he turned back to Kate, she was already stomping through the fresh powder along the bank. The wind whipped her cloak around her legs, but she pushed forward with her spine straight and her chin up.

He set out with large strides to catch up with her. The last thing he needed was to lose sight of her in this thick snowfall.

The woman had nearly watched her sister drown, had felt the ice give way beneath her own boots, and now she walked through a near-blizzard like it was just another inconvenience to endure.

The snow fell heavier with each step, coating his shoulders and hat until the weight of it dragged at his neck. His boots sank into powder that came halfway up his shins in places, and each step pulled at muscles already protesting the fight in Butte and the fall on the ice. Thick flakes clung to his eyelashes and melted on his cheeks. The wind drove it sideways, stinging any exposed skin. He tugged his hat lower and squinted to make sure they were tracking alongside the river.

The bank’s edge blurred into white nothingness beside him, the distinction between solid ground and open air nearly impossible to distinguish. He kept his focus split between that and Kate’s form on his other side—lose sight of either and they’d be in real trouble.

Kate stumbled. He caught her elbow before she could go down, his fingers tightening through the wool. She didn’t pull away this time, just nodded her thanks and kept moving.

He finally released her arm so they could both walk easier. The cold had worked its way through his coat and trousers, settling into his bones with teeth that gnawed deeper with each gust. His ribs felt like someone tightened a vise around them with every breath.

But at least he was moving. Stop now, and the cold would win.

The bank curved, and they followed it, keeping the darker shadow of the river’s edge on his right.

How long had they been walking? Five minutes? Ten? Time stretched and compressed in the storm until he couldn’t be sure of anything except the burn in his lungs and the way each breath sent ice down his throat.

A figure rose through the swirling snow. White and tall—twice his height. Or more.

The waterfall.

The frozen cascade rose ahead, massive and otherworldly through the swirling white. No water moved behind it—the cold had locked it solid. The wind shrieked around the formation, finding every gap in the ice fingers to strengthen its fury.

He pushed toward the figure. He’d planned to trek up the slope to the river above the falls to find a crossing. But maybe first they could rest behind it. In that hollow space where the water had carved the rock smooth over centuries, they’d have shelter from the wind. After that, could they cross to the other side behind the falls? He’d never checked to see if there was a passage all the way through.