Past the white tips of the waves ahead, she gasped in horror. Caught in the water’s rage, he was speeding toward several rocks juttingfrom the river.
“Watch out!” she screamed.
He slammed against the rocks. Shoulders slumped, he bobbed within the batter of waves.
Fighting back terror, pain cramping her muscles, she swam hard toward him.
The current swept them around a corner, with him severallengths ahead.
The banks widened, and the flow flattened until the riotous mayhem of moments before calmed to ripples.
Heart pounding, she caught his arm. Fighting the weight of his sopping clothing, she hauled him against her. His eyes were closed, a deep gash lay across his head, and blood streamed down the side of his face.
“Bróccín!”
He moaned.
Thank God he was still alive. She trod water.“Can you swim?”
Silence.
Her hold tight, she swam toward shore. Gwendolyn’s foot hit silt, and she could have wept with relief.
She continued kicking until her toes hit solid ground. Through will alone, she dragged him onto the bank, then collapsed at his side.
Muscles aching, her breaths coming fast, and exhaustion blurring her thoughts, she glanced around, unsure how far they had gone. With the time they had remained in the river and the speed of the current, they should have traveled quite a distance. Given the rough terrain, even on horseback, ’twould take the duke’s men hours to reach them, if not a day. Time enough for them to be long gone.
She shoved to her knees. Body trembling, she touched his shoulder. “Bróccín.”
Silence.
Gwendolyn smothered the surge of panic and shook his shoulder.
His head lolled to the side, and an ominous stream of red trickled downhis pale cheek.
God help her, she needed to stop the bleeding. First, she had to get him out of the open. Pulse racing, she scanned the area. Along the shore, mud-caked grass lay smeared against the earth, outcroppings of rocks ending where thick fir towered before the forest.
Her throat tightened as she stared at the dense swath of trees. On horseback ’twould be a difficult trek. On foot, an even greater challenge.
Legs shaking, she got to her feet and lifted him to a sitting position. Gritting her teeth, she slid her arms beneath his shoulders, tugged him with her as shestaggered back.
He slida hand’s width.
Again, she pulled. On the fourth try, her legs gave and she sprawled backward into the muck. As if mocking her efforts, mud-stained droplets rolleddown her face.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to give up. Bróccín needed her, and after all he’d sacrificed, by God, she’d do whatever it took to take care of him.
With a hard shove, Gwendolyn pushed to her knees. A sense of being watched shivered up her spine, and she glanced around. Stilled.
Across the short clearing, several mounted knights watched her.
Breaths coming fast, she jerked her dagger from its sodden sheath, stood. “Stay back!”
Anger clouded the closest rider’s face, a tall, muscled warrior, his long brown hair secured by a leather tie at the nape of his neck. “Moveaway from him!”
Far from relieved by the Scottish burr, too aware of their proximity in regard to the Bruce’s encampment, she searched his garb and the others for a signof his loyalty.
Naught.
