Part 46 (1/2)
And over still.
Speak to me, love. Show me how to help you.
Show me the mist.
His skin p.r.i.c.kled and he glanced around at the ground ending ahead, the crash of waves. Swinging up to Grayfalk's back, he rode to the edge, the horse prancing at the loose ground and the scent of the sea. Gulls skipped around a pile of stones several yards beyond the ocean's sh.o.r.e.
The only shape visible was a broken tower, a fine spray shooting up from the center like a spitting dragon. Then Gaelan recognized the thick curl of mist.
Siobhan held on to the fragments of the wall, gazing down at the rocks and rus.h.i.+ng water below. Her weight and the constant rain threatened the ruins. Her head back, she tipped her face to the sky and concentrated.
Gaelan. Hear me.
Feel me.
Gaelan found a way down, following the cliff edge for half a league before racing across the battered sh.o.r.e toward the ruins. Water fountained behind horse and rider, hooves ripping the sand. Mist cloaked the water's surface, tendrils seeking to grip the sh.o.r.e. He slid from the saddle, stripping off his tunic and mail, discarding all but his braies, then diving into the water. He did not think she could possibly be alive beneath the pile, yet when loose stones rolled into the sea he doubled his effort, strong arms knifing through the water. He grasped the edge of a boulder and, hoisting up, he climbed.
Siobhan!
In his mind the words came, like a whisper, warm and filling him with relief.
I live, my love.
Gaelan choked on his joy and climbed, reaching the summit.
”Siobhan!”
”Hurry, Gaelan, hurry. The ground falls.”
Waves crashed, funneling up to the roofless tower.
Gaelan reached the top, clawing at the mounds of rock and mortar walling her inside. His muscles flexed and strained as he heaved stone after stone into the sea. Then he saw her, clinging to the wall with naught but inches beneath her feet. She cast a look over her shoulder and smiled, relieved and weary and whole.
He smiled hugely.
A piece fell and he shouted her name, for her to be still.
”I do not have much choice, do I now?”
”Tart-mouthed female.” He smiled encouragingly, positioning himself on the ledge, cramming the stones into a more secure position.
”Slow-witted Englishman,” she muttered back, love in every syllable.
Waves slapped and churned below and between them.
”You will have to jump to me.”
She did not argue and nodded, tried turning toward him. Pebbles broke.
”Gaelan!”
”Trust me, my love. Trust that I will not let you fall.” Gaelan reached, his palm out.
Siobhan nodded shakily, terrified of losing everything to her fear. At least her hands were free.
Water shot through the old tower, soaking them, blinding them with stinging salt, and when the gush receded, he swiped at his face.
”Wait for the beat of the sea. And when I tell you, you must jump to me.”
”Aye.”
”I love you, Siobhan.”
”I love you too, husband.”
They counted aloud, Gaelan watching the gush, and when it sucked back, he opened his arms to catch and yelled, ”Now.”
Siobhan twisted and flung herself toward him, but the remains of the floor gave just then, dropping her too soon. He lurched, catching her arm.
”Gaelan!”
She dangled over the rocks, the water, spinning, and he grabbed for her gown, hooking his knees and feet on the rocks to keep from going over with her. Her garments ripped. The next surge would tear her from his grasp. He heaved, dragging her up over the edge and into his arms.
She clung, her arms around his neck, their bodies tightly wedged.
Their lungs labored and Gaelan buried his face in the curve of her neck and sobbed like a babe. She joined him, kissing his bare shoulder, his hair, choking on her tears.
It was a long moment before he could bare putting a fraction of s.p.a.ce between them enough to look her in the eye.
”I love you,” he chanted. ”I thought he'd killed you.” He squeezed her. ”Oh sweet Mother of G.o.d, Siobhan, I wanted to die.”
”Shhh,” she soothed, stroking his head, feeling him tremble against her and loving him more for it. She tipped her head back. ”Kiss me, I beg you.”
He did. A tender brush of lips, frightened that she would vanish. She would not have such coddling, cupping his head and pulling him harder to her mouth. Gaelan gave and tasted the sweetness of his wife, his heartache slipping away with the retreating pull of the sea.
And on the rain-soaked land, atop a primitive Druid stronghold, Gaelan felt the magic of Ireland sing through his soul.
”'Tis only a little cut.”
On his knees on the beach, dripping with seawater, Gaelan scowled at the wound, tilting her head back to get a better look. ”Little, aye, but deep.” He meant for her to bleed to death, the cowardly b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
Siobhan frowned at the black look and cupped his face in her hands. ”It stopped bleeding. I am tired and hungry and wish for a bath.”