escarpment. Even if they could actually land the boat, Roger would not be able to travel by foot, especially not up to that high cliff. Once he regained consciousness, he wouldneed time to recover. Then they could look for a level path that led south. ’Twas imperative to make their way clear of Scottish lands. Then they could travel east.
But what if Roger died?
In truth, any of them could die. The currach could be caught up in the current and dashed upon the rocks. Roger would never be able to save himself, and Isabel was a poor swimmer at best. No doubt Sir Anvrai could swim, but could he save her and himself as well?
With one oar, he steered the boat, though Isabel did not know where he got the strength to keep them on course. She looked down at her hands. Even if she hadn’t dropped the oar, she would not be able to wield one, helping him row. Blisters, bloody and raw, covered her palms and fingers. And the bones of her hands ached as if they’d been trampled by an oxcart.
Surely she did not lead so pampered a life that this small amount of work should have such a devastating effect. They’d all been required to work at the abbey, in the kitchen and gardens…Yet none of them had been required to kill a man. She dipped her hands in the cold water and rubbed away the sensation of blood that remained from her confrontation with the chieftain. Horrified once again bywhat she’d done, she closed her hands into fists and looked ahead, toward their destination.
The sight of the cove was much clearer. It looked like a ledge of land, littered with sparse pine trees, and the ground was dark with moss. A massive gray cliff towered over the ledge where they would land, and Isabel fought a wave of queasiness at the sight of such a high cliff and almost despaired of finding a path that led south, away from the river. She knew she would never be able to climb to that high precipice.
“What will we do once we reach the cove?” she asked, hoping he would not tell her they must climb.
“I won’t know until we get there.”
“I intend to stay with Roger.”
Anvrai made no answer to her statement, nor did the rhythm of his rowing change. ’Twas as if he had not heard her though she knew he must have. She wondered if he would go off without her and Roger as soon as they reached the land, for surely Roger would be unable to travel.
Isabel peered past Anvrai to look at the young knight, lying inert in the front of the boat. His posture of repose called to mind a sleeping child, one with no cares in the world, while his parents toiled to keep him safe.
’Twas an unfair comparison. Roger was gravely injured, and Isabel’s throat tightened painfully when she thought of the young man’s fate. ’Twas in God’s hands, and all Isabel could do was pray for His mercy.
Sir Anvrai carefully guided the boat near the rough coastline, but the turbulence increased, and the river became much more difficult to navigate. Anvrai’s muscles strained with every stroke of the oar, and Isabel worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep them away from danger. She was powerless to help.
“There is a waterfall up ahead!” he shouted above the sounds of wind and crashing water.
Fighting against the current that would pull them over the waterfall, Isabel was certain Anvrai must be near the limits of his strength. He struggled to keep the currach outside the force of the river, but it was becoming more difficult the closer they got to the falls.
The currach brushed against the rocks in the water as he steered them to the cove. “Isabel! On the left! Push us away!”
The boat teetered as she shifted position, but they stayed afloat, and Anvrai steered them through the rough current into the calmer waters of the cove. He propelled the currach to the rocky ledge and climbed out awkwardly—hanging on to the oar while Isabel held the opposite end to keep the boat in place. Then he dragged Roger out and helped Isabel climb to dry land.
But what if Roger died?
In truth, any of them could die. The currach could be caught up in the current and dashed upon the rocks. Roger would never be able to save himself, and Isabel was a poor swimmer at best. No doubt Sir Anvrai could swim, but could he save her and himself as well?
With one oar, he steered the boat, though Isabel did not know where he got the strength to keep them on course. She looked down at her hands. Even if she hadn’t dropped the oar, she would not be able to wield one, helping him row. Blisters, bloody and raw, covered her palms and fingers. And the bones of her hands ached as if they’d been trampled by an oxcart.
Surely she did not lead so pampered a life that this small amount of work should have such a devastating effect. They’d all been required to work at the abbey, in the kitchen and gardens…Yet none of them had been required to kill a man. She dipped her hands in the cold water and rubbed away the sensation of blood that remained from her confrontation with the chieftain. Horrified once again bywhat she’d done, she closed her hands into fists and looked ahead, toward their destination.
The sight of the cove was much clearer. It looked like a ledge of land, littered with sparse pine trees, and the ground was dark with moss. A massive gray cliff towered over the ledge where they would land, and Isabel fought a wave of queasiness at the sight of such a high cliff and almost despaired of finding a path that led south, away from the river. She knew she would never be able to climb to that high precipice.
“What will we do once we reach the cove?” she asked, hoping he would not tell her they must climb.
“I won’t know until we get there.”
“I intend to stay with Roger.”
Anvrai made no answer to her statement, nor did the rhythm of his rowing change. ’Twas as if he had not heard her though she knew he must have. She wondered if he would go off without her and Roger as soon as they reached the land, for surely Roger would be unable to travel.
Isabel peered past Anvrai to look at the young knight, lying inert in the front of the boat. His posture of repose called to mind a sleeping child, one with no cares in the world, while his parents toiled to keep him safe.
’Twas an unfair comparison. Roger was gravely injured, and Isabel’s throat tightened painfully when she thought of the young man’s fate. ’Twas in God’s hands, and all Isabel could do was pray for His mercy.
Sir Anvrai carefully guided the boat near the rough coastline, but the turbulence increased, and the river became much more difficult to navigate. Anvrai’s muscles strained with every stroke of the oar, and Isabel worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep them away from danger. She was powerless to help.
“There is a waterfall up ahead!” he shouted above the sounds of wind and crashing water.
Fighting against the current that would pull them over the waterfall, Isabel was certain Anvrai must be near the limits of his strength. He struggled to keep the currach outside the force of the river, but it was becoming more difficult the closer they got to the falls.
The currach brushed against the rocks in the water as he steered them to the cove. “Isabel! On the left! Push us away!”
The boat teetered as she shifted position, but they stayed afloat, and Anvrai steered them through the rough current into the calmer waters of the cove. He propelled the currach to the rocky ledge and climbed out awkwardly—hanging on to the oar while Isabel held the opposite end to keep the boat in place. Then he dragged Roger out and helped Isabel climb to dry land.
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