Amanda Scott(3)

The ford lay just ahead now with sunlight gleaming on water-filled ruts of the worn track approaching it. Although the river was higher than usual, hoofprints in the mud indicated that, not long before, horses had crossed there.

Reining the gray to a trot and turning in fear that she would see nothing but churning water, she observed with profound relief that the child still splashed, albeit with less energy than before. Its strength was rapidly waning.

At best, she would have only one chance to save it. Reaching the ford, she urged the gray into the water. The horse was reluctant, but she was an experienced horsewoman.

She knew it was strong and reliable. Forcing it into the swift flow, wishing again that she had brought her groom, she discovered only when the gray was in nearly to its withers that the water was deeper than she had expected.

Nevertheless, the horse obeyed, leaning into the river’s flow to steady itself.

Keeping firm control of it, she fixed her eyes on the child, urging the gelding forward until the child was splashing directly toward them.

When the little one was near enough, Sibylla resisted trying to grab one of the thin, flailing arms with her gloved hand. She grabbed clothing instead, praying the cloth would not tear as the water fought to rip the terrified child from her grip. The river thrust hard against the horse, eddying angrily around the already skittish beast.

The child proved shockingly heavy and awkward to hold. Just as she thought she had a firm grip, the gelding shifted a foreleg eastward.

The combination of the child’s waterlogged weight and the river’s mighty flow pulled the little one under the horse’s neck and forced Sibylla to lean sharply to retain her grip. Before she knew what was happening, she was in the icy water.

Long practice compelled her to hold on to the reins. The startled horse, already struggling to return to firm ground, jerked its head up, nearly yanking the reins free. Sibylla’s skirts and heavy cloak threatened to sink her, and the combined forces of the river and the child’s weight dragged her eastward with a strength impossible to resist. Worse, the child had caught hold of her arm and, shrieking in its terror, tried to climb right up her.

Sibylla let go of the reins and, submerging, used her left hand to release the clasp at the neck of her cloak as she tried desperately to keep the child’s head above her, out of the water, and find footing beneath her. The water filled her boots and thrust one off. She kicked the other one away.

Although her feet had briefly touched bottom as she kicked toward the surface and the cloak’s weight vanished as the river swept it away, she could find only water under her now. Whatever had remained of the ford was behind them.

Pulse pounding, trying not to swallow the cold, muddy water churning around them, Sibylla fought to breathe and to keep them both afloat. But the river, determined to keep them, swept them inexorably toward the sea.

Simon Murray, Laird of Elishaw, returning from Kelso with his usual, modest tail of six armed men, had forded the Tweed sometime earlier on his way south to Elishaw. Having also heard the screaming child, he had turned back at once.

By the time he and his men reached the riverbank, the screams were well east of them, but Simon easily spotted the frantically splashing child. Beyond, in the distance, he discerned through the shrubbery a lone rider in a dark-green cloak racing along the opposite bank. Whoever it was, with the river as high as it was, and the current as strong, that rider would need help.

As Simon turned east, one of his men shouted, “M’lord, look yonder! There be another lad in the water!”

Glancing back to see more splashes, Simon shouted, “You men do what you must to rescue him. I’m going after the other one. Hodge Law, you’re with me!” he added, singling out the largest and strongest of his men.

Giving spur to his mount with mental thanks to God that he was riding a sure-footed horse of good speed, Simon followed the narrow, rutted track along the riverbank. Watching through trees and shrubbery as well as he could in passing, he tried to keep one eye on the child and the other on the green-cloaked rider.

As he rode, he wondered how two bairns had ended up in the river. If they’d been playing on its banks, they wanted skelping—if they lived long enough. If not . . .

Half of his mind continued to toy with possibilities as it was wont to do when faced with any problem. But as he drew nearer, he saw that the other rider was female and realized that, before, the shrubbery had hidden her flying plaits.

Forgetting all else, he focused his mind on how he could aid her.

When she forced her mount into the river at the ford where he and his men had crossed, he noted how nervous the beast was and how deftly she controlled it.