Amanda Scott(4)

As that thought crossed his mind, she leaned to grab the child racing toward her, and although he saw with approval that she grabbed the front of its garments rather than trying to catch a madly waving arm, he doubted that any female would be strong enough to hold on to it in such a current. She would have to let go.

He spurred his horse again, his vivid imagination warning him what would happen split seconds before she fell in.

She bobbed up straightaway, still gripping the child. But the current had both of them and was flowing fast enough to make him fear he could not catch up in time, let alone get ahead of them as he must if he were to help them.

The woods lining the river were thicker where its course bent southward, but he knew it would bend east again half a mile later. He could shorten the distance by cutting across the field. Then, if the two could avoid drowning before he got to them, and if his horse could avoid putting a foot in a rabbit hole or worse . . .

Sibylla held on to the child by sheer willpower. She resisted fighting the current, tried to relax, and put her energy into kicking and keeping her head and the child’s above water as she let the river carry them.

She hoped she could keep her wits together long enough to think what to do, but the icy water made it hard to breathe, let alone to think. Although the child seemed lighter with the water bearing them both, she knew they did not have long to survive unless they could reach one of the river’s banks.

Adventurous by nature, Sibylla had grown up at Aker-moor Castle, which boasted its own loch a short way to the west and the Ale Water to the east. Having likewise enjoyed the blessing of an older brother determined to teach her how to survive the commonest perils of Border life, and to look after herself, she was an excellent swimmer and had acquired the ability to remain calm in a crisis.

She knew she could not successfully fight the child and the strong current, so to divert the child she commanded it to help them stay afloat.

“Kick hard!” she shouted, managing to shift her grip to the back of its clothing near its neck. By floating the child on its back, keeping her right arm straight, and bending her wrist sharply, she could keep its head up while she paddled with her left hand. Her body shifted almost onto its side, but she found it easier to kick hard in that position with the child kicking its legs above hers.

Desperation kept her going, and for a wonder, the water had pushed her skirts nearly to her hips, enough for the fabric to resist wrapping itself around her legs.

Sibylla was tiring fast though, and knew she could not go on indefinitely. They had to find something that would float and to which they could cling.

She could barely see where she was going, but she knew they were rapidly approaching the river bend. Without intent but because of the way she held the child and because she faced the south bank of the river, she had drawn close enough to it to be wary of nearby boulders poking their heads out of the water.

Much as she wanted to feel firm ground beneath her again, it occurred to her that letting the river smash them into a boulder might kill them both.

Telling herself sternly that such a collision was more likely to injure them than kill them, and that injury would be better than drowning, she tried to judge how safely she could ease them closer. Only then did she remember the half-submerged log.

Debris in the water consisted mostly of branches, twigs, and other useless stuff, none of it large enough to provide support for them both.

If she could grab the log, they could at least gain a respite. They might even manage to drag themselves out of the water if the log lay near enough to the shore.

She had no doubt she could manage that feat for herself. But her grip on the child made everything else gruelingly awkward. Other than reminding the little one to kick, and muttering occasional brief encouragement as she fought to swim and to breathe, Sibylla had barely spoken.

The child, too, was exhausting what energy it had left in kicking, and she knew she dared not waste her own lest she need it later.

As a result, she did not even know yet which sex the child was.

It was wearing thin breeks rather than a skirt, but its fragile bone structure seemed feminine, as did its willingness to obey her. Despite the attempt to climb up her when she fell in, a single stern command to kick hard and look for something they could grab to keep them afloat had been enough.

Such simple trust in her made Sibylla determined not to give up. She had no illusions though. She had to get closer to shore for them to have any chance at all.

When a break in the trees showed Simon he was a little ahead of the victims, he shouted at Hodge Law to stay near the river, to be at hand if they managed to make it to shore before the current swept them around the bend. Then he turned his horse to cross the open field, hoping to get farther ahead of them beyond the bend.