‘Integrity!’ Byron shouted, as I jumped over William’s leg to twist myself back and grab him from a better angle.
‘Don’t! Don’t come on here! Three people will be too many. I’ve got this! Just trust me.’
Using my elbow as an anchor, I swung into the air. William’s arms were flailing around. I tried to snatch his hand but he was panicking too much.
‘Calm down,’ I hissed. ‘Stop jerking around and I will catch you.’
‘I’m going to die,’ he muttered. ‘I’m going to die! I’m going to die!’
‘You are not going to die.’ I gave another swing and slapped him hard across his cheek.
He stared at me in shock. ‘Stay calm,’ I repeated. ‘If you get hysterical, this is going to take much longer. I will pull you up.’ I looked him in the eyes. ‘William, I will get you. Got that?’
He nodded mutely and relief rushed through me. ‘Can you lift your arms up? I need to get your wrists. If I grab your hands, they’ll be too sweaty and you’ll slip. Understand?’
He nodded again and stretched upwards. Shite. I still wasn’t close enough.
‘My leg,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not going to make it.’
I looked up. He was right. He was hanging on now by his ankle. Cursing to myself, I pulled up and looped the less taut section of rope round my right ankle. It would give me the length I required but it wouldn’t hold for long. I had to do this quickly.
Ignoring the shouts from the others, I swung down once more. With a burst of adrenalin, I stretched out my arms and curled my hands round William’s wrists. He gasped in relief.
‘You know you really reek of garlic,’ I told him. ‘Remember that when you want to give me a grateful kiss later on.’
He managed a shaky smile but, feeling tremors ripping through his flesh, I wasted no more time. ‘We’re going to swing back upwards, William. On a count of three, you’ll go right, I’ll go left and then we’ll meet in the middle. Got that?’
He gulped for air. ‘Yes.’
‘When we’re close enough, be prepared for me to release your left wrist. Then I’ll grab the rope and get both of us back up.’
‘Don’t drop me.’
‘I won’t. I told you, I’ve got this. Ready? One, two, three!’
I pushed upwards. William’s frame wasn’t exactly slight and his fear made it hard for him to find the energy to gain sufficient momentum. From somewhere deep within himself, however, he managed. With my hands half a metre away, I dropped his wrist and swung harder, only just managing to snatch hold of the rope and heave William’s body up.
I freed my foot from the loop and got back to my feet, yanking him to me as I did so. The moment his feet touched the rope, he almost collapsed in relief. I was forced to steady him again before he fell once more.
The yells of relief overtook us. William began to turn, lifting one hand from the rope in acknowledgment of his close call. As he did so, and as his body blocked my view of the other side, someone else stepped out onto the bridge.
‘No!’ I yelled in alarm.
The weight of a third person made the bridge swing once more, this time with even more force. The rope jerked to one side and William lost his footing again. I lunged for him. I’d have caught him if the other person on the bridge hadn’t pulled back in alarm, and leapt off the bridge to safety. That movement caused the rope to switch directions so I was flung off balance too. Instead of William’s hand, all I grasped at was air.
In terrible slow motion, his eyes bulged and he reached towards me. His mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. A second later he was swallowed up by the darkness. Malcolm Kincaid shrieked his name but it was far, far too late.
The inevitable thump as he reached the ground made me double over, as if I’d been kicked in the stomach. Retching, and with hot tears streaming from my eyes, I stumbled blindly back across the bridge. The horror etched on the faces confronting me mirrored my own.
‘I didn’t realise,’ Aifric mumbled. ‘I thought I could help.’
I stared at him. He’d been the one to step out on the bridge then. Anguish lined his face. Ripping away my gaze, I looked at Malcolm. He was kneeling on the ground, tearless sobs racking his body.
Byron put a hand on his Malcolm’s shoulder and he stumbled to his feet. He lifted up his head and addressed me. ‘You killed him,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘You killed my uncle. You killed my Chieftain.’
‘She didn’t,’ Byron said. ‘It wasn’t her fault.’
I put my hand up, forestalling him. Grief was never a rational thing and this wasn’t the time for recriminations. Still feeling sick, all I said was, ‘Let’s get out. Now.’