Oliver put his lips to her ear. ‘Hurry and we’ll manage.’ There was no weakness in his voice, just grim determination. It was heartening to hear.
Tugging at his hand, she stepped boldly into the pool. They waded through it until they stood near the base of the falls. Water cascaded over them. They’d be soaked from head to foot, but the hounds would lose their scent. A wild laugh bubbled up. Rosamund struggled to contain it. If they’d stayed on the bank, they’d have been torn to pieces. Instead, they’d probably die of lung-fever.
‘I’ll take my chance with the lung-fever,’ she muttered.
The stones were worn smooth by the crashing waters. Slippery. She missed her footing. Oliver braced her, his arm steady about her waist. Foam frothed around their knees. Behind the wall of falling water the cliff shone like polished jet. There were no weeds, the falls had scoured them away. Oliver shot her a puzzled glance but thankfully he was accepting her guidance. She feared he was near to losing consciousness. She waded on, searching frantically for a foothold, praying that he wouldn’t faint before they were across. Her ears were full of water, her heart was hammering and she could hardly see, but she found the foothold she was searching for – a ledge hidden by the falls. She stepped onto it.
Water lapped about her ankles and she edged along, wary of slipping under the rush of water. The force could keep you under, in places it was strong enough to drown the king’s champion.
Rosamund had discovered the ledge one summer when she’d been a child. It had been searingly hot and after she’d been banned the use of the millpond, she and Lufu had taken to swimming in the pool beneath the falls.
‘The millpond’s too deep, you can’t swim here,’ her father had said. ‘And it’s unseemly. Not to mention that you disturb the eel traps. We lost a good meal last week because of your foolishness. Get along with you.’
The summer being so hot, the girls had come here instead. This pool, with its noise and foam, had been exciting. It looked more dangerous than the millpond, although they’d soon learned it wasn’t very deep. There were no eel traps to worry about. It was here that they’d learned to swim. As long as you didn’t swim directly beneath the falls, where the drag could keep you under, you were perfectly safe.
The concealed ledge ran across the river behind the curtain of the falls. If you walked along it you ended up on the opposite bank. The moorland track Rosamund was heading for ran on from there.
Oliver was holding her hand so tightly that it hurt. Water was everywhere. Coughing and spluttering, she pressed on, inch by careful inch. It felt like drowning. Needles of water jabbed at her skin. Underfoot, a stone rocked. Her feet slid out from under her, and icy water closed over her head.
‘Rosamund!’ Blood pounding in his head, Oliver hauled on her arm. He wasn’t going to lose her, he couldn’t. Lifting her clear of the water, he stumbled with her towards the bank. She choked and spluttered and sat down – half in and half out of the pond.
‘We’re across!’ she said, her breathing harsh and laboured.
Kneeling over her, heedless of the wet, Oliver pushed her hair from her face. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes.’ Her teeth chattered, but she found a smile and some of his tension ebbed away.
‘On your feet.’ He put iron in his voice. ‘Move.’
She moaned.
‘On your feet. If a dog reaches the pool before we’ve taken cover, all that effort to spoil our tracks will have gone to waste. It will follow by sight. On your feet.’
‘You’re inhuman.’ None the less, she levered herself upright, hooking her hand into his belt for support.
‘Realistic, my angel, realistic.’
They staggered up the bank with their arms about each other’s waists. Rosamund was at the end of her tether, he could feel her shaking. Holding her as firmly as he could, he eyed the gorse bushes edging the path. ‘Only a few more feet, angel. Stand firm.’
‘I...I’m trying.’
She took another wobbling step and all but collapsed. The gorse snatched at her hair, he felt it scratch his hand and then they were safe. She sank onto the grass behind the gorse. His lungs were bursting and he was covered in goose-bumps. They were dripping like bundles of wet linen, but they were safe.
Squatting on his haunches, he peered through the bushes. Down by the pool in a scrap of moonlight, there was movement, definite movement. His heart sank. ‘Hell.’
‘Oliver?’
‘We’ve not lost them. I don’t know how they’ve done it, for I’d swear they didn’t see us.’