The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(34)

Quillan narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. “Come with me, Father. I’m going back up for the poles.”

Father Antoine followed Quillan out, and rather than stay alone in the chamber, Carina followed, too. Candle raised, she wandered to the edge of the well while Quillan climbed and then pulled the rope up after him. Father Antoine waited at the bottom, and soon the poles of her litter were coming down tied to the rope. How handy that litter was proving to be. A good thing she had decided to ride it. But then if she hadn’t, they would not be there at all.

Father Antoine grasped the poles and untied them. She held the light for him to see, but it was guttering now. They would have to get a fresh candle out of Quillan’s pack.

Her candle went out, leaving only Father Antoine’s candle sitting on the floor to light the enormous cavern. Strangely, it didn’t frighten her. She thought—no, she believed—God would get them out. Hope had grown from the comfort of their first prayer, and she had added others since. Father Antoine laid the poles down, and Quillan came back down the rope.

Carina wanted to tell him it would be all right, but she saw he was working it out in his own way. Physical and mental exertion. He and the priest started for the passageway. She called, “Wait. I need a new candle.”

Quillan half turned, and she dug into his pack. Father’s light was low and guttering, and she did not want to be fumbling in the dark. Quillan seemed unconcerned, almost oblivious now, his one focus the opening in Wolf ’s chamber. “Come on.” He started on, not bothering with a candle of his own. But he carried the poles and coils of rope.

Inside the chamber, he lashed the poles together, then fixed a rope at the center and knotted it tightly. Then he eyed the ceiling, circling as Father Antoine had done earlier, though when Quillan paced there was almost an animal tension in the motion. He held the tied poles like a javelin, but she could see frustration in his features. Finally he lowered them. “It’s no use. That angle blocks my throw from any side.”

The priest merely nodded, no doubt having reached the same conclusion. Though still very dim, the chamber had brightened even more, taunting them with hope. Quillan looked ready to snap. Carina sucked her upper lip.

He turned to her abruptly. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, Quillan.” She wouldn’t add her own fears to his.

“Do you hurt?”

She shook her head. What was his intention?

Once again he displayed that intensity that had frightened her before she knew his true nature. “Can you do it, Carina?”

“Do what?”

“Stand on my shoulders as Father said.”

She backed away. “That’s pazzo.”

Quillan drew himself up. “It’s the only way, or I wouldn’t ask it. I’ll do all the work. You only have to stand up and get the poles into the chimney. I’ll hold you.”

He couldn’t be serious. But he was. As serious as she’d ever seen him. He spread his hands. “I won’t let you fall.”

Her head swam. She could almost believe she wasn’t healed of that old fear. But surely anyone would dread what he proposed. How could he ask it? She could tell him no, she wasn’t strong enough. “If I don’t?”

“Then we wait.”

The priest folded his arms. “The snow cover is thinner up there, or we wouldn’t have this much light.”

“I already know that.” She waved her hand. “So I perch on his shoulders like a monkey and . . . and what?”

Quillan demonstrated with the poles. “Push them up through the chimney, hard like this. Throw them even. They have to get all the way through the opening so they’ll catch on it and we can climb the rope.”

Carina only stared at him.

“I will bear all the weight. Try to grab that jut beneath the opening and balance yourself.”

She looked upward, finding the jutting edge of the ceiling he meant for her to hold on to. Why wasn’t this small chamber wet like the outer cave? The she might have stalactites to hold instead. But then the ceiling might have towered above instead of rising just out of reach. Oh, Dio . . . Why couldn’t the opening be in the lower part? Why the very highest point?

As though he’d read her thoughts, Father Antoine folded his hands. “Maybe we should pray.” He began, “Pater noster, qui es in caelis . . .”

Soothed, Carina murmured in Italian, “Sia santificato il tuo nome . . .”

Quillan joined in. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done . . .”

Their voices rose, joined, and strengthened. And when they finished, Carina looked up at her husband. His eyes were already on her. Could she trust him to hold her safely? She knew his strength, had seen it when he worked. She looked from him to the priest, then sighed.

Quillan took that as acceptance. He crouched.

“What do I do?”

“Step here.” He patted his shoulders.

“Wait a minute.” She unlaced her boots and tugged them off, trying not to step in the guano, then hiked up her skirts and stepped where he told her. “What do I hold?”

“Hold my head to get on.”

She remembered Father Antoine doing the same, but he hadn’t been standing. She put her second foot up and perched, froglike, on his shoulders, gripping his forehead. “Now what?”