Chapter One
Scotland, June 1557
Water swirled around in a torrent, sucking him under the vast currents. His arms flailed helplessly, attempting to grasp a rock, a limb, or anything available, only to have it ripped away. The noise of the rushing water confused him and severed his mental hold on his location. Tossed about by the raging water, he managed to surface long enough to catch a breath and notice a large boulder looming ahead. But it was too late to react. His ribs slapped the rock’s flat face and the wind was knocked from his weakened form.
So this was the end, to die by drowning so close to his destination. How had everything gone awry?
****
Several days earlier…
Bryce Cameron couldn’t be happier. Behind him, nestled amongst jagged rocks and trees, rested the Sinclair keep and his past. Before him awaited beautiful grasslands, with free-roaming sheep and his future.
Leaving Grant behind had been a kind of necessary torture. His cousin needed to sever ties, whereas Bryce needed freedom to travel. The call to home beckoned. Who knew what would happen if he waited any longer?
For the arduous journey ahead, Duncan, the Sinclair laird, had given him a horse and a sword. Arbella, the laird’s wife, had supplied him with food and blankets. With gladness, he’d accepted the gifts. Without a worry, Bryce set out for home. His woman awaited.
Crissy, a red-haired lass, short and round, full in bosom and hip, had a twinkle in her eye which constantly hinted at mirth. Temper was her middle name as she took pleasure in exhibiting it most of the time. But instead of deterring Bryce, it only endeared her to him. With his mild-mannered, laid-back ways, having a forceful woman seemed necessary. Besides, when her temper flared, her adorable dimples showed, and he couldn’t get enough of them.
Thoughts of Crissy sent his feet knocking the sides of his horse, urging the beast into increased speed. The animal cantered by a field dotted with white sheep lazily plucking at the ground, chewing in a slow rhythmic motion. As he sucked in the fresh air, he also smelled the odor of wet wool and the bleating of ewes. With it came the desire to arrive home more quickly.
Daydreams of a field full of sheep and a house full of children floated through his mind. Crissy would be in the middle of both. Strong, secure, and fierce, his soon-to-be wife would be a force to be reckoned with.
A smile tugged at his lips, a laugh escaped. The trail suddenly grew quiet and daunting in the afternoon sun. Since his journey had begun, there had been no traffic. An unnerving silence pervaded the area. The sooner he arrived on Cameron lands, the better he would feel.
The miles sped by. Nothing was prettier than the Scottish countryside. Forests, fields of flowers, and inhabited and uninhabited keeps dotted the landscape. Bryce avoided stopping in civilized areas, which would lead him off course. Without any delays, the road would have him home in a week’s time.
At night, Bryce slept under the stars. The weather stayed clear and warm, cooperating with his journey. He gave thanks to the Almighty for his uneventful passage.
After several days of travel, the end neared. The smell of sheep excrement increased. Within a day, he would arrive home and into the waiting arms of his betrothed. All the ways he might be greeted by his love entered his mind. Perhaps she would run out of her home and throw her arms around his neck, even going so far as to flatten a chaste kiss upon his cheek. Or maybe Crissy would set up a fuss about the length of his absence, in which case he would smile and agree, enjoying the sight of her anger thus presented.
A faint wind blew. The odor of his unwashed body sent his nose crinkling upward. Perhaps a bath was in order before meeting his beloved.
Bryce knew a river ran near Cameron lands. It would take no time to stop and bathe before going to meet his love. In fact, Crissy might be more affectionate if he removed the stink. The thought of increased affection hurried him along.
A path through the foliage opened to the river. Dismounting, Bryce tied his horse to a thick branch. Tunic removed and laid over his arm and his trews still in place, he waded in. One step into the chill waters almost led to retreat. Only the desire to please Crissy kept him moving.
The water was now waist high. His teeth clacked together as he shivered with cold. Grasped by the moving water, his tunic fell from his shoulder and floated away. Exasperated, Bryce reached to grab the floating fabric. Each time his fingertips brushed the water-logged cloth, the moving waters jerked it away before he could retrieve it.
Without thought, Bryce followed it further and further in. As he approached the middle of the river, his foot slipped. His feet flew out from under him and the water swept him underneath its surface, surprising Bryce with its fierceness.
Life flashed before his eyes. The brevity of time depressed him even as the water sucked him under once again. Thoughts rankled. A life ending without Crissy by his side, without having had his children, or raising his sheep, thoughts of dying over a stupid tunic.
White water rushed around and over him. When his head rose above the caps, he quickly sucked in a breath. Less and less Bryce came up for air as the water tumbled him head over heel, over and over. Death was close at hand. Now there was one more regret to add to his long list. No one would know what had happened to him.
His chest burned as his wet wool clothing dragged his body down one last time.
Chapter Two
Lucille Lombard walked the well-trodden path, her thick tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth. She had emptied her water container hours before. Lucille searched for water but to no avail.
Two weeks of long, dark nights spent shivering in the cold, listening to crickets chirp and animals scurry, and feeling her heart race with fear at the thought of highwaymen hiding in the bushes. Now her feet burned and her back ached. Would the torment never be over?
Anger over her situation filled her mind. She muttered loudly under her breath, which took the sound of the river longer to penetrate. When the roar of running water pervaded her mind, Lucille lifted her skirts and took off at a run. It was a struggle to remain upright as she stumbled over raised roots, was flicked by wayward branches, and attempted to avoid pointy rocks.
“Stupid tree,” muttered Lucille as a limb snapped back, popping her in the face.
Once past the trees, Lucille faced a wide river. The water moved quickly, rushing over rocks. With caution, she knelt and filled her container. Once the cloth holder was full, she shaped her hand like a cup and dipped into the water several times until she drank her fill.
She pulled a rag from her bag, wet it, and rubbed her neck vigorously, then lifted her head to look at the land on the opposite shore. A flash of color caught her eye. Squinting against the light, Lucille saw something float by. Further inspection caused her to gasp.
Lucille didn’t think, heading out into the rushing water. Foot braced, she grasped what she knew was a body. Her hand filled with hair and when she tugged, a man’s face came into view. She tried to lift him and his eyelids fluttered. He was alive! She grabbed again, searching for a better hold.
But no matter where she reached, she came up empty-handed. The man’s flesh was slick and his clothing was hard to spot. Frustration mounting, Lucille stumbled alongside the floating body, reaching and clasping.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t leave him. With one final attempt, Lucille shot her hand forward. Rewarded with the feel of a heavy fabric, Lucille held tightly and heaved.
With teeth gritted, she pulled. Muscles straining with effort, Lucille tugged the man to the riverbank.
They reached the edge and Lucille collapsed, struggling to regain her breath. Had the man died while she’d fought to bring him ashore? Or had he survived?
With strength returning, she leaned over him. His skin was ashen, his lips blue. She placed her hand upon his bare chest. His chest, covered in chill bumps, rose and fell with unsteady breath.
Lucille fell back, a smile upon her lips. The rescue was a success.
****
The sun warmed Bryce’s chilled skin. His eyelids fluttered open. Where was he? A cool breeze blew, causing him to shiver. Suddenly, memories assailed him. He’d been seeking a bath when his tunic floated away. Retrieving the article had led to his situation.
Certain death had awaited. Then someone had been there. Instead of helping him, they had held him down, keeping him from catching his breath.
“Oh, you are awake.”
The voice took him off guard. Bryce sat up, coughing. Water spewed from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Once the fit passed, Bryce studied the person who’d spoken.
A young woman lay beside him. Water clung to her thin frame and she trembled. Her oval face was highlighted by brown eyes which angled up at the corners. High cheekbones bracketed her button nose.
“If you are done staring, do you mind me asking why you were drowning yourself?”
“Drowning meself?” he muttered in confusion as he noted her distinct French accent.
“There are easier ways to go.”
“I wasn’t drowning meself! From my perspective, ye were drowning me!”
“What?” Her eyebrow rose.