Читать книгу For My Lady's Honor - Sharon Schulze - Страница 11

Her limbs leaden, her vision a blur, Alys came to her senses, sprawled flat on her back beneath a veritable thicket of fallen trees and the icy lash of rain. She opened her mouth to call out, but gasped and choked as a torrent of water poured over her, carrying with it bits of bark and leaves that clung to her face and filled her mouth. Coughing, she tried to rise, but her strength was no match for the mass of branches and debris pinning her down.

Last she remembered she’d been in the saddle, riding hard as the storm raged around them…urging on Arian to avoid a falling tree….

She blinked her eyes to clear her vision, yet still she could see naught but a deep, shadowed darkness all around her.

Where was Arian?

And the others? They’d been riding close together, racing to outrun the storm’s fury. How many trees had come down? It felt as though she were buried beneath a veritable forest!

By the sainted Virgin, what had happened?

Marie had been nearby, her own mount frightened, out of control. There might have been still others as close to them—she hadn’t been able to see much of anything through the rain-filled gloom.

Pain washed over her, emanating from her back and shoulder and radiating outward, pulling her firmly into the present with a vengeance. It hurt to so much as breathe. She could tell she’d any number of scrapes from head to toe, for each one stung like fire beneath the force of the pelting rain. A dull throb from her ankle told her she’d at least one other injury.

Taking shallow breaths, she sought for calm and focused her senses. She tried to free her right arm; she could not make it move, though the attempt sent a surge of stomach-roiling pain washing over her. Swallowing back a gasp, she wriggled her other arm from beneath the branches and shifted it enough to push aside her sopping hair and wipe her eyes.

The deep, harsh rumble of thunder mixed with the sound of horses squealing in terror and voices sharp with alarm surrounded her. She could see little through the rain-filled darkness until a flash of lightning split the sky, giving her a moment’s glimpse of chaos.

It seemed as if she was buried amidst a thicket of fir branches, the scent of pitch and needles sharp and nauseating. Had the entire forest come down around them, to create this dense jumble? She caught flashes of movement along the edge of the pile—men and horses both, it appeared—so clearly not everyone was ensnared within the tangled mass.

She heard whimpering and moans close by, and held her breath for a moment to listen. The whimpering ceased at once—had she been crying and hadn’t known it?—but the moans continued, coming from somewhere near her, off to her right.

She wasn’t the only one injured…or trapped, as well?

The realization brought her no comfort; instead it sent a wave of dread coursing through her, fear that Marie might be injured, that others might be hurt. Her heart beat faster, lending her the strength to try again to move—using her left arm this time, since her right would not obey her. Teeth gritted against the pain wrapping her from head to toe, Alys shifted, barely turned to her side within her prickly cocoon.

“Marie!” she called, her voice little more than a faint, uneven squeak. “Where are you?”

She drew in a deep breath, ignoring the pain as she sought to control the way her entire body shook, and reached out, trying to shove her arm through the tangle overhead. “Marie! Sir Padrig—” A flood of debris and water filled her mouth again. Sputtering, she turned her head and spat, then tried again. “Padrig…anyone…I’m here.”

His sense of dread growing by the moment, Padrig concentrated on digging carefully through the huge tangle of trees that spilled across the road and into the forest. What he really wanted was to tear at the mound with his bare hands, to rip it all away until he found everyone and knew they were safe.

Lady Alys was missing, as were her maid and three of his men. They had to be trapped somewhere within this morass, though he hadn’t any notion precisely where to start looking.

The situation appeared grim. The horses of those missing were gone as well, save for Lady Alys’s mount. Her mare had evidently bolted free; unfortunately in the confusion no one had noticed where she’d been before the trees collapsed. She now stood, shivering and lame, away from the mess with the rest of their horses and the pack animals.

No help there.

Though twelve of them had set out from l’Eau Clair, their company was badly depleted. Besides those unaccounted for, only four of their remaining number had escaped serious harm, including himself. One of his men was dead, man and mount both crushed beneath the trunk of a massive tree. Two others were badly hurt, though it was difficult in these circumstances to determine just how severe their injuries were.

It had taken but a few moments after the falling trees had settled before those of his men who could move had regrouped in the road ahead of the collapse. They’d escaped misfortune only because they’d been at the front of the column and had already passed over that stretch of road.

When they’d made their way around the tangle blocking the road, they’d found the injured men and the pack animals on the other side. After hastily treating their hurts and settling them as best they could out of the rain and away from danger, they went to look for the others.

It was nigh impossible to see much of anything in the fitful light and pouring rain. He’d called out for the missing at once; they all had as they’d frantically begun to search, till he realized they’d never hear a response over their own shouts and he’d called for silence. But only the unremitting rumble and crack of thunder, accompanied by the sporadic, ear-splitting sounds of more trees crashing down close by, disturbed the relative silence.

Lightning continued to flash—over them, around them, everywhere, it seemed—the erratic light a fitting accompaniment to the hellish chaos surrounding them. Though daunting, nonetheless it was their sole source of illumination. A mixed blessing, for as long as the storm continued, they—and those yet to be found—were also at greater risk of further injury.

Between the accident, the constant barrage of thunder and lightning and the driving rain, the horses were cold, soaked, their nerves on edge.

He and his men were in little better state.

“Sir Padrig—over here,” Rafe, his second in command, shouted from the opposite side of the jumbled trees. “Hurry!”

Padrig dragged aside the cumbersome branch he’d disentangled from the pile and hastened to his side. Rafe lay draped over a massive tree trunk, his body half-buried within its thick boughs.

“Have you found them?” Padrig asked as he reached him. “Who? How many?”

“Quick, sir—grab my feet,” Rafe gasped. Padrig caught hold of him just as he began to slip away and, bracing himself, held the other man steady. “I’ve got a cloak in hand,” he added. “I think I’ve found one of the women—’tis too fine a cloth to be one o’ ours.”

Jock and Peter, the other two men, had arrived hard on Padrig’s heels; they immediately set to work shifting away the maze of branches surrounding the tree Rafe lay draped over while Padrig kept hold of him. Once the worst of the debris was cleared away, Padrig maintained his grip on Rafe even as he climbed up onto the fallen tree, as well.

“Lady Alys?” he called, leaning over to peer down into the stygian darkness. He shifted to pin Rafe’s feet in place with his body and one arm. Reaching down into the gap in front of Rafe, he skimmed his free hand through the space and came up empty. “Damnation!” Abandoning that fruitless act, he moved back a bit and caught Rafe by the ankles again. “Marie?”

The only sound coming out of the opening was Rafe’s raspy breathing. Coughing, Rafe squirmed lower on the tree, cursing as his boots slipped from his feet and he slithered downward.

Cursing as well, Padrig flung the empty boots aside and grabbed the back of Rafe’s tunic with both hands. Bracing his legs against the rough trunk, he gave a mighty heave and hauled Rafe upright, barely keeping them both from falling headfirst into the void.

“I can’t believe I lost her!” Rafe flopped onto his back and lay gasping in the downpour. Spitting out a mouthful of water and bark, he sat up. “By Christ’s toe-nails, everything’s so slippery you’d think ’twas ice fallin’, not rain.” He picked up one of his boots, shook it out and rammed it onto his foot, jerking the lacings taut before knotting them. “I held on tight as I could manage,” he said, disgust tingeing his voice, “but I could scarce get a hold o’ her to begin with.” He tugged on his other boot and tied it. “Let me have a moment to catch my breath, Sir Padrig, and I’ll give it another try.”

“At least you found her,” Padrig reassured him. “’Tis a start.”

He sprawled next to Rafe, mind awhirl. While he was heartened by Rafe’s determination, he couldn’t help but wonder what they’d discover once they rescued the woman who lay buried here. The fact that she’d made no sound at all when Rafe attempted to lift her out was not a good sign.

Should he assume she was dead, and go back to looking for the others?

He straightened, horrified. There was a thought to make his heart stop, whichever woman was the victim.

Jesu, if it were Alys…

Gone in an instant, her lovely smile and unexpected wit snuffed out—

He refused to consider such a notion, lest the hideous thought become reality.

He’d not abandon her—nay, anyone—to such a fate.

Despite his efforts to calm himself, his hand trembled a bit when he raised it and swiped it over his face. What if someone else came to further harm while they struggled to search here?

He could set Peter and Jock to work elsewhere while he and Rafe looked in a different place.

Yet what if the woman trapped beneath them was not dead, but instead was unconscious, or injured too badly to speak?

They could not ignore her; rather they must get her out as soon as possible and treat her injuries.

He shook his head and focused his racing thoughts. Jesu, mayhap they should wait till morning to search further, when presumably the storm would have passed, the sky would brighten and they could see what in God’s name they were doing!

He dismissed the notion as soon as it formed. They could not wait so long. Glancing up at the storm-filled sky, he judged it was barely dusk now. Though it felt as if it had been an eternity, and it was nigh impossible to gauge from their surroundings, in truth he doubted much time had passed since the storm’s wrath split their world asunder. In any case, ’twas too cold and wet to leave anyone exposed to the weather for a moment longer than necessary.

They needed to get the injured men they’d left huddled beside the trail to shelter, as well.

He shifted and peered down into the gaping opening. At least they knew there was someone here, though they could not see who it was. ’Twould be best to deal with what they knew, before venturing off into the darkness again.

He bit back his frustration and breathed deep as though he were readying himself for battle. The urge to jump up and escape into the night was nigh overwhelming. ’Twas as likely he’d find answers there, lost among the destruction, as he would by muddling along here.

He scarce gave the traitorous thought life before he forced it from his mind. ’Twas only that it had been so long since he’d felt so helpless, adrift in a sea of uncertainty—and the weight of command sat heavy upon him, foreign, unfamiliar.

Thank the Lord, the cold and wet hadn’t affected his breathing. Given their ill luck to this point, he’d expect no less. However, he couldn’t help adding a prayer of gratitude for that favor to the heartfelt pleas for God’s mercy that he’d already sent heavenward.

He’d rather have an enemy to fight, by God, someone he could face over a shield, battle with a sword, a demon he could slay and be done with it.

Biting back a mocking laugh, he shoved his dripping hair back from his face and sighed.

He ought to know by now that nothing was ever that simple.

Calmer now, he considered how best to conquer this obstacle. Rafe had caught hold of her, but it seemed he was too small to keep a grip on her. Padrig swung around on the tree and began to tug at his sopping boots, working them off and tossing them aside before unbuckling his belt and knotting the leather tight about his waist.

“What’re you doing?” Rafe asked.

“I’m taller than you are,” Padrig told him. “If you or Jock grab my belt and hang on to me, mayhap I can get a good grip on her and haul her up. I doubt I can pull her straight up through the debris without her getting entangled worse, so whichever of you isn’t holding on to me had better crawl up here and do what he can to help ease her out.” He hefted himself back up onto the tree. “Meanwhile, Peter, you go and see if you can find any sign of the others.”

“Aye, milord,” Peter said before disappearing into the gloom.

Rafe and Jock had no sooner situated themselves behind Padrig and begun to ease him down into the gap when shouting cut through the rumble of thunder.

Padrig barely caught himself from tumbling into the morass when Jock and Rafe loosened their hold on him and turned to answer Peter’s frantic cries.

Padrig hauled himself up and sprawled over the rough bark as Peter came into view.

“Milord, come quick!” Peter stumbled to a stop before them. “’Tis Lady Alys, milord—I’ve found her, and she’s alive!”