Joanna paused, one hand against a young oak. What was probably a quiet little beck under most circumstances was today a rushing flood. Yesterday’s rains had swollen it into a fierce torrent, and from the looks of the overcast dawn sky, it would be replenished in the same manner again today.
Joanna eyed the flooded stream carefully, trying to judge whether she could safely cross it. But even if she did, she thought glumly, the giant behind her would just as quickly follow her. Unless she could somehow disarm him.
But that seemed completely ludicrous, she decided as she slanted him a look. He was far too big and brawny for her puny strength. Dismayed by her dire predicament, Joanna sighed, then moved nearer the water. At least she could bathe her face and hands, she told herself in resignation.
“Be careful,” Kell warned as she stepped onto a tree trunk that projected out into the frothing stream.
“Why? Because I might get hurt?” she replied curtly. “You’ll forgive me if I doubt the sincerity of your concern.”
She sent a contemptuous glance back over her shoulder, but her expression changed when she saw him. He was not looking at her but at the rushing water. And he had a worried frown on his face.
“Of course,” she added as her pulse began to race with sudden hope, “since your Lord Blaecston is going to all these pains to capture me, you no doubt would come to my aid if I were to fall in the water.”
The big man’s face blanched. He looked briefly at her then back at the rushing water. “Back up,” he warned her, taking a step back himself. “’Tis not safe—”
Joanna did not linger to hear the remainder of his words. It was not safe for one who could not swim. However, she could. With a bravery borne of desperation, she flung herself out into the stream, almost certain he was too frightened of the water to come after her. She did not even try to keep her head above water, but only curled up tightly and let the flooded beck carry her away, hoping all along that he would think her drowned—and hoping as well that that did not happen.
When she finally surfaced, spitting and gasping for breath, she was freezing cold, tangled in her skirts and her matted hair. A small branch caught against her as she struggled to keep her head above water in the wild current, swimming as best she could at an angle toward the bank. Beneath a dense canopy of trees the water dragged her along, under overhanging branches and past boulders and tree trunks. Despite her headlong trip down the roiling beck, with every bend and twist of the streambed she nonetheless rejoiced, for she had escaped. She had escaped!
When Joanna at last dragged herself from the water she was trembling from both exhaustion and the cold, but she could not have been more jubilant. The stream was shallower here, and wider. Just beyond her it pushed out of the trees and across a wide grassy meadow before cutting through the dunes to the sea. She gasped for breath as she steadied herself against a willow sapling. Then, unable to trust her shaky legs, she lowered herself to the ground to rest. She was unbearably cold from her icy swim, and she’d suffered innumerable
bumps and scrapes. But Joanna gladly ignored those discomforts. She could hardly believe her reckless plan had worked so well.
What a blessing that the man Kell was so frightened of water. Who would ever have guessed it? For a moment she felt a pang of sympathy for him. Rylan Kempe would be enraged to find out she had escaped from him. She certainly hoped he didn’t punish poor Kell. But that was not her concern, she decided. The Norseman would have to fend for himself against Sir Rylan—just as she had been forced to do.
Somewhat restored by her brief rest, Joanna looked around. She knew it would not be long before they came searching for her. She must hide herself quickly if she hoped not to be recaptured. With an effort she scrambled up the grassy bank and started up a little
Joanna eyed the flooded stream carefully, trying to judge whether she could safely cross it. But even if she did, she thought glumly, the giant behind her would just as quickly follow her. Unless she could somehow disarm him.
But that seemed completely ludicrous, she decided as she slanted him a look. He was far too big and brawny for her puny strength. Dismayed by her dire predicament, Joanna sighed, then moved nearer the water. At least she could bathe her face and hands, she told herself in resignation.
“Be careful,” Kell warned as she stepped onto a tree trunk that projected out into the frothing stream.
“Why? Because I might get hurt?” she replied curtly. “You’ll forgive me if I doubt the sincerity of your concern.”
She sent a contemptuous glance back over her shoulder, but her expression changed when she saw him. He was not looking at her but at the rushing water. And he had a worried frown on his face.
“Of course,” she added as her pulse began to race with sudden hope, “since your Lord Blaecston is going to all these pains to capture me, you no doubt would come to my aid if I were to fall in the water.”
The big man’s face blanched. He looked briefly at her then back at the rushing water. “Back up,” he warned her, taking a step back himself. “’Tis not safe—”
Joanna did not linger to hear the remainder of his words. It was not safe for one who could not swim. However, she could. With a bravery borne of desperation, she flung herself out into the stream, almost certain he was too frightened of the water to come after her. She did not even try to keep her head above water, but only curled up tightly and let the flooded beck carry her away, hoping all along that he would think her drowned—and hoping as well that that did not happen.
When she finally surfaced, spitting and gasping for breath, she was freezing cold, tangled in her skirts and her matted hair. A small branch caught against her as she struggled to keep her head above water in the wild current, swimming as best she could at an angle toward the bank. Beneath a dense canopy of trees the water dragged her along, under overhanging branches and past boulders and tree trunks. Despite her headlong trip down the roiling beck, with every bend and twist of the streambed she nonetheless rejoiced, for she had escaped. She had escaped!
When Joanna at last dragged herself from the water she was trembling from both exhaustion and the cold, but she could not have been more jubilant. The stream was shallower here, and wider. Just beyond her it pushed out of the trees and across a wide grassy meadow before cutting through the dunes to the sea. She gasped for breath as she steadied herself against a willow sapling. Then, unable to trust her shaky legs, she lowered herself to the ground to rest. She was unbearably cold from her icy swim, and she’d suffered innumerable
bumps and scrapes. But Joanna gladly ignored those discomforts. She could hardly believe her reckless plan had worked so well.
What a blessing that the man Kell was so frightened of water. Who would ever have guessed it? For a moment she felt a pang of sympathy for him. Rylan Kempe would be enraged to find out she had escaped from him. She certainly hoped he didn’t punish poor Kell. But that was not her concern, she decided. The Norseman would have to fend for himself against Sir Rylan—just as she had been forced to do.
Somewhat restored by her brief rest, Joanna looked around. She knew it would not be long before they came searching for her. She must hide herself quickly if she hoped not to be recaptured. With an effort she scrambled up the grassy bank and started up a little
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