Page 80 of The Rebellious Countess
“But what about?—”
“Go!”
Sébastien didn’t hesitate. He set the earl’s feet on the ground and ran for the break in the wall. For the first time in her life, she was giving orders as if she were a leader of something important. Granted, her audience was a man hanging onto life by a thread and an eight-year-old boy, but in her experience the male species didn’t listen to anyone who wore skirts.
Máira increased her pace, her chest heaving with every heavy step. When she finally reached the crumbled spot on the wall, she was thankful to find it at chest height. A large man would hurdle it with little effort…Simon would no doubt do just that if he were healthy. As it was, he was little to no help as she leaned his back against the wall.
“Can you stand?” She asked between gulps of air.
“Yes.”
She released him for a moment and he swayed. Then with a low guttural groan, he forced his body to comply as he braced himself with the palm of his good arm, his broken pinky stickingup in the air as if it were a vine sprouting out from the rock. Máira cringed at the sight, before climbing the wall and finding Sébastien on a narrow ledge on the other side.
“Ballocks,” she swore, as she gazed down at the steep incline. The rocks would not be easy to maneuver. She leaned back over and whispered, “This will hurt, Simon, but we have no choice. We must hurry.”
Máira squatted on top of the wall and braced her feet on the sides, testing the stability of both before she reached down and grabbed Simon under his arms. “I need you to use your feet and push yourself up.”
“Máira, leave.”
His order caught her off-guard. “Hell no. Bloody hellno.” She grappled with his arms.
“Leave. I am more burden…than I’m…worth.”
“I said ‘use your feet,’ or this is going to hurt like hell. One. Two. Three.” She lifted under his arms and smiled when he finally gave into her command. Her legs shook, the muscles in her arms burned, and Simon’s feet slipped time and time again as he snarled his pain, his left foot doing little to nothing to help him push. When his backside was finally even with the top, she leaned back and forced him onto the top of the wall, his weight counterbalancing her own. “Don’t move.” Her grip slipped.
“Do not try to kick me again, Astley,” a male voice cautioned right before Elias appeared on the wall next to her as if he'd scaled the wall in one step.
“Bloody hell…it’s about blasted time. It’s damned…embarrassing…having your wee wife…drag my…pathetic…arse…” Astley’s diatribe seemed to use the last of his energy, for as he uttered his final word, his body sagged against her, going completely slack.
Elias grabbed her as she began to fall with Simon’s weight forcing her backward, his strong arms steadying her and Simon all at once.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear, and she sank into his touch, relief nearly engulfing her. “My mother is here. She can help you stabilize Astley while I hop down to take him on the other side.”
“What? Hag is here?” She looked up into the shadowed face of the woman she admired and feared.
“Yes, I am.” Her tone was flat and brusque, the opposite of Máira’s, until she said, “It seems you should start calling me by my Christian name, Aventine.”
“Only if you call me Máira.”
“And who is this?” Aventine asked.
“Mother, I’d like you to meet Sébastien.”
Aventine bent down to the boy’s height and held out her hand as if waiting for Sébastien to greet her like a lady, despite the trousers and men’s shirt she wore. Sébastien looked toward Elias, tentatively gripped her fingers, and awkwardly bowed over Aventine’s hand. Aventine gave the boy a brief smile.
Between the four of them, Simon was off the wall and draped over Elias’s shoulders in a matter of minutes. “It’s going to get easier from here.”
Máira placed her hand on his chest. His heartbeat strongly under her hand, proof that he was not a dream. He turned to go, and her hand came away with blood smeared upon her palm. “Elias!”
He turned and saw her upturned hand. “Apologies,ma chérie. It is nothing but a scratch.”
“A scratch doesn’t bleed like this.” Her comment went on deaf ears as he led the way down to the water’s edge.
Despite their steep descent, going down at the tower was easier for everyone, except Elias. They traversed the roughterrain to a small inlet on the side of the tower that Sébastien had said contained the Fountain of Saint Aubert, and found Father Charles waiting for them with another man inside a small boat.
Elias swore under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, but only got a shake of his head in reply.
