Page 50 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
Robena could hear the rushing water, but couldn’t see it, when Pudge lifted a fist, calling for a halt. She was boxed in on all sides by the warriors, as if by unspoken agreement to protect the youngest of their party.
After at least five minutes of peering out from the covering shadows of their forest, the grizzled veteran made a sweeping gesture with his hand to catch their attention. He held up three fingers, then knocked his fists against each other then pointed at his left eye. He gave one firm nod, tugged on his left earlobe, then tapped his left thumb against the inside of his right wrist. Finally, he placed his two fists beside each other, and made a breaking motion.
They stared at him.
Pudge stared back expectantly.
Finally, Mook whispered, “What?”
His brows lowering and his countenance darkening, Pudge repeated the entire pantomime, each motion more abrupt, angrier.
When he was through the second time, Mook glanced at Robena and shrugged. “I dinnae understand.”
In a bored voice, Giric—who was sorting through his quiver—said loudly, “He wants us to cross the river two by two and stand watch for the others.”
“Aye,” hissed Pudge. “Onlysilently.”
“Oooh,” Mook rumbled. “Well, why did ye no’ say that?”
Kester and Weesil crossed first since they’d done it before. Pudge was in charge of timing the rest of their crossings. When the first pair reached the opposite side—the tops of their saddles hadn’t even touched the water—Kester swung down and tossed his reins to Weesil, who led the two horses to cover.
Kester crouched on the riverbank, his gaze intense, and gestured silently for Giric and Auld Gommy to cross.
Pudge cursed about things not going to plan but sent the second pair across. Kester pointed them toward where Weesil was hiding, then waved to Mook and Robena.
“Ye ready, Robbie? Keep yer feet up, and ye’ll no’ have to spend the day in wet boots,” the giant advised quietly as they urged their horses into the torrent, secure in the knowledge that Pudge was watching for trouble behind, and the rest of the band were ahead of them.
For Robena, ‘twas surprisingly terrifying.
With each step, the horse plunged deeper into the river, the water closing over its knees, then up to its hips. She couldn’t keep her boots out of the water—she couldn’t keep herthighsout of the water. Mayhap ‘twas because she was so much smaller than the men…whatever the reason, the rushing water pushed and tugged at her legs and kilt, threatening to tear her from her horse.
She had to just trust in the animal and keep faith in Kester.
Across the torrent, she locked eyes with him. His mouth was moving, but if hewassaying something, she couldn’t hear him over the roar of the river. Ahead of her, Mook showed no signs of trouble, and she tried to emulate his ease as she kept her focus on the man she loved, and safety.
Aye, she could do this.
The water reached above her horse’s shoulders, and the animal made a nervous sound and stepped sideways. Unable to help him, she just tightened her hands on the reins and prayed she wasn’t making this worse.
The water from upstream was slamming into her right hip now, crashing over the saddle as she fought to stay seated. Her kilt was soaked, her shirt was soaked, her—
A sudden, terrible thought had her twisting in the saddle. Her lute! Herpipes.
Last night she’d played for the men.
And she hadn’t wrapped the pipes as tightly as they’d been for the first part of the journey.
The current tugged at her bundles and she lunged for the one she knew held her pipes, desperate to reach them, to lift them out of the water’s possible reach.
But the movement confused her horse, who stepped sideways again…and stumbled.
The sudden jolt sent her tumbling off the saddle and into the raging current.
The water was freezing; much colder than it had any right to be. It closed over her head, and Robena flailed her hands frantically, trying to reach the surface once more.
Her foot slammed into something—the riverbed! ‘Twas not that deep!-and she thrust herself upward. As her head and shoulders emerged, she sucked in a grateful breath of air and twisted to see Kester racing along the riverbank, keeping pace with her, then pulling ahead. He shouldn’t be able to outrun a river, especially not one moving this fast, but Robena saw only determination—and fear—in his expression.
Or mayhap ‘twas just the cold which was slowing down her thoughts. St. Kelsi knew that each breath, each movement, of hers was becoming more sluggish. Why couldn’t she seem to make her arms and legs work? Sheknewthe river was shallow enough to ford, so why couldn’t she just stand against the current and walk to shore?
