Page 39 of A Night of Forever
Nothing had ever tasted as good.
He’d survived longer than a few days without food before. Water, however, was a different matter.
Having replenished his body, Arend leaned back against the wall next to his water supply. He had no idea how long he would be here or if anyone was coming back for him.
How ironic. A man who lived his life filled with darkness might just die in it. He’d never feared death. Death was simply the unknown, and he thrived in the unknown. The unknown protected all his deep, dark secrets.
When he had returned from Brazil, he had left those secrets in that silent darkness and started his life again in the light. The light of wealth. The light of acceptance. The light of equality. The light of friendship.
Hadley in particular almost worshiped him because he’d struck out on his own and come back rich beyond imagining. As a second son with his way to make in the world, Hadley had immediately wanted to jump on a ship and set sail. If not for his brother’s need for Hadley’s help to maintain the family’s estate, Arend was sure, Hadley would have done so.
If his friends knew how Arend had earned his passage to South America and how he’d come to find the diamond mine, any hero worship would be over. They had lived with terrible fathers and the way they’d been reared was far from perfect. But they had never experienced true poverty or the contempt it brought. They had never been desperate to keep up with friends who could spend how they wished. Their charity was hard to swallow.
Even thinking about the past made him shiver. Then he realized it wasn’t only his thoughts that gave him a chill. His breeches were wet and his jacket was only keeping him moderately warm.
His heart started to speed up.
The cold held both threat and promise. The threat was the chill could lead to illness, but the promise was that it meant he was not very deep underground, for the deeper underground one went, the hotter it became. If he could work out which direction would take him to the surface, he might yet be able to escape.
If he could think over the pain in his pounding head. If his brain would offer a solution rather than just sitting uselessly between his ears.
Focus,he told himself through gritted teeth. So he focused. On sunshine. On green grass. On fresh breezes…
Arend still saw nothing, but suddenly he found he could sense distance. Sound told him how close he was to walls, how far the rock was above his head, the size of the tunnel he was in. He felt the ground under him. Each tiny rise and fall—
He stiffened. The slope of the ground. Could the slope of the ground tell him which way was up?
Any gradient was slight. It was too dark to get a visual study of the ground. The only way to get the information he needed was through touch.
Once again he stretched out prone on the dirt. Ignoring the thumping headache, he let his mind empty of everything but the sensation of the ground beneath him and his connection to it.
The inclination of the ground suggested the way he was facing was up. It was obvious, however, that he’d have to crawl further to get a feel of the slope.
But what if he lost access to his water source?
He decided to risk it. But first he removed his jacket and shirt, and then tore the white fabric of the shirt into thin strips. He could knot the strips to give them some weight and use the material as a marker so he could feel his way back to the water if he needed to return.
He put his jacket back on, and then continued his excruciatingly slow crawl along the ground, leaving knotted strips of cloth behind him like breadcrumbs in a child’s fairy tale.
It was slow work, as he had to be careful not to fall into any open shaft in the ground beneath him. His excitement grew as it became obvious the ground was sloping upward.
Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far before exhaustion swamped him. His lack of food and the head injury were taking their toll. At that moment a kitten could beat him in a fight.
Sighing, he closed his eyes. A minute’s rest. Then he’d keep moving.
—
Isobel awoke draped over a galloping horse, while a heavy fist wrapped in her clothing anchored her in place with vicious pressure.
She hurt everywhere. Especially her face. Her cheek throbbed in time with the animal’s pounding hoofbeats, and she tasted blood in her mouth. As she turned her head the horse stumbled and her cheek slammed into its neck, and she cried out. Not just because of the pain, but because she had seen the rider’s face.
He’d been glancing back over his shoulder, but she’d recognized him immediately. Dufort.
It was too much. She closed her eyes and, to her shame, vomited. The contents of her stomach emptied over Dufort’s coat, breeches, and Hessians and blew back along the length of the horse. The man’s snarled curses were as vicious as the punch he slammed into her spine. She cried out again, hoping he’d drop her to the ground. She had to go back. Had to find Sealey. Had to make sure he was safe.
If they were galloping away from the house, then had the rescuers won? The way Dufort had been checking over his shoulder made her think all had not gone according to Victoria’s plan.
Isobel’s own escape plan hadn’t worked well either. Her current position, the pain in her face, and her stomach’s revolt had silver stars dancing before her eyes. She fought the urge to fall into oblivion once again. If she was to escape, she had to be ready to take any opportunity to flee.
