Thunder and Roses (18 page)

As she followed him out of the gallery, Clare said repentantly, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Nicholas wasn’t sorry to be heading back. As he fell in behind Clare, he kept one eye on the ceiling and the other on the graceful sway of her hips. It was time to start thinking about what he would do with today’s kiss.

As they reached the main shaft and turned toward the pit head, Owen cocked his head. “The pump has failed again.”

When Nicholas listened, he realized that the steady, distant thump of the engine had ended, leaving profound silence. “Does this happen often?”

“Once or twice a week. I hope the engineers can fix it quickly. With all the spring rain, there will be flooding if the pump is down for more than an hour or two.” He began retracing their steps.

Nicholas started to follow, then paused at the sound of a hollow boom. It echoed eerily through the passages and galleries and sent vibration shivering through the rock under their feet.

Owen said over his shoulder, “
Bodvill’s
charge.”

Abruptly Clare whirled about to face the way they had come, her expression urgent. “Listen!”

Startled, Nicholas turned and looked in the same direction. Visibility was blocked by a bend about two hundred feet behind them, but the air was compressing strangely, and something was rushing toward them with a liquid sound he could not identify.

Before he could open his mouth to ask what was

happening, a huge wave exploded around the bend, filling the entire shaft as it roared toward them with lethal speed.

10

 
As soon as the wave appeared, Owen barked, “Climb the walls and hang on! I’ll try to help Huw.” His candle vanished as he raced away.

Clare grabbed Nicholas’s arm and tugged him toward the nearest wooden prop. “Quickly! We need to get as close to the ceiling as possible.”

Understanding, Nicholas dropped his candle, grabbed Clare around the waist, and lifted her as high as he could. She scrambled upward, finding footholds in the roughly cut rock, and Nicholas followed. The wildly swinging candle stuck on her hat brim showed a crook in the timber that left several inches of space between the prop and the rocky wall. He managed to hook one arm around the wood and the other around Clare.

Then the raging waters struck, drowning the candle and submerging them completely. The current battered furiously, and it took all of

Nicholas’s strength to maintain his hold on the timber. Something heavy hit them and whirled away, almost knocking Clare from his grasp.

As he strained to hold her against the force of the water, she wrapped herself fiercely around him. Once her grip was secure, he turned her against the current until her back was braced against the rocky wall and his body sheltered hers. Another object struck him, gouging his ribs and knocking out what little breath he had left, but this time Clare was spared.

The seconds ticked away and the flood did not diminish. As the burning in his lungs became unbearable, he began to wonder if it was their fate to drown here, far from the wind and the sky. He pressed his face against Clare’s hair, feeling the silky tendrils swirl across his cheek. What a waste. What a bloody waste of two lives. He had thought he would have more time. …

His vision darkened and Clare’s clasp was weakening when the current began to ease. Sensing that the water level might be dropping, he turned his face up and discovered that there was now a narrow band of air between the water and the ceiling.

Even as he sucked air into his desperate

lungs, he slid his arm down Clare’s back and under her hips, then lifted her so that she could breathe. Her head came above the surface and she broke into a spasm of coughs, her slim body shaking convulsively. In the dangerous darkness she seemed very fragile, and his arm tightened around her again.

For long minutes, they simply clung to each other and
reveled
in the luxury of breathing. The water slowly dropped until it was about a foot below the ceiling, then held steady. Nicholas asked, “Do you have any idea what the devil happened?”

Clare coughed again, then managed to say, “The gunpowder charge must have opened a hidden feeder spring. It happens sometimes, but the flooding isn’t usually this bad.”

“And the steam pump is broken down,” he said grimly. “I hope it’s repaired soon.”

The cold current still tugged at them, and his hold on the timber was their only support. He explored with his left foot until he found a solid ledge, which reduced the strain on his arm. He wondered how long they would be trapped; eventually fatigue and cold would start to take their

toll. “If the water starts rising again, we’ll have to try to swim out, but in the darkness we would risk getting lost in a cross passage. For the time being, I think we’re better off staying here and praying that the water goes down more.”

With an attempt at lightness, Clare said, “You, praying? I must have water in my ears.”

He chuckled. “My friend the notorious Michael was a soldier before he decided to become rich instead. He said once that there are no unbelievers on the battlefield.”

He felt a small ripple of amusement from her, but it passed quickly. When she spoke, her voice was tight. “Do you think Owen and Huw were able to escape the flooding?”

“They should be safe,” he said, hoping his optimism was not misplaced. “Owen was some distance ahead of us, and I don’t think it was much farther to the door the boy operates. They may be clinging to a prop, like we are, but with luck they made it through the door and closed it behind them. That would have slowed the water and given them time to reach a higher level.”

“Dear God, I hope so,” she whispered. “But there may have been other miners caught by the

flooding.
Bodvill
probably didn’t withdraw this far when he set the charge off.”

She was shaking violently. Guessing why, he asked, “Was your father killed in this area?”

“No. That happened at the other end of the mine.” After a long silence, she burst out, “I hate this place! Dear God, how I hate it. If I could close the pit tomorrow, I would. So many have died here. So many …” Her voice faded away and she hid her face against his shoulder.

“Did you lose someone else special?” he said quietly.

At first there was silence, except for the ripple of moving water. Then she said haltingly, “Once … once I had a sweetheart. We were both very young—I was fifteen,
Ivor
a year older. But I admired him, and he admired me. We watched each other. Sometimes after chapel we talked, trying to say what we felt, using words anyone could overhear.” She shuddered, then finished in bleak words more vivid than melodrama. “Before matters could go very far, there was a gas explosion. He was burned alive.”

Growing up in the valley, Nicholas had seen the innocent passion of the young villagers as they found

their life’s partners. Though a cynic would say that such affairs were rooted in mere animal lust, Nicholas had known better; he had only to think of Owen’s courtship of Marged. From the beginning, the two had been bound by such sweet, awkward radiance that it had hurt to see them together. Nicholas had been bleakly envious; he had never been that innocent.

At fifteen, Clare would have been much like Marged—pure of spirit and loyal of heart. Would young
Ivor
have been worthy of her gift of first love? Clare would never know, just as she would never have to risk betrayal, for her sweetheart had died when their budding love had still had infinite possibilities.

Ever since they had reached the pit, Nicholas had been forcing himself to suppress his protective instincts for Clare. Now he abandoned the struggle and offered what solace he could. He whispered, “Such courage you have to venture into the depths.” Inclining his head, he touched his lips to her wet face, tracing a path across the curve of her cheek.

She gave a soft, wondering sigh when their lips met, her head falling back against his

shoulder. Her mouth was warm, a tantalizing contrast to her cool cheek. The water supported her weight, and it was easy to
mold
her yielding body against his. Their saturated clothing compressed and warmed where they touched, creating a feeling of nakedness. She didn’t seem to mind that his thigh was between hers, or that her breasts were flattened against his chest.

At first he kept the kiss simple, almost chaste. But there was nothing chaste about the desire she aroused in him. Experimentally, he parted his lips a little. Her mouth opened under his and there was a delicate exchange of breath.

Emboldened, he touched her lips with his tongue. She made a small, surprised movement, and for a painful moment he thought that she would decide that she had had her kiss for the day. But instead, her tongue shyly touched his, and her hands made light brushing motions down his back.

She tasted sweet as summer wine. He knew that it was insane to feel such desire when their lives were in peril, yet for a mad moment he forgot the water, the blackness, the menace of their circumstances. Only Clare was real. He raised his knee so that she settled more firmly

over his thigh, her legs lying along his. She responded with her whole body, as fluid as the water that surrounded them. There was something utterly erotic about her tentative explorations, a hint of innocent wantonness.

Clare had expected to be sensually assaulted when Nicholas finally gave her a traditional, mouth-to-mouth kiss. What she had not expected was such ravishing tenderness. Instinctively she knew that this embrace was different from the previous two, when he had been coolly testing her response and befuddling her expectations. This kiss was sharing, for danger had made them comrades instead of antagonists.

And the danger was not yet over. Reluctantly she turned her face away. “I … I think it’s time to stop.”

“Think? You’re not sure?”

Before she could answer, his mouth found hers again, weaving an enchantment that dissolved her fragile common sense. She pressed closer to him, then shivered when his hand drifted upward and brushed the side of her breast. His light touch stirred a shocking amount of excitement.

With it came guilt, and acute embarrassment

when she realized that her loins rubbed against his in a most disgraceful fashion. She broke away again, saying firmly, “I’m sure.”

He caught his breath, then slowly released it in a sigh of soft regret. “What a pity.” The arm that held her close began to loosen, a fraction of an inch at a time.

She wriggled back along his thigh so they weren’t quite so intimate. But it was hard to be dignified when they were twined around each other and to let go would be to risk drowning.

The thought rekindled the terror she had felt when the flood had almost dragged her under. Nicholas had been the only safety in a world gone mad. If he had not been so strong, so tenacious, she would have become one more of the mine’s victims. “You saved my life, my lord. T
hank
you.”

“Pure selfishness on my part. Without you, my household would instantly fall apart.”

His teasing restored her sense of humor. “But without me to complicate your life,” she pointed out, “you would have been free to leave Aberdare.”

“Whoever said that life should be simple?” He nuzzled his face into the angle between her throat and shoulder.

She caught her breath. Their original agreement had covered kisses; in her naiveté, she had not known how many seductive ways there were for a man to touch a woman. Trying to distract herself from awareness of their physical closeness, she said, “The water has dropped another foot or so.”

“So it has. Shall we find out if it’s low enough for me to stand without drowning?” He took her hand and laid it on the prop, then disengaged himself and moved away.

Her fingers skidded off the wet wood, leaving her unsupported in the water. She gave a choked cry and grabbed for the timber, but she had drifted and could find only slippery stone that gave her no purchase.