Timeless (24 page)

Another gust of wind howled through the rocks and the boat skipped sideways, like a stone tossed over the waves by a mischievous child. She grabbed the rudder and held on with both hands. It fought her grasp like a living thing.

A fierce, cold draft blew in from leeward and she heard the sail rip. Looked up to see a towering wall of stone looming out of the mist off her starboard rail. A terrified oath tore from her. She threw her full weight against the tiller.

But she could not change course fast enough.

“Mercy of God!”

The boat’s side sheared along the rock. She felt the entire vessel shudder with the impact. Heard wood scraping. Splintering. And still the treacherous winds forced the battered craft onward.

Avril could barely see through the cloak of fog—but she felt water sloshing around her feet.

Water bubbling in through a hole in the boat’s side.

Stark terror drenched her. She relinquished her hold on the tiller, ran forward, and tore a gaping section of the sail’s canvas free from the snarl of lines. She stuffed it in the breach, desperately trying to staunch the flow of the sea into the boat’s wounded side.

For an instant, she thought of shouting for help—but knew she was too far from the island. The shore was deserted. No one would hear her.

And nay, she would not give up! Not while there was even a chance she might escape. She could do this!

For Giselle’s sake, she could—

Before she even completed the thought, a huge wave snatched the boat up like a toy, tossing it high and letting it fall. Avril felt herself dropping with the boat, heard her own scream fill the darkness.

A rock shattered the hull in two and Avril felt pain explode through her body. She hit the water, plunging into the depths with the broken remains of her ship. Stunned by the impact, she floated downward. Then panic made her fight the icy blackness.

She clawed her way to the surface. Broke above the waves and gasped one breath of salty air and fog and water before the merciless ocean overpowered her and pushed her under again.

Dear God, help me!
She grabbed a piece of wood, bobbed upward, but her muscles felt limp. Her body blazed with agony. She could not hang on. Her gown was too heavy, dragging her downward, the water so cold, her arms too weak from rowing.

From somewhere deep inside her, a panicked, desperate plea filled her mind and heart and soul.
Hauk, help me!

~ ~ ~

Hauk jerked Ildfast to a halt so suddenly that the startled destrier reared and danced sideways.

By Thor’s hammer,
what was that?
It had sounded like Avril’s voice.

As clear as if she were riding beside him. Breathing hard, he looked around in the darkness, saw only the silent cliffs, the sea far below. Heard only the wind and the distant sounds of the celebration in the night air.

But he
swore
he had heard Avril calling him.

Calling for help.

The fury and annoyance that had gripped him from the moment he found her missing abruptly shifted. To a far more disturbing, unfamiliar feeling.

Fear.

He dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks, set off at a gallop along the cliff’s edge, back toward town. He had checked his
vaningshus
, thinking she had simply gone home without him. Josette had suggested that as the most likely possibility when he questioned her.

But Hauk had not found his troublesome bride there. Or on the beach below.

And now another possibility lanced through him: Thorolf.

Hauk had not seen the knave at the celebration. Could not imagine him walking up and snatching Avril from the middle of the crowd. She would have screamed. Someone would have noticed. Everyone would have noticed.
He
would have noticed. He had been keeping close watch over her until he had been drawn into arguing with his uncle.

Avril would never have gone with Thorolf willingly. But if the whoreson had gotten his hands on her somehow, if he had hurt—

Hauk, help me.

Choking out a curse, Hauk yanked Ildfast to a halt again, his heart beating violently, his pulse thundering in his ears.

That was no trick of the wind! He had heard her clearly.

Not only heard her but...
felt
her. Felt a crashing wave of pain and icy terror and helplessness that washed over him—and vanished just as suddenly.

Shaken, trembling in the grip of those feelings, he could not pause to question where in the name of all the gods the unnerving sensation had come from. Or how it was possible.

Because in that moment, he felt—
knew
—where she was.

His gaze was drawn to the fog-cloaked sea, to a distant point off the coast, north of town.

She was not with Thorolf.

She was out
there
. Alone. Helpless. Hurt.

He swore viciously and struck his boots against Ildfast’s sides, sending the destrier leaping forward into a headlong, rock-spewing gallop. Hauk did not follow the road back to town, did not veer from the cliffs. Did not take his eyes from that spot offshore.

And did not hear her again.

He felt an icy numbness fill his veins and could not tell if the feeling was hers or his own. Racing along the cliffs at a lethally fast speed, he found an ancient footpath. He pulled hard on Ildfast’s reins, threw himself from the saddle, and ran down the steep trail in the darkness until he reached the shore.

In the moonlight, he could see fresh footprints—two pairs. They led him to a jumble of underbrush, tree branches. And an abandoned anchor stone. A boat of some kind had been scraped across the sand.

What boat? How had she—

It did not matter now. She was out there, in trouble.

She might already be dead.

He kicked off his boots, looking out at the distant, fog-enshrouded rocks. It was too far. Too far to swim in the icy water. Especially at night. If fatigue did not finish him, the cold would. If he did not become confused in the darkness and drown first.

He threw his belt and weapons to the sand, ran for the water, and dove in.

With all his strength, he stroked through the waves, heading straight out from the place where the boat had been launched. Ignoring the cold that seeped into his bones, ignoring the powerful pull of the tide, he aimed himself at the rocks like an arrow.

Halfway to the wreath of fog, several hundred yards from shore, he began encountering wreckage. Chunks of shattered oak planking. A broken oar. The curving top of the prow.

“Avril!” he shouted, talons of fear sinking into him. “Avril! Where are you?”

There was no answer from the darkness. No way to know where the ship had foundered.

Or if she had survived.

He forced that possibility to the back of his mind. Kept swimming. Slashing through the cold depths. Faster. Farther out, where the wind picked up, the surf became brutal. Waves pushed him back until he was exhausted from fighting them and cold air stole every breath he gasped. By the time he reached the fog, his lungs burned and his strength was nearly spent.

“Avril!”

He did not hear—or feel—any response. Could not see her anywhere. Could not see at all as he kept going, swimming deeper into the fog that choked all light from the moon and stars. The savage winds here gave him as much trouble as the treacherous current.

And when he paused to call her name again, a black wave surged over him from out of the darkness. Plucked him up like a leaf. And carried him backward, slamming him into a rock. Sharp pain exploded through his side.

He slid below the surface, awash in agony. But even as the sea closed over his head, he furiously clung to life, reaching out to the very rock that had injured him, using it to drag himself back to the surface.

Lifting his head above water, he gasped for air. Every breath was torture. Broken ribs. He had felt the pain before. But identifying the source of the agony did not ease it. He tried forcing it to a distant corner of his mind but could not even breathe deeply enough to call out again.

Frustration and fear surged through him, colder and sharper than the wind and waves.

Avril!
He did not know if it would work,
how
it could work, but he tried reaching out to her with his thoughts, with the riot of feelings inside him.
In the name of whatever god you hold dear, where are—

Hauk...

Her voice this time was a scant, feeble whisper through his mind, like a tendril of mist. But he struck out in the direction it came from, swimming as well as he could across the water, his muscles and broken ribs objecting to every stroke and kick.

Finally he saw her—a small, dark form clinging to one of the rocks, barely visible above the waves.

Relief flooded through him. Relief and another emotion he did not have time to think about.

She was barely conscious, her dress ripped, her skin bloodied and bruised. She had found an outcropping to hold onto, clinging to it in a death grip, her other arm wrapped around a piece of the ship’s thick mast. When he touched her, tried to ease her into his arms, she moaned in pain, would not release her grasp on the rock.

“Let go, Avril,” he choked out. “I am with you. Let go.”

A terrified, helpless sob wracked her—but the wind and the fog swallowed even that sharp, broken sound. She let him pull her toward him.

Treading water, Hauk grabbed the piece of mast, grateful for any help he could get. Avril was shuddering with cold, as was he. Swimming out this far had been difficult enough. He did not know how they could survive the journey back.

Did not know if he had enough strength left to battle the waves for both of them.

~ ~ ~

Avril choked on a mouthful of water, gasped and coughed and thought she felt sand beneath her cheek.

Finally she opened her eyes. It was indeed sand. Grainy. Rough. She was on dry land. Dry, solid, blessed land! For a soaring, dizzying moment, all she knew was that she was alive.

And freezing.

It was still dark out. She tried to push herself up, but pain lanced through her body. Her every muscle hurt, her limbs stabbed by agony that wrenched a groan from her lips. She was shaking with bone-deep cold, her gown and hair soaked and dripping.

And somehow she had gotten all tangled up in rigging attached to a large section of the ship’s planking. How had she...

She did not remember finding the makeshift raft. Or tying herself to it.

Slowly, dizzy with the pain, she managed to sit up and untangle herself from the knotted lines. Turning her head to look behind her, at the moonlit waves lapping the shore, she realized all at once that her escape had failed.

But before she could feel more than a single, piercing jolt of defeat and sorrow, she saw Hauk—sprawled in the sand a few yards up the beach.

He lay on his back, one arm flung out to the side.

God’s breath. Had he saved her? Stumbling to her feet, she staggered over to him. Had he
swum
all that distance in the icy water? Risked his life to save hers?

“Hauk?”

 He did not stir, did not respond. Dropping to her knees in the sand beside him, she touched his face.

And realized he did not seem to be breathing. “Sweet holy Mary.” She gasped, shifting her hand to his throat. “Hauk?
Hauk!
”

She could not find a pulse. Her own heart racing, she pressed her ear to his chest. Struggled to listen over the pounding of the surf. She thought she heard a single, faint beat.

But then she could hear naught more.

He was dead.

Shouting a wordless sound of horror, she straightened with a jerk, grasped his shoulders. “Hauk, wake up!” His skin was cold. She tried shaking him. “Damn you, Norseman, wake up! Wake up!” She slapped him. Could not rouse him.

He remained limp.

He had not risked his life saving her—he had
lost
his life saving her.

“Dear God!” she cried, lurching to her feet, shaking her head wildly. “Help! Someone—”

It was no use.

It was too late.

A sob rose from deep in her chest, full of a pain sharper than the physical hurt that wrenched her body. Dazed, mad with confusion and denial and disbelief, she looked up and saw his horse on the cliff. Heart pumping, she ran toward the footpath, stumbling, her vision blurred by inexplicable tears. She had to get help. This could not be happening! He could not be dead. If she could get help—

“Avril!”

She staggered to a halt, stunned by the sound of that familiar voice behind her. Icy fingers skidded up her spine, lifting the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

Unable to speak, unable to breathe, she slowly turned around.

And saw Hauk sitting up. Slowly, struggling, he got to his feet.

Her mouth opened, but no sound would come out. She felt naught in that moment but the tears running down her face—tears she had shed for him.

Because he had
died
.

His features etched with pain, he walked toward her. “Avril? Are you all right?” He moved slowly, kept one hand pressed to his side—but he was very much alive.

“I-I...” She felt dizzy. She felt faint. “I-I am dreaming!” When she started to back away from him, he took her arm.

His grip was as strong as ever. His skin warm against hers. His eyes the same sky blue. His voice deep and steady. “You are not dreaming. You have been through a confusing ordeal—”

“But y-you were—”

“Avril—”

“Nay!” Terrified by what she had seen and heard and felt, she tried to pull away from him. “You were not breathing! I could not hear your heartbeat. You were—”

“Calm yourself—”

“
You were dead!
” Too many impossible facts crashed together all at once and sent the world spinning around her.

Suddenly she was no longer aware of the pain in her limbs or the weakness in her muscles or aught but a sensation of falling into darkness.

And Hauk catching her in his strong arms.