Another scream of horror ripped from her and then yet another. She didn’t want to die. She was not ready to die. She wanted to be loved, but she was not. The water filled the boat at a rapid pace that ripped a sob from her, and then as it crested her chin, she gulped one more breath and screamed once more. She yelled Graham’s name, sure he could not hear her, but just as sure that she had heard him. Mayhap she was near dead, she thought as the water sucked her under and she started to fall much like a heavy rock, down, down, down.
Pain cut into Graham’s side, his head, his lungs, and his heart, but he pushed himself onward. He had to save her. Her screams filled the night, followed by a sob, and then his name on her lips—a plea that ripped at the muscle holding his heart within his chest. He reached the place he had seen the skiff three breaths after the water covered her, but as he swept his arms around, not feeling her, despair that it was three breaths too late choked him.
He dove under the water and swam as far down as he could—once, twice, three times. Each time he broke the surface and his lungs screamed and protested the lack of air, making him acutely aware that it was a great deal more than she was getting. He heard his brothers calling him then. They were near but not close enough to help. He dove under again, his lungs burning as he swam deeper. They tightened painfully, and he knew if he went any farther he would die with her, but he refused to let her go. He made one last surge toward the bottom and reached into the darkness, knowing this was his last chance. His finger brushed something soft and silky, like hair. He curled his tingling fingers into it and held on as he swam closer, circled his arm around her waist, and kicked toward the surface.
Hands reached out of the darkness, touching him, tugging him, and within a breath, he broke the surface with his brothers, Isobel in his arms. They all sucked in air while Isobel’s head slumped forward in a soundless acceptance of death.
“Isobel!” he roared, gripping her hard as he surged toward land. It seemed to take even longer to reach land than it had to reach her, but finally, he staggered out of the water with his limp, bound wife hanging in his arms as his men gathered around them.
Graham lay her on the sand and looked to Marion helplessly. “Save her,” he pleaded. “Ye must save her.”
For all his physical strength, he had a sudden clarity that he was weak without this woman. He wanted the chance to rip down the walls he had erected, to worship her as she deserved to be worshipped, to show her the love that was in his heart. He wanted the opportunity to let her see what was inside him and know what he feared the most, even if she turned away from him.
Marion kneeled above Isobel as she pressed her hands into the space under Isobel’s breasts and then pushed hard. “Turn her head,” Marion commanded him as Cameron dropped beside him to unbind her hands and Bridgette worked to unbind her feet.
Graham gently took her head in his hands and turned it, and as he did, Marion pressed hard with a cry, and Isobel began to cough up great amounts of water. Marion leaned over her and then began to cry. Tears sprang to his own eyes.
“She lives,” Marion sobbed.
He could not move. He stared at her, grateful, astounded, and fearful that he had heard incorrectly. Marion pressed her hand to his. “She lives, Graham. For now.” She squeezed his hand. “But she may yet die,” Marion added. “We need to get her warm.”
It was all the encouragement he needed. He gathered Isobel into his arms, and tilted her head to his chest. She slumped as he started toward the stairs.
“Graham,” Cameron said. “Let me take her. Ye are weary.”
“Nay,” he answered without slowing. She was his wife. His beloved. He had failed her as he had feared, but not exactly as he had imagined. He had pushed her away, afraid that needing her love made him weak, but now, only when she might be taken from him forever, did he understand that loving a woman such as Isobel would make him stronger and better, because to keep her love he had to give his in return, and that took a sort of bravery he had lost long ago.
When he reached his bedchamber—which should have long beentheirs—he turned and met his brothers’ concerned gazes. “Ye must find Rhona,” Graham said. “I ken she did this, and I’m nae certain who else was involved. Find her for me.”
They nodded as one. “We will, Brother. Watch over Isobel.”
He entered the bedchamber with Bridgette, Marion, Lena, and Marsaili hovering by his side, and as he laid Isobel’s cold, near lifeless body on the bed, he was vaguely aware of the door being shut. Bridgette and Marion went to Isobel’s side and quickly stripped off her tattered clothing while Marsaili squatted near her sister’s head and whispered soothing words to her. Cuts and bruises marked Isobel’s legs, arms, stomach, and face, and he stood there, helpless with anger, as they cleaned the cuts quickly, then started to pile blankets atop her.
“What are ye doing?” he asked, feeling as if his thoughts were hard to grasp.
Marion waved a hand at Isobel. “We are trying to warm her. It’s the cold gripping her that could kill her.”
He glanced at Isobel’s face, and that same icy fear that had frozen him before rushed through his veins. Her lips were tinted blue, and her skin was beyond white and appearing stretched too thin over her bones. Her eyelids were blue, as well, and her hair lay in wet knots around her face. She appeared weak, yet he knew her to be strong. She had to live!
“I will warm her,” he croaked and glanced at Marion, Bridgette, and then Marsaili.
“That is best,” Marion said.
“She will be comforted knowing ye are there,” Bridgette said on a sob, which caused Marsaili to let loose a sob of her own.
Christ. They thought she was going to die. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them to all three women openly weeping. He wanted to weep, as well, but he clenched his jaw. “How long?”
“Until she dies?” Marion whispered. “I cannot say for—”
“Nay!” Grief tried to enter him, but he ruthlessly battled it back. “How long until she should awaken?”
Marion’s mouth dropped open. “Graham—”
“She will nae die,” he insisted.
Marion nodded. “Yer love will keep her alive.”
“Aye,” he agreed, refusing to ever deny it again. “It must.”
