“I used to hide out here,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.
She frowned. “Are we on yer land?”
“Close. ’Tis Furquart land.”
She knew enough about where things were located to know that the Furquart holding was about a sennight’s journey from Trethway Island where Bram was being kept prisoner. Her stomach clenched with the knowledge. “Why did ye hide here?” she asked, curious and hoping if she got him talking about his past he’d become distracted and she could somehow get away from him. She’d succeeded in protecting Thomas, William, Esther, and Maximilian from certain death, but she’d run directly into the arms of trouble for her efforts.
Connor led her through a break in the trees to a space that overlooked a cliff that dropped to the ocean below. To the right of them, in the distance, she could see a waterfall. That must have been the rushing water she’d heard. He started to pull her toward the edge of the cliff, and uneasiness coursed through her. She was going over that ledge. Very soon.
A chill gripped her and made her shiver. She had to get away from Connor. His hand came suddenly to the back of her neck, his fingers curling tighter. “Look down,” he ordered.
Her heart thundered with the tip of her feet upon the edge of the cliff. The wind began to blow, making her hair flap around her face and her gown flutter. She reached a trembling hand to grasp her hair as she looked down, hoping that if she did as Connor bid her, he would release her. Her breath caught as she took in the drop to the churning sea below. The sheer span of it sent her spinning. A storm was brewing on the water, which seemed to match the turmoil swirling around and within her.
“What is it ye wish me to see?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“I stood here many a times as a lad, crying, shaking, trying to find the bravery to simply jump and end the pain, but two things kept me from jumping, Ada: my mother’s love for me, and ye.”
She frowned. “Me?”
“Aye. My mother was at yer home the day the fae gave ye the gift, ye see, so she kenned ye could make me king. Every night before bed, she would tell me the story of that day and remind me that, one day, when I ruled the land, I would make both my stepfather and my real father suffer, and I would lift my mother to the status she deserved. I bided my time waiting for yer father to announce he was accepting suitors for ye, and when he fell ill and Brothwell took his place, I despaired. But I also began to plot to simply steal ye. I sensed we were meant to be.”
Connor’s mind was twisted. The surety of it hit Ada in the gut.
“But then Brothwell announced the competition,” he went on, “and I kenned all would be well. Except ye surprised me, wounded me, angered me—”
“Stop! Ye’re hurting me!” she cried out as his grip on her neck became like a vise.
“Aye,” he replied, his tone as chilly as the wind. “As ye hurt me when ye chose MacLean. Why did ye nae want me?”
Her mind raced with what to say. She had to convince him she wanted him. “I do want ye,” she said, wincing at how false she sounded.
“Liar!” he roared. Sliding his hand quickly from her neck to her wrist, which he encircled, he maneuvered her forward so that she was leaning over the ledge of the cliff, looking at the ocean below. “I should drop ye for picking him over me!” he bellowed.
She screamed with fright, the overwhelming sense that someone was about to die consuming her. “Connor, please!” she cried. “If ye drop me, how will I help ye become king? Think of why ye wed me. Think of what ye truly want.”
“Attack! We’re under attack!” a man’s voice called from the woods they had just passed through.
Connor’s grip grew even tighter. Ada looked over her shoulder to catch his gaze, but he was focused on the woods. She felt a slight tug as he started to pull her toward him, but then William and another man broke through the clearing, and Connor stilled. “Ye lied to me,” he said, his tone accusing and hurt flashing across his face. Her gift may not have been working well, but in that moment, she knew exactly what was going to happen. A scream ripped from her throat, her very soul, as Connor released his hold on her and she began to fall toward the water.
“Ada!” William bellowed as the MacKinney loosed his hold on her and she fell over the cliff. He ran toward the devil, Grant on his heels.
“I’ve got the MacKinney,” Grant yelled as he raised his sword, already bloodied from the five guards William and Grant had just battled through. “Ye go after yer lass!”
William lunged left as the MacKinney barreled toward him, and Grant flew into the man. William did not glance back to see who was winning the fight. Instead, he ran to the ledge and threw down his sword. He scanned the water for Ada, and seeing her tossed up by a wave, gasping and arms flailing, he dove for her.
The air whistled by, stealing all thoughts but one:save her. His hands sliced through the cold water, and when it covered his head, chest, and legs, it stole not only his breath but his ability to place himself for a moment. Panic tried to edge in, but he willed it away. He’d done this before—fought his way out of a restless sea. As a child, as a lad, and as a man training with the Dark Riders.
He stilled as much as he could, allowing the sea to claim him so he could become one with it. The waves pulled at him as the need for air burned his lungs and dizziness claimed his head. He clenched his jaw in an attempt to focus. The dizziness and the burn would subside the closer he got to the surface. But where was it? The tug was to his left, and without hesitation, he swam that direction, breaking the surface to gulp in air just as a wave crashed over his head and tossed him back under. He was propelled backward, his legs scraping against the rock of the cliffside, and then he was yanked violently forward. His body collided with something, and instinctually, he grabbed it so as not to hit too hard. And then he realized he had Ada.
She wasn’t fighting him or clinging to him. She was simply limp.
Christ…
Desperation burrowed into his bones as he wrapped an arm around her waist and fought his way back to the surface. When he broke through, he gulped in a breath, located the shore, and turned them in the right direction. This time, instead of being tossed back under, he rode the wave into the shore until his feet touched the bottom. He clasped Ada to him, sweeping her off her feet and up against his chest. He trudged through the water, enraged at the slow progress.
“Stay with me, Ada,” he pleaded, shoving back clumps of wet hair from her forehead, only to discover a cut. “God above,” he muttered, glad the wound did not look severe. When he reached the shore, he picked up his pace and ran the rest of the way out of the water. He laid her down on dry land and tilted her onto her side before he pushed into her stomach and chest several times, as he’d once seen a desperate mother do when her child had gotten caught underwater.
He did it again and again, his fear for Ada making him tremble violently. “Ada, come on, lass!” He slipped her onto her back and straddled her hips so he could press both his hands into her chest over her heart. He did it three more times, bellowing his rage, and then she began to cough, water spewing from her mouth.
