The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch (21 page)

He staggered forward a step, then another,
glaring out over the blinding field of smooth, unmarked snow—with
no idea where to start looking for her. If she was trapped beneath
the drifts, he would have only minutes to … only minutes …

Nay, she would already be dead. In the time
it had taken him to get back to the top of the pass, she would have
suffocated.

He sank to his knees, unprepared for the
force of the anguish that hit him at the thought that Ciara was
lost forever. He lifted his face to the heavens, furious that he
had been spared while she …

“Nay!” he shouted, the word booming into the
slate-gray sky.

Again the icy cliffs sent his own voice
echoing back to him. But this time, he also heard another sound.
Soft, distant. Familiar.

And not human.

Anteros!

He turned his head to see his horse limping
up the south end of the slope toward him—with his saddle askew.

And empty.

Royce was on his feet and running headlong
down the slope before he completed the thought. Paying no heed to
the agony that shot through his left leg, he closed the distance in
what felt like the span of a single pounding heartbeat. His
stallion was lame, favoring his left foreleg. He caught Anteros’s
reins, examined the twisted saddle.

It appeared his destrier had escaped the
worst of the avalanche, for their packs and weapons had received
only minor damage, and Hera’s basket was intact—though it was
empty.

Only Ciara’s delicate mandolin had been
broken, snapped in two. And there was no clue of what had happened
to Ciara.

If she had been swept from Anteros’s back by
the snow, she might not have been carried down the slope but into
the mountainside.

Which was almost worse. She could have been
slammed into the rock. Killed by the impact.

Curses tumbling from his lips, Royce left
his stallion to rush down the hillside, retracing the horse’s
steps, following the hoofprints that led up from the valley. Hope
twisted through him. Agonizing hope. “Ciara!”

Answer me. Please, God, she cannot be
dead
.

Royce quickly came to the end of the tracks,
to a crushed place in the snow. It looked as if his destrier had
fallen to the ground here rather than higher up the mountainside.
But had Ciara still been on his back? Had she been swept from the
saddle? Where …

He heard a sound, lifted his gaze, felt his
heart stop. A few yards away, through a scattering of pine
saplings, he could see the sharp, sheer edge of a cliff.

The tiny mongrel stood at its edge, whining
softly.

Not breathing, not even blinking, Royce
moved toward the precipice and gazed down numbly, expecting to see
Ciara’s broken body at the bottom of the gorge.

Instead, the sight that greeted him made him
shout a strangled exclamation of gratitude and terror.
“Sweet
holy Jesus!”

She was just a few yards beneath him, caught
in a tangle of branches and roots that protruded from the rock. The
boughs had broken her fall, caught her like a baby bird tumbled
from its nest. She lay unmoving, unconscious, her loose hair and
long cloak tangled around her.

He was not even sure she was still alive.
The puppy dashed back and forth, barking and whining, as he
flattened himself at the top of the cliff, leaning down, stretching
out a hand toward Ciara. But he knew he could not reach her from
here. The distance was too great.

And he could not tell whether she was
breathing.

His mouth dry with fear, he pushed to his
feet. She might weigh no more than a length of silk, but if she
awoke, if she moved, if one of the branches broke …

He darted a glance at the bottom of the
gorge far below—so distant he could make out naught but huge, sharp
chunks of ice and boulders.

“Nay,” he swore fiercely. “I will not lose
you.”

His heart thundering against his ribs, he
scooped up the dog and turned from the edge of the cliff, running
back toward Anteros, up the hillside, the ascent made easier by the
path he had cut through the drifts in his mad rush down the
slope.

His left leg burned and hurt. The wind cut
mercilessly through his slashed tunic. But he paid no attention.
When he reached Anteros, the stallion whickered in fear and in
pain, but Royce had no time to soothe him.

He put the puppy in her basket and tied it
securely shut. “Thank you for helping me find your mistress, Hera.
You can best help her now by staying out of the way.” Grabbing his
pack, he tore it free from its fastenings and found his climbing
gear—ropes, boots, pickax.

He quickly changed into the boots, then
secured one of the ropes around his waist with expert knots.
Studying the slender pines at the edge of the cliff, he cursed.

None of the saplings would be sturdy enough
to support his weight and Ciara’s together. His rescue was over
before it had even begun.

Unless …

Jaw clenched, he turned to his destrier.
Bent down and ran his hands over the stallion’s injured foreleg. It
was not broken.

The idea might work. It was insanely
dangerous, but he had no other choice.

“I am sorry, old friend,” he said tightly as
the horse shied from his touch. “I know it hurts, but I have need
of your help.”

Refusing to think of the risk, of the
horse’s pain or his own, he grabbed the reins and led Anteros to
the edge of the cliff.

He took just enough time to remove the
saddle and its heavy load before fashioning a harness, using two
ropes, looping both around Anteros’s withers and broad chest and
under his belly.

“Easy, my brave lad.” He tried to keep his
voice soothing, though his pulse and thoughts were racing. “Hold
your ground and be steady. I need you to be our anchor.”

He picked up the free end of the second
rope, gathered the slack into a circle, and slung it over his
shoulder.

Then he paused just long enough to stare
into Anteros’s dark eyes as he dropped the reins to the ground. He
had never attempted anything like this in his life. But his
stallion’s strength and courage had saved his neck in battle more
than once. He could only pray that those same qualities would keep
him and Ciara alive now.

“Do not fail me, old friend,” he commanded
urgently. “Do not be afraid and do not move.”

If Anteros panicked and lost his footing, or
if his lame leg caused him to slip, all three of them would die at
the bottom of the gorge.

The destrier neighed and tossed his head,
still agitated. But there was no more time for reassurance.

Royce checked the knots one last time, then
moved toward the cliff. “Steady, Anteros. Stay there, lad.”

At the edge, he paused just long enough to
make sure Anteros was holding his ground. Long enough to glance
down and judge the distance to Ciara.

Then he pushed off and began his descent
down the sheer wall of rock. The sharp iron nails that protruded
through the soles of his climbing boots easily found purchase in
the ice, helped him control his speed. He moved swiftly, letting
his weight carry him downward, letting the rope slide through his
gloved hands.

And he kept his gaze locked on Ciara, about
fifteen feet below him—not on the gorge much farther below.

He was still about five feet above her when
he heard her moan softly.

She was alive.
“Ciara! Do not
move.”

Mayhap she could not understand his words
over the wind.

Because she moaned again, eyes still closed,
and reached up blindly to tug at her cloak. It was tangled around
her neck, seemed to be choking her.

The branches that supported her moved,
giving way.

“Ciara, stop!” He shouted the command past
the lump of fear that clogged his throat. “Be still!”

She obeyed this time, opening her eyes at
last—and when she spotted him dangling above her, saw where she
was, all the color left her face. She opened her mouth as if to
scream, but seemed incapable of making a sound.

Her terror struck at his heart. “I am almost
there,” he said hoarsely. “You will be all right, I promise.”

He let more slack slip through his hands,
moving closer to her, one cautious foot at a time. “Hold on, Ciara.
And do not look down.”

She remained frozen, wide-eyed, clearly too
frightened to even consider it. No doubt she could feel the open
air beneath her—and the wind just below the interlaced boughs that
held her in place. Only her fingers moved, grasping the branches in
a death grip.

Three more feet … two … finally he was
close enough to reach her.

But he did not dare put any of his weight on
the tree limbs that supported her.

“Ciara, I need you to take my hand.” Moving
as close as he dared, he knotted the slack to hold himself in place
and stretched one arm toward her.

Only inches separated them now.

But she would not budge. She remained as
still as a terrified rabbit, her breathing fast and shallow, her
eyes glassy.

“Ciara …” The wind whipped at his hair,
yanked at his clothes.

The branches creaked.

This was no time for gentle persuasion.

“God’s blood, woman,” he swore, his voice
rough with emotion. “I am not going to lose you now. Do as I tell
you! Take my hand!”

His fury brought her out of her paralyzed
stupor. She seemed to suddenly realize how near he was and reached
up toward him.

And he caught her at last. Grasped her arm,
pulled her to his side, wrapped one arm around her.

And held her so close that neither of them
could take a breath.

She suddenly burst into tears. “Royce, I am
so afraid. I am—”

“Nay, do not fear. I am with you now.” He
spoke in the same soothing tone he had used with Anteros as he
slipped a rope around her waist. Releasing his grip on his own
line, he tied hers in place, knotting it several times. “You will
be safe, little one. I have you.”

But when he tried to move, to start climbing
upward, he discovered he could not pull her free of the
branches.

He bit out a particularly curt, vicious
oath. Her long, loose hair and her cloak were caught, tangled in
the boughs that had saved her life. She uttered a soft cry of
alarm.

Not pausing to explain what he was about to
do, he reached for the chain around her throat that held her mantle
in place, released it, and let the cloak fall. Then he took the
sharp-edged pickax from the waist of his leggings.

“I am sorry about this, milady.” With one
quick slice, he cut through her long tresses.

And set her free.

The two of them were dangling high above the
gorge, held only by the ropes that bound them to Anteros.

Gasping out a terrified prayer, she clung to
him, her arms fastened around his waist, her face buried against
his shoulder.

Which, he decided, was awkward but better
than having her look down.

“We are going to be all right, Ciara.” He
started climbing the sheer cliff face, one foot over the other, the
soles of his boots digging into the ice. But it was too difficult
to balance both her weight and his own.

He muttered a curse under his breath. If
only Anteros would back up.

But his obedient, well-trained destrier
remained firmly in place.

Royce grimaced as he stared upward. There
were only a few short yards to the top of the cliff, but it might
as well have been a hundred times that distance.

“You are going to have to help me,
Ciara.”

“Nay, I am afraid. I cannot—”

“You can,” he said fiercely. “All you need
do is walk beside me. One foot over the other. You have to let go
of me and climb, Ciara. You can do it.”

She shook her head, eyes wild.

“Fie on it, you are not a frightened child!
You learned to defend yourself—you can learn this as well. You
must. We have no choice.”

Whether it was his words or the urgent tone,
something brought a glimmer of courage to her expression.

She slowly, reluctantly unwound her arms
from around him. “Tell me what I have to do.”

Her willingness, her bravery made his mouth
curve in a grim smile. By God’s mercy, he did not think he had ever
felt so proud of a woman as he did in that moment, as he watched
her curl her small, pale hands around her rope and look to the top
of the cliff.

“Pull yourself up, Ciara. One hand over the
other, one foot in front of the other.” He had to make her forget
about the rocks far below, the wind that bit through their clothes,
the distance to the top.

Had to keep her listening to his voice, only
to his voice—not to the fear inside her.

“Good.” He started to climb, showing her
how, staying beside her “That is right. You can do it.”

She grimaced with effort, lacking the
advantage of his build and his boots, but she managed to stay right
with him.

“Aye, milady, you are doing it. Only a
little way now.”

When they came within a few feet of the
edge, he scrambled up first, then reached down to pull her up over
the top. He carried her a safe distance away from the cliff before
he sank to the ground.

She fell into his embrace, both of them
trembling. He did not untie them, glancing up only long enough to
see Anteros standing in place, tossing his head, unharmed by the
exertion.

“
Thank you.”
Royce did not know
whether he was addressing the heavens above, his stallion, the
woman in his arms, or all three.

He pulled her in tight against his chest.
“God’s breath, I thought I had lost you,” he choked out. “When I
could not find you, I thought—”

“Royce, please, just hold me.” Shivering in
his embrace, her voice trembling with fright and relief, she
wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as if she would never
let go.