by test
She knew how the conversation between the two men would go. Brady would trust the bridge as little as she did. But he was an excellent swimmer unlike herself and would brave the shaky walkway. No one could force her to try the ropes. A fall into the Watara’s icy spring flood would be death for someone with her limited skills.
Brady looked across the river and after a moment lifted his hand in the Realm’s way of greeting. She had no choice but to return it. After a brief lift of her hand, she slipped back toward the trees and the meager cover of their still bare limbs.
Her heart thudded in an irregular cadence as if it too was unsure how to think of this disturbing man. Two days in his company? Within the hour he would cross the river and she still didn’t know if she was excited or fearful.
* * * *
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 9
“You walked over on that?” Brady reached over his head and touched the twine.
The ropes stretching across the muddy river were as thick as his wrist, but that was still pretty thin to put his feet upon.
“I crossed at first light, sir.” Zeke Oman gestured at the massive, old oak that served as anchor for the rope bridge. “We put this rope up last fall and then Roth and some men climbed hand over hand across the river to set the others. A number of us have traveled back and forth regularly.”
“Are you telling me to buck up, Oman?”
Zeke grinned. “Trying to assure you it’s completely safe, sir.”
Brady snorted but he patted the revolver hanging at his hip. “I trusted you when you asked me to try this new gun so I guess I’ll trust your next invention.”
“I’ve heard the rumor you’re pretty good with it, sir. Did you bring more rounds? The men guarding the disposed shepherds have been carrying them.”
“Two hundred rounds in one of my packs and someone else has another two hundred.”
“Let me help you settle those packs, sir. You don’t want to be off balance crossing the bridge.”
Oman shifted Brady’s packs around, putting the heavy bullet bag in the very middle. He had another pack with a change of clothing and a wide variety of other items and then the bundle made up of his sleeping mats.
“Want me to go first, sir?” one of the Realm men asked.
“No. You guys would never let me forget it.” Heights or dangerous bridges didn’t frighten him. It was the glimpse of the thin, feminine form he’d glimpsed waiting across the river that slowed his feet. She’d come to meet them, damn it.
Cara had been much on his mind over the long winter months. Not that he hadn’t tried to forget her in the company of other women. His lingering fascination with the blonde-haired woman frustrated him. She’d made it abundantly and rudely clear she had no desire for his company, and there were many other women who felt differently. Still, her dark eyes visited his dreams with their secrets and mystery. Her too-thin body, unlike the more rounded forms of most Solonians, should not have attracted him. But it did. Now he would have to spend hours in her company, something neither of them would wish. Yet duty demanded it.
He checked the thin leather loop that held his pistol secure in its carefully designed sheath.
The first few steps on the ropes weren’t too bad. But once he’d worked his way out to over the roaring flood, the bridge swayed wildly.
“Take smaller steps,” Zeke shouted from the bank. Only one man could cross the rope bridge at a time so the others watched.
It did help to take short, careful steps but each one required looking down at one’s feet.
The muddy water swirled and rushed below him at what was surely four times its usual summer depth.
He paused and looked downstream. Less than half a mile to the east, the river dumped its load over a cliff and beyond sight it would join the sea. The rugged terrain and treacherous riverbank prevented any close exploration of the cataract. He heard the waterfall as a distant growl so powerful it spoke louder than the roar of the river below his feet.
Halfway across, he caught the rhythm of walking the ropes. He glanced at the far bank and saw most of the party had moved closer to the bank and watched him approach. Cara stood in the shadows of one of the thick trees anchoring the bridge ropes. She looked thinner than ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 10
ever, almost frail. He was close enough to see the frown on her face. No surprise there but she seemed to be looking up the stream and not at him.
Her hand dropped to her sword and she ran toward him. She stopped at her end of the bridge and shouted at him. He couldn’t hear but followed her gesture to look up stream.
A tree barreled toward him, half submerged perhaps, but the part riding on top of the river poked higher into the sky than his head. It would take out the bridge and him along with it if he didn’t get off of it. But the bridge wasn’t designed for rapid transit. He had no choice but to continue with measured steps.
He wasn’t going to make it. More people joined Cara in shouted encouragement. The closer he was to shore before the tree tore out the bridge, the better his chances of swimming to safety. Could even his excellent swimming skills match the strength of the river?
The sun broke through the chilly fog so the ropes sparkled with the moisture caught on them. The sudden glare nearly blinded him.
He squinted and glanced up river. Something struck him in the head and flipped him off the bridge. Gritty water filled his mouth as he went under.
* * * *
The tree snagged for the space of a breath on the bridge and then tore free. Ropes snapped, branches cracked, and the uprooted giant swept over Brady. Cara glimpsed his light brown shirt for one dreadful moment before he was pushed under the dark waters.
She raced along the riverbank, keeping pace with the tree which again hesitated as one of the trailing ropes from the bridge caught on something unseen beneath the frothing water.
Brady’s hand and then his head appeared on the far side of the trunk. He pulled his torso out of the water. Blood ran from his temple in a brilliant scarlet ribbon in sharp contrast to the colorless river. He looked at her with dazed eyes for a moment, but the tree broke loose and careened toward the narrow gorge leading to the waterfall.
“No!” The roar of river and cataract drowned her scream and those from behind her.
She ran forward, her lungs afire as she jumped over rocks, bushes, and a downed sapling.
Each obstacle put her further behind Brady. The tree rolled part way over and he went under for a moment before crawling back to the surface. She tripped over something and scrambled quickly to her feet. The bank held ever more obstacles and many more than she could negotiate quickly.
She took a deep breath and ran the few steps toward the river. She dove toward the tree.
The water slapped her body at the same time cold reality slapped her senses. What was she doing? She splashed awkwardly and kicked her legs. Her hand touched a branch of the tree.
Climbing hand over hand along the slippery limb, she gained a hold on the trunk. Her soaked clothes tugged at her as if unseen hands pulled her toward the bottom. After a few unsuccessful, exhausting attempts, she pulled her body on top of the bucking trunk. Not far beyond her, Brady struggled to pull himself further out of the water. His packs hung down his back and added unnecessary weight.
“Drop your packs!” The falls pounded her ears with its throaty roar.
He looked back over his shoulder, and his eyes widened at the sight of her. His shouted answer was lost in the overwhelming cacophony of the coming disaster.
They both crawled along the thick trunk until their hands touched. For once she wasn’t disturbed by the touch of a man. Despite the icy water, his fingers felt warm against her nearly numb fingers.
“Did you fall in?”
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 11
She read his lips more than heard the words. She shook her head and gripped his hand tighter. For some reason, her coming death didn’t frighten her. She didn’t want Brady to die with her,
but it was a comfort that she wouldn’t die alone as she’d always feared. Soon all her nightmares would end. Her soul deep shame, the hate and the anger that marked her existence would all be gone. Hopefully their deaths would be quick and relatively painless.
“You fool!” Brady screamed. “Why did you dive in? Why?”
The walls of the cliffs rushed by and her entire body vibrated with the noise. She wrapped both her hands around Brady’s left hand and looked into his eyes. The sun shone on them like a perverse joke of nature and lit his eyes to the same color as the sky. She read sadness and regret there and felt them in the way he squeezed her hands. He looked forward then, and she followed his gaze with hers. The water frothed with wild, brown waves. Not far ahead the world dropped away. She could see nothing but sky and then a momentary glimpse of the sea far ahead and below them.
The tree shot out into nothingness and hung there for a breathless moment. It plunged downward and she couldn’t resist looking down at the waiting maelstrom. Somehow Brady pushed away from the dropping tree and pulled her with him so they seemed to fly free. They hit with an explosive jolt and then she knew nothing.
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 12
Chapter Two
Brady kept his head above water until his feet touched the muddy bottom not far from the riverbank. Pain assured he remained conscious. Every part of his body hurt though none as bad his head and the blazing agony in his left shoulder.
Now that he no longer needed to swim, he switched his grasp on Cara’s wrist to his right hand. It gave him little relief as the current slapped against his left arm. He didn’t feel the grating of broken bones against one another, but at the least his shoulder was dislocated. The jolt of landing while holding too tightly to Cara had torn the joint apart. She’d lost consciousness when they struck the boiling bottom of the falls. He worried how badly she was hurt but he could do nothing for her until they reached land.
That either of them lived was a miracle. That she had leaped into the water in some foolhardy attempt to save him confounded him. Why?
He dragged her over the slippery mud. After a few steps the ground changed into a rough mixture of sand and short, wiry tufts of grass.
It hurt to lift his head, but he looked around. Sand and grass stretched alongside the river until it joined the sea in a clash of brown liquid with blue. Up the river toward the falls, the sandy lowland gave way to stands of brush and then a forest fronting the cliffs. He saw nothing moving except the white gulls diving and hunting in the waves of the sea.
He let go of Cara’s wrist and her arm dropped lifelessly to her side. His head spun and he took a few deep breaths to calm his stomach. With the little grace he could manage, he dropped to his knees by her side. Again he fought off nausea and unconsciousness.
Cara’s skin was cool but not cold, and he found her pulse strong in her thin neck. Her wet clothing clung to her body and distracted his mind though his body was not in any condition to listen. Her limbs looked straight and unbroken but she could have internal injuries.
His mind drifted in a muddled haze with pain the only clear thing in his thoughts. How could he help her? Not move her. Warm her. His own body trembled with wild shivers that hurt his head and shoulder. Driftwood littered the riverbank and even an entire tree from a previous flood sat not far away.
He only passed out once trying to remove his packs from his shoulders. The heavy bag of bullets was especially difficult. He woke facedown in the sand and pushed himself back to his knees with one hand. He dumped his personal pack out and pushed aside the various bags scattered among his clothing. The extra shirt and pants were damp but dryer than what he wore.
Not that he could change with his shoulder in such a mess. The oil cloth bag holding his matches was folded within his extra pants.
He rose on unsteady legs and gathered some bits of kindling then slowly pulled a few larger chunks of wood close to Cara. Cold sweat beaded on his upper lip and brow as he worked. His shivers now alternated with waves of heat and nausea.
He pulled some handfuls of the browned grass and arranged it in a sloppy stack that he topped with the kindling. His hands shook as he struck a match on the bit of sandstone he carried for a striker.
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 13
He nursed the little tongues of fire until some of the larger pieces of kindling caught.
Blacks spots danced before his eyes, but he shook out his wet blankets and spread them near the fire. He struggled to Cara’s side again and covered her with his extra shirt.
If only he could fix his shoulder he knew he would feel much better. He couldn’t lay down or find any relief. Even breathing caused discomfort. He tried to tug off his boots but having strength in only one hand made it impossible.
“Cara, wake up. I need you.”
* * * *
Cara had expected death to be less uncomfortable. Her head pounded and cold bit her toes. Shouldn’t there be a warm comfortable blackness after death? Instead bright light flickered and pricked against her eyelids and heated her face while ice pressed against her back.
She held Brady’s hand still so they must have dragged each other into the afterlife. The calluses on his palm and fingers lightly scratched her skin. Strange how the pleasant scent of burning wood drove the stench of the river mud from her senses.
How much water had she swallowed that her stomach cramped and protested even now when she was dead?
“Cara?”
Brady? Her sluggish thoughts stirred reluctantly and the messages her senses sent her coalesced into something more reasonable. She opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. A fire crackled not far from her and her face pressed into something coarse and warm. Her clothing clung to her in damp discomfort. Her boots were soaked and aches visited every part of her body. But she was alive. Alive and still holding Brady’s hand. She flung it away from her and sat up.
The world spun for a moment, and she moaned.
“Careful. You might be hurt worse than you know.”
His blue eyes blazed with so much pain she couldn’t look at him. She jumped up. “How the hell are we alive?”
“Don’t shout. It hurts my head, and we don’t know if we’re alone.”
Trembling raced through her muscles. She’d prepared herself to die, yet here she remained in the world with all her demons still on her back. And worse, alone with a man who confused her and upset her in ways foreign to her experience. But she was strong. She took a few deep breaths and looked around. Juston had taught her to be tough and live again if only on the surface of society.
The Watara River rushed by only a few steps away from their fire, and the falls grumbled nearly half a mile to the west.
“There must be a way back up into the mountains.” A thick stand of trees fronted the bare rocks of the cliff face.
“Maybe, but the Parlanians never found the way down.”
Something in his voice brought her attention back to him. “How bad are you hurt?”
A new fear clutched at her guts. No matter how much she dreaded spending time alone with Brady, she was terrified to be completely alone. Though her demons often interfered, she trusted Brady more than most men. And his death would hurt her in a way she didn’t want to contemplate.
“Concussion, I think, though it’s mostly a headache. It’s my shoulder that I need help with.”
“Your
shoulder?”
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 14
His left arm lay limply on his lap as he leaned against a large piece of old wood.
“Dislocated. Hopefully, I didn’t break anything.”
“How did that happen?”
He gave her a strange look. “You don’t remember?”
“The last thing I remember is the sea from mid air when we went over the falls.”
He sighed and then winced. “We were holding on to each other pretty tightly. I managed to pull us free of the tree before it crashed and broke apart but our land
ing jerked us apart.
Somehow we held onto each other but I think your weight pulled my shoulder apart.”
“I don’t remember any of that. How did we get here, out of the water instead of drown or washed out to sea?”
“Something knocked you out, but I caught your wrist before you went under. I swam to the bank but this is as far as I could go.”
“You swam with a dislocated shoulder?” She’d seen people with dislocated shoulders. It was hideously painful.
“Actually, I pulled you with that one and did the swimming with the other.”
Realm warriors were made of stern stuff. Hadn’t Juston Steele overcome the slave collar forced on him at his wedding?
“I need you to put my shoulder back in place.”
She stepped back from him. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll tell you how.” He unlaced his dirt-smudged shirt. “Help me get this off. I think it’ll be easier to grip my arm without it.”
