The Irish Warrior Part 8

Stones crunched as she spun. "Back that way? Why?"

"I've a mad notion to throw them off our scent." He rubbed his palm across the back of his neck. "We've a long way to go, la.s.s, and I haven't the time to explain myself to ye."

She stepped up beside him with an impatient stride. "Then we walk. Can you not walk and talk at the same time?"

He looked down coolly. "Not so well as you."

As they hiked quickly back up the creek side, he gave a brief synopsis of their next few days. "We have two rivers to cross-"

"A river?" She sounded deeply shocked.

"Two."

"Two rivers?" she clarified, as if his meaning had somehow been unclear.

"Then a town, and-"

"Friendly?"

"Hostile."

"Hostile?"

"Then leagues of open land before we reach safety."

She walked silently and seemed to be figuring, determining which was the most important thing to focus on just now. "You mean Dublin," she finally said. "We're making for Dublin."

He grunted. No, he did not mean Dublin.

He meant Hutton's Leap. That was the most important thing right now: getting to the town of Hutton's Leap before Rardove figured out what the Irish were up to, and went there himself.

The mission had been two p.r.o.nged from the start. Finian's task was to probe Rardove's cunning, as well as take on the hazardous job of providing a distraction while another Irish warrior was sent to Hutton's Leap to retrieve the dangerous, coveted dye manual that contained the secret of the Wishmes.

Finian now knew that warrior's head was being sent to The O'Fail in a box.

No time for grief or rage. Just focus on the mission. Someone had to retrieve that dye manual before it fell into the wrong hands. Rardove's hands.

Finian was the only one who knew the mission had failed. Therefore it had just become his mission.

Senna, of course, did not know this, as she had no idea they were actually on on a mission. a mission.

"Is that...is that one of the rivers?" she asked, her words tentative.

A slim, pale finger pointed at the spa.r.s.e tree cover that separated this tributary from the main rushing river, perhaps forty paces off, as the slip of land they were on slowly narrowed until it became but a diving board into the raging river.

"Aye. That one."

"And how wide is this riv-what was that?"

A low howl rose up through the dark air, like the nighttime was haunting itself. Another howl came, filling the darkness with its mournful sound. She looked at Finian, her eyes wide and frightened.

"A wolf," he explained gently.

"We haven't many of them in England anymore," she whispered back.

Another low howl came and Senna tripped backward, until her back was pressed to his chest. A startlingly attention-getting maneuver. He was vaguely impressed such an unconscious move should imbue such sensuality. "Are they close?"

"Aye." It was always harder to detect panic within a whisper, but Finian was fairly certain the telltale tremble was there. "Are ye ready to go now, la.s.s?"

"Quite."

They didn't say much as they retraced their steps to the banks of Bhean's Bhean's River. Woman's River. It was well named, for it was wild and stunning in its beauty and ferocity. Dangerous, with wicked currents. Deep, an onrushing power to it. River. Woman's River. It was well named, for it was wild and stunning in its beauty and ferocity. Dangerous, with wicked currents. Deep, an onrushing power to it.

It was autumn, though, and the summer had been dry. While the farmers lamented the fact of it, tonight Finian gave thanks to all the G.o.ds he could think of, old and new, because it meant they could cross without needing the bridge at Bhean's Bhean's Crossing, which was only half a mile from Rardove Keep. Crossing, which was only half a mile from Rardove Keep.

Still, the Bhean Bhean was deep. Deep enough to warrant caution. Deep enough to drown in. Especially if one cracked his skull on the rocks when he fell. Or she fell. was deep. Deep enough to warrant caution. Deep enough to drown in. Especially if one cracked his skull on the rocks when he fell. Or she fell.

He stopped at the edge. The moon was bright. "How are ye with rocks, Senna?"

Confusion marked her face until she followed his pointing finger. It cleared, into fear. A jagged row of boulders of various sizes zigzagged across the river like huge stepping stones.

"Finian. You cannot be in earnest." She considered him suspiciously. Then she looked back at the river. "You're asking us to jump those? Those Those rocks? Those rocks." rocks? Those rocks."

Nothing had changed about his original query, but her voice became more flatly incredulous. "Why, Finian, some are as widely s.p.a.ced as my body is tall. The force required..." Her voice trailed off. "And the rate of the current..." She trailed off again, looking across at the dark, rushing river.

She was probably reckoning rate and velocity at this very moment, he realized dimly.

"If ye're too frightened, Senna-"

"I'm not frightened," she snapped. "I'm never frightened. frightened. I'm...figuring." I'm...figuring."

"Ah." He held his breath. If she said she couldn't do it...

Her chin came up. "I can do it," she said, rather loudly. "I used to climb them all the time, you know."

He smiled as a little warmth flared in his chest. "I didn't know, Senna," he murmured, shifting the pack on his shoulders. "But I'm glad of it. Now, do as I do, just as I do it."

He hopped onto the closest rock. It had a low, broad surface. He quickly hopped to the next one, not two feet away, and turned. "Now yerself, Senna."

She closed her eyes and leapt. Finian lifted a hand in protest, but by then she'd already landed, knees bent. She opened her eyes and looked up triumphantly.

"Well done," he said, giving her the congratulations her self-satisfied, never-climbed-a-rock-before smile required. After which he added, "Never do that again. Eyes open, always."

He turned to the next boulder. Fifteen. Fifteen to cross. Not so many, except that they kept getting higher and more steeply pitched as you went, until the last one towered like an armored sentinel on the river's western edge.

"Do they seem to get bigger as we go?" she suddenly asked.

"Not a bit of it. 'Tis the moonlight. Tricks the eye."

"Oh."

He pushed off, propelling himself to the next boulder. This one wasn't far at all, but it had a steeply sloped top, like a barn roof. He landed, one foot on either side of the pitch. Arms out, swaying, aware of every whipped muscle in his legs and back, he balanced himself. He blew out a long breath and leapt again, leaving the boulder free for Senna.

Behind him, he heard a small sound over the quiet rush of water. A prayer, spoken in a whispered, feminine voice. "Please, dear Lord."

He turned just as she jumped. For a moment she hung in s.p.a.ce, both legs bent, as if running in midair, then landed with a thump, knees sharply bent, but with a foot planted firmly on either side of the rock.

Standing atop two boulders, in the moonlight, their eyes met. Finian nodded firmly. Senna, panting just a little, from exertion or fear or both, gave a small smile. Almost as if she she were encouraging were encouraging him. him.

A corner of his mouth curved up. He turned to the next one.

And so they made their leaping, slipping, flying way across the boulders of Bhean's Bhean's River. Until the last. River. Until the last.

A full four feet away, and easily a foot higher than the one Finian stood upon, it required a running leap. Which they had no room for.

"Come, Senna." He gestured with his hand, stepping to the side to give her room to land beside him on his boulder. He grabbed her hand as she landed, pulling her up beside him.

The rising moon lit up the currents of the river below like small, steely gray snakes. On either side of the water lay low, flat land. To the west stretched the perils of the king's highway, but beyond that, the safety of hills Finian had known since his youth. To the east flowed English lands. North, lay Rardove. And four feet away hunkered the biggest boulder on Bhean's Bhean's River, renowned for its sentinel-like granite edifice. River, renowned for its sentinel-like granite edifice.

He could tell Senna's face had paled, even through the moonlight. "Do ye think ye can jump it?"

"Of course."

"Senna."

She started to protest, then shook her head slowly. Silver, moon-cast glints gleamed in her eyes. "I don't know, Finian. 'Tis a long way. I cannot say for certes."

He nodded. "Then I'm going to throw ye."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

"What's yer other plan?" he asked sharply.

"I-" She shook her head. "I haven't one."

He didn't even pause. He swept a boot behind her, shifting to stand sidewise, facing her. Her lithe body trembled. Small, fast pants shot out of her mouth. Finian spread his legs wide, crouched down, grabbed under her arm, and slid his other hand between her legs, lifting to her crotch.

"Don't try to help," he ordered. "Do not push off. Don't move. All ye have to do is land on yer feet. Aye?"

The contours of her profile were frozen. "Aye."

"Ready, girl?"

"Jesu, Finian," she whispered. "I'm ready."

He focused all his attention and, tensing his already wearied legs and arms and shoulders, and tightening every muscle along the length of his burning back, he flung her across the churning water straight at the boulder.

Chapter 13.

Senna couldn't help it; she pushed off, too.

That may have been what threw her slightly off course, offset the trajectory of Finian's mighty toss. Whatever it was, she landed with a sickening thud chest-first, almost to the flat, top surface of the boulder, but not quite. Instead, she clung to its slanting side, like a fly on a wall.

Her cheek was planted into the rock. She clung to the hard, impermeable surface of the stone, her good fingers clutching desperately for any small crags. She found them aplenty, all jagged, knife-sharp things. Her benumbed, wounded fingers weren't necessary for gripping, but their incapacity seemed to sap the strength from the others.

But her blood, that was hot and ferocious. It pounded through her body. Everything coming out of her-breath, effort, curse-was hot, panting fury as she lifted her legs and arms, scrabbling up the side of the stone face.

She gained the summit and flung herself over the lip, sprawled out like a dead thing. Her arms and legs were on fire, her knees bruised and torn, arm muscles screaming, her lungs burning. She lay for a moment, feeling the cool face of the stone under her feverish cheek. Then she pushed up to her elbows and peeked over her shoulder.

Finian was crouched, fingertips on the stone between his knees, his body rocked forward, staring at her, his mouth moving silently.

"Bonny toss," she called softly, lifting her voice just above the rush of river currents.

His head dropped and for a moment, she couldn't see his face. One broad hand lifted to wipe across the features she could not see, then he pushed to his feet, shaking his head.

"If ye hadn't pushed off when I told ye not to-"

"Oh, indeed. 'Tis my fault."

They stared at each other. A corner of Finian's mouth lifted into a grin. "Get off the d.a.m.ned rock, Senna."

She stepped to the side.

"Off."

"But-"

"I want ye on the ground," he said sharply. She looked at him in surprise. This was the first hint of harshness from him. "On the ground. I want ye on the ground. Where ye're safe."

The ground, where she'd be safe, was about fifteen feet below. In truth, it wasn't even ground; it was water, and, while shallow, still churning. "It's an awful far way-"

"It'll be longer if I push ye. I cannot jump with ye standing there. There's no room. There are handholds on the far side, and cut-outs. Use them. Go."

She did. As she slithered down the angled rock face-the rock widened at its base-using the copious number of footholds Finian had predicted, wiggly tendrils of weeds and roots scratched at her cheeks, but all she was attuned to was whether she heard Finian's boots. .h.i.t the boulder or the water.

At the hard clatter of bootheels on stone, her feet felt more solid in their footholds. She looked up just as Finian's face appeared over the edge, peering down, long dark hair swinging beside his face. She smiled.

"Go," was all he said.

As if she needed him to tell her to 'go.' The giddy truth of it hit her-the admission-and swirled in her belly like a miniature cyclone: all she'd wanted to do her whole life was go. go. Go somewhere, anywhere-anywhere other than home, watching the world sweep by through expensive leaded windows, alone but for servants and account ledgers, dying inside. Go somewhere, anywhere-anywhere other than home, watching the world sweep by through expensive leaded windows, alone but for servants and account ledgers, dying inside.

But should she require a reminder of the importance of taking care in her prayers, Senna thought as she scrabbled down the boulder, placing a foot just so, using her good hand wherever possible-here was her giddy life on the go: fleeing for her life with an Irish rebel, out on the wildside, beyond the Pale, past rescue, past safety, past any future she'd ever dreamed of.