“Aeschene,” Marisse spoke to her from the opposite direction. “Ye’ve stepped out onto a plank. We need ye not to move. Black Richard is comin’ for ye.”
A plank?
She refused to panic. Panic was something only weak-minded people did. Nay, she refused to panic. At least not so much so that she would begin to shake and possibly plummet to her own death.
Before she’d lost her good sight, she’d never been afraid of much. Not heights or ghosts or much of anything really. In yer younger years, her fearlessness had been the one thing that had gotten her into the most trouble with her mother.
But now? She could only imagine how far above the ground she now stood. Could only imagine how much it would hurt when her body collided with the earth below.
“Aeschene?” Black Richard called out to her. “Did ye hear me, lass?”
Nay, she hadn’t. She’d been too busy trying not to think about how far she’d be falling if she made the wrong move. Trying hard not to think of the sound her body would make when it finally came in contact with the ground below. She gave an extremely slow shake of her head. “Nay,” she admitted, her voice cracking on the fear bubbling up.
She heard him curse again, but his tone lacked some of the heat as before. “Lass,” Black Richard began, making a grand attempt at remaining calm. “I am goin’ to throw a rope around ye, around yer waist. Dunnae move now, aye? Just let me toss the rope around ye.”
There was something in his voice that comforted her. There was no way to explain it in any logical sounding manner. She knew then, in that moment, that all would be well. Her husband was going to toss a rope around her, then he would walk out on the plank and whisk her safely to the other side. Giving a slight, gentle nod of her head, she said, “I am ready.”
A few frantic heartbeats later, she heard the sound of the rope whooshing in circles several times before it went sailing through the air. Relief settled in when she felt it wrapping around her arms. A collective sigh of relief from those people watching her rent the air around her. Carefully, she wriggled her arms free, settling the rope around her waist. A moment later Richard tugged gently on the rope once, then again, to tighten the hold. She held her breath and the end of the rope with a death like grip.
“Lass, I need ye to listen verra carefully to me,” Black Richard said as he gave another gentle tug on the rope. “Ye need to slowly put one foot in front of the other and walk toward the sound of me voice.”
Was he completely mad?
“Can ye do that for me?”
Aye, he was mad. Insane. Devoid of any common sense. “Nay,” she whispered.
A burst of a frustrated breath before he said, “Lass, I need ye to do this. Ye are about ten steps away from me. I promise, I will not let ye fall.”
There was something he wasn’t telling her. “Why can ye not come out here and help me? Take me hand?”
His silent pause was all the proof she needed that there was something he truly did not wish to tell her. She could hear the men whispering, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. However, there was a succinct tone of worry to their murmurs.
“Lass, the plank, it is not wide enough for the two of us.”
He was lying to her and she knew it. He was trying hard not to make her more afraid than she already was. While commendable, it might not be practical. Marisse’s eerie silence was foreboding.
“Ye promise ye will not let me fall to me death?” she asked him.
He chuckled nervously before answering. “Aye, I promise.”
Drawing comfort from the sound of his nervous laughter, she took in a deep breath. “I be ready.”
“Ye be just an inch from the edge of the plank,” he told her.
“Left or right?” she asked him.
“Left,” he said, before quickly righting himself. “Yer right!”
Aeschene nodded. “My right, yer left, aye?”
“Aye,” he replied.
Carefully, she took a small step forward, starting with her left foot. Hopefully she was not over correcting. She could feel the plank wobble ever so slightly.
“Good, lass, that be good,” he encouraged her.
If she could see him right now, she imagined he had probably broken out in a cold sweat. She really must apologize to him as soon as she was off this bloody plank.
“Yer almost there,” he told her. “Come back to yer right just a bit more.”
Inch by slow inch, she was reaching the other side. Though he was not more than a gray blob with a bit of black at the top, that blob was growing closer.
Holding her breath, she slowly crept along the wobbly plank. Oh, that cannae be good.
Richard continued to encourage her with a firm yet warm voice. “Just a few feet more,” he told her.
Feet? She had thoroughly believed she was only inches from safety. Continuing with her deathlike grip, she took another tentative step forward.
The plank wobbled again, this time it didn’t right itself.
She was too far away for Richard to grab and too far away to jump to safety.
The plank wobbled back and forth before the end nearest Lachlan twisted away from the stone ledge. The plank fell, taking Aeschene with it. She closed her eyes, her fear jolting through her veins so much so that even her fingertips and toes ached with it.
A great gasp went out from everyone; she heard several people cry out her name. A moment later, she was falling through the air.
The force of her fall was so intense, it slammed her against the side of the keep, scraping the skin on her arm. She bounced away and back twice, before she ended up swinging to and fro like a pendulum against the stones.
Several panicked heartbeats later, she felt tugging on the rope and realized she was still alive. They were pulling her up.
At the top of the wall, hands reached out, grabbing arms and skirts, pulling her to safety. Richard held her up by her arms, otherwise she would have collapsed. Men, voices she didn’t recognize were telling Richard to check for injuries.
The only things that hurt were her pride and her right arm, from slamming into the stones. She felt as Richard squeezed her forearms checking for broken bones. He tilted her head every which way, looking for cuts or bruises.
Apparently satisfied that nothing was broken, he didn’t so much as grunt as he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
Aeschene’s stomach clenched with fear. “Och!” she exclaimed. “I can walk!”
Her protests fell on deaf ears.
She felt him crouch low and duck through what she assumed was an open window. Heavy footfalls across a wooden floor, then the sound of a door being flung open.
Oh, he was angry, of that, she had no doubt. “Richard,” she protested loudly as he stormed down a long, dimly lit corridor. “Please, put me down.”
Her protests were met with more furious silence.
As he descended a spiral staircase, her head bobbed up and down like a cork in rough waters. His broad, muscular shoulder dug into her stomach with each angry step he took. Apparently, he was filled with too much anger to care if he was hurting her or not.
Another door was opened, down a few steps, across what she believed to be a stone floor from the sound of his boots as they thundered across it. She had no idea where they were or where they were headed.