Page 20 of Come the Morning

“Yes! The oar—”

“It fell right through the hole.”

“Of course, you fool! You wrenched the oar free from the oarlock! That is what happens if you take an oar from the lock and don’t hold it—”

“Dear Lord!” he exclaimed suddenly.

“What?”

“There went the other one.”

“My God, but you can’t be such a fool. How can you sit there tormenting me with a million questions while you haven’t the sense to hold on to the oars—”

“My dear lady, I’m so sorry, but you mustn’t worry,” he said cheerfully, and suddenly he was standing.

“Now what are you doing?” she asked incredulously, staring up at him.

“I said not to worry—”

“Don’t worry!” she repeated, staring at him in disbelief. “Please, God, I don’t mean to be cruel, but you’re a clumsy oaf and you’ve created pure disaster for me—”

“I’ll swim back to the shore and acquire more oars.”

“That takes time!”

“Rest assured, lady, I’ll be back for you—and your gold of course. Don’t be distressed. I promise—I vow to you—that I will take you exactly where you should be once I return.”

“How could you have done this to me? I am desperate, and time is so important. How could you? You should be horsewhipped, beaten—”

“Tortured? Burned at the stake, perhaps? Broken on a wheel?”

“Perhaps no less!” Mellyora said in rising dismay. In all her life, she’d never treated a servant with anything but kindness. All men were unique, she had been taught. In the eyes of God, the simplest man deserved the greatest sympathy.

But God had never seen fit to inflict her with such a wretched fool before. He had done so now. Now, when she was in the gravest peril. And this man wasn’t just a wretched, clumsy, oaf, he was an insolent one as well, taunting her as he made a mockery of her getaway.

“Broken on a wheel, but left alive to burn at the stake!” she muttered angrily.

“M’lady, I will come back,” he said. She realized that he was about to dive into the water when he doffed his cloak and cast it upon the seat where he had been sitting.

She saw his face at last.

His eyes were searing and powerful. She found herself staring at him, as he looked back at her.

In a moment of surprised silence, she studied him. His hair was rich and thick, shoulder-length, dark auburn. His features were handsomely, strongly formed. His jaw was quite square, his cheekbones were high and broad, giving him a rugged and commanding appearance. His eyes, which had so caught her attention, were deep blue in color, almost cobalt, large and set beneath well-defined, arching brows.

He was young, she realized, yet somehow hardened for his years. He was exceptionally striking, powerfully masculine. There was something imposing and indomitable about his appearance that unnerved her. His eyes touched upon hers with a raw, chilling determination.

“Wait—” she began on a whispered breath.

“Nay, lady, wait for me. You’ll just drift for a bit—downriver, the way you wanted to go. Lie still and take care, and I will be back.”

“No, wait—” she cried.

But he had dived into the river, leaving her in the boat. Oarless, and stuck on the water.

Barely moving at all.

Damn him!