She turned and waited for her mother to make eye contact. Speaking was useless over the roar of the drumming rain and the swift water. Amaranth locked eyes with her, then gave a determined nod. The beam of her headlamp bobbed up and down with her decision to keep going.
As they worked their way through a narrow passage where the gorge’s rock walls almost met across the water, they kept to the staggered ledges the current had left behind as it wore away the stone. As the route opened into the part of the gorge that was a shallow tumbling of water across a bed of colorful gravel, the strap of Jovianna’s headlamp snapped, and it flew off her forehead as though shot like an arrow.
“Bloody hell!” Jovianna lunged for it, her hiking poles flapping from their straps around her wrists like awkward bracelets. She missed snagging it, and the headlamp rushed onward, caught in the fast current. Buoyancy had been a selling point to the expensive thing, and she wasn’t about to lose it. She shed the walking sticks and backpack and wedged them in a tangle of saplings growing out of reach of the water. The thump of Amaranth’s hiking pole across her rump made Jovianna turn and face her.
“Leave it! We should turn back.” Her mother’s eyes flashed with a rare emotion: worry. Jovianna’s fearless parent was concerned about their situation.
An excellent swimmer, and knowing she could handle the familiar terrain, Jovianna motioned for her mother to start back without her. “I paid a bundle for that bloody thing. I’ll not lose it the first time out!” She pointed up ahead where the headlamp had wedged in a rock shelf beneath the surface. Its brilliant LED light shone through the shadows. “I can reach it,” she shouted. “The water’s not that deep there. You go back.”
“I will not leave you here alone!”
“Stay right here on the shoal. All right?” She waited for her mother to agree, knowing by the protectiveness flashing in her eyes that she wouldn’t.
Amaranth took her backpack and poles and wedged them alongside Jovianna’s. She waved Jovianna onward. “Let’s go.”
Jovianna disagreed, but they didn’t have time to argue. A flash flood was imminent. She needed to retrieve the headlamp so they could backtrack and climb out of the gorge before the narrow passageway they had squeezed through became too treacherous.
With a glance and a nod at her determined mother, Jovianna kept close to the wall on the left. She sidled along the stone shelf that extended from the edge of the shoal like a long, thin arm. A shiver raced across her as the rushing stream shoved against her thighs. Even though it was June, the water was chilly enough to make her thankful she had packed extra clothes in her bag. If the ledge held out a little farther, she might reach the headlamp without a swim after all.
“Give me your hand,” Amaranth shouted. “I’ll hold you so you don’t fall.”
“I may have to jump in.” Her mother wasn’t a strong swimmer and didn’t need to risk it. “I’ll be fine,” Jovianna shouted back with a reassuring smile.
“Do it!” Amaranth edged closer and caught hold of Jovianna’s sleeve.
Jovianna glared at her but didn’t jerk away for fear of making her mother fall. The stubborn woman needed to listen. Jovianna was both taller and weighed more than her petite parent. Amaranth needed to remember her physics. But arguing was futile. Jovianna relinquished her hand to her mother’s surprisingly firm grip, then crouched while stretching to reach the high-tech headlamp that was also a waterproof camera and had cost her a month’s rent.
As she looped a finger through the hook holding the strap, a gut-clenching surge of nausea hit her as hard as if someone punched her in the stomach. She threw herself back against the rocks and sucked in deep breaths and blew them out. Maybe that cheese had been bad. Bile churned upward, burning the back of her throat. She turned her head toward her mother and mouthed, So sick.
Amaranth clamped her free hand across her mouth and sagged back against the rock wall as though she was ill too.
They had to get out of there while they could still manage it. Jovianna hated to leave the light behind, but the gorge was challenging enough when the weather was good and they were healthy. Flash flooding and food poisoning could be a lethal combination.
She pushed up from her crouched position but fell back against the rocks. Swirling black spots filled her vision as she turned away from her mother and vomited. A dizzying pressure squeezed her skull as though trying to crush it. The spots merged into blinding blackness. Muffled roaring filled her ears. She hit the water and found herself at the mercy of the current as it slammed her against the rocks.
Funny thing about sandstone ledges—not nearly soft as sandy beaches. Her head hit hard. The water swallowed her. And the blackness turned very cold.
Chapter Two
The Devil’s Pulpit
Finnich Glen, Scotland
June 21, 1760
Tobias Risk crouched beside the Devil’s Pulpit and rinsed the blood from his cheek. How dare that wee bastard try to shoot him in the face. All because he had stopped their coach to relieve them of their purses.
The cool water eased the sting of the wound that was naught but a mere grazing. The lad who had fired the shot best thank the Almighty that he’d been in a decent mood. Elsewise he would’ve returned fire and sent the youngling and his sire to meet their Maker.
Instead, as punishment for such insolence, he’d relieved them of their horses and carriage as well as their coin. The gentleman and his son might not agree that being abandoned on the roadside tied and gagged was a kindly act. But their family would. Their wise driver had seemed happy enough with being bound and left alive, too.
The memory of the pair’s indignance made him huff with amusement and revive the stinging throb in his cheek. He splashed more of the water’s coolness across it. The encounter had resulted in a fine foursome of horses and a newer carriage, as well as a fair bit of silver. Not a bad day’s take at all. The annoyance of a wee scrape was worth it.
A strange rumbling from farther upstream, beyond the narrow pass, made him rise and draw his pistol. As a torrent of water gushed through the space between the stone walls of the gorge, he leaped to the top of the pulpit stone. What the devil could have caused such a sudden surge in the stream?
Something tumbled toward him through the waters. A flash of white. A rippling of color. A body. Nay, two bodies. He shoved his weapon back into his belt, jumped into the shallows to intercept them, then backed up as the waves strangely receded and left the pair draped across the stone ledge as if placed before him like an offering. Women. Clothed as men. Nay, not clothed as any men he had ever seen, but wearing strange, clingy breeks and tight bodices that glistened like the skin of an eel.
“Fitch! Cade! Down here now!” As he waited for his men, he eased closer and crouched between the women. He lifted the tangle of wet hair away from the face of the larger one. What a shame. Quite the beauty, with full lips, high cheekbones, and a delicate profile regal enough for any portrait. Blood oozed from a gash on her forehead. It crossed through a purplish knot running along her hairline. An ugly red scrape outlined her jaw. He eyed her chest, covered in the strange fabric. No sign of breathing. Poor lass. Already gone. Perhaps someone killed her and dumped her in the gorge to hide the evidence.