And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

“Halloo!”

The call rang out from the front of the ruins.

It was Channing. He yelled, “Come on, you lot—time to start back.”

Calls came from various places, most a great deal closer to the path than James and Henrietta. James looked at Henrietta, then raised his voice. “Channing—you and the others start back. Miss Cynster and I will follow as quickly as we can.”

“Right-ho! Don’t dally, mind—we all have to get ready for dinner and the ball.”

“We’re on our way!” James yelled back. Smiling, he took Henrietta’s arm, twining it with his, and they started back, following the long corridor that ran along the old wall, their fastest route back to where the path entered the ruins.

That said, they saw no reason to hurry; they ambled along, pausing so Henrietta could study the tiny ferns sprouting from the fissures in the wall.

They’d been virtually on the other side of the ruins from the path; they’d traveled about half the distance back when a sharp crack sounded, emanating from behind them, from the general area in which Rafe and Millicent Fotherby had been. James halted and, releasing Henrietta, turned.

Henrietta halted, too. They both looked back, but saw nothing. She pressed his arm. “Go and look—just in case. We should make sure they’re returning as well—they didn’t reply to Channing.”

Which gave him an excuse if Rafe and Miss Fotherby spotted him. James nodded and retraced his steps.

He was almost back to the archway when Rafe stepped through it into the corridor, with Millicent on his arm.

“Ah, there you are.” James halted. “I heard a crack.”

Rafe nodded. “A rock fell.” He looked down the corridor toward Henrietta. “This seemed the fastest way back to the path.”

“We thought the same.” James turned back to Henrietta.

A grating sound dragged his gaze upward.

Dust, then fine stones rained down from the top of the wall above Henrietta.

A massive capstone, five feet long and at least two feet high and deep, shifted, tipped, then fell.

Henrietta had looked up, but dust had got in her eyes and she’d looked down again. She hadn’t seen the stone falling.

James opened his mouth, but panic locked his lungs.

Then he was running.

Boots striking the corridor’s floor, legs pumping hard, eyes tracking the falling capstone, he raced—and knew he wouldn’t be in time.

Desperate, he summoned every ounce of his strength—and flung himself forward.

He hit Henrietta, caught her—held her to him, protecting her as best he could as his flying tackle carried them several feet down the corridor and onto the ground.

They landed, skidding, in a tumble of clinging limbs.

The horrendous whump-thud of the stone smashing down physically jarred them.

Silence—shocking and absolute—fell over the scene.

Then, somewhere, a blackbird trilled.

Slowly assimilating that they were still alive, they cautiously raised their heads and looked back down the corridor. Henrietta clung to James and he to her. They stared, disbelieving, at the fate that had nearly been hers.

No, nearly theirs; the capstone lay embedded in the floor mere inches from James’s boots. The stone had cracked on impact, blocking the corridor and hiding them from the others.

Henrietta could barely breathe. Her heart was thudding so heavily that she wasn’t sure she could hear.