Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

e river ran strongly, gushing and churning over its rocky bed. “There’s been rain on the Cheviots over the last weeks—the currents will be surprisingly strong. That’s the biggest danger if you fall in—that you’ll be dashed to death on the rocks.”

In her experience, it never hurt to be specific; the ladies “oh”-ed and readily walked on.

The men drew ahead; the ladies loitered, pointing to this, examining that, but nevertheless drifting in the right direction. Minerva fell back, ambling even more slowly in her shepherdess role. Finally she had a moment to think.

Not that her thoughts were all that clear.

She was thrilled Royce wanted to establish a school in the village; she would cheer him on in that. More, she felt strangely proud of him, that he—a Varisey in so many ways—had thought of it on his own. She felt distinctly vindicated over encouraging him to turn from his father’s example and forge his own way, follow his own inclinations; they were proving very sound.

But she wouldn’t be around to see the outcome—and that galled her. Disappointment, dejection, dragged her down, as if some prize she’d worked for and deserved was, by fate’s fickle decree, to be denied her. More, was to be granted to another, who wouldn’t appreciate it given she wouldn’t know him.

His bride still remained unnamed, and therefore nebulous; she couldn’t fix a face on the female, so couldn’t direct her anger at her.

Couldn’t resent her.

She halted at the thought.

Shocked by the unhappy emotion she’d just put a name to.

Nonsensical, she chided herself; she’d always known his bride would arrive one day—and that, soon after, she’d leave.

Leave the place she called home.

Lips firming, she thrust the thought away. The others had wandered far ahead; they’d reached the end of the gorge and were continuing on, following the river path into more open meadows. Lifting her head, drawing in a deep breath, she lengthened her stride and set out to catch them up.

No more thinking allowed.

North of the gorge, the river was wider, wending down from the hills through fertile meadowland. It was still deep in the middle, and there it ran swiftly, but the spreading edges flowed more gently.

There was a particular spot where the river rounded a curve, then spread in a wide pool that was especially good for fishing. The men had descended the sloping bank; spreading out in a line along the pool’s edge, casting lures into the stream, they talked only in murmurs as they waited for a bite.

Royce and his male cousins—Gordon, Rohan, Phillip, Arthur, Gregory, and Henry—stood shoulder to shoulder. All tall, dark-haired, and handsome, they were an arresting sight, reducing the other male guests to mere contrast.

The ladies gathered on the bank above. They knew enough to mute their voices; standing in a loose group, they enjoyed the sunshine and the light breeze, chatting quietly.

Minerva joined them. Susannah asked again whether she’d discovered whom Royce had chosen as his bride; Minerva shook her head, then stepped a little away from the group, her eye caught by a flash of color upriver.

From their position, the land rose gently; she could see another party enjoying a pleasant day by the banks two bends upstream.

One of the tenant farmers’ families, plus their laborers’ families as well; squinting, she saw a gaggle of children playing by the water’s edge, laughing and shrieking, or so it seemed, as they played tag. The breeze was blowing northward, so no sound reached her, yet she had to wonder how many fish the men would catch with such a cacophony two hundred yards upstream.

She was about to look away when a girl standing by the stream’s edge suddenly flailed her arms—and fell backward into the stream. The bank had crumbled beneath her heels; she fell with a splash—breath caught, Minerva watched, waiting to see…

The girl’s white cap bobbed to the surface—in the middle of the stream. The current had caught her skirts; even as the adults rushed to the bank, she was whisked downriver, around the next curve.

Minerva looked down at the men. “Royce!”

He looked up, instantly alert.

She pointed upriver. “There’s a girl in the water.” She looked again, spotted the bobbing white cap. “Two bends upstream. She’s in the center and coming down fast.”

Before the last word had left her lips, Royce was giving orders. Rods were dropped; his cousins and the others gathered around him, then the whole group turned and ran downstream.

Royce paused only to call to Minerva, “Yell when she comes around that bend.” He pointed at the last bend before the pool, then raced after the others.

From their vantage point, the ladies watched in horrified fascination. Minerva went as far down the bank as she could without losing sight of the girl. Susannah and two friends joined her, peering after the men. “What are they doing?” Susannah asked.

Minerva spared a quick glance downriver, saw where the men were going—Royce on his own, just beyond the pool, the others still hurrying, leaping over rocks and slipping over wet patches on their way farther down—then looked back at the girl. “Royce is going out on the nearer spit—he’ll catch her. But he’s likely to lose his footing when he does—the current’s running strongly—it’ll take both of them. The others will form a human chain farther down. It’ll be up to them to grab Royce and haul him and the girl in.”