Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,45

Nowhere to hide. No chance of losing the dogs. And his only weapons were a pistol, a knife.

The image of the admiralty’s gibbet cage loomed. Inescapable.

And then he saw a glimmer of something ahead, through the trees. A thread of blue and white that widened, sparkling in the sunlight. Water. A river.

Hope surged in his chest. If there was a footbridge—and if they could cross it and destroy it before their pursuers could follow...

But even that thin hope was quickly crushed when the river came fully into view.

This wasn’t any peaceful woodland stream. It was a raging torrent, at least fifty yards wide. They broke through the trees and raced toward the muddy bank. But there was no footbridge. No conveniently fallen trees, no stones, no narrow ford. No way across. They stopped at the water’s edge, gasping, breathless.

Miss Delafield glanced behind them, at the trees. At the dogs—which were rapidly closing the brief lead the two of them had gained.

Nicholas looked desperately up and down the bank. They had nowhere left to run. And they couldn’t turn back.

Instead of being saved, they were cornered.

He stared down at the water churning and leaping over rocks. It looked deep. Treacherous. Alone, he might jump in and try to swim across. But with the chain, the girl...

It would be certain death.

“We’ll have to swim across,” she said calmly.

He turned, stunned by her cool declaration. “We’ll never make it.”

“I’d rather drown than be torn to pieces!”

They both looked over their shoulders again. The dogs were so close Nicholas could see fangs flashing in the sunlight. And now he could see riders in the distance. A dozen at least, fanned out through the trees.

He glanced down at the slender girl, at the rushing water. She’d never survive it.

And if she drowned, he would drown with her.

“I can do it,” she insisted urgently.

A canine snarl behind him—just a few yards away—made up his mind for him.

To hell with the odds.

He jammed the pistol into his waistband, took hold of the rope that secured the creel across his chest. He slung it around his neck and grabbed the girl with his other hand. “On three,” he said tightly. “One... two...” Her arm seemed impossibly fragile in his grasp. “Three.”

They leaped forward in an ungraceful dive. Hit the water with a jarring, painful impact that he felt through every inch of his aching body. And instantly went under.

The chain would kill them. He knew that the minute the surface closed over his head. He could feel the shackles dragging them downward, heavy, murderous links of iron. He kicked and fought, struggling to get to the air—but he didn’t have the strength to battle the forceful current and the chain too.

He felt the girl torn from his grasp, saw her struggling beside him, a blur of yellow skirts and golden hair. Thrashing and swimming for all she was worth. After what felt like an eternity, he made it to the surface, broke above the rushing water, sucked in a breath—only to be pulled under again.

The rain-swollen torrent was stronger than both of them, sweeping them downstream.

He managed to break the surface a second time. Found himself in a hail of bullets that rained down around him, striking the water like darts. The metal pings sounded strange amid the liquid rush of the river and the yowling of the dogs.

He opened his mouth, inhaled more water than air. Wondered whether it would be his last breath. Choking, fighting to stay above the drowning torrent, he saw the riverbank flying past. The surging waters carried them downstream faster than they could’ve run. As if they weighed no more than the sticks and leaves rioting around them.

The current pulled him under again. He didn’t know if the girl had managed to get to the surface at all. Couldn’t see her anymore. His vision seemed to be turning gray. His muscles started to go weak, his limbs numb. He couldn’t feel the shackle around his ankle anymore. Couldn’t feel anything but the water, everywhere. Around him, above him, below him. Filling his nose, his mouth, all of him.

Darkness hovered at the edges of his awareness, threatening to close in. Urging him to stop fighting its seductive pull.

But somehow he attacked his way to the top one more time, spat out a mouthful of water. Fought for the air he needed to survive.

They had been carried toward the middle of the stream, more by the force of the current than by any effort