to see some sign of the boy on the shore… and Helen cried out when she spotted something, pulling her horse to a stop and almost flying off over its neck as it screeched to a halt on the rocky path. But she was already leaping down from its neck, running into the trees, heedless of the branches whipping at her face as she ran. There had been a shape on the ground, up closer to the water in an area that was surrounded by low bushes, ideal for hiding. She slowed as she approached, trying to get control of herself — and Niall almost crashed into her from behind. She seized him by the wrist, raising a finger to her lips.
There Eamon was, maybe forty feet away from them. In the sunset light, she could just make out the boy’s tear streaked face — his hands were bound behind him and he was sitting on the sand a couple of feet from the water’s edge. Occasionally, he’d utter low, heartbroken scream, but it was clear that he’d almost given up any hope of rescue.
“Perry’s probably hiding in the bushes,” Helen breathed to Niall. They were still in the treeline, hopefully hidden from view. “He’d be waiting to jump out once the monster comes for Eamon.”
“Which she won’t,” Niall said in a low voice, reaching down to unsheathe his sword. She heard the low grate of the metal against its scabbard, felt a chill run down her spine as she realized, perhaps for the first time, just how dangerous the man beside her was. She felt a rush of gratitude that he was on her side — that she had nothing to do with the man who’d drawn this ire out of him. “You go to Eamon. I’ll find Perry.”
She nodded, her jaw tight. It was a good plan — she’d be the distraction, and Niall could figure out where Perry was hiding. So she stepped out onto the rocky beach, feeling the stones shifting under her boots as she strode along the beach, headed for Eamon. His head whipped up at the sound of her boots and she saw his eyes widen when he saw her. But to her surprise, he didn’t cry out — he just shook his head furiously, fear on his face — then jerked his head over his left shoulder, clearly indicating one of the bushes. Helen glanced behind her and saw Niall in the shadows of the trees, nodding furiously — he’d seen what his son was pointing at. The bush that Perry was hiding in.
What a brave boy, she thought to herself, her eyes welling up with tears. Even in this dire situation, he’d had the wherewithal to help them catch the man who’d kidnapped him.
It was important to keep the man’s attention on her, she knew that, even as Niall slipped around, clearly determined to creep up on the bush from the other side. So she called Eamon’s name, rushing forward, making as much sound as she could as she raced toward him. It wasn’t all an act — she was desperate to see him, desperate to take him into her arms and make sure he wasn’t hurt. Seeing him alive had been such a relief, but now her fears about his death had been replaced by new fears. Fears that he was hurt, fears that he was traumatized, fears that she wasn’t going to be able to reach him — that she’d get halfway before Perry would leap out and take him away again, somehow…
That’s not going to happen, she told herself firmly, calling Eamon’s name again. She could hear him weeping, but there was a happier note to his sobs — tears of relief that he’d been found, that he wasn’t alone anymore. She couldn’t imagine how frightened he’d been, what an awful day he’d had… and finally she’d reached him, and she was on her knees, pulling him into her lap, wiping the tears from his face as she held him tight. His little body was trembling — he was missing one shoe, and the bare foot was dirty and bruised. She checked him over for any other injuries.
“Eamon — are you hurt, does anywhere hurt?”
But he couldn’t answer her — he was too busy weeping. Her cursory checks revealed no injuries — but his hands were tied behind him with rough rope that resisted her attempts to yank it free. She was so immersed in checking on Eamon,