had saved her! It had to have been Edouard’s sister; Hugh recognised that green gown. The pristine whiteness of her veil stood out in a crowd, she stood out in a crowd, risking herself to save Louise. She had handed Louise to Sir Olivier. And now she herself was gone.
He had to find her. Little Brat. She must be saved, she must.
Breathing hard, Hugh fixed his eyes on the spot where he had last seen Aude. Nothing. He shifted his gaze a little upstream. Still nothing. The branch of a tree. Something that looked like sacking. A white…her veil, surely?
No, no, she had torn that off, had flung it aside.
Yes! There she was, several yards behind the crest of the wave, in the churned up, muddy waters of its wake.
As Hugh narrowed his eyes, the main front of the bore reached him. He held the gelding steady as the wave crashed on to the bank. Spray fanned out in all directions, droplets gleaming pretty as dew in the morning sun. His horse shifted, shaking his head, legs trembling. Hugh held him steady. So deadly, that river. The front raced by, soaking him, his horse, and doubtless Gil, who was swearing colourfully somewhere behind him.
Hell, where was Aude? He had lost sight of her again. Desperation gripped him, he couldn’t breathe. Where? Where was she?
The river was seething and choppy, broken up into thousands of wavelets as the wave forged its way inland. The gelding shifted; he was afraid of the river today, and Hugh could not blame him.
Where was she?
There! A few yards out, Aude’s head had reappeared next to a bundle of straw. Both were sinking.
Hugh kicked his heels, guiding the gelding into the water. The river shall not have her! The force of his feeling rocked him, but then he had long had a soft spot for Aude de Crèvecoeur. Despite appearances, her life had not been easy. This morning by the barge, Hugh had been occupied, but he had noticed her the moment she had stepped on to the quayside. And he was almost certain that, despite Edouard’s orders to the contrary, Aude had wanted to speak to him. She hadn’t wanted to speak to the surly deckhand who had removed her belongings from the barge—she had wanted to speak to him, to Hugh Duclair. Foolish, foolish girl.
Edouard’s sister, like Edouard, had a loyal heart, and he would be damned before he saw her bravery rewarded by drowning. There was enough injustice in Normandy without adding Aude’s death to the scales. Edouard’s strictures, his own resolution not to drag Aude into his affairs must, for the moment, be set aside.
‘Careful, Hugh, that river has power.’
Thanks to Hugh’s urging, his horse entered the water faster than was safe. Its flanks shuddered, its eyes rolled, it fought Hugh’s commands, but it obeyed.
Aude was clinging to an oar, a wavelet breaking over her. Her plaits had unravelled. Her hair streamed out, dark red against the cloudy water.
‘Let go!’ Hugh took the gelding in as far as he dared. It would help no one if he were swept away too. ‘Strike out for me!’
Hugh doubted that Aude could swim—no lady of his acquaintance could—but she seemed to understand that the oar would carry her away. She let go and surrendered herself to the water.
Determined to intercept her, Hugh angled his horse sideways. It wasn’t particularly deep here. The gelding was still on its feet, but the force of the water would have been too strong for a person to withstand. The rush of the river filled his ears.
Aude was blinded by water. Her mouth was full of brine and it was choking her. Cold. It was so cold. How could river water be so cold when the day was so warm? The horseman who had waded in after her—she could not see him clearly for the stinging in her eyes—must be quite mad. Her hair, too, was blinding her. She spluttered and choked.
The horseman was shouting, but Aude couldn’t hear him for the roaring—whether it was the roaring of the river or her own blood, she could not tell. Her lungs ached. Water slapped her in the face.
He was getting close, thank God. Her legs tangled in waterlogged skirts, her arms refused to obey her. Heavy, everything was heavy, pulling her down. But even as Aude felt herself sinking, she was carried towards him, the madman on the bay horse.
Yes! Only a little further.
‘Come on, Aude!’
He knew her name?
Feebly Aude kicked her feet—her shoes had gone almost as soon as she hit the water. Her toes scraped the bottom, but it was impossible to stand. Too fast, the river was running too fast.
She hit the horse’s flank, the horseman’s leg. Glimpsed red cross-gartering. Another wave tried to drown her. Blindly, she groped for a well-muscled calf and hooked her fingers into his cross-gartering.
‘Hold hard!’
A madman, clearly. Why else would he be commanding her to do the obvious? More water found its way into Aude’s lungs and a fit of coughing took her as he turned the horse and she was dragged ignominiously towards the river bank like so much wet washing.
On dry land, she let go and fell on her knees. Someone was talking. Aude couldn’t make out the words; it sounded as though bees were buzzing. Blackness was swirling at the edges of her vision, exactly as, moments ago, the water had swirled about her. She retched and retched again. Warm hands were on her shoulders, supporting her. He was sweeping her hair back to keep it clear of her face. Her chest ached.
‘That’s right, Aude,’ her rescuer said. ‘Get it out. All of it.’
Aude? More retching. Her stomach burned. And still he was holding her.
‘Better?’
Nodding, Aude sat back down, panting. She looked into his face.
‘Hugh!’
Hugh Duclair’s stormy blue eyes were anxious and his thumbs were making tiny caressing movements on her shoulders, but even as she watched the anxiety faded. He released her and shifted away. ‘Ma dame, I do not think you know me.’
‘Oh, yes, I do, I—’
‘Ma dame, your brother has forbidden you to acknowledge me.’
She gripped the frayed edge of his sleeve. It was that or reach for Hugh’s hand and the look in his eyes warned her that such a gesture would not be welcome. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Hugh, you saved me! Besides, you proved you know me when you called me by name.’
Sighing, Hugh sat down on the bank beside her. He was almost as out of breath as she was. Someone else was riding up, a young man with another horse on a leading rein. His squire, Gil—Aude recognised him from last year. She flung a weak smile at him. Thank God, not all Hugh Duclair’s friends had deserted him.
‘In any case, I thank you,’ she said, as another fit of coughing overcame her. She put a hand to her throat, she felt hoarse. ‘I was never…never so glad to see anyone in my life.’
Hugh grinned and for a moment his face transformed and he was his old self. A handsome Viking of a man who was her brother’s closest friend; a man who was—thank
