Page 71 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
They approached the ferryman, who had docked on their side of the river. The ferry itself looked a touch precarious, comprised as it was of time-aged wooden planks held together by rusty nails and obstinacy.
“This is safe, aye?” Duncan asked, placing a coin in the ferryman’s hand.
“A’ course,” the man said with an enthusiastic nod. “You and your missus’ll be safe as babes in their cradles. Climb aboard.”
They were the only passengers, and so once they were on the vessel, the ferryman used a long pole to push off from the shore. The ferry moved in a sideways motion, the current trying to pull it downstream as the rope affixed through the iron rings kept it heading toward the opposite bank.
They had gone a third of the way when Duncan stiffened. “There’s a sound.”
“What?” the ferryman demanded.
“Something’s creaking.” Beatrice gulped. “Like... strained rope...”
A loud snapping noise pierced the quiet.
The rope split in two, and the ferryman lunged for it. He managed to wrap his hand around the line, but it slipped from the rings affixing it to the vessel. Still holding to the rope, the ferryman was dragged off the ferry and into the river.
Duncan dove for the other end of the broken rope, but it slid into the water before he could reach it.
At the least, the ferryman managed to swim to the riverbank. But as for Beatrice and Duncan, they were completely untethered. There was nothing to do but stay on the ferry as the current bore it down the river, taking them farther and farther from where they needed to be.
Chapter 17
This was a fucking disaster. Duncan cursed himself for not having reached the rope in time to keep them from drifting away from the shore.
He eyed the current, but it moved too swiftly for him to ask Beatrice to chance swimming to the bank. He didn’t doubt that he could make it, but there was the possibility that she didn’t know how to swim, and even if she did, her skirts could easily drag her down.
“What do we do?” she asked, turning to him. She appeared remarkably calm given the circumstances.
“Got to be a rudder.” But when he grabbed the tiller, it crumbled in his hand. He swore. This goddamned ferry was a disgrace. “We’re stuck on here.”
Her face paled, and he gripped her hand.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said. In situations such as this, belief in one’s survival was the most important factor in determining one’s success. While he had every belief that the ferry would eventually make itsway to the riverbank, there was no telling how long it would take nor where they’d be deposited.
She nodded and fought to smile. “It is.”
He gave her a quick kiss for her courage, and then there was nothing to do but wait and hope that they’d hit the shore sooner rather than later.
But the sun crept lower and lower to the horizon.Hell.He didn’t want to spend the night on this blasted ferry, leaving Beatrice at the mercy of the elements again. Having lost her bonnet in Beaumont, she pulled a shawl from her baggage and draped that over her head to protect her from the wind and sun.
Blessedly, thirty minutes before dark, the vessel ran aground at the edge of a wood. The ferry shuddered as it ground into the muddy bank, and though Duncan had no earthly idea where they were, being off the water was something of a blessing.
He eyed the thick mud of the riverbank, shot through with reeds. The sludge stretched nearly twenty feet before it became solid earth.
“Grab the bags,” he instructed her. He stepped off the ferry and immediately sank into the mud. It reached his knees and squished in his boots. “I’ll carry you.”
“I can walk,” she protested.
“You’ll wind up with fifteen pounds of mud on your skirts,” he pointed out. At her continued objection, he added, “That will slow us down. I can get us both todry land, and then you’ll be able to walk without hefting that weight around.”
She looked reluctant but didn’t protest any more. Instead, she collected their satchels and then climbed into his waiting arms.
“Afraid that between me and our luggage,” she said worriedly, “we’re heavy as the world on Atlas’s shoulders.”
“No trouble at all,” he said. Fit as he was, carrying a full-grown woman and two bags through knee-high mud was still a challenge. The mud sucked at him, trying to pull him down like a ravenous creature. By the time they reached the dry earth, sweat coated his back, and he struggled to breathe.
“Rest now,” she commanded when he finally was able to set her down.
