Page 12 of The Briar Bargain
"No time to ask," Darcy said tersely, breaking into a run, Bingley on his heels. The thick mud dragged at his boots, but he was in a hurry, and the horses could not be ridden at speed in these conditions. He simply forced his way through it.
Mr. Farrow and Johnson fell in behind him, while the third farmer, Anson, called out, "I'll see to the other animals and follow directly!"
Darcy's heart hammered against his ribs as he watched Miss Elizabeth disappear into the tree line that bordered the rushing water. What madness had possessed her to venture out alone in such dangerous conditions?
The ground grew firmer as they reached the slight incline leading to the woods, allowing them to quicken their pace. Darcy pulled ahead of the others, driven by an urgency he could not fully explain to himself. He crashed through the underbrush, branches whipping against his face and catching at his coat.
"Miss Elizabeth!" he called again, but his voice was swallowed by the roar of the river, now audible through the trees.
As he broke through the tree line, the full fury of the swollen waterway spread before him. What had once been a placid stream was now a churning monster, brown with silt and broken tree branches. Broken trees. His eyes darted frantically along its length, searching for any sign of Miss Elizabeth.
Instead, he spotted a small blond head bobbing in the current. It was a child, desperately flailing against the water's pull. He looked again to be certain he was not imagining it.
The other men pulled up beside him, and then there was a shout.
"Peter!" Mr. Farrow's anguished cry rent the air as he pushed past Darcy. "That's my boy! Peter!"
The farmer sprinted along the bank, keeping pace with his son as the current swept the child downstream. Darcy's gaze continued to search for Miss Elizabeth, dread building within him with each passing second.
Then he saw her. She was, as he had feared, in the river. But she did not appear to have fallen in, for she was making her way to the boy with single-minded determination.
Someone had taught the woman to swim.
"God in heaven," Bingley gasped, coming to a halt beside him. "She has gone in after him!"
Darcy was already running again, his feet finding purchase on the slippery bank as he paralleled Miss Elizabeth's course, looking for the best place to reach her and the boy. The river curved ahead, forcing him to cut through a dense thicket of brambles. He barely felt them; his attention was fixed on Miss Elizabeth in the churning waters.
The boy thrashed about and managed to catch one branch of a fallen tree but lost his grip soon after. The few moments aided Miss Elizabeth,however, allowing her to reach the boy and grab him with one arm while trying to find something to hold onto with the other.
He felt something tug hard at one boot and he was nearly sent sprawling. Looking back, he could see a mass of vines, several of them taut across his foot. But by the time he had extricated himself, he had lost sight of Miss Elizabeth. When he burst through another stand of trees, he found her again.
Miss Elizabeth had somehow maintained her hold on the boy and now clung to a fallen tree that stretched halfway across the river. She had one arm wrapped around the child while the other grasped a branch with white-knuckled intensity. The full force of the current pressed against them, threatening to tear them away at any moment, and the boy was clinging to her so tightly he was likely to drown them both.
"There!" Darcy shouted, pointing. "Farrow! Your son is there!"
The farmer, slightly ahead of Darcy, charged down the bank to a cluster of exposed willow roots that reached into the water. Johnson and Harrison were close behind him, while Bingley sprinted over to join Darcy.
For his part, Darcy wondered whether he could crawl along the trunk of the fallen tree and pluck Miss Elizabeth out of the water. She appeared to be losing strength, and he was not certain either she or her charge would make it to shore without aid.
Through the splash and spray, Darcy watched as Miss Elizabeth said something to the boy. Then, with a strength that belied her slight frame, she pushed the child towards several long willow roots that were stretching out into the river.
Darcy picked his way down to the log, Bingley behind him.
"Peter!" Mr. Farrow called again, wading into the shallows as his son grasped the lifeline. "Hold tight!"
Johnson and Harrison joined him, forming a human chain to reach the child. With their combined efforts, they managed to extract the boy from the water and onto the bank, where he collapsed in his father's arms, coughing and shivering.
Darcy's attention, however, was on Miss Elizabeth. She still clung to the fallen tree, clearly exhausted from her efforts to save the child. Slowly, one hand over the other, she began to pull herself along the trunk to the bank. He halted, not wishing to add his weight to the log when there was a chance it might cause Miss Elizabeth to lose her grip.
Then, with a sickening crack that carried even over the river's roar, the tree shifted beneath her. Darcy watched in horror as her hands slipped away, and she was pulled under the water.
"Elizabeth!" The cry tore from his throat unbidden.
For one terrible, endless moment, she did not reappear.
"Where is she?" Bingley's voice was tight with fear. "Darcy, I cannot see her!"
A dark shape emerged on the downstream side of the log. It was Miss Elizabeth, unable to break free of the undercurrent, her head briefly breaking the surface before she disappeared again.
