Carol Townend - Her Banished Lord

‘We’re too far away!’ The despair in Gil’s voice sounded like Louise’s death knell. ‘Impossible to get there!’

Hell ! The surge was a mere five yards from their barge which, since it was moored at the end of the jetty, would be one of the first to be struck. Hugh focused on a slight figure in a brown gown and his blood turned to ice— Louise ! There she was, she had heard the commotion, had run to the ship’s rail to stare.

‘Get out, Louise!’ Hugh yelled. ‘Get out!’ But it was hopeless, Louise could not hear him. It was too late, he could never reach her in time.

Hugh Duclair had told Aude the truth; another river barge was indeed moored downstream, in a shady inlet behind the far jetty. Sir Olivier—he was being most useful—had helped her find it.

Aude had booked passage on it for the following morning, and with the knight’s assistance had covertly acquired new travelling chests. Aude’s maid, Edwige, had quickly transferred most of Aude’s belongings to the new chests.

The old trunks had been plain wood, studded and banded with iron. The new ones were painted, the surfaces covered with daisy-like flowers. Once Edwige had finished packing, Aude and Sir Olivier had between them supervised their safe stowing on the barge in the backwater.

That being done, Aude and Sir Olivier were walking arm in arm along the riverbank back to the main port.

‘I do not think Lord Edouard suspects you are intending to leave tomorrow, my lady,’ Sir Olivier said.

‘No, I hate to deceive him, but I must confess I am glad you have agreed to accompany me.’

Sir Olivier smiled. ‘You know the reason for that, my lady. My time with the Abbot has come to an end and—’

‘Sir, you know I will not marry you; you will not persuade me.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not…’

‘Sir, you must believe me. But I do hope to use some of my English revenues to pay your knight’s fee. I will need support in Alfold.’

His face brightened. ‘You would like to hire me?’

‘Yes, I—’

A piercing scream cut through the air. A tocsin was sounding.

‘What on earth…?’ Aude lifted her hand from Sir Olivier’s arm.

More screaming. Hairs prickled on the back of Aude’s neck. Snatching up her skirts, she started running towards the quays.

She took in the approaching wave— coming upstream ?—and the panicky scurrying on the jetties. People were shoving past her, faces blank with fear. Spray arched skywards, droplets glowing like a rainbow. Someone else started screaming; everyone was screaming.

And there, alone in the barge nearest the oncoming water, stood a little girl—a child—in brown homespun. She was looking at the wave, frozen with shock, forgotten.

The wave reached up like a living thing. The barge lurched sideways, the mooring rope snapped. The girl’s shriek rose like a gull’s above the clamour and the wave thundered down, dragging the girl into a swirl of frothing, seething foam.

Hissing snakes, Aude thought, as something clicked inside her. There was no time for thought, she tore the veil from her head and hurled herself forwards.

‘My lady, no !’

The river swooshed past, flooding the jetty. There was noise, Aude’s ears were full of it: rushing, screaming, bells. So much noise, it deafened. Water hit, came up to her calves. The river roared, drowning out the snakes. Cold.

Water slapped her legs, almost toppling her. The ancient river gods had come alive and they were out to get her. Aude held her ground. One hand found a mooring post and she clung. The other reached for the girl as her barge was swept away, bucking and rocking out among the white horses.

‘Take my hand!’ Aude cried.

The girl in brown was being tossed about like a bundle of rags among the packing cases, but the water was bringing her closer. She was barely managing to keep her head above water; if she let the incoming tide take her, she wouldn’t last more than a minute.

Someone else was in the water. A woman wailed. ‘Didier! Didier !’

Aude fixed her whole attention on the child. A barrel thumped into her and her knees buckled. She held her ground. The girl vanished beneath the surface before reappearing a few yards nearer, water steaming down, hair stuck to her skull. A small hand reached for hers.

‘That’s it!’

Bracing herself, Aude stretched forwards.

Their hands met and clutched. Held. The girl’s body swung round; the river was determined to carry her upstream. Aude gripped that small hand as though her life depended on it. Her arm felt as though it was being ripped from its socket.

And then she was no longer alone. Sir Olivier was at her shoulder, catching the child’s other hand, the brown skirts. Together, they wrestled her out of the water.

The wave had passed Jumièges; it was ploughing on upriver, but the danger was not over.

‘Be careful, my lady,’ Sir Olivier gasped, as they got the girl clear of the water and he lifted her into his arms. ‘There’s a fierce wake. Mind the wake.’

Even as he started back to shore, a packing case thudded against Aude’s shin.

Aude’s legs buckled. She fought to find her footing and slipped head first into the boiling river.

Galloping flat out along the high water-line, Hugh had arrived in time to see that Louise was safe. The havoc the surge had caused at the port had almost stopped his heart. A couple of rowboats, their moorings severed, were being tossed about on the river; barges were drifting midstream without oarsmen or steersmen; upturned boats were being carried towards Rouen, but Louise was safe.

Aude 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.