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The darkness he saw wasn’t rock but the silk of her hair.
“I love you,” he said, with his last breath.
5
The boat scraped. It knocked left, then right, then kicked up, kicked the air from James’s lungs, and smacked down, knocked again and again. Bone jarring, tooth chipping knocks.
He arched his back, tried to gather Isobel against him, to create some kind of shelter. His shoulder struck one side of the boat, then the other. He tensed every muscle to keep his head from whipping off his neck.
He couldn’t tell what was happening, but time continued. He was still breathing, still battered and sore, still bloody petrified, for himself, for her—most of all for her.
The wood hadn’t splintered. The water below hadn’t rushed over them. They’d shot into a gap between the rocks. There was time. Life. Hope. Love.
So help him God, love. He’d said he loved her. She couldn’t have heard. The words had emerged as a smothered, desperate whisper, a literal last gasp. And besides, didn’t people always make impassioned declarations at the point of death? It was simply a byproduct of the realization that everything was lost. A burst of longing attached to whatever was nearest, whoever was nearest.
Isobel MacKinnon happened to be near, now, their hearts beating as one. Happenstance, that’s all this was.
But no. Isobel was always near, even when she was miles away, even when years passed without a word, a glimpse. She was always in his head, in his heart, taunting and tantalizing every iota of his being.
Odds bodkins. Bloody hell.
He loved Isobel MacKinnon. Desperately, yes, but God help him, specifically.
Her. It was her.
“James?” Isobel’s whisper made him realize the world had quietened, strangely, and smoothed. “You’re crushing me.”
She wiggled beneath him. He rolled, wedging himself sideways, so she could roll the other way. They lay in the bottom of the boat, face to face, legs pulled up, cramped, panting.
“The Wizard’s Cavern.” She sounded raw, as though her voice was as scratched and bruised as everything else.
“I’m glad you know where we are.” His voice too sounded raw. He tried to laugh. “Is this wizard amiable? Will he use his magic to grant our wishes?”
A knock from starboard sent cold soaking through James’s clothes. The boat wasn’t fully swamped, but at least an inch of water sloshed over the boards.
Isobel drew a long breath, then exhaled. He felt the warmth of it.
“He doesn’t exist,” she said flatly. “It’s just another silly name.”
“I disagree.” He’d never heard her speak in such a dull tone, as though something inside her had been extinguished. “It’s not silly. The Wizard’s Cavern has a nice ring.”
“Oh Lord,” she murmured. “That was a compliment. You’ve decided we’re doomed.”
This tone he recognized, all drollery. Indominable Tib MacKinnon. Thank God.
He had to tighten his muscles against the urge to hug her.
“Nonsense. I have a fondness for Merlin, that’s all.”
“Merlin’s not going to save us.”
“I will,” he suggested, and kindly, she didn’t laugh. “Only—I need a moment to think.”
“Think away,” she said, less kindly. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
He shut his eyes, then opened them. Open, closed. It made no difference.
The darkness was absolute.
