Master of Penlowen by Christine Merrill

Author:Christine Merrill
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

T he fire disappeared in a cloud of smoke. It went dark, without trace of ember, as though something had swallowed the light from it. She coughed the foul air out of her lungs and closed her eyes against the sting.

She felt his hand shoot out from nowhere, to seize her wrist in a grip as tight as iron and pull her body close to him. ‘Arabella, are you there? I cannot see you.’ There was a plaintiveness to his words, as though he’d already begun to doubt the wisdom of his plan.

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again in panic. Now that the fire was gone, the room was icy cold. The smoke looked and felt like fog. The house was taking hold of her again, playing tricks with her. She must not let it.

His hand had slipped down to twine with hers, and she could feel him give an encouraging squeeze. ‘Arabella?’ His voice was near to normal again, but she could sense the edge of panic disguised beneath it. ‘Speak to me. I know you must be there. I can feel you.’

She could not. She did not dare open her mouth, for she knew that to do so would be certain death. The water would rush in to fill her lungs. She felt the darkness take her again, the terror and the loneliness. It was as though she was sinking deeper and deeper as the water pressed upon her and the air was forced from her lungs.

From somewhere far away she could feel the grip of Richard’s hand and she focused on it, knowing that he was there and would not let her go. She struggled against the feelings around her to squeeze it, and felt a weak squeeze in response. He was still beside her. They were still in the bedroom, together. If they could hang on to each other, this would pass and they would be all right.

There was a feeling in the darkness that was almost like a pause. As though something had startled it, or a voice had been heard through the dark, salty water. She was not moving, but she felt struggle and panic. A desperation, to find the source of the change and go to it.

She concentrated on her own body, making it move. If she tried, she could feel the grip on her hand, and she moved closer to Richard, fighting the tide which was trying to carry her out to some imaginary sea.

Lies. Her brain was lying to her. She forced her eyes open and felt them adjusting to the dark, blinded by the occasional flash of lightning and the fitful appearance of moonlight through the racing clouds. She could see it all, although the room seemed to waver before her, as though seen through currents.

And the man beside her was staring into the gloom, eyes wide and sightless, tears streaming down his face. The darkness swirled around, him, lapping like waves, slapping at his face and plucking at his clothing, trying to force itself between their interlocked fingers.

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