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“The bridge is up ahead.  Once we cross, the road is more open.”
    “Which means worse wind,” grumbled Randolph, fastening the trap.
    “Perhaps not,” countered Sedge as new gusts rattled the carriage.  He was peering out the window.  “It looks like an estate wall shelters the road.”
    “Ravenswood?”
    “One could hope.”  Sedge’s hand clenched.  “But can we make it across?”
    “What now?”  He shifted to look out Sedge’s window.
    Wind lashed at the carriage.  A loud crack announced that a tree had snapped nearby.  But his eyes remained on the bridge as his fingers twisted the card case.
    A triple arch of stone spanned the river.  But the water was high – very high – and streaming across the approach in a foot-deep flood.  The horses slowed to a tentative walk.
    He swore.
    “Is it safe?” asked Sedge, opening his window for a better view.
    “I think so.”  Randolph leaned out his own side, heedless of the wet.  “It appears that the roadbed is also stone at this point.  Perhaps flooding is common.”
    “Steady, lads,” called the coachman.  The leaders hesitated as they reached the water.
    But Randolph’s attention was no longer fixed on the bridge.  A horsewoman had appeared upstream, gingerly picking her way along the edge of the flood.  What was she doing out in this storm?  He had hardly formed the question when a wide section of bank collapsed, tossing her and the horse into the river.
    He threw open the door and leaped from the coach.
    “Where are you going?” demanded Sedge.
    “A lady just fell in the water.  If she is caught in the sidesaddle, she will drown.  She might anyway if I cannot pull her out.”  He tossed his card case back into the coach.  “Keep that safe.”
    Sedge was scrambling after him.
    “Idiot!” hissed Randolph, his eyes riveted on the struggling woman.  He nearly lost sight of her when the horse scrambled toward the bank.  At least she was free of the saddle.  “I can swim.  You can’t.  Fetch help.”  Racing onto the bridge, he gauged the current, then dove in.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    As the river closed over her head, Elizabeth fought down panic.  She was free of the saddle and had learned to swim in childhood.  Granted, her sole experience had been in the shallow lake at Ravenswood, but a river should not be that different.
    Within one minute, she knew she was wrong.  Struggling to the surface required every ounce of energy she could muster.  The water was icy, numbing fingers and toes.  Gasping for breath, she flailed toward the bank, but she could make no headway across the current.  Nor could she catch any of the boulders strewn along the riverbed, she admitted grimly as her shoulder crashed into one, bouncing her toward the center of the stream.  Her heavy clothing dragged her under.  This time she came up retching.
    Panic clawed at her mind.  Her heart battered against her ribs.  Submerged rocks created churning swirls that plucked at her woolen habit, pulling her down.  Releasing her cloak helped, but not enough.
    Where was Aster?  Had he also landed in the river, or had he regained solid ground?  Not that it mattered beyond wondering if she must fear flailing hooves as well as sharp rocks.
    Steady!  Take a moment to plan.  Don’t waste any energy.  You’re going to need it all.
    Blinking the water from her eyes, she looked around.  The bridge loomed ahead.  Reaching the bank was impossible, but perhaps she could catch one of the piers.  She kicked toward her right, but the river was deeper here, with no rocks or even a bottom that she could push against. 
    The current tugged at her skirts, dragging her toward the center arch even as it tried to suck her into its deadly embrace.  Yet she fought on.  Lightning split the clouds.  Thunder crashed an instant later, startling her even through the water clogging her ears.
    The instinctive recoil drove her closer to a pier.  Lunging, she scrabbled