Despite the mucky ground, he spurred his horse into a gallop. Behind him, he heard Nell urge her mare to follow.
Two boys stood on the bank calling to another boy who was flailing in the river. Leath immediately recognized them. The Murray children, at that troublesome age where they were convinced of their immortality. The lad in the water was Will Murray, ten years old and as full of mischief as a monkey.
“Hold my horse.” Leath leaped from the saddle and rushed forward, flinging away his constricting coat. He didn’t bother to check whether Miss Trim obeyed. He trusted that she would.
Will went under as he was swept downstream. “Help!” he shouted, surfacing. “Help me!”
“Don’t you dare set foot in this river,” Leath snapped to Will’s brothers.
When he dived into the flood, the cold turned every muscle rigid. Leath was a strong swimmer, but the water’s power appalled him. Ahead, Will sank again. It felt like hours before the boy bobbed up.
Leath fought the current to stay in place. He couldn’t make headway against it, but as luck had it, the flow pushed the boy toward him.
He grabbed for the lad, but missed. Next time, he caught the young ruffian. His hand curled hard around the linen collar and he wrenched the boy into his body. Will was so terrified that he fought Leath’s hold.
“Stop it.” Leath struggled for a tone of effortless command. Icy water splashed his face and he found himself propelled along, helpless as a twig.
Will’s glazed eyes met his and Leath saw that the boy was so panicked, he didn’t realize that help had arrived. Leath’s grip tightened as he struggled to stay afloat. “Listen to me, Will Murray. Neither of us is going to drown today so you’d better damn well do what I say.”
This time, despite the roar of the water, Leath’s authority registered. Reason seeped into the boy’s gaze. “My lord!”
“Lie still and let me take you in to shore.”
“Yes, my lord,” he gasped.
Leath caught Will under the chin and swam crosswise toward the bank. When in London, he regularly rode out to Hampstead Heath to swim and now he was grateful that he had. Even with Will’s cooperation, progress was tough. The river’s force was lethal. Using the current to power his sidestroke, he struggled to keep their heads above water.
Eventually the flood washed them into a quieter loop. Leath stumbled to his feet to receive a joyful welcome from Will’s brothers and Miss Trim, who waded in and slid her shoulder under his arm. With her support, he staggered toward the bank. Behind him, the boys lugged Will to dry land.
The whole incident was over in minutes, but Leath felt as if he’d gone ten rounds in the boxing ring. The water was littered with debris and he could swear that a forest of logs had slammed him. He sucked in painful gusts of air and tightened his hold around Nell’s shoulders.
“I’m too heavy,” he grunted. Talking tested his strength.
“Nonsense. Can you get up the bank?”
“Yes,” he said, not sure he could. But with her help, he managed to crawl onto the grass. Gasping, he collapsed.
“Are you all right?” She rested her hand on his heaving shoulder as he battled to fill his lungs. Even in his extremity, that touch seared through the wet shirt.
“Yes,” he said, wanting to say more but unable to summon breath.
“Stay there.”
“You’re so… high-handed,” he managed to force out.
Her grip on his shoulder firmed in encouragement. “If you can be rude, you’ll live, my lord.”
Choking on a broken laugh, he lay like a stranded fish while she approached the boys. Will seemed in better case than his rescuer. At least he had the strength to sit up, although he was pale and shivering.
Miss Trim spoke to the brothers before she helped Will toward Adela. She’d had the sense to lead the horses to where he and Will had washed ashore.
Leath struggled to his knees. He wasn’t sure if he could stand, confound it. He was bruised from the pummeling, but at least breathing no longer hurt. The problem was that as pain faded, chill struck deeper. On dry land, it might be late autumn. In the Alloway River, it was Arctic winter.
“Give him my coat.” He was appalled at how hoarse he sounded.
“You’ll be cold,” she said.
Every second, strength returned. “I’ll get by.”