Chapter 16
Lesson 16: When all the blood in one’s body rushes to a wounded extremity or, say, an inflamed organ, there is little left
in the brain for sensible decision making.
Bridget Jones Tally:
sudden shifts in Earth’s magnetic field—1
Kenilworth Castle was a brooding, beautiful ruin dreamt in red sandstone. It was the magic hour when the day turned to evening,
and the sky was melting into soft purple blushes, the last golden rays of the sun bursting free from the gilded clouds to
set ablaze the great yawning mouths of the castle’s twelfth-century windows. It was the best time of day to take photos, and
I didn’t stop for breath.
The others were enjoying the beautifully kept Elizabethan Garden, but I left to climb to the other side of the ruins for a
more dramatic view. I stretched forward to get a tower in the frame, and my foot slipped.
Suddenly I went tumbling downward, cradling my camera and shielding it from the blows with my body. The world turned upside down. I landed with a thud on my back. Pain shot up the length of my leg. I couldn’t breathe for a few long seconds. Hot tears welled in my eyes.
When I caught my breath again, I took stock of my camera and found it to be intact, as far as I could tell. The relief that
it had survived made the physical pain subside a bit. I could move my arms and legs, thankfully, but when I tried to move
my right ankle, it felt like someone had replaced my foot with a cattle prod. The foot was still there, and the parts still
moved, so I counted myself lucky.
Next on the agenda: how to get the fucking hell out of there.
I had fallen a couple of feet and rolled down the hill toward the castle’s outer wall. The sun was setting now—and, of course,
it was beginning to rain. Not the tiny flecks of spitting rain that I had quickly learned was the near-constant state of British
weather, but big drops of gaudy, splashing, show-off rain. Bastards, every one. It soaked me in no time, finding cunning routes
to direct rivulets of water through the folds and layers of my clothes. I had a waterproof case for my camera so I nestled
it back in there, hoping that water hadn’t already found a way through its soft spots as it had done mine.
The rain was ice cold. I began to shake. Soon it was a full-body, teeth-chattering, painful shiver. I pushed up on my elbows
to see if I could somehow cajole my body into standing or even crawling back to the group. I tried to put myself in the right
position to stand. Searing jolts of red-hot pain took my breath away. I certainly wouldn’t be able to put any weight on my
ankle, and hopping on one leg up a rocky, wet hill seemed like a good way to knock one’s two front teeth out.
I checked my phone, but there were no bars, of course, not that I could have called anyone anyway. I tried a few times to
shout for help, but I hadn’t seen a soul on this side of the castle, and now it was raining and growing darker. No one could
hear me.
I decided that I could curl up into the fetal position and bawl my eyes out until someone found me (quite tempting, actually), or I could get on with the business of saving myself.
I was going to have to try to crawl up the steep embankment. Adrenaline had been known to endow superhuman strength. Maybe I will make it up the hill, and then lift a car right up over my head when I get there. I mean, not an American car,
but I could probably manage a European car.
I gritted my teeth and got up on all fours. It was nearly pass-out painful, but I found I could use both knees if I kept my
right shin up off the ground so that my ankle didn’t touch anything. The going was slow. It seemed like every damn pointy
rock in Warwickshire had rolled over for a pointy rock convention directly under my bony knees. I girded my loins and moved
with great determination at the astounding speed of an arthritic sloth.
Though the rain pelted me from above, and the mud and stones hindered me from below, I had moved several feet and was feeling
quite proud of myself. Then I slipped. I automatically put my hands and feet to the ground, trying to stop myself from sliding.
I cried out like a wounded animal, fell to my side, and began rolling back down.
In crippling pain and frustration, I shed a few angry tears and steeled myself to get back up. That’s when I heard it. A voice.
A Scottish voice. His voice. Calling my name over the sound of the rain.
“Alice!” He ran down the hill, jumping and sliding to get himself down as quickly as possible. He fell to his knees, looking
me over frantically to find the source of trouble. “My God, Alice. What happened to you? Are you okay? What happened?”
I shivered and pulled my lips back into a gritted smile. “I was just soaking up this beautiful British weather.”
“I’ve been looking all over for you.” His voice was tender as he pushed the wet hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. “If I’d known you were down here playing in the mud, I would have stopped to get my swim trunks.” I laughed, so relieved that he was there with me. “Alright, darlin’. Let’s get you out of this rain. Tell me what hurts.”
“It’s my ankle. And my pride.”
“Oh, hush now. Let’s not pretend you have any pride left to wound.”
I wanted to think of something funny to say, but then he bent down and put his arms around me. Gently, with one arm under
the knees and one around my back, he lifted me up, and I forgot every stupid little thing I was going to say. I wrapped my
arms around his neck. Warmth flooded my body as I curled into him, cradled so close to his chest that nothing else mattered.
He was soaking wet. Water dripped from his chin onto me, and he shook his head to get the wet hair out of his eyes. He carried
me up the hill like it was the easiest thing in the world, and then he found a place where the overhang sheltered us from
the rain, and the ruined wall cut out most of the wind. He sat us down and lowered me with his arms still around me. Pain
hummed through my body. I was still shivering, and my teeth were chattering, but not as badly as before.
“Are you alright? Let’s rest a minute before we make the long trip to the bus. Is that okay?”
I nodded, arms still around his neck, not quite ready to let go.
“Christ, you’re frozen solid.” He pulled me closer, rubbing my arm to warm me up, and looked down at me. “Now are you going
to tell me what happened, you silly wee thing?”
“Well... you see... I was trying to take this picture—”
“Good God, Alice. A picture? Did you break your ankle? It looks like a snake swallowed a melon.”
“No. It’s not broken, but it’s definitely not very happy with me. I tried to crawl back up the hill on my hands and knees,
but it was so muddy that I slipped back down and landed on it again.”
“Christ. How long were you down there? At first I thought it was another prank, but then I began to worry. You’ve been gone
for ages.”
“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes, I guess. I wasn’t sure anyone would ever find me. I figured you’d speed away and leave me for the crows at the first opportunity.”
“If I had any sense, I would have done.” He laughed. “You’re tough as nails, though, aren’t you? You would have eventually
chased us down, and then I’d really be in for it.”
“Robbie.” Emotion and gratitude thickened my voice. I looked into his blue eyes as the rain ran down his cheekbones and along
his chin. I said simply but earnestly, thinking of all the times I should have said it and couldn’t: “Thank you.”
The expression I got in return was one I hadn’t yet seen on his face. “You’ve never called me Robbie before. I like the way
it sounds.” His arms tightened and pulled me even closer, our bodies and limbs wet and cold but sharing warmth with each other.
I looked from his eyes down to his mouth. Without a thought, I reached out and brought my hand to his face, cupping his cheek
the way he had done mine the night in the kitchen. I moved my thumb across his lips, curious to know what they felt like.
I felt a jolt run through him.
Before I knew what was happening, my lips were at the corner of his mouth, tasting the rain. He crushed me to him swiftly
and his mouth came down on mine. He tilted my head back and kissed me deeply, like he needed it, like he’d waited too long
for it. His lips were soft, and the scratch of his stubble sent electricity coursing through my bloodstream. His tongue in
my mouth made my head swim.
Our wet clothes made us feel all the closer. I felt the muscles in his arms and chest tense and move through the wet fabric.
Water dripped down our faces and into our kiss. I ran a hand through his hair, grabbing and twining my fingers into the wet
mess of it, needing to feel more of him, needing something to grab as I pulled him closer, our tongues and teeth exploring
the taste of each other.
I lost myself. Entirely. If the world still existed outside of the place where our lips and breath collided and merged like waves on the sand, I hardly knew it.
Perhaps it was the crazy situation, or maybe the heightened sensitivity from the pain and fear, but I felt I had never been
kissed like that by anyone. My head spun, my skin tingled, my bones melted and dripped like hot wax.
I didn’t think of all the reasons not to, I didn’t make a list. The only possible thing that my mind was capable of thinking
at that moment was that I wanted, needed more of him.
Suddenly there was a sound, an insistent and familiar yapping. We broke apart to see Percy running toward us at full speed.
Robbie pulled away with a long, contented sigh and closed his eyes. He kissed my forehead softly and touched his head to mine,
forehead to forehead, nose to nose, in a gesture so intimate, I felt as if we’d been lovers for years. Then thirty-five pounds
of wet dog launched himself at us and started licking us all over.
“Alright, Percy. Alright, we hear you.” He said softly to me, “We’ll need to be getting back before the ladies start sending
out more scouts to come find us. Besides, Percy is getting his little vest wet, and we can’t have that, can we old boy?”
I nodded. I had no quick line or dumb joke, only a smile. I hardly knew who or where I was anymore. He looked at me with those
eyes once again, and the world spun so fast I feared I might slide right off it.
“You know that I’m going to have to take you to hospital, don’t you?”
I nodded to that too.
“Good,” he said gently. “Because I’ll have no more of your trouble, Alice Cooper.”
This time when he said my name, it had none of the jeering ring it was typically laced with. Somehow this time it was sweet
and comfortable—an old nickname, like a warm sweater.