Page 96 of The Iron Earl

It sent Molson flying, tumbling over the side of the bridge. Except for his one hand.

One hand that gripped the edge of the bridge, his knuckles popping.

She stared at that hand, willing the pads of his fingers to slip, to slide, to send him down to the waters of hell below.

One finger. Two.

A grunt, and his other hand swung up, grasping—grasping for anything and finding the edge of her skirt.

Molson’s hand on the bridge slipped off, but the grip on her skirt was secure. He fell and her body dragged down with him, his weight a brick pendulum she couldn’t shake.

She fought it, clawing against the wood planks, but her feet went over the edge, her legs, her hips.

Down. Down. Down so quickly she couldn’t even scream.

Her waist. Her chest. Her head.

Her body jerked, snapping to a stop in midair.

A splash below.

Molson gone.

Her body swung, terrifying air surrounding her, vast nothingness below her feet.

Air everywhere except around her left wrist.

Her left wrist locked under her husband’s grip.

She twisted, craning her neck to look up.

Lachlan’s chest dangled fully off the edge of the bridge. His face contorted into a grimace and he slipped forward. Fingers straining, his left hand clutched the edge of the bridge, his knuckles white with the sheer force it took to hold them both from falling.

Another slip.

He growled.

“Dammit, Dom—a little help,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

Onto his belly next to Lachlan and Domnall’s face appeared over the edge of the bridge, his hand extending down towards Evalyn.

“I need her higher, Lach.”

With a groan escaping from the depths of his might, Lachlan’s elbow bent and he lifted her with the sheer force of his arm.

High enough. Domnall gripped her forearm with both of his hands just under her husband’s hold.

“I got her,” Domnall grunted.

His eyes locked with hers, Lachlan let her go and pulled himself up over the edge of the planks. His belly flat on the bridge, he threw both hands down to her. “Swing your arm up to me, Eva.”

Praying Domnall didn’t lose his grip, she flung her right arm up to Lachlan with an awkward heave.

He caught her wrist and within a second she was hauled upward and onto the bridge with such force it sent Lachlan flat onto his back and her splayed on top of him, her limbs tangling with his.

He released her wrist and his arms wrapped around her, iron clamps about the jelly of her body.

His breathing hard beneath her, she rode the panting of his chest, flattening herself as close as she could to his body. A vicious tremble ran through him and he yanked her upward, his left hand going to the back of her head, clasping her tight over his shoulder. He tucked his face into her hair, his manic breath through her hair hot on her scalp.