Free A Shadow's Bliss by Patricia Veryan Page A

desperately to a clump of furze, were scratched and dirty. His head swam when another quick scan confirmed the fact that he was somewhere north of Castle Triad and far past the point at which the cliff could be climbed without rope and pickaxe. Whatever could have possessed him to do so insane a thing? Why must his mind continually force him to such pointless and humiliating acts? That he had clawed his way this far was well nigh incredible. Dreading to do so, he made himself look up. The rock wall soared above, high and stark and unconquerable. He closed his eyes, trying to get his breath. He had wished for death often in these past two years. Well, here it was, for he could not possibly climb up, and the sea was directly below now, the waves rushing in as though eager to receive him. The dread of falling again into that terrible embrace turned his bones to water, and in desperation he tightened his hold on the furze. Whatever happened, he must not let the sea take him!
    And so he searched the rock face until he found a likely fissure. Bracing his boots against a slight outcropping, he made a wild grab with his left hand, and was able to take hold. Again, he sought about. A jagged outhrust above his head looked impossibly far, but he lunged at it. The edges crumbled under his fingers. Frantic, he gripped harder, feeling his nails splinter as his hand slipped, and breathing again when his clawing fingers closed around a firm surface. Displaced particles rained down into his face. He ducked his head against the cliff, blinking tears and dust from his eyes, then strove on, driven by the all-consuming need to escape the hungry tide that surged and waited far below.
    His progress was tortuously slow. Soon, each breath cut like a red hot knife through his chest, and his arms and shoulders ached fiercely. But he struggled on, never looking any farther than for his next hand-hold, fighting to survive for just another foot or two, often slipping, but somehow contriving to hang on. He was tiring and knew he couldn’t last much longer. Despairing, he dared look up. His heart gave a wild leap. The top of the cliff was less than a yard above his hand! For an instant, he was so elated that his vigilance relaxed, and almost, at the moment of triumph, he lost his hold. But with a surge of strength, he clawed his way up until he could grasp the edge, and, Praise God! there was a root to be seized and clung to. Another minute, and he was sprawling on level ground at last.
    Gradually, his thundering heartbeat eased and he was able to order his thoughts. He must present a fine sight, for his coat was torn, and the knees of his breeches hung in bloodstained rags. Inevitably, Jennifer’s dear image came to mind. Suppose she had been on one of her early rides? Suppose she’d seen his stupid performance? She would believe then that he was well named: Crazy Jack, with a brain that played cruel tricks. Perhaps, one day he would no longer be permitted to return from his nightmarish lapses … Perhaps his deepest dread was becoming a reality, and he was going mad.
    He lay gazing up at the sky, and knew that he had no right to whine, or to sometimes, however briefly, allow himself to forget that truly he was, at best, only the shadow of a man.

C HAPTER IV
    Howland Britewell held back his spirited black, and leaning toward his sister enquired teasingly, “Not too chilly for you this morning, I trust, Madam Professor?”
    Jennifer gave him a laughing glance. The fog had burned off, unveiling one of those rare and brilliant days that sometimes arrive with late summer. The air was brisk and invigorating, the sea sparkling under the clear blue bowl of the heavens, and this proud and rugged coast at its most beautiful. “I am all a’shiver,” she declared gaily. “We must gallop to warm me up.”
    â€œOf course. But first I’d like to chat a while, an you don’t object.”
    He smiled still, but she felt