The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,137
arms, his body curled over hers, Ryder halted, leaning against the passage wall out of sight of the men above.
Rough laughter fell, echoing in the chamber. “Aint us who’s slated to die, me fine lord. Just you and your missus, too.”
A percussive thud followed hard on the words.
Ryder didn’t need to look to know they’d shut the trapdoor.
Mary wriggled. He straightened and released her legs, allowing her to swing them down and stand, but he kept one arm around her. With her leaning into him and him holding onto her, they leaned back against the tunnel wall and took stock.
The men were still moving around above; Ryder and Mary heard muffled words, then a few seconds later shuffling footsteps, then a solid thump.
The first was followed by others, increasingly muffled.
Mary frowned. “What’s that?”
Ryder realized. Letting his head fall back against the rock wall, he closed his eyes and swore. “Damn!” He listened again, then sighed. “I saw bags of grain or flour by one wall. They’ve shifted the bags over the trapdoor.”
“Why? It’s not as if we were about to climb up and push it open.”
“No, but the bags will hide the trapdoor.” Opening his eyes, he looked down at her.
She frowned back. “But surely those working here will know it’s there.”
He grimaced. “Possibly, but”—he glanced at the empty chambers to either side—“this place is clearly not used for anything, and as I didn’t know it existed, it’s possible few others do.”
He could see her working it out, then she met his eyes. “Does anyone at the abbey know you came here?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know you were here. We’d only just learned Lavinia was in residence and I came to check if anyone here had seen you. I didn’t imagine that you’d been trapped here—I said that after asking here I’d scout through the woods.”
“So if you don’t return, no one will raise the alarm?”
“Probably not until morning.” He pulled a face. “And even then, there’s no reason for anyone to believe I’m here. I left Julius loose—he’ll find his way back to the stables, but there’s nothing to say we parted company here, rather than in the depths of the woods.”
For a long moment, they stood in silence, drawing strength from each other, from simply having the other there, then Mary pulled out of his arms and he let her go.
“Well, in that case”—she marched out into the chamber—“we may as well take this lantern and search to see if there’s another way out.”
Her dogged optimism struck him as bittersweet; he seriously doubted there was another exit. Why seal them down here if there was?
He watched while she retrieved the fallen lantern; it had only dropped a few inches and was undamaged. Straightening, she played the lantern beam over the walls. Still carrying the poker, he joined her; together they checked the roughly round chamber, but it was nothing more than a pit cut directly out of the rock, with only the tunnel leading out of it. Walking back down the tunnel, scanning the solid walls as they went, they emerged into the rectangular space at the other end.
Slowly pirouetting, Mary surveyed the chamber. The passageway entered midway down one long side. The floor, ceiling, and three walls were solid, roughly hewn stone, but the side facing the passage was an old wall of large stone blocks. The chair she’d been tied to sat to the left of the passage entrance, facing down the room; to the right of the passage, at the other end of the rectangular space, stood a table, a jug of water, and two glasses on a tray sitting atop the scarred surface.
Ryder had also noticed the table. He walked to it.
She followed more slowly, trying to remember when the tray had been placed there—before or after . . . “How long have I been down here?”
Reaching for the jug, Ryder glanced at her. “When did they take you?”
“Not that long after luncheon. I went for a stroll in the gardens. I’d left the shrubbery and decided to take a quick look at the kitchen garden. I was walking along the rhododendron walk when they sprang through the bushes and grabbed me. One caught my arms, another gagged me, the other pulled the hood over my head, and that was it. They tied my hands, my ankles, and carried me off like a sack of potatoes.”
“So two o’clock or just after, and”—pulling out his fob watch, he checked—“it’s now after eight.”