The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,143
blocks out, then I think I’ll be able to fit through.”
They set to work again. Conscious of the minutes ticking by, once they’d pushed the second block through he tried to insist that she squeeze through and work from the other side—from where, if their would-be killers came for them, she could still run off and escape—but she refused point-blank. “Spiders, remember. I’ll need you by my side to bear with them.”
One glance at her face, at the stubborn set of her lips and chin, warned him further argument would be a waste of breath. And they didn’t have time to waste, either.
Luckily, the third block came away more easily, gravity helping it fall from its moorings.
“All right.” Mary looked around. “What do we take?”
“The poker.” He hefted it. “And both lanterns.”
She picked up both lanterns; they’d turned one very low to conserve the oil.
Taking the brighter lantern, he leaned into the gap and used its light to scan the tunnel beyond. “No spiders.” And the tunnel walls and ceiling looked solid and stable, safe enough. Reaching as far as he could, he set the lantern down on the tunnel floor, then drew back and offered Mary his hand. He saw her debate urging him to go first, but she was starting to get nervous over the passing time; so was he. Gripping his hand, she gathered her skirts in the other and clambered through the opening.
Releasing her, he cast a last glance around their prison, so nearly, he suspected, their tomb, then he handed the second lantern and the poker through to her and, with much angling of his shoulders and a curse or two, climbed though.
They set out immediately, needing no urging to put distance between them and the cellar. Neither spoke for a good ten minutes, then Mary, walking at Ryder’s side, her fingers clutching his left sleeve, whispered, “Do you know where we’re going?”
“No, but the area is riddled with cave systems.”
After a moment, she murmured, “Aren’t there stories about people getting lost in such labyrinths and never being seen again?”
“Yes, but we’re not in just any tunnel. This one’s man-made—or rather it most likely started out as part of a natural system, but it’s been widened and worked on.” He nodded at the walls. “You can see the marks of chisels and picks.”
She looked and felt some of the fear that had wormed its way into her recede. “So . . . if this tunnel’s been worked on by people, then presumably it leads somewhere.”
“That’s my theory. And the air is moving, which means there’s an opening to outside somewhere.”
They hurried on as fast as they could, that tantalizing waft of air in their faces the ultimate promise of survival. They came to branches, the opening to other passages, but those were natural, the floors and walls untouched by human tools. It was easy enough to stay on their path, one that, as far as Mary could tell, led them steadily away from the Dower House and its secret cellar.
Eventually, she whispered, “Do you have any idea in which direction we’re going?”
“It’s not easy to tell underground, but I think we’re heading toward Axford, which means the abbey is some way to our right.”
As the words left Ryder’s lips, the lantern beam he was playing ahead of them was suddenly swallowed by black. They both slowed; swinging the lantern beam in a wider arc, he realized they’d come to a cavern.
Stepping inside, they halted. He played the light up and could just discern the ceiling. The cavern was wide enough that only the section the lantern beam lit remained visible, but as he swept the beam across the floor, Mary gripped his arm. “There.” She pointed to their left.
He shone the lantern that way and saw what she had. A large stone block, roughly rectangular, higher than his waist and wider than he was tall . . . “It’s an altar.” As they neared, that became clearer. A glint of metal on the cavern wall had him lifting the lantern beam.
“A crucifix.”
Crude, rusty, but recognizable.
Mary glanced around. “This was a church. A secret chapel.”
He nodded. “Protestants or Catholics—could have been either.”
“Mary’s reign or Elizabeth’s. They came here to worship in secret.”
With his back to the altar, Ryder played the lantern beam slowly around the cavern. There were five entrances. He thought, then said, “It was the Protestants in Mary’s reign.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the Cavanaughs, and most of the families around here, were never