Hero’s recital came to an abrupt end, and Ian turned from watching her to see what she saw.
The thick iron door they had left open moments before was closed.
Ian reached for the handle and Hero said, “It’s locked.”
“How do you know?” Ian tried the door anyway but Hero’s words were true. Fruitlessly, he tugged a second time.
“It locks automatically when it closes … for a smuggler’s speedy retreat when pursued by the authorities,” she explained, wrapping her arms around herself.
“And of course the key is on the other side,” he said needlessly.
“Of course.” Hero looked about her now, seeing what she hadn’t before. The rains from the previous night had continued into the day. It was the reason they had been engaging in parlor games that morning. By the time luncheon had been served, the rain had been slapping furiously at the windows, the wind rattling the panes. Now, through the mouth of the cave, she could see the turbulent waters of the firth, feel the cold winds that she had been immune to while basking in the warmth of Ian’s smile and affection.
It might have been June and the days preceding this one some of the hottest she’d ever experienced, but the rain of the last day had brought with it a bite that was only amplified by the eternal chill of the caves. This was what made the dungeons such a dreaded place.
Despite that, a few moments, even an hour or more, would cause no harm. Robert had told her that as children he and his sister would play there at pirates for hours at a time.
But when the tides came in …
Hero shuddered and Ian wrapped his arms around her, chafing her lightly to warm her. “Worry not, my love, we will find a way out.”
“There is no other way out.”
“Then someone will find us,” he reassured her.
Hero nodded against his chest but she had her doubts.
Chapter Twenty-One
An hour later, Ian had rammed his shoulder against the door so many times that he knew he would be bruised from the effort. Still the door hadn’t budged an inch. He had tried to pry the hinges out to remove the entire door but they were rusted over. He’d even tried to lever the door away with a rock and a long piece of driftwood. Nothing had worked.
Now he waded into the rising water, assessing the force of the waves on the incoming tide and wondering if he could swim to the beach. He’d have to scale the cliffs as well or run the half mile up the beach to the ancient stone stairs that were built into the cliffs before he could make it into the castle and back down into the dungeon to free Hero. By that time, there was no telling what condition she would be in.
“You’d never make it,” Hero said perceptively when he pounded his fist against the cave wall in frustration.
Ian turned back to her. She was leaning against the wall by the door, unable to sit now that the tidal waters lapped about her feet. She was pale, shivering in his coat. Her teeth were audibly chattering. Ian cursed inwardly, angry with himself for being unable to free her. Terrified for her.
“You must be freezing, Ian,” she said. “Please take back your jacket.”
“The sight of your lovely face is enough to warm me,” he said, earning a slight smile and a shake of her head.
In truth, he was chilled. His wet feet and legs in particular were almost numb. But he didn’t feel nearly as cold as Hero looked. Her cheeks and nose that had been red from the cold not long ago were now a worrisome white. He was desperate to get her warm and dry, but even as Ian watched, the water rose higher, soaking the bottom of Hero’s skirts. He looked back, trying to remember where the original water levels had been, measuring where they were now, and applying what little he knew of the Firth of Clyde’s normal tides.
Hero exhaled a huff that might have been a chuckle. “I can see you working it out in your mind, Ian. Shall I save you the trouble? In just a few hours this cave will be nearly underwater. Even if it we were not close to a full moon, it wouldn’t matter. High tide floods this cave every time between nine and as high as nearly fourteen feet. The water will reach this far up the passage, almost to the level of the main cavern. That’s why the iron parts of the door are so rusted. If it assures you at all, however, we will not drown.”
“It doesn’t assure me at all,” Ian ground out. What was the worst way to die? From drowning or exposure to the elements? The brisk wind swirling about the cave would have been bad enough, but the waters of the firth even in the summer were frigid. When the sun went down, it would be even more miserable. There had to be a way to keep Hero from the worst of it until someone realized where they were and opened the door.
Again Hero spoke as if she could read his thoughts. “I can handle getting my toes wet, Ian.”
“It’s not your toes I’m worried about,” he told her, wading back to her and drawing her into his arms. He lifted her out of the water, negating her protests with a frown. Turning, he leaned back against the wall with her cradled in his arms.
He was worried about her life. He was worried about losing her just as he had found her. Ian laughed derisively. Who was he fooling? He was afraid, very afraid.
Holding her against him, Ian willed his body to warm hers and keep her safe. He didn’t want be without her. His astonishing realization should have shocked him more. A part of him thought he should fear it, reject it, but some part of Ian embraced it.
Hero was his. He had known from the first moment he had seen her that he wanted her and he would lose not her now. He could not. Rocking her gently against his chest, Ian studied the door with a frown, wondering again how it had closed. Ghosts aside, the door appeared too heavy—and had felt too sturdy against his shoulder—to be blown shut, even by the forceful winds from the firth. That meant that someone had purposefully shut it, locking them inside.
Knowing they were inside?
Ian thought again of the previous night. Of the candle stump in the pool of oil. Had someone tossed the lamp and thrown a lit candle into it, hoping to start a fire? The oil itself would have drowned the flame before it had a chance to ignite but not everyone would have known that. If someone was trying to harm them, Ian wondered who. And why.
Pressing a kiss to the top of Hero’s head, Ian had another terrible thought. What if her accident in Glasgow hadn’t been an accident at all?
Time slipped by as he mulled over the problem, the passage of the minutes marked by the water creeping past his ankles and up his calves. His arms burned from holding Hero for so long but he refused to let her go.
Hero slumped against him suddenly and Ian turned his attention frantically to her, checking her pulse. Not dead, just unconscious. Or sleeping. Cold and exposure often had that affect, but sleeping was the worst thing for her. Ian shook her gently, then more forcibly. “No, Hero! Wake up now, lass.”
She moaned softly and Ian continued to shake her and talk to her until she opened her eyes once more. “That’s it, my love. Wake up or I’ll drop you back in the water.”
“Cold,” she murmured but kept her eyes open.
“I know,” he said. “I am too. Come, now, stay awake. Tell me something else about Cuilean. Tell me about the ghosts.”
Shaking her head, Hero wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her cold nose in his neck. “I’m sorry I made you come down here.”
Ian laughed, hugging her to him. “I was anxious to get you alone. At least we’re not locked in the icehouse, right?”
“Probably warmer,” she said with a tiny smile. “You don’t have to hold me. I know I must be getting heavy.”
“You’re as light as a feather,” he said and she shook her head but at least she was still smiling. Ian loved her smile. It carried warmth and caring and was bestowed frequently upon everyone around her. He’d never met another woman like her, and Ian doubted that there was even another to be found. Though he’d known her only a few days and knew there was much more to learn about her, he felt that he truly did know her.
For once, the insanity of it al
l sat well with him. Ian rested his forehead against hers and whispered softly, “I know it’s madness to say this. I must tell you. I love you, sweet Hero.”
He felt her chilly fingers gently touch his face and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. They were shiny, filled with happiness at odds with their current circumstances. “I love you, too.”
Ian kissed her tenderly, then rubbed his nose across hers, earning a soft smile.
“Daughter! Where are you?”
Dropping his forehead against Hero’s, Ian released a relieved laugh. “I doubt I’ve ever been so happy to hear those words.”
“Neither have I.”
Hero squeezed his neck and Ian returned the hug, feeling a rush of joy that she would be all right. “If I had known all I had to do to get us rescued was create a moment worth interrupting, I would have done it long ago.”
Hero grinned tiredly then, and after insisting Ian let her stand on her own, joined him in calling for Beaumont’s attention and verbally guiding him to the door. They heard Simms’s voice as well as they argued about the keys and eventually managed to open the door.
“Hello,” the duke said with a broad smile as the door swung open.
“Hello, Papa,” Hero said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “I’m so glad you found us.”
Taking Hero by the hand, Ian urged their small party farther up the passage and away from the water. He was eager to get her out of the cold and into a warm bath.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Beaumont said, as if he were unaware that they were wading through several inches of water. “How was your day?”
Sharing a droll look with Ian, Hero said only, “Fine, and yours?”
“I milked a cow!”
Hero and Ian both turned to Simms, who was trailing them, lifting his trouser legs to keep them from the water. The nurse shook his head defensively against the silent accusation. “I was there, my lady. It seemed to cause no harm to his grace … or to the cow,” he added as an afterthought.
Slowly they climbed the many flights of stairs while Beaumont rambled on about the cow. Ian held Hero’s arm, assisting her along the way as the dungeons connected to the cellars until they reached the door that opened to the servant’s hall outside the kitchen. Ian shut the thick door, finally blocking the cold drafts away, and called for his staff, ordering the first to appear to prepare a hot bath for Lady Ayr.
Ian turned to Beaumont and gave him a quick hug, pressing a hard kiss to the side of his head. “Thank you, Harry. We owe you our lives.”
“My feet are wet,” was the duke’s only response.
“Come, your grace,” Simms rushed to perform his duties. “I’ll get you some dry stockings and shoes.”
“You should put on some dry stockings as well, Daughter,” Beaumont said as Simms led him away. “I shall have your mother bring you some and a nice cup of tea as well.”
“Papa …” Hero started to remind Beaumont—again—that his wife had died, but Ian stopped her with a gentle hand.
“It can wait, Hero. Come now,” Ian said. “Harry is being taken care of. Now it is your turn. Let’s get you warmed up.”
Hero nodded tiredly, weakened by the climb up the narrow stairs, but when Ian led her to the servants’ stairs, which were closer, Hero just stared up at them with a sigh. “None of that now,” Ian said, sweeping her into his arms once more. He started to climb. “The quicker you’re out of those wet clothes, the warmer you will be.”
“You need to get out of your wet clothes as well,” Hero said, her words bringing a warm suggestive light to Ian’s eyes, and Hero blushed becomingly. He was glad to see some color flow back into her pale cheeks.
“I would be happy to accommodate you, my love,” he whispered in her ear as he reached the top of the stairs. Still he didn’t release her, carrying her the short way to the State Room. The door was ajar, and Ian kicked it the rest of the way open, bearing Hero through the bedchamber and straight to the dressing room, where Mandy was already drawing a hot bath.
“Get her warmed up and into bed with some hot bricks,” Ian ordered the maid.
“Yes, my lord.” Mandy bobbed a curtsey, waiting expectantly for Ian to leave and then frowning fiercely when he did not.
As much as he knew that he needed to leave so that Hero could bathe, Ian found himself reluctant to go. He longed to stay and see to her recovery himself but he knew that was impossible.
Hero smiled and shrugged out of his jacket. “Give Dickson my apologies for its condition,” she said. “He’d best have a bath waiting for you as well or he will hear from me.”
“I’m sure he would never risk your wrath,” Ian said lightly before finally turning away. “Get some rest, my … Lady Ayr.”
Ian left to the sound of her equally proper farewell and strode wearily across the hall, eager for his own comfort now that he knew Hero was being taken care of. He needed to speak with her about his confession but it could wait.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Daughter!”
“I think that might be the first time your father hasn’t completely bollixed up a romantic moment for us,” Ian teased Hero a couple days later as they rode side by side through the estate’s parklands far south of the castle.
Hero couldn’t help but smile, not only from the delight of Ian’s humor but from the enjoyment of being outside once more. After two days spent in bed being cossetted and pampered, it was a true joy to feel the sunshine warm her flesh and to absorb the sights, sounds, and smells of another glorious summer day.
Her bay mare, Colleen, seemed to feel the same way, prancing and shaking her mane. She had been eager as Hero to run and Hero had given Colleen her head, galloping across the open lawns and only slowing to first a trot and then a walk as they neared the tree line where the parkland morphed into the woodlands and deeper forest beyond.
Ian had been by her side the whole time, his laughter melding with hers as they raced along, the sound trailing like a ribbon in the wind behind them. But for his daily visits at her bedside, Hero hadn’t seen much of Ian in the last pair of days, and never alone. Mandy had taken it upon herself to play chaperone, never leaving them alone.
The brief visits had been filled with nothing deeper than inane chatter about the weather and her health when Hero had wanted nothing more than to return to the conversation they had abandoned in the dungeons. Ian had said that he loved her…
Had he meant it or had it merely been a result of their situation?
Perhaps now that she had Ian all to herself, she might find a way to bring it up.
“Daughter! Ian!” Beaumont called once more, and Hero amended that thought. She would have to share him with her father, but that didn’t bother her at all. It was too beautiful a day to waste, and the company of the pair was ever lively.
“What is it, Papa?”
“Come, see!”
In that moment, Hero felt as exuberant as her father often acted these days. There was so much worth living for. Approaching him through the trees, Hero pulled her mount to a halt and swung her leg over the pommel, preparing to dismount. Just like that, Ian was there. His hands clasped around her tiny waist as he lifted her from the sidesaddle with a devilish smile. “You are not thinking of denying me even a moment to hold you, are you?”
Smiling, Hero put her hands on his shoulders and let him lower her to the ground. He let her body slide slowly down the length of his before leaning in to whisper, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted, her heart racing giddily as he brushed his lips across hers.
“I cannot imagine how we escaped the castle with only your father,” Ian said. “She’s been a barnacle stuck to my side for the past two days.”
Hero bit back a mischievous grin. At breakfast while her father filled the room with cheerful stories of how Ian had kept him in good company during her recovery, Daphne had smiled with sugary kindness, asking after her welfare. Though Hero had inwardly w
agered that her rival had been glad for her absence and was none too happy with her reappearance, she had—just as sweetly—declared herself fully recovered and brimming with energy … and invited them all on a ride through the park.
“Daphne hates to ride, you know,” Hero now told Ian. “Hates horses with a passion, in fact. If she could travel by train everywhere she went, I’m sure she would happily do so.”
“And Kennedy?” Ian asked. “Surely, he enjoys a ride?”
Yes, but a good book more. I made sure my new copy of Westward Ho! was delivered to him this morning,” she said. “I would imagine he is in a chair on the balcony, lost in Kingsley.”
Ian chuckled warmly, tweaking her chin. “Harry was right. You are a clever lass.”
Inclining her head with a blush, Hero accepted his compliment.
“Daughter! You must come and look at this tree!” the duke called again enthusiastically. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
Ian drew back with playful regret and offered her his arm after gathering Colleen’s reins and those of his gelding, Gideon, and looping the reins over a low branch. Hero took his arm, though she felt a more youthful urge to skip merrily instead of walking sedately across the few yards that separated them from the tree the duke was studying. It was a tangled old thing, the trunk several feet in diameter, twisting this way and that, with branches that did the same. She had always wondered about it but by the time she reached the castle once more, she always forgot to ask Jennings about it.
“It’s a cedar of Lebanon,” Ian said, as Beaumont began an assault on the lowest branches that drew a gasp from Hero.
Thankfully, with his thick build, the duke was unable to lift a leg as far as the lowest branch, and Hero cast a sigh of relief before raising a brow to Ian. “Is that what it’s called? I’ve always wondered. It must be very old.”
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