Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rising from a short slumber, Geoffrey sank his hands into the washbasin and tossed chilled water on his face to awaken his senses. As the cool liquid ran down his bare chest, he gripped the edge of the table and studied his image in the ripples of water.
Golden whiskers covered his cheeks and jaw, lending him a miserable, older appearance. Weariness carved deep lines around his eyes and mouth, and he despised every single wrinkle marring his face. For years, many fine ladies at Court complimented him on his good looks, but now he looked a ragged mess.
Fie! ’Twas Arabella’s fault. Everything was her wretched fault. She continued to defy him, leaving him to pursue her in a land of heathens, while he should’ve been at Penswyck, savoring the fruit of his labors. But no more. The whole cursed affair would soon be at an end. Once he returned with the infuriating woman and they spoke their vows, perhaps he might enjoy a moment’s peace and settle into his new home, at last. ’Twas the least he deserved after the ordeal she’d put him through.
Afterward, he’d decide what to do with his new wife.
Pushing away from the table, he strode to his traveling trunk and grabbed a fresh tunic. Pulling on the clean linen, he slipped his jeweled dagger in the sheath along his belt. With a long day of travel ahead, ’twas time to rouse the woman. The faster they left this accursed place, the sooner he could claim Penswyck for his own.
Geoffrey unlatched the door only to meet the stony stares of Finn and John posted outside his chamber. He tipped his head in the direction of Arabella’s bedchamber, two rooms over. The two soldiers followed his unspoken command and moved down the passage to unbar the door. As soon as the entrance swung open, Geoffrey stepped over the threshold and froze. Disbelief held him suspended for a few wretched moments. Despite a gushing flood of anger, a peel of laughter slipped from his throat.
The bitch was gone. Again.
Heat filled out his cheeks as a growing storm of rage burned in his gut. A fine tremor swarmed through his frame, and he barely repressed the urge to destroy everything in sight. He pinched the bridge of his nose, collecting the remains of his withering patience.
Christ, he’d purposely chosen this pathetic chamber for Lady de Percy. No windows, barred door, no chance of escape—and yet, she still slipped away.
Collecting his composure, Geoffrey faced Finn and John. “You’ve not deserted your post?”
The tremble in his voice belied his calm tone.
Finn’s brows furrowed. “Nay, of course not.”
“And no one’s entered?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Nay, my lord.” Finn had the good grace to appear affronted. “We did as you ordered.”
Fie, there was an explanation, and he would find the blasted answer.
Determined, Geoffrey turned his attention to the chamber once more. The room held naught but a small bed and frail wooden chair. A molding tapestry and sconce hung from the wall. Stepping further into the chamber, he searched for anything out of place or unusual.
On his initial walk through of the MacRae keep, he’d discovered a bolt-hole below stairs. At first, he thought naught of the decrepit mud pit of a tunnel. The tide flooded the passage, rendering it useless. Now, he realized the error of his ways. Of course, there had to be more than one entrance, and no doubt she’d received help.
Hell, he should’ve slain Aaron MacRae and his whelp of a brother from the start and been done with the lot of them.
He inhaled a deep pull of stale air, detecting the barest tinge of salt water. His gaze honed in on a scarcely perceptible crack in the far stone wall. He moved closer and ripped away the tapestry, kicking up a flurry of dust. There it was—the faint seam of a door in the wall.
Waving his hand in front of his face to clear the air, he called over his shoulder, “Bring a torch.”
Geoffrey shoved the chair aside to examine the sconce. He raked away the cobwebs and gripped the cool iron. After a series of forceful pulls, tugs, and pushes, he found the right sequence. The bracket dropped into place, and the unmistakable slide of a rod slipped free.
He grabbed the torch from John and nodded at the wall. “Open it.”
The guard moved around Geoffrey and laid his shoulder against the stone, pushing on the wall. John sprang back when the stone gave way, opening into a low-hung entrance to a tunnel.
Finn mumbled, “Never knew this was here.”
Rolling his eyes, Geoffrey ducked beneath the low eave and stepped inside the passageway. The briny air from the sea drifted up his nostrils. A steady trickle resounded off the craggy walls, filling the yawning silence. Aside from the light of his torch, darkness consumed the tunnel from left to right. He watched the faint flicker of the flame to discern his quarry’s course. Waving his men inside the passageway, he motioned Finn and John to the left.
A flush of anger and anticipation drove Geoffrey down the damp tunnel, while determination guided his clipped pace. Focused on his task, he ignored the men’s hushed murmurs behind him. When he came upon a shallow stairway, he hugged the right wall and descended with haste. At the base, the passage widened into a cavern and a source of light stretched ahead in the distance. The constant roar of the sea whirred in his ears, drowning out the heavy drum of his heart.
As he followed the light, he held up his hand to silence Finn and John. Tipping his head to the side, he strained to hear muffled voices over the crash of waves. He tugged the dagger from the sheath along his belt and his lips stretched with a smile.
“I have you now.”
*
Aaron stood in the shadow of the servants’ stairway overlooking the great hall. Aside from a few of Longford’s soldiers loitering about, the hall stood idle, which struck him as odd. Mayhap he’d witnessed too many wasted years of drunken revelry each eve. Shaking away the errant thought, he climbed the steps.
Certain no others lurked in the passage, he slipped down the left landing, away from Longford’s bedchamber to the right. He paused in front of Connor’s door and leaned his ear against the wood, meeting naught but silence. ’Twas a mercy his protesting brother had actually heeded his instruction and fled with Arabella through the secret tunnels to safety. He moved further down the landing and quietly rapped on his chamber door, where he’d stowed Mairi.
The door opened a crack to reveal one wide, shining, blue eye. When she noticed him, she swung the entrance wider for him to step inside. Barring the door after him, she spun around and leaned against the wood. Her bright gaze swept him over from head to foot. The iron candleholder she clutched in her fist dropped to her side.
Aaron lifted a brow. “Were you planning to crack me over the head?”
Mairi glanced at the item in her hand, as if she’d forgotten she held it. One corner of her mouth hitched upward and she shrugged. “Someone probably should.”
Shaking her head, she tossed the holder on the bed and met his stare. “Is Arabella safe? What of Connor?”
Unable to stop himself, he paced closer to her. “Connor will flee to the beach as I instructed.”
A stubborn line tugged at her lips. “But what of Arabella?”
Aaron lifted a hand and tucked a raven curl behind her ear. “Do not fret. Connor is going to take Arabella with him very soon. My brother will keep her safe.” His fingers slid over her flushed cheek. “There are horses waiting for the three of you on the beach north of here.”
Gazing at him, she wet her lips, enticing him to pull her closer. He slipped his hand around the nape of her neck and rubbed his thumb over the thrumming pulse in her neck.
“How are we…” Her soft voice trailed off as she swallowed audibly.
“Through the keep’s secret passageways.”
“Oh.” She lifted her brows in surprise and he grinned.
“Well, ’twas a secret. There’s one thing I must do first, then I shall help you through the tunnels. From there, Connor will lead the two of you to safety.”
Frowning, she searched his gaze. “But…what of you?”
The concern in her eyes nearly unmanned him. For a fleeting moment, he pretended she cared for him, and the excruciating vise squeezing his heart slackened a measure. She instilled him with courage to carry out his deeds.
“I must see this through, Mairi.”
She opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but he struck, seizing her lips and stealing her argument. How could he resist one last taste? Mairi threw her arms around his neck, leaning into his frame. Their bodies flush, the beat of their hearts pounded in accord.
In the next instant, a thunderous crash of splintering wood and metal hinges flooded the chamber, startling them apart. He hauled her behind him just as an enraged Laird MacGregor pushed aside pieces of the chamber door. His menacing icy blue stare locked on Aaron, promising a long, painful death.