Rory crouched and started working on the rope around her ankles.
Finally, Gregory got the knot undone and tugged the scarf away.
The instant the hood loosened, Caitlin dragged in a massive breath. She let it out with, “Thank heavens! I haven’t been able to breathe properly ever since the fiend tied that on.”
Although Gregory was hugely relieved to hear her voice, strong and sure and steady, as he reached for the hood, he exchanged a look with Rory, one that suggested it was just as well Ecton was nowhere within easy reach. Smoothly, Gregory drew the black material off Caitlin’s head, and she sighed with relief and blinked in the lantern light. Then she focused on him and beamed.
Something in his chest clenched tight, and uncaring of the others watching, he hauled her to him and planted a swift, hard kiss on her lips—lips that met his with equal fervor. Indeed, she raised her bound hands, seized his lapels, and pressed her own heated kiss on him.
Reluctantly, they ended the exchange, and he released her and turned his attention to the rope about her wrists. “Thank God you’re all right.” Her kiss had answered that unvoiced question.
Rory drew the rope from about her feet and patted her calf awkwardly. “Did he hurt you at all, lass?”
“No. He just dumped me here like a sack of potatoes and rushed off.”
“Good,” Rory said, then winced. “Well, obviously not good, but…you know what I mean.”
Caitlin smiled reassuringly at him.
And seeing her face, her usual relaxed, confident, self-assured expression, Gregory realized that, like her, he hadn’t been breathing freely, not since he’d learned she’d been taken.
He drew a deep, steadying breath and felt something large and powerful settle, soothed, inside him.
She turned her radiant smile back on him. “You came for me—I knew you would.”
He hid his pleasure at seeing that truth blazoned in her eyes and huffed. “Everyone came for you.” He waved toward the distant steps. “Come and see.”
Some others were coming down the steps, sending lantern beams striking through the dimness in all directions.
Hamish and Rory retreated to the main aisle, and Gregory helped Caitlin to her feet.
She wobbled, and he seized her anew and steadied her. “Let me go first. Hold on to the tombs and to me.”
With an arm looped supportively about her waist, he sidled along the passage, keeping her upright as, concentrating on placing her feet, she followed.
Waving Hamish and Rory back toward the steps and the oncoming others, Gregory stepped free of the passage and into the wider aisle. The instant Caitlin edged out of the passage, he stooped and swept her into his arms.
“Oh!” She looped her arms around his neck and whispered, “I can walk, you know.”
He set his jaw. “Not well enough to get out of the ruins.”
She looked around. “We’re in the abbey ruins?”
“In the crypt.”
“I wondered where he’d left me.” Then she sobered. “What happened?”
He looked ahead at those approaching. “It’s a long story—we’ll tell you later. But Ecton is presently languishing in Lord Loxton’s hands. I doubt you’ll see him again.”
Caitlin shuddered. “I have no ambition to set eyes on that man ever again.”
Then Rory and Hamish, who’d been ambling ahead of them, squeezed to either side, and she saw the man who was walking toward them. Her jaw dropped. “Uncle Patrick?”
He beetled his brows at her. “Aye, it’s me.” His jaw clenched, but then he nodded at her and included Gregory in the approving—for him, almost benevolent—gesture. “Glad to see you’re safe, miss.”
The aisle between the tombs wasn’t that wide. Her uncle, Rory, and Hamish—and Cromwell and Henry, who had come down as well—had to turn and retreat ahead of her and Gregory, but all went with smiles on their faces and relief in their eyes.
Gregory slowed as the others reached the steps and went up, carrying the news that she was unharmed, and cheers rose from a large number of throats.
