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Chapter 17
If Ryder had seemedlike a caged animal as he paced the Great Hall of Millar Castle, he was nothing compared to Meredith now, trapped as she was in the dungeons of an unknown castle. One she’d only managed to catch the briefest glimpse of as she’d been carried on horseback into the courtyard, and then whisked quickly underground, surrounded by guards.
The journey from the lochside where she’d seen Ryder fall to this cold, dark room had been a short one, but Meredith had screamed the whole way, frantically twisting and turning in a bid to throw herself from the galloping horse, with no thought for what might happen to her when she fell.
It was no use, though. In the muddled moments that had seemed to take a lifetime to pass as Ryder bravely fought the second man by the loch, her captor had taken advantage of her distracted state to bind her tightly to the saddle, from which vantage point she had witnessed his final blow to the back of Ryder’s head.
Her stomach lurched in fear as she relived that terrible moment of impact. Hearing the sickening thud as the base of the sword made contact with her husband’s skull and seeing the bright red blood flow from the wound. She did not know whether he was alive or dead. All she knew was that the kind of man who would approach an opponent from behind while he was engaged in fighting another was not the kind of enemy she ever wished to encounter.
And yet here she was. But where, exactly, was “here”? she wondered.
The walls of the small room gave her no clue. It was small and cramped — the ceiling so low that even Meredith’s head almost touched it, and the darkness so complete that she’d been unable to stop herself calling out for a candle just so she could get at least some idea of her surroundings.
No one, however, had answered her call. Just as the man who’d brought her here had resolutely ignored her screams as she sat before him on the horse, it seemed the rest of the household — wherever they were — seemed equally deaf to her cries for help. She could feel, rather than see, that there were iron bars on the door of her room, but the darkness beyond them remained a mystery.
Somewhere off to her left, she heard a low moan — presumably from some other poor soul locked up here — while, every so often, the faint scuttle of feet made her pull her skirts tightly around her, protecting herself from the rats which must surely be nearby.
“Is there anyone there?” she called quietly, one last time, hoping her fellow prisoner at least might answer her. “Is there someone else down here?” The moans stopped immediately, but there was no response from the direction they’d come in. Whoever was down here with her clearly didn’t want to talk.
After a while, she had stopped calling and simply allowed her body to sink to the stone floor, trying to ignore the feeling of dampness that seeped through her skirts, making her shiver with cold and discomfort. No one was coming to help her — or not from within this castle, at least. Ryder, she knew, would, even now, be mustering as many men as he could find, ready to search for her. That was assuming he was still alive, though.
Meredith shook her head, suppressing the sob that rose up in her throat at the thought. He was alive. He had to be. She would simply not allow herself to believe otherwise. And so she sat, and she waited. For what, she wasn’t sure.
She hadn’t expected to sleep, but as the adrenaline from the fight and from her capture slowly started to leave her body, she found her eyelids drooping despite her discomfort. Suddenly, though, the soft thud of approaching footsteps made them snap open and sent her stumbling to the door of the cell, the pins and needles in her legs almost bringing her to her knees once more.
Resisting the impulse to call out once more, Meredith simply stood there, breathlessly holding on to the iron bars, her heart beating so loudly in her chest she felt sure whoever was approaching must surely be able to hear it.
After a second or two, the flickering light of a candle illuminated the small cells, sending shadows leaping into the corners of the room. Meredith swallowed quickly, her mouth dry with nerves as she waited.
“Lady Millar,” a low voice said at last, as a dark figure came to a stop a short distance from the bars of her cell. “How nice to see you again.”
Meredith gasped aloud, her mind whirring as she tried to take in this new piece of information. She may not have known him for long, but she recognized his voice instantly.
Colby Green.
She had been captured by the Laird of Moore.
* * *
“Ye! But… but… ye!”
There were so many things Meredith had imagined saying to her captor in the time she’d spent sitting there alone in the darkness, with nothing else to do but think. Now that the moment was here, however, she found herself totally lost for words.
Colby, on the other hand, had no such difficulty.
“Why, aye, it is,” he said smoothly, raising his candle to shoulder height so his face was illuminated. “I’m flattered that ye remember me. Please allow me to apologize for the standard of yer accommodation. I’m sure it’s not at all what yer used to. Still, no matter, assuming yer husband does as I’ve asked him, ye’ll be out of here in nae time. And I’m sure ye’ll be comfortable enough in yer parents’ castle. Once ye’ve rebuilt it, that is.”
Meredith’s heart leaped at his mention of Ryder. So he was alive! He had to be, for Colby to be so confident that he would do as he asked — whatever that may be. For a moment, she felt a surge of elation before the second part of his statement sunk in. Her parents’ castle. So he had been behind that too, presumably, as well as that first attack on her and Melissa that day that now seemed like such a long time ago.
“Ye burnt me family’s home,” she said bluntly, trying her best not to allow the emotion she felt to show in her voice. “Why?”
Colby shrugged, unconcerned.
“Because I could,” he said simply. “Because I knew I could get to him — to Ryder — by gettin’ to you. And because he took everything from me.” His voice had suddenly become bitter, all pretense at civility gone. “He killed me faither and took me land. All that was left was this castle — or what was left o’ it once his men had finished with it. Why should he get to be happy? Why should he have two fine castles at his disposals when I’m left with the remains of one? Why should he get to have a wife like ye?”
He pressed his face angrily against the bars of the cell, and Meredith shrank back, suddenly scared. When she’d first realized it was the Laird of Moore who held her, she’d felt vaguely relieved because while he might have been clever enough to have captured her, she instinctively felt he was weak. The kind of man who paid others to do his killing for him, rather than get his own hands dirty. The kind of man who would be no match for Ryder, in other words.
Now, however, she wasn’t so sure. Colby may be weak, but he had also revealed himself to be cunning — and vengeful. Meredith’s life may have been sheltered, but she was not so naive that she didn’t know danger when she saw it. And here it was, standing right in front of her now, she was sure of it.
Ryder was right all along, she thought, her heart sinking as the realization hit her. He didn’t trust him, and I didn’t bother to ask why. Why didn’t I believe him? Why did I allow myself to be taken in by this man?
“Ye’ll never have a wife like me,” she said, her blood rising as he smirked at her from the other side of the cell door. “He’s twice the man ye are, and ye ken it. And once Ryder gets his hands on ye, ye’ll ken it even more.”
“Careful, Me Lady.” Colby’s eyes flashed dangerously in the candlelight, and Meredith took a quick step back before he could reach through the bars and make a grab for her. “Ye wouldnae want to upset me now, would ye? Not when we’ve been gettin’ on so well. I wouldnae want to have to do anything to harm ye, would I? Although, if Ryder doesnae hurry up and do what I’ve asked…”
He trailed off, the smirk back on his face.
