Page 82 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch

Chapter Twenty

Later that evening, 20th December

From the farside of the dungeon—which wasn’t far enough, as far as Ursula was concerned—there was a scuffling sound.

A scuttling sort of scuffle, and a squeaking.

“Are those rats?”

“No, definitely not.” Rye didn’t sound convincing. “Mice maybe…or a hamster.”

“A hamster?”

Rye had her on his lap, where she might sit without getting damp, and Ursula had her arms round his neck. She couldn’t see him, but she could certainly feel him—warm and hard, and smelling a great deal better than anything else down here.

“Elsbeth and Blair keep them as pets. They might have escaped and come down here on an adventure.”

“Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” she murmured, with more humour than she thought possible, given their present predicament.

“You probably would have, given time.” Rye nuzzled her ear and poked his tongue into the whorl.

Ursula jumped and gave the back of his neck a pinch. “Stop that!”

“Don’t you like it?” He chuckled.

“No. There are enough things down here that might be slimy without you sticking one in my ear.”

“You know, it could be worse.” Rye moved his right hand to cup the side of her bosom.

She shifted in his lap, but didn’t slap the hand away. “You really think so?”

“There could be water rising around us.” Rye gave the handful a light squeeze. “And there could be alligators in the water.” With his other hand, he found the hem of her skirt and appropriated an ankle. “And piranhas swimming between the alligators.”

“There aren’t any piranhas in Perthshire. No alligators either.” Ursula bent her knee and Rye scooted his left hand higher.

“All right. There could be spikes descending from the ceiling, gradually skewering us.” Reaching her thigh, he fumbled for the top of her stocking.

“Skewering? I swear you have a one-track mind, Lord Balmore.” She turned her head, searching out his lips. When she found them, he pulled her tight against his chest and kissed her deeply.

Everything had turned out horribly.

Arabella was a mad woman.

And they were probably going to die.

But they were together.

With her eyes closed, Ursula could nearly forget where they were. Forget that it was damp and cold, with water dripping down the walls, and vermin waiting for them to become too weak to fight off a carnivorous assault.

Rye’s kisses were almost that good.

Almost.

They’d already tried shouting, and climbing up the walls. Neither had worked. No one had come.

“Are you ready to say ‘yes’?” Rye brought her hands into her lap and held them with his own. She felt him draw out something from his pocket—cold metal brushing her fingers; his mother’s ring.

Ursula sucked her lip.