Amanda Quick - Reckless

"I don't rightly know, ma'am." Alice stared at her with a strange expression in her eyes. She retreated a step. The candle in her hand flickered ominously. "He said to bring ye to this spot and he would meet us. I've done as I was told, I have. I want to go back upstairs now."

"Run along, then," Phoebe said, impatient to get on with the adventure. "I can wait for his lordship by myself." She stepped forward into the darkness, holding the candle aloft. "Wylde? Are you here, my lord?"

The sudden and terrible shriek of metal on stone behind her caused Phoebe to nearly drop the candle. The shriek was followed by a clanging thud. A scream formed on Phoebe's lips as she whirled around.

She saw to her horror that a solid iron gate now-barred the passageway from floor to ceiling. She was trapped on the far side.

Phoebe realized the gate must have been hidden in the wall. Something had triggered the mechanism that activated it. She ran forward and pounded on the thick metal wall.

"Alice. Alice, can you hear me?"

There was no answer. Phoebe thought she heard the faint sound of fleeing footsteps in the distance, but she could not be certain.

She took a calming breath. Alice had no doubt gone for help. Phoebe studied the stone walls, looking for some evidence of a concealed mechanism that might open the gate. She saw nothing.

She took a few more steps into the darkness of the stone passage. The distant roar of the sea was louder now.

"Wylde? Are you here? If you are, kindly answer me at once. Do not tease me, sir. I know I have offended you, but I swear I do not deserve to be tormented like this."

Her voice echoed down the stone passage. There was no response. Phoebe looked back at the iron gate. Surely it would not take Alice long to get help.

Fifteen minutes later there was still no sign of rescue. Phoebe glanced down at her candle and saw that it was burning quickly. When it went out, she would be in pitch darkness.

It occurred to her that there was only one thing she could do to help herself. She must explore the remainder of the passage in hopes of finding an exit. Surely this long tunnel had been constructed with some other door than the one that led up into the main part of the castle.

Phoebe nervously started down the corridor. There were no more doorways cut into the stone walls. That seemed odd.

Aware that the candle was burning precariously low, she quickened her pace. The smell of the sea was stronger and it seemed to Phoebe that the air was not quite so dank now. Her spirits rose. She would find her own way out of the catacombs.

She heard the soft lapping sound of water a moment later. Encouraged, she rounded a bend in the stone passageway and found herself in a cavernous room. A narrow wedge of daylight shone in the distance.

Phoebe held the candle higher and looked around. She was standing on the stone quay of what appeared to be a tiny subterranean dock. Seawater lapped at the stone. Rusted iron rings embedded in the quay gave evidence that this cavern had once been used to moor boats.

She had found a secret escape route from the castle. It had no doubt been designed by the original owner for use during a siege. The tiny slit of daylight at the far end of the cavern was the exit.

The only problem was that there was no longer an escape boat tied up at the dock. A large volume of black water stood between Phoebe and daylight.

The candle sputtered. Phoebe glanced down at it. She saw that she had no more than a few minutes of light left. Soon she would be trapped in this dark tomb.

She looked back over her shoulder. There was no sound behind her. She had to assume that her rescuers were unable to move the heavy iron gate. It occurred to her that perhaps it had been designed to seal the passageway permanently shut. If the lord of the castle and his family were attempting to escape via this route, they would want to be certain they were not followed.

The candle hissed and wavered. Phoebe made up her mind. She could not bear to wait here in the darkness in hopes of a rescue that might not come.

She would have to swim for it.

Phoebe set the candle carefully down on the edge of the quay. Then she unfastened the tapes of her gown and removed her ruffled chemisette.

Dressed in only her chemise, she sat down and slid her legs cautiously into the dark, cold water. For an instant raw terror gripped her as her feet disappeared into the black depths. She had no way of knowing what creatures made their home beneath the surface.

It took more courage than she had known she possessed to drop down into the water. The last flicker of the candle was a definite inspiration. When the frail light vanished, Phoebe's only thought was to get to the wedge of daylight that awaited her up ahead.

She struck out, swimming strongly at first toward the beacon in the distance.

She was horrified at how quickly her energy diminished in the cold water. By the time she was half-

way to her goal, she was gasping for air and praying for strength. Her weak left leg was tiring rapidly.

It seemed to take forever to reach the cavern entrance. It was as if the water were deliberately trying to pull her down beneath the surface. Phoebe began to swim mechanically, like a clockwork toy. She dragged air into her lungs with every other stroke and used her fear of the invisible depths to propel her legs.

When her fingers scrabbled painfully against barnacle-encrusted rock, she nearly collapsed with relief. Gasping for air, she clutched fiercely at the rock and gazed eagerly out into the sunlight, hoping for a glimpse of the nearby shore.

It was then she realized that she had only completed a portion of her journey. The hidden cavern entrance jutted several yards out from the shoreline. No one would see her from the cliffs if she stayed where she was. Her cries for help would not be audible above the roar of the waves.

She would have to swim to the rocky beach.

Phoebe clung to her perch a moment longer, telling herself that at least she was in the sun now. It was not quite so cold. And there was only a short distance to go.

If only she were not so exhausted. If only she could rest longer.

But she did not dare hesitate. The water seemed to be getting colder in spite of the sunlight pouring down on her. She could only pray she had enough strength to swim the rest of the way.

"Gabriel," she whispered as she struck out toward shore, "where the devil are you when I need you?"

"Where the devil is she?" Gabriel roared.

Rollins, the butler, wavered under fire but did not collapse. "I regret to inform you, sir, that I do not know where Lady Wylde is at the moment. The last I knew, she was in the library, as is her custom at this hour."

"And at every other hour," Gabriel muttered. Lately Phoebe seemed to spend every spare minute hiding from him in the damned library. "Assemble the staff immediately."

"Yes, my lord."

Within minutes the staff was clustered in the main hall. No one knew where Phoebe was. Everyone agreed that she had most recently been ensconced in the library. The last time anyone had actually seen her had been nearly two hours earlier.

Gabriel fought down his rising uneasiness and the fear that lay beneath it. Nothing was ever accomplished by giving way to strong emotion, he reminded himself. "I want every inch of the castle and the grounds searched at once. Rollins, you will direct the staff. I will take the cliffs. We will meet back here in an hour."

"Yes, my lord." Rollins hesitated. "Forgive me, sir, but do you believe that something dreadful has happened?"

"She has probably gone for a stroll and gotten lost," Gabriel said, not believing his own words for a minute. "She does not know the countryside around here. Start the search at once."

"Yes, my lord."

Gabriel headed out the front door and down the steps. Driven by a terrible restlessness, he strode through the courtyard and out through the castle gates.

She had promised she would not run from him again.

Gabriel reached the cliffs and stood gazing down at the rocks and driftwood that cluttered the narrow strip of beach. Surely if she had gone for a walk she would have stayed up here on the cliffs. She would not have tried to climb down to the water's edge.

But Phoebe was unpredictable. She was also capable of taking great risks. He still shuddered whenever he recalled how and where he had first met her. At midnight on a lonely country lane, for God's sake. The woman was a menace to herself.

When he found her, he was going to put her on a very short rein. He had had enough of this nonsense.

Enough of this gut-wrenching fear.

He forced himself to calm down and recall the color of the gown Phoebe had been wearing that morning. It had been a rather glaring shade of citron yellow. With a ruffled chemisette. She had looked very bright and cheerful in it.

Not at all like a woman who was plotting to run away from her husband.

Gabriel started walking along the cliff edge. He would not allow himself to believe she had run off until he had exhausted every other possibility.

He frowned as he caught a glimpse of white on the water-lashed rocks. For a moment he thought it was the reflection of sunlight on sea foam. Then the patch of white moved, heaving itself higher up onto the rocks. Pale legs and arms and a tangle of wet, dark hair spilled over the stone.

Phoebe.

Gabriel's stomach went cold. For an instant he wondered if the little fool had gone swimming. Then he realized she was fighting for her life in the churning surf.