Her wrists burned from the rough hemp rope. She jerked away from him to free herself. She fought him, trying to kick him with her boots, but he growled low, “If you fight me, I’ll knock you out. Your choice.”

She stilled her efforts, knowing she could do nothing if she was dead to the world, and he could easily kill her somewhere else. She was certain that was his intention. He dragged her down the hallway until they came to a door. He jerked it open and forced her inside, then shut the door. The room was a tiny water closet, never used, from the looks of it. Boards had been pulled free from a hole in an antique-looking toilet—nothing more than a box, with a couple of boards nailed to the top of it to form a toilet hole. Or that had been at one time. She smelled the faint odor of mold and mustiness.

“Hasn’t anyone told you about the Welsh princess Nest, a former mistress of King Henry I? A prince from her homeland, a second cousin, Owain, learned how she’d been enslaved by the robber chief Gerald of Windsor. Owain sought to dine with her and was so struck by her beauty that he was determined to have her for his own and free her from her despicable husband.

“The story goes that he and fifteen of his men invaded the castle at Christmastime and she left willingly with him to protect her husband and children. They, her husband and children, meanwhile, had gone through a toilet hole very much like this one. Only theirs had been in use. This hasn’t been used for several centuries. You can count yourself fortunate. Can you imagine being married to a man like that who would hide in the sewage pipes underneath the castle while his wife was taken away?

“Just a quick slide down the pipe and you will be where I want you to be,” he added.

Stuck beneath the bowels of the castle, she feared. But someone could still rescue her, she hoped.

He lifted her and dropped her through the toilet hole. Her heart skipped beats as she slid through the pipe, fearing she’d be deep in the bowels of the castle with no way to get out for hours. What she didn’t expect was to feel the chilly outdoor sea air just before she landed on the rocks below the seawall, the gag muffling her frantic screams.

The Irish wolfhounds barked in the distance, excited, wanting to join the men in their search out front. But it sounded like they had been confined to the kennels. Which was understandable. Though wolfhounds were named such because they had killed wolves in the distant past, she doubted they would do well against a pack of wolves.

The chilling rain drenched her, soaking through her sweater and her jeans.

Oh…my…God, she was certain the pipe was dumping her into the frigid sea, and with her hands tied, she would drown right away. This was bad, but she thought she still had a fighting chance as she squirmed and wriggled, trying to loosen the rope that bound her.

Archibald landed beside her before she could scramble to her feet, her bound wrists making it difficult to maneuver, the rocks even slipperier than before with the rain and wind pelting them at a slant. The whitecapped waves stood out in contrast to the black water, forcefully crashing against the moss-covered boulders.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Before the inhabitants cared anything about conservation or sanitation, they just let it all dump out to sea,” Archibald said, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. “But they removed the section of pipe that actually fed into the water, so these now end on the rocks. Your father showed them to me when I was a boy. We practiced entering the castle in that manner. Other cases exist where an enemy force breached a castle in such a way. Only who would ever do such a thing today? Eh?”

He yanked off her gag. “No one will hear you down here while everyone is beyond the castle walls looking for me—including your mate. Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn you decided to take a swim in the cold, black sea at my urging? Only he’ll never know I had anything to do with it.”

“You can’t mean to kill me.” Yet she knew he intended just that.

“Centuries earlier, my grandfather should have owned this place.” Archibald pulled her down the path leading to the breakers.

She balked at being moved, but she knew he could just as well toss her over his shoulder and then take care of her before long anyway. The thought that both Grant’s mother and father died in the same manner chilled her to the core. Somehow she had to prolong this so Grant or one of his men would realize she was gone. They could trace her scent and, hopefully, realize she’d ended up in the sewer pipe and then landed on the beach, and not that she’d walked into the room and then left. She belatedly realized Archibald had no scent. Why wouldn’t he? They wouldn’t know that he’d forced her to leave with him and that she was in trouble. She feared they’d never learn of it in time. She had to stall him.

“Your grandfather Uilleam killed mine on the battlefield, didn’t he? He wasn’t cut down by one of the enemy clan’s swords, but by his own loyal man,” Colleen said, sure of it now as chilling raindrops ran down her face.

“Sometimes a fine line exists between your enemies and your friends. Gideon Playfair fought bravely in battle and died. That’s all anyone needs to remember,” Archibald said.

“He died at your grandfather’s hand,” she said, trying to yank her arm free of Archibald’s fierce grip as he moved her closer to the breakers. The aspect of being in that icy water was all the more terrifying since she’d already felt its chilling pull when she and Ollie were swept away. She never wanted to experience that again. She kept telling herself she’d read about people winter-swimming in frigid water, believing it was healthy for the body. But doing it all tied up with the threat of being smashed against jagged cliffs? She didn’t believe that would be good for anyone’s health.