17

Oliver gritted his teeth and turned his head, ready to sneer, snap, or punch at Casek Wearne as he shoved past him and strode out of the cave. But the moment he turned, he saw movement on the path they’d run up, and his chest tightened even more, somehow.

“The constable’s men.” He kept his voice so low that he could barely hear it himself and aimed so that the wind and rock and water couldn’t carry it inside the cave. “Wearne, I need you to go and intercept them. Tell them not to come this way, or he’ll just shoot her.”

Casek raised his chin. “You go and tell them.”

“I’m not leaving Libby in there alone!” he whispered furiously.

“And I’m not leaving Benna here with you.”

Mabena should have been bristling at the implication that she needed a protector, but her eyes looked too dull with pain to allow for any bristling. “I’ll go with you.”

At least one of them had sense. Oliver motioned them onward. “Good. You’re out of his view now. He won’t see you leaving.”

Casek relented with a huff, muttering something about fetching the doctor. Oliver stiffened at that—what had happened to Mabena to require a physician? But he couldn’t ask. They’d already taken a few steps away, Casek’s arm supporting her frame, which meant something must be seriously wrong.

But she was on her feet and moving, so he simply said a prayer and turned back to the cave. Edged, a few inches at a time, more fully into it. Then lowered himself to his stomach so he could see below the ledge.

Libby’s progress was slow. Perhaps by design, perhaps because her feet were unaccustomed to the wet stone and her mind no doubt full of the stories of Johnnie slipping and cracking his skull and never rising again.

But not slipping. It was him, whoever it was hiding in the shadows in there, that had done it. He knew that now.

Oliver slid a few inches closer to the ledge so he could drop down again if necessary. He didn’t know what he could do that wouldn’t just get them both killed, but he prayed with every quarter of an inch that the Lord would show him something. Make a way. Send a bolt of lightning or an earthquake or a tsunami or something to distract the man long enough for Libby to get back out to him.

She’d made it only halfway to where the voice had come from when it echoed again. “Stop!”

She stopped, hand still braced on the cavern wall.

“What exactly is in that bag?”

Her fingers gripped it tightly. “Silver.”

“You’re growing tiresome, Elizabeth. What kind of silver?”

“Coins.” Though this was true, her voice shook just a bit. He couldn’t blame her—his would have been shaking if he were approaching a gunman too. Even if he had exactly what the other wanted.

A growl rumbled its way out. “What kind of coins?”

He could imagine Libby picking through the answers they’d devised to the possible questions. This one among them, or close enough. “I can only give what I have, sir. Now I’ll thank you to let me uphold my end of the bargain so that you can uphold yours and end this nonsense.”

Her voice was stronger that time and nearly sounded like Beth’s. They’d schooled her a bit in his sister’s intonations and phrases over the last two weeks. Just in case whoever met her tonight relayed her words to someone who actually knew Beth.

If only they really were capable of upholding whatever bargain Beth had struck.

But the man in the cave didn’t seem amenable anyway. His voice emerged cold and cruel from the shadows. “If those are modern coins, you’ll pay the price for your deception. You know well we want Mucknell’s hoard. Nothing less.”

Blood pounding, Oliver slid his foot forward again.

Libby dashed the change purse to the ground in the exact fashion Beth would have done, with the right snort of exasperation—they’d made her practice the move that Beth was famous around the islands for. “You don’t want it? Fine! I’ll keep it myself, and you’ll either shoot me and lose all hope of recovering the rest, or you’ll give me the time I asked for!”

That shoot me part hadn’t been rehearsed. They hadn’t known there would be a gun involved. And though he was proud of her for the improvisation, he couldn’t quite believe how offhandedly she’d tossed that part in.

“Think you’re indispensable, do you?”

Given the shift of Libby’s head, she must have lifted her chin. “I know I am, or you wouldn’t be here. No one else knows these islands like I do, sir. Not now that you’ve killed Johnnie.” Also true, if she were who they thought.

The man took a step forward. Not so far that the splash of light fully reached him, but enough that Oliver could make out his general form. He frowned. The fellow Libby had described from the road to the Wights’ was tall, thin. This chap was average height at best, stocky. Either she’d been wrong in her description—which he doubted—or it wasn’t the same man.

Which meant what? That the other was lurking somewhere too? Or just that he’d sent someone else to do his dirty work tonight?

“Let me make this clear, luv. If you’re going to fail me anyway, then it doesn’t much matter, does it? Dead or alive, you’d do me just as much good. Only, making you dead would be considerably more entertaining than just showing up again empty-handed at my employer’s. So, you get me the silver the buyer wants. Or I make you dead. Yeah?”

The man couldn’t honestly expect Oliver to stay still at that. He surged over the ledge and landed quietly on the rocks, though he was careful to keep his arms out once he landed, proving he had no weapon. “That’ll be enough of the threats. She said she’d find what you want if you gave her the time, so give her the time. Artifacts don’t exactly wash ashore at the behest of men.”

“I don’t recall inviting you into the negotiations, brother dearest. And now that you’ve got me irritated again, I’d also like to point out that I don’t much appreciate the obvious trap you two were trying to set. I’m thinking a nice bullet to the leg might teach you a lesson.”

“Do it,” Libby interjected at once, “and you’ll be arrested in a heartbeat. We know these caves far better than you, sir. And we have people stationed at the only exit—they may not have been here when you came in, but they’re there now, I promise you. Hurt us, and this whole game is over.”

Silence echoed. But the man edged backward again. “Do that and you can kiss your commission good-bye.”

This was about money? But why? Perhaps Truro wasn’t bringing in enough to pay for a house in London for a Season and perhaps they’d been a bit strapped when they were paying for Morgan’s treatments, but it provided all their needs, didn’t it? And now that they were able to save again, even some of their wants.

“Then it seems we had better strike a quick bargain, sir.” Libby edged back a step too. “You give me more time to find the silver you actually want. No one gets hurt. We leave, you leave. Have we an agreement?”

It wasn’t what they’d been angling for tonight. They’d wanted to arrest this fellow—but then, he wasn’t the fellow they’d expected. And Oliver had a feeling that someone who spoke of the “entertainment” of murder wasn’t the sort to spill to an island constable the details about who he was working for or with.

It would do. He would deem tonight a success if no one else got hurt.

The man apparently agreed. “The original date, then. Or I’ll be back, and I’ll take it out of whoever I must. Your brother. Your grandmother. Your spitfire cousin. Understand?”

“I understand.” She bent low and scooped up the coins again. “I’m going now. We’ll have everyone cleared from the entrance within a few minutes.”

“That’s good. Because if I don’t report in by twelve thirty, the rifleman aiming through dear Grandmama’s window will pull the trigger.”

Libby spun at that, flying over the slippery rocks now at a pace that proved her earlier one had been deliberate. She clasped the hand Oliver held out to her the moment she was near enough, accepted the boost up to the ledge above, and they ran together from the mouth of the cave. “Are they here yet?” she whispered to him. “The constable’s men?”

“They were just approaching. We’d better hurry.”

They ran, hand in hand, up the beach path, and Oliver was a bit surprised to see the entire group still gathered in a knot together. But then, Casek and Mabena had been moving slowly, and the exchange in the cave probably hadn’t taken half as long as it felt like it had. They joined the group within a few minutes, breathlessly sharing what had just happened.

Constable Wendle’s frown was back in place. “I don’t like this. Men like that on Tresco . . . we won’t intercept him, but you can bet we’re going to see if we can spot him. And ask around to see what incomers are here who match the description. First, though, we’ll be visiting any house with a view of yours, Mr. Tremayne. You can rest assured of that. Nothing will happen to your grandmother.”

Their tasks set, the five men hurried off, leaving only the four of them. He and Libby, Mabena. And for a reason yet to be determined, Casek Wearne.

Oliver turned to him, all the adrenaline from the preceding minutes surging again. “Now. You. What were you doing there? Are you involved in all this too?”

Casek’s arm dropped from Mabena’s waist. “I’ve about had enough of you and your accusations, Tremayne. Last I checked, you didn’t own this island, nor the caves.”

“So you just happened to be there. Pure coincidence.” Oliver took a step closer, even though he knew he was asking for trouble.

Maybe he needed a bit, a bit that he could control. A bit of the familiar sort that didn’t involve guns and threats of death.

And Casek was never one to disappoint on that score. He met him, shoved a hand into his shoulder. “I just happened to be where my student died over a month ago, yes. Because, apparently, of something your sister had cooked up! And you want to turn it on me?”

“Johnnie wasn’t Beth’s fault.” He didn’t know if it was true. Only that he needed it to be. He shoved back. “She never would have wished him harm.”

Casek knocked his hand away, reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, and pulled out something white. Tossed it at him. “It’s Beth behind all this, and you won’t convince me otherwise. Unless you’re going to try and tell me it’s your grandmother stalking the shores of the uninhabited islands, getting everyone worked up.”

“What?” Oliver caught the white thing, frowning at the feel of silk in his fingers. A shawl, he saw when he let the length unravel. His heart sank like a stone into his stomach as his fingers found the corner. The embroidery. The familiar Tremayne crest there, with its fancy T monogram. Mamm-wynn had given this shawl to Beth on her eighteenth birthday.

“Where did you . . . ?”

But Oliver knew even as he asked it.

“On Samson, right after my students were talking about the White Lady being spotted.” Looking thoroughly disgusted, Casek shook his head. “I don’t know what she’s about, but she’s deliberately trying to stir people up. And it started after Johnnie. She’s behind all this—she caused it—and now we’re all left rocking, because a Tremayne never cares for anything but a Tremayne!”

“Casek.” The croak from Mabena was more effective than a shout would have been in wheeling Casek around like a stallion brought up short. She had a hand pressed to her head and was swaying on her feet. Libby had reached out to steady her, worry on her face.

Casek knocked her hand aside too and swept Mabena up into his arms. “To the doctor with you, dearover.”

“I don’t need a doctor.” Always stubborn, even when she had agony scrawled across her face. “Just take me home. Mam can tend me.”

“You want to worry your parents? Tell them all this? At this time of night?”

Her face screwed up even more. “All right. The doctor then.”

“And afterward, bring her to my house.” Oliver couldn’t argue with the logic of not setting the Moons to worrying, especially since the plan had been for Mabena and Libby to stay at his house tonight anyway, given the evening’s outing. Though they’d told her parents they were merely going to enjoy a night of games and stargazing. Something they’d done countless times over the years.

Casek, of course, snorted. “Right. Can’t trust me with her.”

“Well, you’re certainly not taking her to your flat.”

Wearne rolled his eyes. Probably. Though he’d turned away, so Oliver couldn’t see him. “I don’t recall saying I meant to.”

Mabena moaned. Or muttered something. Possibly a plea for them to stop, though he couldn’t be sure, given the way the wind garbled it. Either way, Casek’s long legs started eating up the track without a pause for another exchange, and Libby drifted to Oliver’s side.

They both watched them disappear beyond the rise before saying anything more. And then it wasn’t a word but a touch that had him sighing out the anxiety of the night—Libby’s hand on his arm, sliding down to his wrist. Taking his hand, the one not tangled up with incriminating silk.

He wove their fingers together. Foolish, no doubt. But he needed the touch, and he suspected she did too.

“Why do you dislike him so much?”

He hadn’t been sure whether she’d ask about that or Beth or all that transpired in the cave. But this was by far the easiest to answer. “Because he dislikes me.”

“And why does he dislike you?”

He sighed, shrugged. “He always has. The Wearnes and the Tremaynes have never been what one would call friendly.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because . . .” He frowned into the night. And wondered where the stranger was. Deeper in the caves, looking for another way out? Or sneaking out behind them even now? He cast a glance over his shoulder and tugged Libby into a walk. “Because we have holdings on the mainland, I suppose. No one here owns any property. The Wearnes always said we lord it over the rest of them. That we only stay here so we can feel superior to someone, since we haven’t enough to do that on the mainland.”

“That’s ridiculous, from what I’ve seen.”

“Exactly! We’re here because we love it here. That’s all.”

“Which means that’s only an excuse.” She stepped closer to him as they walked so that their arms brushed with every movement. She wasn’t wearing gloves—never did, aside from the night of the dinner party. He found he liked the feeling of her fingers against his. “The real question, I think, is why you’ve never tried to work past that with him.”

“I have.” Hadn’t he? Surely so, at some point. Or another. Over the years. When they were children, perhaps, or . . . since.

“Really? You’ve worked your elbow-magic on him, as Mabena calls it? And it’s failed?” Somehow a shade of amusement colored her tone. Amusement, after all this.

He opened his mouth. But had to shut it again. Of course he’d never taken Casek Wearne’s elbow, nor invited him to open his heart to him. “If I tried it, he’d sock me in the nose.”

“That may be. But I think Mabena’s wrong.” She settled her hand on his arm too. Two connections, which were somehow more than twice as effective at making him aware of her every shift. “The elbow has nothing to do with it. It’s you that sees people, Oliver. Sees them truly, sees them clearly. Sees them with purpose—and that purpose is to care.”

He glanced at her face briefly, then back to the path. “I suppose he resists me more than most.”

“I don’t think that’s it at all.” She squeezed his arm, then let her fingers drift away again. “I think it’s that you don’t want to see him. So you’ve never really tried.”

He winced. Wanted to deny it. But he knew truth when it pierced his soul. “I don’t know how to want to. Not with him.” Those words would probably make her respect him less, think him petty.

Or make her chuckle. “I think you’d better sort through that. Because he’s clearly in love with your cousin, and I think she’s leaning that direction too.”

“No! He’ll only hurt her.” The objection emerged from reflex more than thought.

But she angled her face toward his, brow arched, called him on it. “Someone already did, Oliver—but it wasn’t him. Not two years ago and not tonight.”

He huffed out a breath. “I know.” He let silence walk with them for a few paces and then said, “He’s always had eyes only for Mabena. But everyone thought Cador the wiser choice, if she liked that particular face.”

She snorted a laugh, no doubt at the thought of twins being interchangeable. She would know, better than most, how nature only provided so much of who a person was. “She said Cador kept her grounded, and that’s what everyone said she needed.” She squeezed his fingers, and he knew well it was a warning. “But she said that Casek made her fly.”

A warning he certainly appreciated. He drew in a long, salt-laden breath and let it leak out again. “She told you that?”

“Mm.”

“Well.” He squeezed her fingers back. “Then I think you have your answer on whether she’s really your friend. That’s not the sort of thing she’d say to someone who wasn’t.”

But expecting him and Casek Wearne to ever claim the same would require more than elbow-magic. It would require an outright miracle.