“The Hills’.”
She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the gleam of sun off the water, but she hadn’t a prayer of making out from here who was on it. “I thought Mr. Hill’s leg didn’t let him sail anymore.”
“It doesn’t. Must be Perry.”
“Well. Nothing too odd about a boy going out for a bit after a squall, is there?”
“Not at all.” He shifted back to motion so quickly she had to wonder if it was a lie. He took a few steps toward his boat, then pivoted and strode back to her, not stopping until the toes of his boots were nudging her rain-wet shoes. Leaning down, head angled.
She sucked in a breath, too surprised to leap back. Or smack him, as she should have done.
But he halted a few inches away and grinned that wicked little grin at her. “No. Next time, Mabena Moon, you’re going to be the one to kiss me.”
She stormed away with a growl. And then, at the top of the hill, cursed herself for not at least leaving him with a parting barb. There will never be a next time. Or That’s as likely as me growing a tail and becoming a mermaid.
Insufferable man. Conceited, arrogant oaf. And her—what was wrong with her, letting him get to her like that, render her speechless?
She pushed into the cottage minutes later, flinging her mackintosh onto a chair and kicking off her sopping shoes with a bit too much force.
“Mabena! What’s wrong?”
What was wrong? She spun toward Libby and waved at the door. “That man!”
Libby sat on the sofa again, the stupid cat curled against her shoulder. “The one you followed? He didn’t hurt you, did he? Or—”
“No.” Blast it. She pulled the tie from the bottom of her braid so she could redo it. The wind and rain and hood had surely done a number on her hair. “No, that bloke just got on the ferry.”
“Then who?”
“Casek Wearne.” She meant to say it with frustration. But she hadn’t expected the exhalation would leave her feeling suddenly shaky. She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and slumped to a seat.
Libby was there in the next moment, pulling out one of the others. “What did he do?”
“What did he do?” She squeezed her eyes shut and abandoned the braid in favor of rubbing a hand over her face. “Only all but confessed he was in love with me and then very nearly kissed me, that’s all.”
“Ah.” Libby’s tone was every bit as bemused as her expression, when Mabena dropped her hand and could see it. “How . . . terrible of him?”
“It was!” With a groan, she slumped against the table. Never in her life had she imagined having this conversation with Lady Elizabeth Sinclair. Her employer. But then, who else could she ever have told this to? “He kissed me once before. When we were seventeen.”
Libby’s brows pulled tight. “I thought it was the brother you were engaged to. Mr. Gibson mentioned it,” she added when Mabena sat up again.
He never could keep a tale to himself. “It was. This was before.”
“And . . . you didn’t like it?”
Sweet Libby. Mabena couldn’t quite help the low chuckle that tickled her throat. “Of course I liked it. It was Casek Wearne. You saw him, didn’t you?”
Her confusion didn’t relent. “Then what was the problem?”
“It was Casek Wearne.” She shook her head. It wasn’t something she could just explain to an incomer—even when the incomer was Libby. Not all of it, anyway. “They always told me I was wild as the sea, unbridled as the wind. They always told me I’d need someone to ground me. But Casek—he’d never have done that, and I knew it the moment his lips touched mine. He wouldn’t have held me down. He’d have let me fly.”
If anything, her explanation seemed to make it worse. Libby was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Not that I’m any kind of expert on this sort of thing, but . . . isn’t that good?”
Self-destructive, that’s what it was. Or would have been, had she let it be. But even at seventeen, she’d had more sense than that. “Balance, that’s what a couple needs. The wild needs the steady. That’s why I opted for Cador. He was always steady. Always got along with everyone and never made me go absolutely mad like Caz did. He was—”
Blast and drat. Safe. That’s what he’d been.
“I see.” Libby squinted her eyes at her. “I don’t, actually. But I’ll pretend I do, if it makes you feel better.”
Mabena’s laugh this time at least managed to put her feet back on solid ground. Which reminded her that Casek Wearne wasn’t the point of her adventure in the rain. “What was in the package?”
“Paperwork.” Obviously eager for the change of subject, Libby sprang to her feet and hurried to the sofa, then back. She held out a sheaf of papers. “They seem to be ships’ manifests. Not that I would have recognized them as such, if not for the cover letter.”
Mabena took the page from the top and turned it into the light. “It’s unsigned.”
“But interesting nevertheless. Read it.”
You certainly had a point in your last missive; there is no telling whether the articles you’re looking for would have been from the Canary or perhaps another of Mucknell’s prey; or a combination thereof, though there is that “John” on the original artifact to lend credence to the Canary theory. Regardless, whatever he kept and buried would be something that would not rot. Most likely precious metals. Any Indiamen he took would have been equipped, at the least, with payroll. So coinage is always a safe thing to search for.
From what we could discern from the archives, however, it’s the silver from the Canary that has never resurfaced and that the rightful owners put considerable effort into recovering. We can find no further information on what sort of silver it was, but if you can find it, it will be the discovery of the century.
Mabena lowered the page, feeling as though Beth herself had just punched her in the stomach. The first missive had mentioned the Canary too. “Mucknell’s treasure? Is that what Beth has been about?” She shook her head. Tas-gwyn Gibson had been filling their heads with the lore for decades, but surely Beth hadn’t believed his tales.
But then, Beth was always disappearing into crevices and cracks of the island that no one else knew. What if she had found something? Something that led her to contact whoever this was? Someone in London, clearly, who could access archives of the East India Company.
“Mucknell.” Libby tilted her head. “The admiral from Mr. Gibson’s story?”
Mabena set the letter carefully down on the table and flipped through the sheets behind it. Lists upon lists of cargo for various ships. “The pirate admiral.”
Libby sat down again. “I think I need to brush up on my history. What was the John?”
“His ship. According to the stories, it was the flagship of the East India Company, the fastest and best outfitted vessel on the seas. Mucknell staged a mutiny on her maiden voyage and eventually came here to offer the ship and his services to the exiled Prince of Wales. Over the next few years, he gathered a fleet of other pirates and wreaked havoc on the shipping lanes. The East India Company especially was hit hard.”