Casek’s soft voice made her smile and face him again. She’d slipped from the house with the first fingers of dawn on the horizon to meet him on the beach, so they’d have time for a nice row before their days began. She could begin every day like this and be happy.
Well. She’d be even happier after they married. When first she’d wake beside him, and then they’d head for the gig, hands entwined. It was a dream that had rooted itself in the bedrock of her soul over the last week. “Somehow, my love, I don’t think the world would stop if we did. And I don’t think either of us would be happy to let it pass us by—not today.”
But Casek didn’t dip in his oars again yet. Just kept on looking at her. “I don’t care a whit about pirate treasure or princes or maps or silver.”
“No.” He didn’t. That had never been what drove this man forward, brought his fists up, or inspired his world. He wasn’t the sort to ever leave her for the pursuit of more. How had she not seen that years ago? That all his volume and bluster were just the waves crashing against the sturdy rock of him. He was the steady one. It was just that, in the Scillies, steady meant storms and waves and winds as much as sunshine and blue skies. “But you care about the lads who have been poking about looking for it.”
He sighed and looked to the shore, hands gripping the oars again now. “We lose so many of them. To the mainland. To the sea. To hard living. We can’t lose more to this, Benna.”
“Which is why we’re going to put a stop to it. Today.” They dipped their oars in unison, their stretching forms mirror images, since they faced each other.
His face was still clouded though. “I don’t know that we can stop it entirely. Not if these are just hirelings here now. More will be sent. More lads lured into treasure hunting. More skulls knocked in when they don’t deliver what the gentlemen want.”
“You think he can’t be trusted? Lord Sheridan?”
Casek screwed up his face in dismissal. “Not him. The ones from London, the family of Beth’s friend. Them I don’t trust. Not if they mean to double-cross Sheridan. He may have his head in the clouds of legend, but I think he’s harmless enough. This Scofield bloke though . . .”
“Or whoever he hired. And Lorne.” They’d asked around about him last night, while the ladies and gents were having their fancy dinner at Oliver and Beth’s house. Settled themselves down at the pub with Tas-gwyn Gibson, who was more than happy to lend a hand. Apparently, when Sheridan had shared what he knew of Lorne yesterday, her grandfather had been convinced he was the one who’d knocked him upside the head on Monday. He had a vague recollection of seeing a little dinghy that he recognized as one the Morrises had rented out for the summer, and of hearing a voice behind him curse in a rough London accent.
They still couldn’t be certain if it had been Lorne or the Scofields’ lackey that had knocked her head in Piper’s Hole, but they’d learned more than Mabena had hoped. More than she wished were true. A few islanders had ferried Lorne about here and there until he’d rented that boat for himself, all of them reporting that he seemed keen on learning every facet and rock and crevice on all the islands.
Not that the islanders had told Lorne much—they all had a healthy distrust of incomers whose interests went beyond mere curiosity—but they couldn’t exactly stop him from exploring. And they’d been seeing him for weeks, here and there. No one was certain where he was staying. Some thought St. Mary’s, others Bryher, others still reported seeing him here on Tresco late enough at night that he couldn’t have meant to leave.
Bad news, all of it.
But they’d come up with their own plan to keep Casek’s students safe from Lorne’s influence. One that wouldn’t interfere with the scheduled search of King Charles’s castle later today.
“There they are.” She nodded to the beach by the Hills’ little house, where Perry and the Grimsby boys were even now stealing down the sand toward Mr. Hill’s old rowboat. Just as Casek had overheard them planning to do yesterday—to sneak over to Piper’s Hole this morning.
Casek had said he’d debated trying to talk them out of it, letting them know he’d heard their plans. Perhaps even warning them away from Lorne directly. But it wasn’t so long ago that Casek had been a boy just like them. He’d known that forbidding a thing would only make it more alluring. So instead they’d decided to put themselves here, now.
Enough morning mist hovered over the water to help their voices carry. “That’s what Beth said.” She recited her agreed-upon line to get them started, turning her head a little to send the words toward the lads, though careful to keep her eyes trained solely on Casek, who didn’t so much as glance toward the shoreline.
“I know she’s the one who found what silver’s been found,” he added. “But Samson? Makes no sense.”
As they’d hoped, the boys had ducked down beneath the hull of the boat. But they’d be listening. “She says it’s where she found the treasure map.” It wasn’t. She’d yet to say where she’d found what she did—an omission that hadn’t slipped by Mabena. “She probably has the rest of the crate in whatever cottage she’d been staying in.”
“Maybe. But do you really think we can convince her to send it to the Scofields?”
“We have to. If we don’t, she could be in danger.” They’d debated this tack, too, and decided it was the most likely to convince the boys. “We need to find it, get it to them. If she’s too stubborn to save her own skin, we’ll save it for her.” They’d probably not believe that Mabena meant to undermine her cousin for the sake of silver. But for her own good? Anyone would believe that.
And if they could convince them to go to Samson this morning instead of Piper’s Hole, that ought to keep them safely out of the way.
They continued their northward row and their fabricated discussion until they were unquestionably out of the boys’ hearing and the caves were within view. They turned into one of the smaller ones, stowing their boat out of sight behind a boulder and scrambling into the small opening. They’d watch a few minutes and make certain the lads didn’t still come by and go to Piper’s Hole. Inspiring them not to was better—but they’d resort to command if they must.
She turned with a grin to Casek, though he’d not be able to see it in the shadows. “I still can’t believe the headmaster has resorted to fibbing to his students.”
A beam of light blinded her from deeper within, accompanied by a click that echoed ominously off the rocks. “And I,” said a clipped London voice she’d hoped never to hear again, “can’t believe two such fine prizes wandered in here of their own volition.”
“Lorne?” Casek stepped between Mabena and the light, an arm reaching behind him to steady her. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Ain’t you a clever one.”
She balled her hands into Casek’s shirt to keep from doing anything stupid. They could just slip back out. They’d have to be faster than him, but they knew the caves—that was in their favor. And a moving target would be harder for him to hit than a still one. “It was you on Sunday, then? But I thought it the Scofields’ man we were coming to meet.”