The Victoria? Some sort of vessel, clearly. But not one owned by a local. If it was a visitor’s, it had to be a large enough craft to have come independently from the mainland. Most likely a yacht.
“What do we do with them?” Lorne motioned with the pistol toward Mabena and Casek. Or perhaps to the group of them at large.
Scofield jerked Libby closer to his side. “We’ll take the girl with us all the way to the rendezvous with the Victoria. Insurance. Let the rest of them go so they can get the silver to Permellin Carn—and then they’re free to go afterward.”
Telford surged a step forward. “You said you’d let everyone go if we cooperated.” Perhaps he wasn’t a Tremayne, but he’d have done Morgan proud. He always wished he’d been able to join their adventures like this.
Scofield huffed out a condescending sigh. “No, I said I’d let those two go if you cooperated. Really, Tremayne, you have to learn to listen.”
Lorne frowned. “He’s not Tremayne. It’s the dark-haired one that’s Tremayne.”
Scofield must not have liked being corrected by a mere lackey. He turned his scowl on Lorne. “There are two of them, you imbecile.”
Blast it all. Lorne had been on the islands for weeks—he must know that Morgan wasn’t with them any longer. And when their house of cards came tumbling down, if these two realized there were more players in the game than they thought, it could go very badly very quickly.
They had to act—fast. But though he met Casek’s gaze in that split second, it wasn’t long enough to form a silent plan. Just enough to say they needed one. Still, they’d fought each other enough over the years to be familiar with each other’s moves. If one of them lunged, the other would know what to do. They just needed an opening. A distraction.
A new light appeared behind Lorne, Casek, and Mabena, floating on the water, casting an eerie glow out from the darkness. And a ghostly white apparition manifested itself on the face of the pool. “Unhand her at once!”
Not an apparition—Mamm-wynn. Though he scarcely recognized her in the fierce shadows, he’d know her voice anywhere.
And questions of how she’d gotten there would just have to wait. Her sudden appearance had made Scofield curse and jump away from Libby, and Oliver could feel Telford coil beside him, ready to attack in that direction.
But Scofield wasn’t the one with the weapon. Lorne was, and he didn’t do anything helpful like drop it in shock at Mamm-wynn’s arrival. He took aim at Casek and Mabena. “You’ll not scare me away this time, old woman, no matter what you know that you shouldn’t!”
Oliver hurtled toward them.
“No!” Casek, somehow, had struggled to his feet. He was effectively between Lorne and Mabena, but Lorne had jumped onto another rock, out of Casek’s lunging range. He wouldn’t be able to fight the gun from him.
And a look of utter fury had taken over Lorne’s face.
Time slowed as Oliver drew near, observed, calculated.
Could he reach Lorne before he pulled the trigger? He had to try. Because if he shot Casek, Casek would tumble backward into the pool and, with his arms and legs both bound, sink straight to the bottom. Likely dead before any of them could drag his hulking form back out, especially if Lorne re-aimed.
There was only one thing Oliver could possibly do. He threw himself in front of Casek, still flying at Lorne, praying he’d have enough time to reach him.
Thunder roared through the cave, and lightning flashed. He heard a million screams, a thousand footsteps, felt the sting of a hundred bees in his side as a bullet kissed him. But his arms closed around Lorne and, when Oliver fell toward the water, he dragged the villain with him.
They plunged into the darkness, cold and silky. Lorne thrashed, pushed against him. But it was only fists hitting him, no metallic death. He must have dropped the pistol, either on the rocks or in the water. Which meant Oliver had a fine chance. He shoved Lorne away, downward, and used the momentum to push himself in the opposite direction, toward the faint glow of candlelight flickering on the surface of the pool.
A hand grabbed his ankle, tugged, but Oliver kicked. Not at the hand, but to the side, where Lorne’s head would be. And his boot connected with something, something that made the fingers loosen enough that he could kick away.
Lungs burning, he broke the surface of the water and swam with all his strength away from where Lorne would be, toward the rocks.
Hands grabbed his wrists and hauled him out. It took him a moment of blinking through the water streaming over his face to see it was Libby gripping one, her brother the other. He couldn’t see Scofield anywhere behind them. “Where is he?”
“He kicked Bram in the head somehow and ran.” Libby, eyes frantic, homed directly in on the burning in his side. “You’re bleeding. Mabena, give me your wrap! We can use it as a bandage.”
“Never seen anyone move like that,” her brother muttered, eyes stormy. “They certainly don’t teach that sort of fighting at the clubs.”
A splash and a gasp brought Oliver’s head around, even as his cousin, still hopping out of the ropes that had bound her feet, balled up an old woolen shawl and tossed it their direction.
Lorne had broken the surface. But the murder on his face froze when Mamm-wynn’s boat came closer and the barrel of a hunting rifle pointed directly at him, in the hands of Tas-gwyn. His grandmother held a lantern aloft from her perch on the opposite seat.
Those two might just drive him to insanity. When they weren’t busy saving his life.
“I wouldn’t try anything.” Tas-gwyn kept his face gruff, but to Oliver’s ear, his voice had a note of glee in it. He could only imagine the yarns he’d weave about this later. “I’m the vengeful sort, you know, and still owe you for that crack to the head.”
Mamm-wynn’s gaze sought Oliver. “Are you all right, dearovim?”
“I’ll be fine.” The gunshot wound couldn’t be anything serious, not given that he was far more aware of Libby’s citrus scent as she wrapped Mabena’s shawl around him than he was of the pain.
Tas-gwyn jerked his chin toward the rocks. “Out of the water with you, Mr. Lorne. Let’s keep this nice and friendly.”
Lorne looked around, clearly considering his options. But between Tas-gwyn’s hunting rifle and the pistol that Casek had claimed, he apparently decided that trying to make a break for it wouldn’t go well for him. Grumbling, he moved slowly toward the rocks.
“Rescued by grandparents.” Telford moved from a kneel to a crouch, a hand out to help Oliver to his feet. “Sheridan’s never going to let me live this one down.”
Well. There was no one in the world quite like his grandparents. Oliver accepted the help up, wobbling a bit when his head swam at the sudden shift in altitude. Perhaps he was bleeding more than he’d thought.
But Telford steadied him with a hand clasping his arm, and Libby’s came around his waist.
Noise came from outside, and a moment later the constable dropped into view, surveying the situation with a sharp eye. “Everything under control in here? Enyon said he heard noises—and not ghosts either.”
God bless Enyon.
“More or less.” Casek didn’t take his gaze off Lorne for even a second. “One got away. Did you see him?”