"Are you trusting him because he's handsome?"
Tori flushed and stared at her toes. He did easily fit her idea of a rescuing knight with his tall frame packed with muscle, his expression intense and resolute, but he also exuded a sheer force of will that she had never reckoned with. He wanted her on that ship. "No, because he's determined. I got the feeling he's been fighting to find us for some time."
"I might not trust him, but I do trust you. If you think he's taking us back to England, then that's good enough for me." Cammy pulled her blanket closer around her. "Imagine going back after all this time. I have no family left there--that's part of the reason why I signed on with your parents--but how I've missed things! English tea, soft sunlight, tea, seasons other than wet and dry, tea." She grinned, but then her face turned serious. "I miss riding a horse across green fields more than I can bear sometimes. I'd hoped for it for so long. Then, after the...incident, I stopped thinking of it."
Tori knew exactly how she felt. After the second year here, the idea of a rescue seemed as far-fetched as flying. "If this Sutherland is telling the truth, then we have a lengthy voyage to look forward to."
Cammy pulled her braid over her shoulder and smoothed it down. "But you'll be able to see your grandfather and your true home. I know your parents always planned to live there after they'd finished their studies. They would have wanted you to return to where your roots are."
Tori's memories of her grandfather were mere sequences in her mind. She remembered him chuckling and swooping her up on his shoulders. She vaguely recalled that they'd stolen a batch of muffins from the cook and eaten them in the tree house he'd had built for her. "Cammy, if you agree with me, I'll approach him tomorrow. But I will say this--when we sail from here, it will be on our terms. I'm going to demand that we break up the voyage and get you to a doctor." Tori's fierce words were garbled by a yawn she failed to stifle. She wouldn't have thought sleep could be compatible with this new idea of rescue, but her eyelids grew heavy.
"Get some rest," Cammy advised. "We'll talk later."
Tori gladly slipped under her quilt, dozing off immediately. She only slept for a couple of hours until dawn, but it was time enough for her dream of the wreck to plague her. She rose, cheeks wet, relieved Cammy wasn't inside. A shudder ripped through her. Would she ever be shed of that night?
She ambled out to lean against the cave entrance and found Cammy in the clearing blithely cutting a mango for breakfast. Tori lifted her gaze to the red sunrise. She noted the amplified colors of the sun hitting clouds and inhaled deeply. The air was heavier, cloying even, and the water was warm enough to kill fish. But then, the ocean storm season was always palpable even before it fully manifested. She wondered if those men, sitting on a ship that was like food for these reefs, knew what was about to befall them.
She paused. If she was right about Sutherland, it would befall all of them.
The rain came again that day in frenzied bursts, dotting the towering waves in the bay. A hot wind tore through the trees. They were running out of time--the air was stifling, the water too. The region was primed for a typhoon.
If Grant didn't sail soon, they'd be floating in the middle of a cauldron.
He returned his attention to a rough map he'd sketched of the island. He flattened it across a crate, trying to add information, but the wind made it impossible.
He looked up in frustration. Ian was in his hammock, rocking wildly. "Ian," he yelled, "come hold this down."
Ian rose, pulled his oilskin tight, and shuffled over.
"I need you to hold the corners."
Ian placed his palms on two edges. "What is this?"
"This is how I'm going to find Victoria."
When Ian scratched his temple and the map flew up before he pinned it once more, Grant reluctantly explained, "We know she's been leading us where she wants us to go. Which means that she's leading us away from something. I've drawn a map of the island and marked each definite sign of her we've found--a net, a spear, obvious footprints--then weighted each item to calculate a mathematical probability of where she'll be."
Ian looked at Grant as if he'd spoken in tongues. "I thought you were only good with math that involved pound signs. Well, where is she then?"
Grant pointed at an elevation on the parchment. "She's hiding high in the mountain." He glanced up at the cloud-draped peak. "I hadn't thought she'd climb up so far."
"It makes sense. And it's about the only place we haven't covered." Ian's gaze followed Grant's. "Can we make it up there today?"
Grant turned to his ship, noting how she tugged at her anchor, then to the beach. "We have to. You see the rowboat?"
Ian blinked against the rain. "The sea's gone down about ten feet from it since morning."
Grant couldn't hide his look of surprise.
"Yes, Grant, even I notice things."
"Did you happen to notice it's supposed to be high tide?"
Ian's cocky grin vanished. "Storm's coming?"
"Big one."
Ian rapped a knuckle on the map. "Then let's go."
An hour later, they picked up a trail of footprints in the mix of sand and earth and followed it to a clearing. A cave, more a small crack in the foot of the peak, came into view.
Making his way inside, Grant lit a lantern, lifting it like a shield against the dark. Instead of the wet and mold he expected, he smelled a fire. Moments later, he could hear wood crackling. Triumph filled him and anticipation ran up his spine like a woman's nail lighting up his back. One more corner...
A body lay inside as though dead.
Six
Is she alive?" Ian whispered.
Grant nodded as they stepped closer. "I think she's breathing." The woman's face was impossibly pale, her breaths shallow through cracked lips. Her clothes bagged on her frail body. Yet her hair was a fiery mass of red, looking anomalous with the rest of her.
"Miss Scott?" Grant said, as Ian bent down and tapped her shoulder.
She rose slowly, as though she ached, then rubbed her eyes and squinted. She didn't seem surprised to find two strange men in front of her. In fact, she patted her disheveled ginger hair, coquettishly trying to neaten it.
"Miss Scott, I've been sent here by Lord Belmont to find the Dearbourne family."
"There's only one of them left. Who are you?"
"I'm Captain Grant Sutherland from England."
She tilted her head at him. "I'm Camellia Scott. Lately from somewhere in Oceania."
Ian chuckled. When Grant leveled a glare at him, he covered his mouth with a fist and coughed. "This is my cousin, Ian Traywick."
She looked him over, blushed, then gave him a girlish wiggly-fingered wave.
What was it about Ian and women? "Can you tell us where Victoria is?"
"Haven't a clue," she said with a casual sweep of her hand. His eyes followed it, noticing the pitted scars covering her fingers and palms.
"You don't appear very excited to be rescued."
She shrugged. "I couldn't muster excitement if the queen herself came to this island." She stared at the ground, getting lost in some memory. "I saw her once in a procession. She had this plumed hat and green riding habit that I would have given my right hand for--"
"Miss Scott," he interrupted.
She looked up. "We still have a queen?"
Impatience flared through Grant with each crack of lightning. A feral girl had kept him from getting his men to safety and now an addled nanny was thwarting him as well. "Miss Scott--"
Ian leaned in to whisper, "Grant, she's lived away from people for nearly a decade. A soft touch might work on this one."
Grant waved his cousin away and said, "The queen is alive and well." The woman gave him a blank look as if she didn't know what he was talking about. "Now, about Victoria. We need to find her and convince her we're here to rescue you both."
"I'm sure a rescue was the last thing we would have thought. More likely pirates or some kind of military operation."
She gave him an arch look, then said crisply, "Plus, you are abysmally late."
Grant felt apologetic, as though he were somehow tardy. "I'm leading the eighth voyage that Victoria's grandfather, the earl of Belmont, commissioned. Obviously none ventured this far out."
"So we're no longer dead to the world. Astonishing," she said in voice that sounded not the least astonished. Her eyes narrowed. "If Belmont sent you, then describe his home."
He shook his head, then reluctantly began, "The manor house is an old graystone, shaped like a squared figure eight with two courts inside. The land is vast and filled with downlands, parklands, rolling hills dotted with sheep." He exhaled. "Now that my facts match up--"
"Oh, I don't know about that. Never been there myself," she said airily. "I just wanted to know what kind of place I'll be traveling to."
He gnashed his teeth in frustration. Ian laughed. The winds outside strengthened. "We leave today," Grant snapped. "Tell me where I can find her."
"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. She's been known to range over the entire island in one day. All I know is that she was looking for the handsome captain."
Damn it, it was no use with this woman. Wait...Handsome? Did Victoria say that? Grant stifled an unwelcome flush of pleasure. "Ian, take Miss Scott to the ship. Tell Dooley to use his best judgment with the storm."
She shrank back. "My first time back on a ship is going to be during a storm." Her face was expressionless. "Can't wait."
"It won't be so bad," Ian said, as he gently took her hand.
She swung her gaze back to Grant. "I don't suppose I have a choice in the matter?"
"I can be more certain of your safety on the ship."
"If Tori returns to find me gone, you'll have hell to pay."
He straightened. "Thank you, but I think I can handle a slip of a girl."