He felt the strength draining from her arms. Ellie Rose, speak to her. You must get through to her.
‘‘Hold it right there, both of you.’’
Above the breeze and surf Chad heard a click above his head. He looked up into the barrel of a pistol, then higher, to glimpse a hawkish nose and a pair of cunning, close-set eyes glaring down at him from beneath the brim of a tweed cap. It was the stranger from the Stormy Gull who dressed like a fisherman but carried himself with a far more sophisticated air, a man Kellyn had professed not to know.
‘‘You.’’ Chad swore. His already pounding heart gave a violent wrench, and his throat closed around a new sense of hopelessness. Why hadn’t he foreseen that Kellyn would have help other than Grady?
A second pistol moved into his view, and then another, held by two men who flanked the first. Chad almost wished they would fire and save him the agony of watching Sophie meet a similar fate.
‘‘Release the sword,’’ the one in the cap said, ‘‘and sit up slowly, Lord Wycliffe. Very slowly.’’
He eased off Kellyn and sat up. He expected her to do the same, and to turn her mocking grin on him. When she remained on her back, the waves lapping at her boots and skirts, another contradiction registered in his brain. The man’s pistol remained trained on Kellyn’s head, while one of the other men took the rapier from her hands.
Whatever it all meant, Chad didn’t take the time to comprehend. Scrambling to his feet he dashed into the waves. Perhaps they’d shoot him in the back, but he was going for Sophie.
Panic exploded. No longer wedged between the rocks, the boat had drifted out beyond the breakwater, with no sign of Sophie aboard. Frantically he searched the heaving waters. Between the rocks a bloom of russet eddied with the currents. Recognition launched his heart against his ribs. Sophie’s russet carriage jacket. The terror of his dream roared through him: Sophie drowning, dying in his arms.
Bellowing her name, he dove beneath the surface.
‘‘Sophie!’’
Like a tortured wail ripped from the earth, the sound of her name tore across the waves.
Chad.
Before she had shed her carriage jacket and clambered over the gunwale, she had watched Kellyn thrust the rapier. Chad had gone down onto his knees in the water. Sophie had gone in too, determined to reach him.
Now, as she heard him shout her name, her chest swelled with exhilaration. He was alive. Alive and coming for her.
She tried to call out. A breaker rolled over her head and reduced her voice to a sputtering gulp. Her lips were stiff from cold; she shivered uncontrollably as the sea hauled her back and forth as though she were the rope in a tug-of-war. The foaming surf crashed over her, blinding her and distorting all sense of direction.
He shouted her name again. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything but the swirling waters and the menacing rocks.
‘‘Sophie? Where are you? Oh, God, answer me.’’
‘‘Here! Chad, I’m here!’’ Water poured into her mouth. Gagging and spitting, she flailed her arms, groping for purchase. Wave after wave twisted her in a tangle of sea and sky.
From behind powerful arms encircled her, turned her, then pressed her to the rocky hardness of a chest and shoulders and to the strong column of a neck that felt like home against her cheek. Relief gusted through her in consuming gales, echoed by a fierce rumbling beneath her ear and the gruff sob that broke against her brow.
‘‘Sophie . . . Sophie . . .’’ He spoke her name over and over. The water crested around them. Chad tried to lift her in his arms, but she felt the sudden give of his wounded shoulder. Pain contorted his features.
She flung an arm around his waist. Kicking until she found the seabed, she braced her feet, stretched to her full height and tipped her chin upward to steal breaths of air each time the waves dipped. Chad’s good arm tightened around her. Borrowing from each other’s remaining strength, they fought the undertow, struggling through the waves until they broke free of the water and collapsed together on dry land.
Then she was in his arms again, held so tight his desperate words vibrated through her. ‘‘I thought I’d lost you. I thought . . . Oh, God, it was like the nightmare. Rushing to reach you . . . fearing I’d never arrive in time . . .’’
His words dissolved as he sought out her shivering lips with his mouth. His own lips were cold and tasted of salt, yet from their first touch a fire blazed, howling through her with the knowledge of all that had nearly been lost, while thrumming with the promise of forever.
He drew back, yet his lips touched hers as he spoke. ‘‘Are you all right?’’
She managed a tremulous smile and slid her hand from around his nape to his shoulder. He winced. Blood trickled in threads down his soaking shirtfront. ‘‘You’re hurt badly.’’
‘‘It’s only blood. A bit of flesh.’’ Releasing a sound that was half sigh and half groan, he smiled with his eyes. ‘‘A small enough price.’’
‘‘One you’ve been all too willing to pay for my sake.’’ Her heart broke anew at how mistaken she had been about him, at how little faith she had put in this man who had proven himself to her time after time. Yes, he had made mistakes, serious ones, but to her he had never been anything but noble. ‘‘I was wrong to judge you so harshly, to treat you so ill. Wrong not to believe you about the ghosts.’’
His soft laugh traveled inside her, curling into a ball of warmth at her core. ‘‘None of that matters.’’
She wrapped herself around him and held on. He held her with equal fervor, and they lingered just beyond the water’s edge until their trembling began to subside.
Lightly she placed her fingertips near the ragged flesh inside his torn shirt. ‘‘However did you manage to overcome Kellyn?’’
‘‘I had help.’’ Turning, he pointed to three men who surrounded Kellyn some dozen yards away.
Sophie clutched Chad’s shirt and pulled back against him. ‘‘Who are they?’’
He stood and helped her to her feet, then thrust a possessive arm around her waist. ‘‘We’d best go find out. But I don’t think they mean us harm.’’
‘‘Lord Wycliffe,’’ called the one who wore a tweed cap, and whose probing eyes made Sophie fight the urge to shrink, ‘‘I’m Inspector John Haversham of Truro.’’ Boots splashing in the waves, he walked along the waterline and extended a hand.
Chad hesitated, his astonishment palpable. Then he shook the proffered hand. The inspector darted a glance at Sophie and touched a finger to the brim of his cap.
‘‘Miss St. Clair.’’
It was her turn to experience a shock of surprise. ‘‘You know who I am?’’
‘‘You are Cornelius St. Clair’s granddaughter, and you’re here staying with your relatives, the Gordons. Two of whom are in a fair amount of trouble, especially if they choose not to cooperate.’’
‘‘They’ll cooperate,’’ she said quickly. ‘‘I’m quite certain they will.’’
‘‘I’m very sorry you became caught up in all of this, Miss St. Clair.’’ Haversham tipped a respectful nod. ‘‘That was something we didn’t anticipate. If we had, we’d have taken pains to see to your safety.’’
Haversham’s associates pointed their guns at Kellyn as she came to her feet. One man held the rapier in his free hand. The other official stepped behind Kellyn and lashed her wrists together. When he had finished the task, they gestured toward the breakwater. All three started toward it.
Sophie gathered her dripping hair over one shoulder and squeezed the water out of it. ‘‘Inspector, what on earth is going on?’’
‘‘Yes, explanations are in order. I must admit, Lord Wycliffe, I thought you were onto me the other day, the way you stared up at me in my room at the Gull.’’
‘‘I knew there was something not right about you. You’re no fisherman. It shows in the way you move, and in those shrewd looks of yours.’’
‘‘I’ll bear that in mind the next time I conduct a c
overt investigation.’’
‘‘Investigation? You mean . . .’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am. My men and I have had our eyes on Lord Wycliffe for weeks now.’’ The inspector’s gaze drifted back to Chad. ‘‘We’ve been following you and anticipating your actions.’’
‘‘On more than one occasion I sensed that I was being watched.’’ When Haversham raised an eyebrow, Chad’s arm tightened about Sophie’s waist. ‘‘But I’ve already testified. I told the authorities everything I knew.’’
‘‘Quite true, my lord, but it was what you didn’t know that most interested us. We quickly established that the men you helped us apprehend were no more than lackeys, as were you yourself.’’
Chad stiffened, the edge of his profile sharpening. Sophie gave him a discreet nudge, and he blew out a breath. ‘‘I suppose you’re right.’’
‘‘Indeed, and that is why I sent you here,’’ the inspector said in a somber murmur.
The crash of the waves against the shore marked the passing of the seconds that followed. Chad’s face became an unreadable mask. His chest heaved. His fingers dug into Sophie’s waist, though she doubted he realized it.
The tension pulsing through the air prompted her to break the silence. ‘‘I don’t understand. What does that mean, you sent him here? Chad?’’
‘‘The message from Giles Watling.’’ His eyes fell closed, and the heel of his boot ground against the pebbles. Then he met the inspector’s gaze. ‘‘It was from you.’’
Haversham nodded. ‘‘Watling couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me what I needed to know. It seemed almost as if he feared retribution in the afterlife for betraying his leader.’’
‘‘Perhaps he did, Inspector.’’ Sophie pressed tighter to Chad’s side. ‘‘Kellyn did much to perpetuate the notion that Meg Keating’s ghost had returned. She half believed it herself, and I don’t doubt some of her people came to fear Meg’s curse.’’
‘‘An interesting theory, Miss St. Clair. You may be right.’’ Mr. Haversham tugged at his tweed cap. ‘‘However, Watling was willing to deliver my message to Lord Wycliffe in exchange for my pledge that his family wouldn’t starve in his . . . er . . . absence.’’
‘‘Good God,’’ Chad said with a shake of his head. ‘‘All this time I thought whoever summoned me here meant either to force me back into smuggling or to kill me.’’
Sophie pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
‘‘I’m sorry, Lord Wycliffe. But yes, I perpetrated a hoax against you. We were fairly certain the ringleader operated out of Penhollow, but the individual managed to elude us. I gambled that bringing you here would force that person to play his hand and with any luck make a mistake. It appears I was right, and we’re greatly indebted to you, my lord.’’ Haversham cast a glance at Kellyn, sitting on the rocks of the breakwater under the close guard of the other two inspectors. ‘‘I understand now why we were so fooled. We never dreamed it could be a woman.’’
Sophie pushed out of Chad’s hold. Hands on her hips, she took a stride closer to the inspector. ‘‘How could you have been so irresponsible? He might have been killed. It’s unconscionable, what you did. . . .’’
From behind Chad’s hands closed over her shoulders. ‘‘Sophie, it’s all right.’’
‘‘No, it is not all right.’’ She spun to face him. ‘‘Kellyn almost killed you. I watched from the boat. . . . She . . . Oh, your shoulder!’’ Fingers trembling, heart wrenching, she touched his bloodstained shirt. ‘‘It isn’t all right. . . .’’
‘‘Shh. It is.’’ His arms went around her, holding her close while she sobbed against his drenched shirtfront.
Clearing his throat, the inspector shuffled away.
Chad raised her face and caressed her lips with kisses that fired a raging tenderness inside her. The tears fell faster. He wiped them away first with the backs of his fingers, then with warm sweeps of his mouth across her cheeks. ‘‘Please don’t cry, Sophie. It was all worth it, every moment.’’
She pressed her face to his sodden collar. ‘‘How could it be?’’
‘‘Because I have you back in my arms, and . . . dare I believe that you are beginning, perhaps, to trust me again? And to forgive me?’’
Through her sobs, through the lingering horror of how close they had both come to losing their lives, she tightened her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips. ‘‘I do forgive you, and I more than trust you.’’
Chapter 26
Sophie’s quiet avowal traveled inside Chad. He wished only to go on holding her, kissing her, reveling in her willingness to let him. Yet part of him feared to believe the evidence of his own ears; he hesitated also to read too much into her words: I more than trust you.
Did that mean her feelings for him ran deeper? Or was she merely overwhelmed by the day’s events? She had been kidnapped. They had just dragged each other from the water, had narrowly avoided drowning. Either of them might have been killed by Kellyn or Grady. Of course Sophie felt grateful, immensely relieved that they were now safe. But once time passed, what would prevent her disappointment in him from roaring back?
His questions must wait. First he must get her off this blustery beach and into dry clothes, and begin putting this nightmare behind them.
Out in the open water a schooner rounded the breakwater. Even from the distance Ian’s sandy hair and sturdy frame stood out against the clouds and surf behind him. Positioned at the ship’s helm, he maneuvered the fishing vessel alongside Grady’s drifting sailboat. A deckhand lowered a rope ladder. Two men climbed down while, from above, several others held weapons at the ready. Then Ian relinquished the wheel to a shipmate and climbed down as well.
Sophie held a hand above her eyes to shield them from the glare. ‘‘I doubt Grady’s capable of giving them much trouble, even if he has regained consciousness.’’ Her chattering teeth gave a guilty nibble at her bottom lip. ‘‘I hit him rather hard with the oar.’’
‘‘Grady deserved it.’’ Grabbing her close again, Chad pressed his lips to her forehead. His intrepid Sophie.
‘‘The schooner reminds me . . . There was another ship waiting on the horizon.’’ Gazing over her head, he squinted farther out to sea. ‘‘Damn. It’s gone now.’’
Had Kellyn or Grady signaled the waiting vessel away? More likely the arrival of the schooner had frightened off the crew.
‘‘It was where Kellyn and Grady were taking me,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘Grady said that with me aboard the authorities wouldn’t dare fire upon the ship, and they’d have a chance to escape.’’ Her hand closed tightly over his forearm. ‘‘Chad, the topsail. Did you see it?’’
He turned his gaze from the sea and cupped a hand to her cheek, his fingertips shaking as the full realization of what they had faced today hit him. ‘‘Black upon red.’’
‘‘Do you think . . . ?’’
‘‘Yes. It’s sheer lunacy, but it fits the legend.’’ The Keatings’ clipper had supposedly flown just such a topsail from its mainmast—a red background emblazoned with a black rose, a standard of blood and death. The mere sight was said to have struck despair into the hearts of sailors, who would surrender with barely a fight. ‘‘My God, to think that Kellyn emulated Meg Keating to the point of creating a modern-day version of the Ebony Rose.’’
‘‘You called her daughter Ellie Rose.’’ When he nodded, Sophie went on. ‘‘Ellie Rose. Ebony Rose. The lives of Kellyn and Meg are twisted into an impossible knot, a deadly one. And I wonder . . .’’
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘Could Kellyn’s actions have anything to do with the sword she stole from the drawing room? You remember the strange energy we felt in its mate. If those swords did belong to Meg and Jack, perhaps . . .’’
Chad shook his head. ‘‘No, Sophie. While the swords may carry an energy, or an echo from the past, I don’t believe they possess the power to make an individual act contrary to his or her nature. You and I both held Jack’s sword.
We each felt the vibration, but neither of us felt compelled to perform wicked deeds of any sort.’’
‘‘Then what did prompt Kellyn to commit such atrocities?’’
‘‘Perhaps it’s time we found out.’’
On the rocks of the breakwater Kellyn sat hunched, head down, hands tied behind her back. Her bright hair streamed around her face and shoulders. As he and Sophie approached, they heard Inspector Haversham questioning her.
‘‘Where is your ship hiding?’’
‘‘At sea.’’ She scowled up at him. ‘‘You’ll never find it.’’
‘‘Of course we will. How many are aboard?’’
‘‘A dozen. All well-armed and fearless.’’
The inspector’s eyebrows went up. ‘‘Perhaps they’ll find something to fear when they learn their leader has been apprehended.’’
Kellyn shrugged and returned her brooding stare to the ground. She seemed shrunken and pallid, a shadow of the vigorous woman Chad had known, or thought he had known.
‘‘I almost feel sorry for her,’’ Sophie said in his ear.
He understood. Even now he had trouble reconciling the notion of a cold-blooded killer with the woman he had met at the Stormy Gull.
They stopped in front of her, and he dragged a hand through his hair. ‘‘Why, Kellyn?’’
She squinted up at him, her pale eyes devoid of emotion. ‘‘He took her to France. I didn’t want her to go—I knew the dangers—but they both insisted. It was to be special. Father and daughter. What could a mother do? I relented, and she went.’’
‘‘It was for her birthday,’’ Chad murmured.
Kellyn flinched. ‘‘How could you know that?’’
‘‘Ellie Rose told me. What happened next?’’
An agony of pain twisted her features. ‘‘On the return trip they were to put in at Penhollow to drop off cargo. It was part of the usual run. To the French coast for goods, then stops at Penhollow, Mullion and then home to Porthleven. This time, as they reached the coast, a storm kicked up. The ship was dragged into the headland, smashed by the surf against the rocks over and over again. They fired their distress flares—’’ With a wrenching groan, she broke off.
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