“But you cannot go alone—”
“I must. There is no time to waste.”
“Some of our footmen could accompany you.”
“You can send them after me if you wish.”
With the discussion of such specific details, Kate finally began thinking more clearly. Her pistol and dagger were in her valise at the cottage. She should stop there first.
“The map, Gabrielle,” she urged her friend. “Please hurry.”
—
She detoured to the cottage to fetch her weapons, then retraced her steps to the livery, where she claimed a horse and showed the map to the head ostler. Fortuitously, he recognized the inlet where the cave was located and, although still reluctant to risk greater involvement, promised to direct Captain Halsey there if he arrived.
As soon as possible, Kate set out on the coastal road, which was flanked by a pine forest. Yet once away from Gabrielle’s steadying influence, she could feel panic welling in her stomach again. And even though she managed to find the first junctions and other identifying markings indicated on the map without much difficulty, the journey gave her too much time to think.
Her darkest imaginings returned to assault her, and in addition to fear, she was filled with regrets and recriminations. Deverill could die without ever knowing how she felt. She had waited too long to tell him of her love. Just now she would have married him in an instant, even if he never returned her regard, but she might never get the chance.
After some quarter hour, Kate turned off the road, onto a sandy lane that wound down to the estuary and a pretty cove the color of aquamarine.
Upon reaching the shore, she turned left to ride along a narrow beach toward a rock cliff where the cave was supposedly located. The sun sat at its zenith, making the sand hazy with heat. Soon Kate was perspiring, and yet chilled with nerves at the same time.
She slowed when, ahead, she glimpsed a waiting wagon and team, along with several saddled horses. But with no sign of their owners in sight, she felt a measure of relief.
The strip of beach was fast disappearing when she dismounted and made her way on foot. Thankfully, she soon spied an entrance in the rock face of the cliff, worn smooth by centuries of tidal waters. Upon reaching it, Kate paused to hide her dagger under her skirts, tucked inside her garter. Then, taking a deep breath, she gripped her pistol and ducked inside.
The tunnel was far darker than the beach, but high enough that she could stand upright. Kate knew another temporary moment of relief, for the waves rolling in from the cove had not quite reached the passageway. It was unlikely that Deverill would have drowned just yet.
However, moisture from sea spray clung to the walls and made the rock surface slippery beneath her feet. Treading warily, she carefully felt her way along the wall. When her eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness, she could see a faint glow at the end of the tunnel, perhaps from a burning torch.
She had only moved another few steps, though, when a harsh male voice called out in challenge, setting her heart thrashing in her chest.
—
Gritting her teeth, Kate disregarded the command to halt and continued moving forward. The tunnel opened into a cave roughly half the size of a country barn. When she stepped inside, she saw three of Louvel’s brigands standing guard at the rear of the cave. However, she failed to notice the fourth who suddenly appeared on her right. She was no match for the brute, so although she put up a struggle, he disarmed her with humiliating ease.
He grinned, flashing a gold tooth, then taunted her in French. “Now who have we here? You seem to have lost your way, mademoiselle.”
Ignoring him, Kate glanced around the cave, which was indeed lit by torchlight. No goods were stashed there, but the contraption at the rear of the sloping cave floor resembled a low cage with rusted metal bars. Worse, the sharp downward slant ensured that any seawater entering the tunnel would collect there at the end, submerging the cage, until eventually draining through fissures in the rock with the receding tide.
The drowning cell, she realized with horror.
Deverill sat inside, leaning back against the bars, his knees upraised casually but his arms tied behind him. He watched without expression as Kate’s captor herded her toward the cell.
With a key retrieved from a shelf cut in the rock, the pirate unlocked the padlock that secured the cell door, then shoved her inside. Kate had to crouch to avoid hitting her head, but at the moment she only had eyes for Deverill.
He looked half angry, half exasperated, and when he spoke, his drawl was biting. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Taken aback by his ungrateful tone, Kate sank to her knees before him. “I had some notion of trying to prevent your drowning.”
“All you accomplished was to get yourself captured.”
Her alarm rose as she searched his face. He must have suffered a head wound for the cravat around his neck was darkly stained where his scalp had bled.
“You are injured,” she murmured in dismay.
“It is nothing,” Deverill replied tersely.