oars and bent to. Silently their boat cleaved through the waves, leaving the others in their small flotilla drifting, dipping their oars only to hold their position strung out in a line parallel to the beach.
In one, Madeline glimpsed Charles saluting them.
Gradually the rocky point drew near. On the beach proper, the retreating tide had left a ten-yard strip of reasonably dry sand at the base of the towering cliffs. Her lungs tight, nerves taut, Madeline searched the cove, scanning furiously every time the swell raised them high enough for a clear view; finding the figure she sought, she groped blindly for Gervase, found his arm and gripped, pointing. “There. Edmond.”
Her brother was a small figure made even smaller because he was sitting cross-legged close to the cliffs, between the point they were heading for and the center of the cove where, as Harry and Ben had predicted, the attention of all others on the beach was concentrated.
Flares-tall poles wrapped with oil-soaked rags-were planted in the sand in a large ring, creating a circle of light that made the shadows immediately beyond even darker. Edmond sat at the edge of the flickering glow. The awkward angle of his arms suggested his hands were tied behind him.
In the heavily lighted area ringed by the flares, many men were digging, sifting through the heavy sand. Other than one man guarding Edmond, no lookouts had been posted on the beach. All activity, all attention, was focused on the excavation; they didn’t expect to be interrupted, certainly not via the sea.
Madeline recognized some of the men digging, and her heart sank. Leaning into Gervase, she whispered, “The Miller boys.” John Miller’s two sons.
Gervase followed her gaze, grimly nodded. “And the Kidsons from Predannack.”
The night would have repercussions beyond those they’d anticipated. Earlier Madeline had glimpsed a man in a greatcoat, but now they were closer, the bodies were harder to distinguish, shifting and merging in the flickering light of the flares.
She leaned toward Dalziel. “Can you see your man?” Her whisper was little more than a breath; they were sliding slowly in to the rocky point.
His gaze locked on the beach, Dalziel shook his head. “But he’s there somewhere-they wouldn’t be digging so assiduously otherwise.”
Gervase tapped her arm, signaled to her and Dalziel to stop talking. Then he shifted forward to where an oarsman in the prow was checking the depth.
They were relying on the experience of the helmsman and oarsmen to bring the boat in smoothly and silently to the rocky point, close enough that they could slip over the side and wade to the beach. The sound of the waves breaking on the rocks and the froth and spume would give them cover, both for sound and sight.
Madeline looked again at Edmond. The man guarding him was relatively short, scrawny, not a local. The man’s attention wasn’t on Edmond, or on the stretch of beach beyond him, or the deeper shadows hugging the base of the cliffs at Edmond’s back; like everyone else, the guard was watching the activity in the center of the beach.
Gervase tapped her arm again, then, like a seal, he slipped over the side and was gone. The boat bobbed, and there he was, standing, the water across his chest, below his shoulders.
Madeline gripped the edge of the boat, swung one leg over, then let herself fall. Gervase caught her, righted her before a wave could swamp her. He took a firm grip on her arm. Then Dalziel was in the water on her other side; he grasped her other arm. Each of them took the weapons the smugglers passed them, blades unsheathed, then they were moving, steadily wading to the beach.
Even in the water, both men moved with their customary animalistic, predatory grace; between them, Madeline was swept effortlessly along. She barely had time to register the water’s coldness.
They came onto the beach among the rocks; crouching, they slipped undetected into the dense shadows at the base of the cliffs. They waited, watched, but the men on the beach had no inkling they, or the boats, were there. The group’s attention remained fixed on their excavations; Edmond must have been entirely convincing.
Her lungs tight, every nerve stretched taut, Madeline glanced back; even though she knew the boat had been there, she could no longer see it. The five smugglers had slipped out beyond the first breakers as silently as they’d slipped in.
The oncoming storm and its elemental effects-the crash of the waves, the rising shriek of the wind-was now an advantage; it would mask their approach, the sound of their footsteps in the sand submerged beneath the unrelenting rumble and roar.
Gervase, ahead of her, glanced back and signaled. They straightened; in single file, hugging the cliff face, they moved stealthily, steadily, closer to Edmond.
Madeline gave thanks he was looking away from them, stoically watching the men dig. He seemed entirely unperturbed, as if he knew it would be only a matter of time before rescue arrived. A typical Gascoigne trait, that unshakable belief in his own invulnerability.
Gervase halted less than two yards from Edmond; she halted beside him, and Dalziel halted behind her. An instant later, she felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked around as Dalziel slipped past her, then past Gervase, to take the lead.
Dalziel’s target-the traitor, their villain-was somewhere on the beach. Madeline stared, trying to see each man clearly, but again the shifting bodies defeated her. The man in the greatcoat she’d spotted earlier had merged into the melee.
This was their moment of greatest danger. Exposed, in the shadows yet perfectly visible if any thought to look their way, they had to wait until Charles saw them in position, then marshaled the boats for the beaching. How long that might take-
A sudden roar reached them, one that owed nothing to wind or water. Five boats came crashing onto the beach, carried on the crest of a single large wave. In the prow of one, his black hair in tight curls, a sword flashing in his hand, Charles looked every inch a pirate. The instant the keels grated on sand, men poured over the boats’ sides, brandishing swords and long knives.
The wreckers, momentarily stunned-long enough for all the fighters in the boats to gain the beach-abruptly came to their senses and sent up an answering roar. There was a mad scramble for weapons, then the two groups clashed; sand churned and flew.
Madeline snapped her attention back to her own task-the sense of Gervase slipping away pulled her back. She saw him glide behind Edmond, enthralled with the battle raging before him, toward the guard, who was clearly dithering over whether to stay with Edmond or join the fray.
Dalziel had disappeared.
Gervase reached the guard, drew near. Sensing something, the man started to turn; Gervase struck him on the skull with his sword hilt. The man crumpled.
Seeing Gervase, Edmond struggled to his feet. Madeline caught him by the shoulders. “No-stay down!”
Dropping back to his knees, he turned wide eyes on her. “Maddie?”
“Yes, it’s me. Hold still while I cut you loose.” There was, she noted, not an ounce of fright let alone terror in Edmond’s voice; he was excited, eager to join in. “Our job,” she told him, sawing through the ropes, “is to guard Gervase’s back.”
“All right.” Edmond was all but quivering with eagerness.
“There.” Pulling the ropes away, she stood. She waited while Edmond rubbed his wrists and got to his feet. He turned to her, and she handed him the short knife she’d used to cut the ropes. “This is for you.”
She knew her brothers very well.
Eyes shining, Edmond seized the knife. “Where-”
“You and I are supposed to stay here-me a little back from Gervase’s left, you a trifle further back, on his right.” Looking at Gervase’s broad-shouldered back, Edmond shuffled back a fraction. Madeline nodded. “Yes-like that. Now we’re in position to make sure no one attacks him while he’s defending us.”
Edmond nodded, eyes on the writhing mass of bodies, flailing and flinging themselves at each other. The clang of metal on metal sang over the waves’ roar; for a moment, Madeline felt detached, as if the pitched battle were a dream she was observing from a safe distance…then two men staggered back from the pack.
Large, heavyset, they weren’t locals. She saw them exchange a glance, a few snarled words, then they left the group and came running up the beach, churning through the sand toward her and Edmond, with Gervase ranged before them. The men targeted Gervase, focused their fury and fear on him. They looked set to fling themselves, blades flashing, on him-but in the instant before they did, he fluidly shifted; his sword swung out in a powerful arc, slicing one of the men’s upper arm.
