Laughing, she drew away. “Don’t forget your brother.”
He knelt, stifling a groan, and loosened Niall’s bonds, grasping his hand to help him up. They embraced hard, then drew back and met each other’s eyes. Niall raised a questioning brow.
Trick nodded. “Let’s go get them.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
THE VILLAINS were already at the quay in the distance, unloading the wagons into a broad-beamed, single-masted boat. Or rather, the men were unloading. Rhona was wringing her hands. An agitated ferryman was alternately assisting and barking orders short-tempered enough to cut through the wind and the rain all the way to Trick’s ears.
“No more, I tell you! She cannot hold it! And the tide has turned—we must leave, or we won’t clear the harbor mouth—”
His words were cut off when Gregor turned a pistol on him. “Faster!” he shouted, shooting a shocked and then furious glance to where Trick and the others thundered closer on their horses. “Faster!”
“Enough!” the ferryman cried. “Take the last two off! She’ll sink, I tell you!”
As the tide flooded out, the water level dropped between the two great stone piers that thrust east and west, the hundred-foot gap between them the only exit from Burntisland’s harbor. In minutes, it would be too shallow and dangerous to navigate.
Trick reached the quay, his wife and brother arriving on Chaucer’s heels. In unison they dropped to the dock, throwing their reins over a rail.
Ignoring the warnings, Gregor and the other two men thrust the last chest onboard and shoved off, the boat so laden there was barely room to stand. With a shouted oath, the ferryman jumped to the dock in the last instant, sputtering as the craft pulled away, already taking on water. In mute but panicked agreement, Gregor’s helpers abandoned ship as well, leaping into the chilly harbor.
The boat’s sails billowed, and it lurched forward, nearing the harbor mouth. Trick untied a smaller boat and scrambled aboard. “You, come!” he shouted to Niall. When Kendra made to follow, he waved her back. “You stay here!”
“A pox on you!” she screamed. With a running leap, she cleared the gap just as the boat pulled away.
Cursing under his breath, he shot a glance at the other boat floundering its way into open water. No time to argue, no time to turn back. He turned livid eyes on Kendra. “Have you learned nothing today?”
Niall grabbed two oars and began rowing. Before long, the ferryman looked like a tiny toy doll back on the quay, pacing and pounding his fists into the air. Another rumble of thunder ripped through the heavens.
“Look!” Kendra gasped.
From the west, a dense black cloud was sweeping down the firth.
“Rot it!” Trick had spent enough time aboard ships to know what that meant. Saying a quick prayer for the souls aboard the already-faltering boat, he snatched up the second set of oars to help row toward the laden ship, his ribs throbbing with every stroke. “If we transfer a chest or two aboard,” he panted, planning as he went, “maybe we can lighten the load enough for the ferry to make it back. Niall, help me move them. Kendra, when I pull alongside, take the oars and try to keep her in place.”
With the storm bearing down, he hadn’t the luxury of being angry with her at the moment. He would use her now, and yell at her later for complicating everything.
Stubborn girl. Always doing exactly as she pleased. Riding out by herself and getting them trapped into marriage, showing up at a highwayman raid when he’d expressly told her not to, running after him to Scotland, following him to Burntisland. And now this.
A few minutes later, they bumped up against the bucking ferry. “Now!”
He leapt across, his landing painful but safe. Niall followed and dashed to the nearest chest. Blast, it was heavy—not easily moved by three men, and Trick was one injured man with a lad. But necessity bred strength, and together they wrestled it to the rail.
Frantically bailing water, Gregor and Rhona failed to notice them until they’d already half-shoved the chest onto their craft. A scrape and a clunk, and it was aboard—and Gregor rounded on Trick with a vengeance.
Trick took a punch to the gut that glanced off his tender ribs. He doubled over, wheezing in pain before he gathered force and returned the favor, smashing a fist into the older man’s face. Niall added his own blow to the midsection, and Gregor stumbled backward, landing hard in a foot of water.
The ferry was pitching and yawing, slashing rain pounding its decks. As Gregor struggled to his feet, the vessel abruptly tilted. Thrown against the rail, Rhona screamed. One of the chests skidded past her, missing her by inches, and crashed over the side, taking a section of railing and Rhona along with it.
“Rhona!” Gregor scrambled after her, grabbing for her hand as she slid from the deck, their fingertips grazing but failing to grip. Trick leapt to keep Gregor from going overboard, his arms around the man’s waist slamming him back into his abused body, while Niall jumped in to save Rhona.
Tossed on the roiling firth, Niall’s head swung wildly in search, but she’d already slipped beneath the waves. He disappeared after her. Bracing between two chests, Trick grimaced and hung on to Gregor, holding his breath until his brother’s blond head broke the surface, the woman draped limp on his back.
Niall fought his way to the vessel’s outer ladder, shoving her aboard before clambering up himself, fighting the wind and the rain.
Gregor wrenched from Trick’s grasp and threw himself on his wife while Niall lay on deck, panting, water washing over him and into his open mouth.
“We’ve got to move another one!” Trick yelled. “She’s still taking water!”
Niall nodded and pushed himself up.
“Trick!” Kendra’s panicked voice came thready through the storm. “It’s slipping!”
He rushed to the other side of the ship. Tossing wildly, the smaller boat had drifted
