Hugo could only hope.
As the minutes turned to hours, his bound hands and feet swelled and became numb, so he gave up on trying to free himself from his bindings. He drifted in and out of a miserable doze for a few hours. But it was a nightmare-riddled sleep that left him even more exhausted.
It was his bladder that woke him. He tried to be thankful that he’d taken a piss before bedtime, so he didn’t really start to suffer until just before dawn.
There was only a hint of pale gray light coming through the windows when Hugo decided he could wait no longer.
He’d just rolled onto his side—rather than urinate on his stomach—when he heard movement outside the meeting house and the door swung open.
If he’d not been in excruciating pain both inside and out, he would have laughed. He doubted the modest young woman could have looked more shocked if she’d opened the door to a full-blown Roman orgy.
Her hands flew to her mouth and her eyes grew comically huge as they rested on his Man Thomas, which—predictably—did some significant growing of its own now that it had an audience.
Hugo closed his eyes, rolled onto his back, and let his head drop to the hard, gritty floor with a dull thunk. Naked, bound, and sporting a cock stand—and to think he’d spent the night believing things could not get any worse.
◆◆◆
Martha would never be able to look Hugo in the face again without bursting into flame.
His sexual organ, she could now verify, was prodigious. Or at least it seemed so to her. For all she knew an organ that length and girth lurked in every man’s trousers.
Not only had it been huge, but it hadn’t looked at all like she’d expected—not that she thought about such a thing. Or at least not much.
It had been ridged and curved and darker than the rest of his skin. The top had been domed and fatter than the shaft.
And most shockingly, it had movedindependently of the rest of his body when she’d looked at it—almost like it was sentient.
Martha shivered—how was it possible for a woman to take such a monstrous instrument into her body?
The wanton, wicked, and unholy though made her shiver with another emotion entirely and she fled to the back of the meeting house, leaving Cailean to untie Hugo.
Fortunately, the other two men, while missing their shirts and trousers, at least retained their smallclothes. As Martha liberated Lorn and Mr. Franks, she tried not to think about why it was so easy to keep her eyes away from theirhips.
Once the men were free, Martha left Cailean in charge and ran all the way to the Greedy Vicar. The first thing she noticed after flinging open the door were four strangers standing at the bar talking to Joe Cameron, the innkeeper.
Joe smiled. “Ah, here is the lady who has been taking such good care of five of your survivors. You know Mr. McCoy, do you not, Martha?”
Martha knew of the arrogant sheriff from Wick, but she was too breathless from running to speak.
Mr. Clark, who was sitting at a table enjoying one of the Greedy Vicar’s hearty breakfasts, shoved back his chair and strode toward her. “Miss Martha, is something amiss?”
“The prisoners …” She paused, panting.
Shock and fear tightened Mr. Clark’s handsome features. “Did he do something—”
“They’ve run,” she wheezed out.
“All of them?”
“No, just two.”
“Two of them escaped?” McCoy repeated, his expression grim.
Martha nodded and McCoy turned to the men beside him and they spoke among themselves before he glanced at Mr. Clark. “My men could use help from somebody who knows the island.”
Mr. Clark hesitated; the other islanders would not approve of assisting any arm of the law—for any reason.
“I’ll help,” Clark said.
Martha somehow suspected that the gleam of anticipation in his eyes was because he believed Hugo was among the escapees. He must dislike Hugo a great deal because his cooperation with the authorities would not endear him to his neighbors, many of whom kept stills or ill-gotten goods hidden on their property.
Martha lingered to watch the men split into two groups and leave while other islanders began to trickle in, no doubt having seen McCoy’s boat and wondering what was afoot.
She’d just declined—with regret—Joe Cameron’s offer of breakfast and was about to go back to the meeting house when she discovered that Mr. Devlin and Mr. Parker were not the only ones who’d disappeared.
◆◆◆
The final count was twelve missing.
As Martha headed back to the meeting house, she couldn’t help wondering how twelve men had sneaked away in the dead of night unnoticed. Something told her that they’d had help.
Cailean was standing with her father when Martha arrived.
“It seems Mr. Devlin and Mr. Parker weren’t the only ones to run last night,” Martha told her father.
Hugo’s blanket-shrouded figure appeared in the open doorway of the meeting house. “How many?”
“Twelve.”
“Bloody hell! How the devil did so many get off the island?”
For once, she ignored his foul language. “Nobody knows. There are no boats missing.”
“That means they had help.”
Albert Franks appeared beside Hugo, wrapped in another blanket, reminding her that she’d forgotten to beg for more clothing when she’d been at the pub.
She also recalled the other, not-so-good news she had to share.
“What is it?” Hugo demanded, as if he counted mind-reading among his many annoying abilities.
“Mr. McCoy is here from Wick with the ship’s manifest.”
“Bloody fucking wonderful.” The furious man whirled on his heel and stomped back into the meeting hall, his blanket fluttering behind him like a cape. “I don’t suppose there’s another pair of trousers lying about?” he shouted from inside the building, the glass in the windows vibrating with the strength of his anger.
Albert slumped as if the weight of the world had descended on his shoulders.
Martha knew exactly how he felt and there was no lying to herself about the reason: Hugo was leaving today.
Chapter 10
After Martha had delivered the unhappy news to the men who remained in
