Martha hesitated, but then nodded; it was a solid plan. “All right.” But the thought of leaving him was . . . painful.
His stern expression shifted into a sweet, gentle smile that Martha wouldn’t have believed his wicked lips capable of forming. “A kiss for luck.”
And then he lowered his mouth over hers and physical sensation swamped her. His lips were warm and firm; his scent was an earthy mix of male sweat and fresh air; and his body felt huge and hard against hers.
The tip of his tongue, soft and slick, flicked over her tightly pursed lips and she relaxed under the gentle caress. He made a low rumbling sound in his chest and then pulled away. Martha swayed toward him, her body following his.
“Sorry our first kiss was so quick and clumsy, sweetheart,” he murmured in a husky voice. “But I had to taste you. Now stay here.” He turned and was gone in a heartbeat.
Martha stared after him, her jaw sagging. He’d called it their first kiss. That implied there would be more, didn’t it?
◆◆◆
Hugo’s heart was pounding—partly out of worry for Martha’s safety and Cailean’s whereabouts, but mostly because of inconvenient-as-hell lust.
He was disgusted with himself; how could he be hard at a time like this? There must be something deeply deviant about his character: he was marching into a potentially dangerous situation and sporting a full-blown stand.
His mouth pulled into a grin. Well, why the hell not? After all, he did all his best work with an erection, didn’t he?
The cave widened abruptly, becoming almost twice as broad and several times higher than the passageway. Hugo caught his breath. Good God; it was like a bloody cathedral. The light from his lamp cast eerie shadows in all the nooks, crannies, some of which looked deep enough to be tunnels or other caves.
A scuffing sound echoed in the room and Hugo pivoted, his right hand clenched into a fist and at the ready.
Martha jumped and yelped. “It’s me! I’m sorry—”
“It’s all right,” he whispered, although he doubted anyone lurking in the caves could have failed to hear her screech. “Come along and stay close. Let’s make sure we’re alone.”
It took a good ten minutes to check each of the caves.
It wasn’t until they entered the third system of tunnels that they found evidence of human habitation; somebody had spread out knitted blankets where deep sand covered the hard rock floor.
“Those must be the blankets Mrs. Mason said went missing.”
Hugo gestured to a pile of what looked to be chicken bones. “Maybe it wasn’t the dog taking the Mrs. Simpson’s hens, after all.”
In the next cave they found the remains of a fire. “How could anyone have a fire in here?” Hugo asked, his voice echoing eerily.
Martha lifted the lantern and they both looked up. The ceiling went and up and up, narrowing like a chimney before disappearing into darkness.
“I know where this comes out,” Martha said. “There is a crack in the earth.”
Hugo scattered the fire pit ashes with his boot. “I wonder if this is where the convicts hid before getting off the island?”
“If so, that would certainly mean the islanders helped them.”
Which is what Hugo had suspected all along.
“Well, none of that matters now,” he said, and then paused. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
He laid a finger across his lips and they both froze to listen.
Martha recognized the sound, first. “Oh no, Hugo—that’s water!”
Hugo grabbed her hand, and they ran.
Chapter 18
There was about eight inches of water in the tunnel that led out of the main cave.
“Can we make it?” Hugo asked.
She chewed her lip and frowned as a swell rolled in, doubling the water level in the blink of an eye. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”
“How long will we be here?”
“Um, twelve hours.”
Hugo said something astoundingly vulgar. “Sorry,” he muttered abstractedly.
“Somebody might come get us by boat when Mrs. Fergusson tells people where we’ve gone.” Martha didn’t add that was extremely unlikely with the herring run going on. None of the Stroma fishermen would want to interrupt laying out their drift nets to rescue two people who were perfectly safe.
Well, except for Robert.
If he learned she was in the Gloup with Hugo he’d come get them—or at least Martha. She grimaced at that thought.
Hugo paced a small circuit of the cavern, frowning. “I’m relieved Cailean’s not down here but I wish we’d had the time to look in that other tunnel.”
“I know you are, Hugo, but we didn’t.”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “Very well then, I’ll stop fretting like a hen with a chick. We are here for the nonce and that is that. I suppose we should extinguish one of the lamps so we’ll have enough oil to make our way out. How long do these things usually last?”
“They were full, so perhaps another four or five hours.” She shivered; it would be utterly dark if they turned both off.
“What is it, Miss Martha—afraid of the dark?” he asked, his taunt an echo of her earlier teasing.
“You are so droll, Mr. Hugo Buckingham.” Martha extinguished her lamp and placed it against the cave wall. “You should shorten your wick,” she told him.
For some reason that made him laugh, but he turned the key-shaped knob until the light was a mere glow.
He pointed toward where the water lapped gently at the sandy shore of the cave. “How high will that get?”
“Perhaps a foot?”
“Let’s stay here, then.”
“Shall we bring over the blankets to sit on and fetch some water from that smaller cave?”
“Good idea.” He lifted the lamp and led the way.
Martha found part of a clay jug and held it beneath the rivulet of water dripping from the darkness above them. “It’s fresh,” she said, offering some to Hugo.
He glanced at the cave wall, which was slimy, and pulled a face. “I’ll have some when I get desperate.”
“Is that how all city dwellers are—pernickety?”
“That’s how this city dweller is but help
