“We'll go across the cliff top.” Julian turned his horse aside, through a break in the hedge. “I've no mind to approach through the front door on this errand.”
Gabriel followed, and they galloped across the flat turf of the cliff toward the gray house, looming unkempt and unlit out of the darkness.
“Just a minute!” Julian hauled back on the reins.
“There's a light down in the cove. Who would be taking a boat out at this time of night? It's too dark for crabbing. “
They drew rein at the head of the cliff and looked downward. A lantern flickered and wavered on the beach below; the surf crashed and boiled against a rocky outcrop at one side of the cove, before tumbling in a line of foam along the shore.
“We struck gold, Colonel,” Gabriel murmured, swinging off his horse. “I think that's the scum down there.”
“I believe you're right.” Julian too dismounted, and they tethered their mounts to a scraggly thorn bush, bent out of shape by exposure to the blasts of the sea wind. He was filled now with a calm, cold determination. He wanted Tamsyn in his hands, and he would unleash the full force of his bitter hurt… his deep contempt for her lying, cheating, blackmailing soul. But perhaps she wasn't down there on the beach. It was always possible she had carried off her coup and was on her way back to Tregarthan with the Penhallan diamonds tucked in her shirt.
But somehow he knew that wasn't the case. Gesturing to Gabriel, he inched over the cliff top and found the narrow ribbon of path snaking down to the beach through the scree and scrub. It was hidden from the beach by a cliff overhang at the very bottom, and when they reached the overhang, they dropped soundlessly onto the sand, ducking behind a rock to observe the scene.
The twins were sitting on the sand, and a fragrant curl of blue smoke rose from a cigar David was smoking. Between them was a bottle of cognac. Pulled up at the shoreline was a rowboat. They were talking and laughing in low voices, and Julian felt the skin on the back of his neck contract. He'd heard that sound before. He'd seen them like this. Relaxed, satiated. Taking a break before they returned to the cringing, battered little girl who had lain on the grass in front of them.
He stared in cold dread, expecting to see the glint of silver hair against the sand, the diminutive figure, pale and naked, her torn clothes scattered over the ground where they'd been stripped from her body.
But he could see nothing in the wavering light of the lantern on the sand, or the weaker light of the moon.
Gabriel had drawn a knife from his belt, and his gray eyes flickered sideways in a silent message. Julian nodded, his hand closing over his pistol.
They slipped, two powerful wraiths, from the concealment of the rocks and approached the two men.
Tamsyn lay in the bottom of the boat, her nose pressed to the gunwales as she fought wave after wave of nausea. The drug Cedric had given her was wearing off, but her head was still muzzy and the nausea was almost impossible to control. She fought it grimly, dreading the thought of lying in her own vomit, trussed as she was like a Christmas goose. Her hands were tied behind her back and then roped to her ankles. She'd still been unconscious when they'd done that, but not later… when they'd pawed her, opened her shirt, lifted her skirt…
She closed her eyes tightly and hung on through another wave of sickness. So far that was all they'd done. She'd given no sign that she was conscious, and they were going to wait until she came to before they really settled down to enjoy themselves. Charles's drunken slur played in her head, his lewd chuckle as he said that there was no pleasure in necrophilia. David had muttered something about the governor, and then he too had laughed and put his hand roughly inside her shirt. Then they'd left her and she'd heard them on the beach, talking and laughing. They'd come over several times to look at her, and she'd stayed inert, her face pressed against the rough wood of the gunwales as her mind slowly cleared and she tried to think how she was to get out of this particular pickle.
It seemed as insoluble as the situation with Cornichet. Whether rape was a softer alternative to flaying was something she cared not to debate. Her death was the ultimate intention both then and now. If only she didn't feel so sick… but, then, perhaps if she vomited all over the loathsome twins, they'd find her too disgusting even for rape.
It was a possibility. They'd have to lift her out and put her on the sand, since presumably the narrow and awkward shape of the rowboat didn't lend itself to leisurely violation. And presumably they'd have to loosen her bonds. And then, if she was violently sick, it would take them off guard, and if she had some room to maneuver, maybe she could do something.
It was a forlorn plan but all she had. She lay still, listening, waiting for a change in the tempo of their voices, a footfall in the sand that would indicate an approach.
What she heard was a soft, sighing sound, a thump, a shuffling of sand. Then footsteps. Tamsyn struggled onto her back. Moonlight shone on her white face, where beads of sweat dewed her forehead and the hard lines of the timbers were imprinted on her cheek.
Julian was looking down at her. How had he come to be there? His body was very still, and his blue eyes were hard and bright and questioning, and she could feel his anger and his resentment in every aching bone of her body. Tears of weakness sprang to her eyes as she lay still, gazing up at him. Now he knew everything. His knowledge burned in his eyes and scorched her with his contempt.
Then Gabriel came up beside him, and his warm, loving anxiety poured over her. “Och, little girl, how could you do this to me?” he said, bending to lift her.
But abruptly, Julian pushed him aside. “Leave her to me.” It was a harsh command issued on a ragged breath, but Gabriel took a step back.
Julian bent over her, slipped his hands beneath. her, and lifted her up. The motion, the change in position was too much. With a groan Tamsyn turned her head away from his body and vomited miserably onto the sand, splashing his boots.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I knew it would happen the minute I moved.”
“It doesn't matter,” he said, and the gentleness of his voice surprised them both. He set her down on the sand, and she rolled onto her side, retching feebly while he cut the ropes that bound her. When she finished, he wiped her mouth with his handkerchief and took the twins' bottle of cognac from Gabriel, hovering anxiously beside him. “Have a swallow of this.”
She took a gulp, and the fire burned down her gullet and into her heaving stomach. And miraculously, the queasiness began to abate. She wiped her damp forehead with the back of her arm and looked helplessly up at him. His features were granite, but his eyes were confused.
She turned to look at Charles and David, lying still on the sand. “Are they dead?”
“No, just resting after a knock on the head. Have they touched you?” The question was almost dispassionate, but now his eyes were livid.
She shook her head carefully. “Not much. They were waiting for me to come to. Cedric put something in the champagne… I don't know what it was. I don't know how long I've been unconscious. But it wasn't dark when I was in the library.”
“It's close to eight o'clock now.” He turned away from her, as if satisfied that she was sufficiency recovered to dispense with his attention. “What do you think, Gabriel?” He nudged the still figure of Charles with his toe. “They won't be out for long.”
“How about we strip' em naked, put' em in the boat, and send them out to sea?” Gabriel said promptly. “They'll probably get picked up sometime tomorrow, more's the pity, but what a sight they'll be!”
“You'd have to row the boat,” Tamsyn pointed out.
“And then how would you get back to shore?”
“Swim,” Gabriel said with a grin. “I'll row them out beyond the headland. The tide's going out, it'll take them a goodly way out to sea by morning.”