“No, it’s the only one.” She had to shout to be heard over the constant buffering of the wind.
A bolt of lightning lit the sky. Demon shook his head and pranced sideways, bumping into her horse. The gelding shied away and stumbled. “I think we need to turn around,” Langdon said, lips pressed in a grim line.
“It is too late. There is no way we can outride the storm.” She pointed to a weathered hut and reined her horse in that direction. “There is a lean-to where we can leave the horses while we explore.”
Drops of rain pelted her face, and a pervasive chill settled in the air. Upon awakening and discovering the bad weather, she had debated the folly of coming to the coast or calling off their investigation. Curiosity won out.
He reached the hut first and assisted her off the horse, his hands spanning her waist. Hazel eyes met hers. Concern and desire mingled in his expression before he shuttered it. He released her without saying a word and grabbed the reins of her mount. The wind whipped at her riding habit, and she had to lean forward to keep from being blown over.
Once she reached the shelter provided by the weathered stone of the hut, the noise died down. Langdon finished tying both horses to the rusted metal hooks. He removed the basket of food tied to her saddle that Cook had packed for their supposed picnic. “You mentioned that the alleged ghost you saw was on the path to the caves and then reappeared in the hut.”
“It wasn’t alleged and yes, that is what I said.” She took the basket from him and held it close to her chest. The chill was less prevalent but still present.
With a shrug, he raked a hand through his hair. The tail of his greatcoat flapped in the breeze, “If what you claim is based on fact, then it is logical to assume there is a hidden passage from the hut to the smuggler’s caves.”
“That’s bloody brilliant.” Laughter escaped, carried off by the wind. “I never considered even looking.”
He dropped his palm and tucked his hat under his arm. A wry smile quirked his lips. “I have had some experience in this sort of thing. When chasing a criminal, you need to think like a criminal.”
Elizabeth’s own good humor dimmed at the innocent statement. She was a criminal and Langdon had no idea. If he ever found out the truth, she would be humiliated, no matter how good her reasoning. “I would rather not risk injury, or worse, discovery by the smugglers as we climb down the path.”
“They only watch the cave when they have goods in the caverns.” She had been observing them for over a year and had learned their habits. The only men she’d seen where some ruffians and the villagers that were forced to assist. Randell never showed his face anywhere near the caves, but she knew he was the mastermind.
“According to Gellman, they have goods in the cave.” He grabbed his saddle bag from Demon and slung it over his shoulder before removing the lantern from where it was tethered on the saddle.
“Wait, what?” She grabbed his arm, hurt mingling with curiosity. Her trusted friend had kept information from her.
“He let it slip after a few too many pints. I suggest we go inside before we’re swept out to sea and finish our discussion.” Clasping her elbow, he ushered her around the building to a bowed door. The metal latch handle had been broken off. Langdon retrieved a knife and brought the blade between the cracks. With a jerk of his wrist, he lifted the latch. The door began to creak open of its own volition. An eerie feeling raced along her spine, and although she had been teasing Langdon about the ghost, she was hesitant to enter.
He held the door open, using his greater strength to keep the portal from whipping in the wind. Shoulders straight, she entered the musty space. The walls were solid and although the elements barraged the structure, it stood tall.
The door shut with a heavy bang, casting the room in a dim light. She placed the basket on a broken-down table that leaned wearily against the back wall. “What else did Gellman tell you?” And kept from me.
“He was not very forthcoming with anything of real import.” He strolled to the fireplace and ran his fingers along the stone. Frown lines formed between his eyebrows as he inspected the wall around the fireplace. “There has to be a false wall or trap door somewhere.”
“Perhaps beneath the table?” She moved in that direction and suppressed the need to quiz him further about Gellman. The information was inconsequential, yet it still stung. He was trying to protect her in his own way, but she didn’t need protection. She needed answers.
“Elizabeth,” he called out.
She twisted to find him crouched on the floor near the far wall. He had lifted a wooden door in the floor, the same color as the sand. She rushed to his side. Musty air flowed from the depths of the dark, gaping hole. “Oh, how thrilling!”
“Or dangerous.” He rocked back on his heels and stood. “The smugglers might still be down there.”
“Given the state of the weather, I disagree. They would be foolish to get trapped in the caves.” Her heart pounding an excited beat, she could make out an antechamber right below them, along with some crates. She itched to find out what treasures they held.
“Except they wouldn’t be trapped if they know about this exit.”
She refused to be put off. Adventure was afoot, and she’d worked too long to uncover the truth to back out of her plans. “I believe I see some crates.”
“I believe you’re correct.” He retrieved the lantern, tin with a pewter finish, and opened the small door where a candle was anchored.
Arms crossed against the chill, she waited while he put flint to the tinder box. His movements were efficient and in short speed, the cotton ignited. After placing the flame to the wick, a soft glow issued from the lantern. He handed it to her, the light reflecting the grim press of his lips. “I will go down first. Please hold this.”
“All right.” She lifted the lantern, biting her lip in anxiety. For years, she had recalled the sighting of the old woman and at last she had her answer to that part of the mystery.
Langdon lowered himself and placed his booted foot on the crate. He gripped the frame of the door and hopped to the ground. He disappeared for a brief second before he reappeared. “There are several crates down here. There are cobwebs, so my guess is they have been here for a while. Can you hand me the lantern so I can get a better look?”
“Here,” she said, handing it to him before she straightened. The room was cast in shadow and she reached behind her back, unfastening the tapes of her riding skirt. Beneath the heavy fabric of her mother’s old riding habit, she had donned a pair of borrowed breeches. Wicked but necessary if she wished to explore the caves without being hampered by a bunch of unnecessary material.
