“What of his air hose?” Evan snapped.
Alan repeated the question. “Open and fine so far,” he reported to the others.
Evan Mackenzie grabbed his helmet. “I’m going back down there.”
“Do that, man, and risk your own life,” Alan said. “Your lungs cannot take the up and down of the pressures. Someone else must go down.”
“Who else is here to do that?” Evan growled. “No one else is trained to use this equipment but Dougal and me.”
“I can do it,” Alan said. “I have not, but I know the equipment.”
“But that takes time, and I am already suited up.” Evan set the helmet over his head, gesturing for the nearest crewman to screw it in place. Moments later he stood and stepped onto the platform.
“God be with,” Alan muttered, gesturing for the platform to be lowered again. He turned to call out order to the men on the air pumps and hose cranks. “Give Dougal as much slack as you can, and keep the airflow steady for both of them,” he reminded them. “Aye, that’s it.”
“Evan is coming down,” he told Dougal through the funnel, and listened for the reply. “He is swearing. You do not want to hear it, lady,” he told Meg.
“I do, I want to know everything!”
Meg paced, watching, listening, hoping as Evan’s platform sank into the heaving waves. She whirled, skirts billowing, to come face-to-face with Roderick Matheson. He grabbed her elbow.
“Margaret!” he said. “Come away from the edge!”
“Let me go!” she snapped.
“It isn’t safe! Let me help,” he said. “What can I do?”
She could hardly believe the offer, but shrugged. “Just stay back and let the men do this.”
“I am not as heartless as you think,” he said. “I was wrong. I was desperate, loving you. I acted poorly—”
“Poorly?” She laughed, bitter, distracted as she watched the waves.
“I do not like Stewart, but he’s in difficulty and I would help if I could.”
She stared at him, frowning, wondering if he had some other motivation. Then Norrie joined them, standing beside her to stare at Roderick.
“If you have had a change of heart, sir,” Norrie said, “go help with the cranks and pulleys.”
Roderick turned away at that, taking off his coat and offering to take hold of the crank arm on one of the giant spools that held the hoses. Norrie turned away, too, running to help guide the ropes that spilled over the edge of the rock into the water.
Alan was speaking to Dougal again through the funnel and hose. Meg ran to him. “Please, let me talk to him,” she said. Alan handed her the funnel.
She held the metal cone to her mouth. “Dougal!” She moved the cup to her ear for the reply.
“Meg?” His voice through the funnel was small, tinny, yet achingly familiar.
“Dougal! Are you hurt?”
“I am fine. My boot is caught. Evan is just here. We will work it free.”
“My love,” she said. “Come up quickly. Hang on!”
Alan took the speaking tube again, and Meg stood by as he explained to Dougal that they would send down a steel crane to haul the stone away and free him. She saw the men wheeling the great thing into place.
“Hanging on,” Dougal said, his voice faint.
The wind tore over the rock, whipping at her skirts and cape. Meg set a hand on her bonnet and braced her arm over her chest, watching the sky roil, gray and foreboding. Far out, breakers rose frothy white, rushing toward the reef. Rain spattered over her in cold droplets.
