She’d yet to go to Samson, though Mabena had told her a bit about it. It was currently the largest uninhabited island in the Scillies, though as little as fifty years ago that hadn’t been the case. There were cottages there, abandoned farms that hadn’t been productive enough to support the inhabitants. In the 1850s, the Lord Proprietor had moved the last of them, half-starved as they were, to Tresco after too many of their able-bodied men had drowned trying to save people from a shipwreck. Such a tragic, noble loss. He’d tried to turn the island into a deer park after that, but the attempt failed. Now it was simply a place people visited for a few hours to walk or observe the flora and fauna.

And this was not the way she’d planned on seeing it, on a hunt for missing grandparents. But Oliver was soon sailing them to a little quay and helping her out onto the damp sand.

The moment she landed, an unusual break in the colors of the grasses caught her eye. “There!” She pointed.

Oliver wheeled around, clearly spotting the legs and shoes too—masculine ones. They both took off at a run.

“Tas-gwyn!” Perhaps Oliver recognized the feet, or perhaps it was just a hopeful cry. Either way, he was soon proven correct as more of Mr. Gibson came into view as they neared. And the legs moved, which was surely a good sign. By the time they reached him, the old gent was pushing himself up with a moan, a hand clutching his head.

“Tas-gwyn.” Oliver fell to his knees at his grandfather’s side and put an arm behind his back to help him the last few inches to sitting. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Beth.”

Oliver frowned. “What about Beth? Is she here?”

“I don’t . . .” Mr. Gibson winced and shaded his eyes from the climbing sun. “She thought so. Said we should go and find her.”

“She—Mamm-wynn?” Urgency threaded its way through Oliver’s tone. “Is she here too? Where?”

Mr. Gibson looked around him, clearly disoriented. “I don’t know. We were together. It was still dark but beginning to lighten. She said something about taking the path to the cottages, and then . . . I don’t remember.”

Oliver’s gaze flicked to Libby. “Will you stay with him?”

Someone had to, and he’d be the better choice for scouring the island. “Yes. Go!” She took his place by Mr. Gibson’s side, keeping him from standing with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You stay put, sir. Oliver will find her.”

He must have been in quite a bit of pain to relent as easily as he did. She felt his shoulders sag under her hand. “Poor Adelle. I didn’t mean to leave her unprotected.”