Well, not utterly. They had the Lord on their side. And Beth and Sheridan still out there. Perhaps, if they hurried, they’d have time to fetch the constable—though they wouldn’t know for certain where Scofield had taken them.

Scofield gripped Libby’s arm in place of his sister’s, and a growl slipped out before Oliver could stop it.

Scofield sent him a look dripping deadly amusement. “Down, boy. I won’t hurt your sister unless she forces me to. She’s proven herself quite useful.”

Lady Emily’s brow creased. “She isn’t—”

“Going in there? I don’t mind.” Libby craned her neck around to send Lady Emily a smile that said, Keep quiet. Then looked from her back toward where they’d come from, pointedly. “I’ll be all right, Em. I go into the caves all the time.”

Lady Emily nodded, no doubt realizing that her brother’s mistake was playing to their advantage. Oliver still wasn’t certain who he thought Telford was, but he clearly assumed there was only one Elizabeth here. And knew nothing about Sheridan.

“Don’t disappoint me, Emily.” Scofield moved his glare from her to Telford. “And who are you, anyway? One of Tremayne’s friends, I assume.”

Oliver had to give Telford credit—he appeared entirely unruffled by this turn of events and hadn’t missed a single beat. Now he returned the glare even as he said, “Older brother, actually. Morgan.”

Oliver sucked in a breath. On the one hand, it was a smart move—he and Libby certainly looked like siblings, and his clothing marked him of higher status than most of the islanders. If Lady Emily had told him anything about the Tremayne family, though, if he knew Morgan had died two years ago . . .

But Scofield’s sneer looked blessedly ignorant. “The whole happy family, then. Lovely. Now, in we go.”

In they went. Past the place where Oliver had kissed Libby less than a week ago—though it felt a century past, so much had happened in the interim. Over the boulders into the mouth of the cavern, down the drop. Beside the pool—though the boat was missing.

A few candles were burning on the rocks though. Enough to show him a grumpy-looking Mabena and Casek sitting there, hands and feet tied with rope that would be chafing at more than their skin. How had their captor, who stood behind them with that pistol leveled on them again, gotten the best of Casek? Wearne must have fifty pounds on him.

But he wouldn’t have risked Mabena getting hurt in any scuffle.

“Lorne?” Scofield called out. “It’s just me, with the Tremaynes. As planned.”

Lorne? This was Lorne, the man from the cave last Sunday? But that must mean . . .

The man’s face cracked into a nasty grin. “Hello again, luv. Have you brought us what you ought to have this time?”