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If Wes had been fast in running down through the castle, Desmond was twice as fast running up through the labyrinth of halls—a bullet flying to his wife. His speedy steps echoed off the weathered grey stones of the walls until the upper levels swallowed the sound.
His chest heaving, Wes turned around and spotted Rune leaning against the frame of the large Palladian windows that looked out to the formal gardens. “Rune, you made it.”
“Aye.”
He noted the cut across Rune’s left cheek. “The three give you much trouble?”
Rune shrugged. “The usual amount. It was handled.”
“Thank you.”
A deep breath and Wes went over to the sideboard and poured himself a healthy glass of brandy. He took a long sip and then looked to Rune. His friend’s arms were crossed, his stare out the window at the fading sky.
Wes poured another glass and went to Rune, passing it to him.
“You’re wet,” Rune said.
“I’m drying off.” Wes went to one of the two blue damask wingback chairs that sat opposite the settee near the fireplace.
He dropped, sinking to the cushion, his legs as weary as his mind.
After a minute, Rune moved from the window and sat on the other wingback chair, his brow furrowed.
For a moment, Wes was about to ask him about the worry on his face. But then he kept his mouth shut. In all the years he’d known Rune, his brow was usually furrowed, usually trying to unravel some problem that he would never admit to, never talk about.
Wes doubted it would be any different now and easily slipped into the silence that had been so common on theFirehawkwhen they were together. They were two of the very few crewmen that could sit in silence for hours on end.
He’d always appreciated that about Rune. The man had no need to fill the silence. Even over the screams of Lady Troubant that reverberated down along the ancient stones lining the hallways.
Wes took another sip of his brandy, then looked to Rune. “What do you figure Hoppler means to do next with his play for the box? How did the cur even find out about it?”
Rune shrugged. “It’s not like Gruggin was discreet about the box. He brought it to far too many nights of gaming. By the docks, no less. And the pots he would win when he had it in hand would have been sure to spike attention from Hoppler’s network. Some of those pots were fortunes.”
“Aye. No matter how I warned Morton to leave it at home, he didn’t like to be far away from it. Small grace that he didn’t have it with him that last night.”
Rune nodded. “And I imagine you mix Gruggin’s wins with the tales of sailors coming through the port who know of it, and Hoppler would eventually have wanted to dig into it further. The box always seems to find a way to draw attention.”
His stare on the amber liquid in his glass, a frown creased Wes’s face. “We were fools to think it could remain quietly in Morton’s possession.”
Rune’s mouth pulled to the side and he nodded.
“Do you have an inkling on his next move?”
“If Hoppler’s men were following us this far, then he most likely knows Seahorn Castle was our destination.” Rune’s forefinger tapped methodically on the side of his glass. “It’s no secret that Des was our mate on theFirehawk.”
A heavy sigh settled into Wes’s chest. “It’s the answer I didn’t want to hear, but knew I was about to.”
Rune raised his glass to Wes.
“How motivated did Fiona say Hoppler was?”
“Quite, if I read her excitement in talking about it correctly. I don’t imagine he’s going to stop pursuing it anytime soon. He thinks the box is too valuable. You know how sailors talk and the lore of it has only grown since the days of Captain Folback keeping it onboard theFirehawk.”
“Also what I didn’t want to hear.” A growl rumbled through Wes’s chest. “How I would prefer just to smash the damn thing under my heel.”
Rune’s face went grave. “Yes, but then you will always be a target—Lady Helena will always be a target. We both witnessed what happened to Captain Folback’s wife when a crazy man thought he could get to the box through her.”
Wes shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”
