“I’m getting a good look now,” she said.
“Won’t matter. Give me the bottle with the map.”
“Why should we give you the map when you’ll just kill us anyway?”
“I’ll shoot you in the head if you give me the bottle and shoot you in the belly if you don’t. I don’t have to tell you how long it takes to die of a belly wound. You’d probably drown first.”
“You can have the map and the bottle,” Marjorie said, adding a touch of fear in her voice. “Just don’t kill us. Take it and go. Please.” She wasn’t certain if he believed her act, but he lowered his pistol slightly.
“Hand it over,” he said.
Marjorie looked at Simon again, pretending to be afraid. But she held his gaze a second longer than necessary. Now was the moment. She moved forward slowly, crouched, and placed the bottle with the map on the damp sand between them. She’d made sure to place it far enough away from the traitor, so he’d have to reach for it. As soon as she backed away, the turncoat bent to retrieve it with his free hand. He kept his gaze on them, dropping it only at the last minute to locate the bottle. Simon kicked out, knocking the pistol from the traitor’s hand so it clattered on a rock behind him and bounced silently on the sand. The conspirator jerked up in surprise, and Marjorie landed a kick in his abdomen, sending him sprawling. “Simon!”
But he’d already put his boot on the traitor’s throat. “I have him.”
Marjorie snatched the bottle with the map back and jerked the turncoat onto his stomach. Simon pinned his hands behind him and pushed him to his feet.
“We make a good team,” she said.
“I’ve always thought so.”
Marjorie cocked her head. “Have we done this before?”
“I thought your memory was coming back.”
“In pieces. Not completely.” She gestured to the traitor, struggling futilely to free himself from Simon’s grip. “What should we do with him?”
“Tie him up and gag him back at the cottage. There’s no time to bring in a magistrate before the tide comes in. Besides, Melbourne will want him questioned, see who he’s working for.”
“We need something to tie him.” She lifted the hem of his greatcoat.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
“I was moving it aside to rip my petticoat. I know how you feel about your coats, Burrows.” She winced. “I heard how I barked your name that time. I’ll work on it.” She tore a long strip off her petticoat and used it to bind the traitor’s hands tightly. Then she stuck her handkerchief in his mouth and bound that too.
By the time they returned to the cottage, the smugglers were due to arrive any moment. The turncoat had made the return trek to the house as difficult as possible. Simon secured him in his bedchamber and closed the door just as a knock sounded at the front door. Marjorie had smoothed the map on the table, and when Simon let the smugglers in, she gestured to them to gather around. “This is your rendezvous point, captains.” She gestured to the X on the map, a cove a few miles from one of the Portuguese ports. “The English troops have orders to wait for your arrival for two days. I know we are shaving it close.”
"Very close,” the tall captain muttered.
“Can you manage it?” Simon asked. “If we need to call it off, now is the time.”
“I can manage it,” said the shorter captain with the higher voice.
“Oi, I’ll get there faster than either of ye,” said the third captain.
“Where’s the other man?” the tall captain asked.
“He won’t be traveling on this mission,” Marjorie said. The other captains exchanged looks. Marjorie narrowed her eyes. “You had your doubts about him?”
“Not seen ‘im before. ‘Adn’t ‘eard of ‘is ship.”
“You might have mentioned that at some point,” Simon drawled.
“Yer supposed to be the spy.”
“Good luck to you,” Simon said, leaving it and shaking each of their hands. “Your King and country are counting on you.”
The captains tipped their hats and were gone. Marjorie went to the fire and tossed the map into it, watching it burn. “I hope they make it,” she said.
