Hugo and the Maiden

the prisoners you tended last night disappeared just before dawn. Have you checked yet to see if yours are all there?”
“My goodness! Yes, all five of mine are still in the meeting hall.”
“The escapees took Lem Kennedy’s boat.”
Martha grimaced. “Ah.”
Mr. Clarke nodded wearily. Lem Kennedy was one of the island’s more fractious residents. He vocally advocated leaving the shipwreck victims to their fate rather than offering any help. He was also known to have a number of objects of questionable provenance tucked away in the caves not far from his cottage.
“There is some good news,” Mr. Clark said. “When I went over this morning to look for Lem’s boat I learned that all four lifeboats made it to shore and there were ninety-eight men aboard them: forty-two crew, the rest, er, passengers.”
“Did anyone know how many were in the hold?”
“It would appear that between ours and theirs—both living and deceased—another thirty convicts and seven crew are unaccounted for.”
“Dear Lord,” Martha whispered. “Thirty-seven missing. Did you find out what the ship was doing up here?”
“The captain was not among the survivors and the crew had several different versions of a similar story, but none of them make sense. The constable thinks it was mutiny. As far as he could establish, some of the crew were determined to get the ship to Sutter’s Cove.”
“Ah.” Sutter’s Cove was a well-known haunt for criminals.
“It appears the crew haven’t been paid in a while. No doubt the ship would have been stripped of its valuables and sold to a buyer not overly concerned with legality. The constable is quite overwhelmed and the convicts that came on the lifeboats have been disappearing into the countryside like weasels into a cornfield. We’ll have to keep the ones we’ve rescued for at least a week before somebody from Thurso can collect them.”
Martha nodded absently. “The islanders should be warned to keep an eye on their boats.”
“We’ve already spread the word.” He hesitated. “And how about you, Miss Pringle? Has he—well, have any of the men given you any trouble?”
“No, they are behaving like gentlemen.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. “And the one you are thinking of is called Hugo.” She hesitated and then added with a smirk, “Hugo Higgenbotham.”

Chapter 6
Hugo reclined on his bench and flexed his injured leg while his brain worked on a plan for getting off this bloody island.
It had only been three days and already the gash had dried up and the swelling had gone down. He hated to admit it, but Miss Prissy Pringle had been right about the cold salt water and its healing properties. He wondered if he shouldn’t ask—
The door to the meeting hall opened and the woman herself entered, followed by Cailean, who was carrying a long board that was a piece of ship’s planking with the words he Royal Cond in faded, scrolling black script.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Miss Martha smiled at the other four men but ignored Hugo.
Well, he supposed he’d earned her treatment over the last few days. Despite his resolution to behave like a gentleman, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from saying shocking things to tease her and elicit that delicious blush. After he’d complimented her trim ankles yesterday—which had all but begged for his attention by peeking out from beneath her too-short hem—she had stopped speaking to him.
Cailean, on the other hand, only had eyes for Hugo.
Hugo grinned at the big man and winked. “How are you this fine afternoon, little brother?” he asked, chuckling when the big lad colored up at the pet name. Hugo was relieved to see that the giant had come without his rat this time.
“I have a special treat today. Mrs. Couch sent over a wheel of her cheese and we’ve got fresh bread and salted fish to go with it.”
Salted fish. Hugo bit back a groan; who would have ever guessed that he’d be trapped in a place where salted fish was considered a treat?
Miss Pringle turned to Cailean, who hadn’t stopped staring at Hugo. “Can you bring in the keg, Small Cailean?” She cut Hugo a narrow-eyed look while the lad went outside and returned with a keg, his huge arms making it look tiny.
“Joe Cameron has also kindly offered up this cask of home brew.”
There was a murmur of genuine appreciation from the other four and Hugo realized he’d better join in or risk looking like an ingrate. “What generosity and kindness the people of Stroma are showing us—and you more than anyone, Mistress Pringle.” He employed an exaggerated, expansive tone of voice, as if he were declaiming from a stage.
Her plump, sensual lips—which did not match her small, serious nose or chilling blue gaze—tightened and she turned back to her makeshift tray.
“Any more news today?” Hugo asked.
“I have no new information about survivors.” She paused and then added, “However, Mr. Clark just shared the news that a constable will be here sooner than he expected.”
“How much sooner?” Hugo asked.
“You’ll only have to spend two more nights on the island.”
The earlier excitement about cheese and ale dissipated in a heartbeat and Hugo glanced around at the others. All the convicts except Franks looked as guilty as foxes caught with hens between their jaws.
Well, this wouldn’t do. The only way to manage this sort of news was to give the impression of cheerful acceptance. And then run like hell the moment the islanders’ backs were turned. Although how the bloody hell you were supposed to run from an island would require a bit of thinking.
Hugo decided now was as good a time as any to begin his campaign of cheerful acceptance.
“I wanted to thank you for your generosity, Mistress Pringle.” He turned to the giant, who’d slowly inched closer until he was practically in Hugo’s lap. “And you, too, Cailean.” Hugo held out his hand and the other man stared at it. Hugo wiggled his fingers until Cailean extended a paw almost twice the size of his.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured as Cailean’s hand gently engulfed