“Pardon me, but would you mind removing your foot from my hand?” “What?” Cynthia shouted down. “Your foot!” he yelled. She frowned past her shoulder as if she didn’t understand, but her boot finally lifted. Lancaster could only hope that the howling wind stole his groan away. “Come along. We’re almost there.” “I don’t like this,” he muttered with a glance down to the sand ten feet below him. He didn’t like this, but his guilt overrode all his objections. Guilt and Cynthia’s ornery nature. So now here they were, perched far too high on this blasted cliff while the wind tried its best to set them flying. “Cyn!” he called. “Stop! This is far higher than we thought.” “I’ve reached it!” she screamed back, hoisting herself up and disappearing into the rock. “Damn it.”
