Cat's Quill (25 page)

"To roll over and play along and be safe or to do what's right?" Cathal rolled his eyes, his voice bitter. "That's not really much of a choice, now is it?"

"Life doesn't always give you choices you want, Cat." Donovan shrugged. "But those are the breaks." He cleared his throat. "I'm missing something here, right? Are you in some kind of trouble and caught up in some weird shit I should know about? Sorry if I'm crossing a line, but this is starting to sound personal."

"No, nothing you should know about." Cathal's tone changed instantly to something much lighter, although his eyes did not quite meet Donovan's. "This is just a subject I feel strongly about." He looked a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean it to come across as personal. I'll be more careful in the future."

"Nah, that's fine," Donovan insisted. "If we can't talk about crap we feel strongly about, what's the point?"

"Thank you," Cathal said quietly. He walked over to the rocking chair and picked up the pile of books. Something caught his eye, and he stopped, putting them down again and staring at the top of the shelf behind the chair.

"Cat?" Tomas asked softly, pushing away from the wall to join Cathal. "Is there something up there you want?"

"I can grab the ladder if you want," Donovan offered. "There's a lot of the older books up there, poetry, mostly. I don't read them as often, so I stored them up higher."

"If that would be no trouble," Cathal replied absently, still staring at the book. Following Cathal's line of sight, Tomas peered up at it, trying to make out the lettering.

"Keats?" he pondered aloud. Cathal had said he liked the Romantic poets. Placing one foot on the bottom shelf and carefully keeping his balance, he reached up, pleased that this was something that at least he could do with the extra couple of inches he had in height on both Cathal and Donovan. Fishing it out, he hopped back down again and handed it to Cathal.

"Okay, maybe not, then." Donovan grinned. "A man of many talents, I see. I'll remember that one next time I want a book on one of those shelves."

Cathal's hands were shaking as he opened the book, his lips mouthing something, although he did not say the words aloud. Tomas peered over his shoulder, hoping to get a better look and to figure out the reason for Cathal's reaction. "Cat?" he asked again, but Cathal merely smiled, his fingers tracing what appeared to be faded writing written in old-fashioned ink.

"May I have this?" he asked Donovan suddenly, closing the book and hugging it to his chest.

"Yeah. I said you could borrow whatever you wanted." Donovan shrugged.

Cathal looked at Donovan directly. "No," he said, his voice a half-whisper. "I mean to keep." He glanced at Tomas and then back at Donovan, quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his tone wistful. "I'm sorry. That is a little forward. I'll borrow it, of course, and return it with the others."

"I'll pay for it if it's for sale," Tomas offered.

"Hey, if it's that important to you, it's yours." Donovan's tone was light but underpinned by curiosity. "Just one thing, though, okay?"

"Okay," Cathal agreed slowly. "That is only fair." His fingers curled around the book, not quite clutching it to him.

"Tell me why you want it, and you can have it." Donovan shrugged again. "I know you'll take care of it, and I'm not that into poetry."

"It doesn't matter," Tomas started to say. Donovan had already said he didn't read the books up on that shelf very often. Cathal wanted it for whatever reason. That was obvious as hell.

Cathal swallowed, his attention fully on Donovan though he moved close to Tomas, their shoulders brushing briefly. "It's mine," he explained very hesitantly. "I lost it a long time ago." Taking a step forward, he opened the book carefully so that the inscription on the inside page could be clearly read.

Cat,

For your birthday as we know how much you love these,

All our love, now and forever,

Christian and Alice.

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Chapter Sixteen

Donovan read the inscription, glanced at Cathal, and then read it again. "Who are you, Cat?" he asked. "Those names... this doesn't make sense."

"Christian and Alice are my cousins," Cathal explained, his voice very even. "They lived here briefly. It was before you and Heidi bought the inn."

"They weren't the people before us." Donovan frowned. "Joshua and Lilith Patterson were; I remember them from the paperwork." He read the inscription again, shaking his head. "The only person named Alice who has owned this place is that artist Tomas is so interested in." He looked over at Cathal again, eyes running up and down, lingering.

"That was ninety years ago," Tomas reminded him. "Cat and I have already discussed this and figured out that it's a coincidence." The explanation sounded even less feasible when explaining it to a third party. Whatever doubts Tomas had, he wasn't going to admit them to Donovan, and certainly not in front of Cathal. At least not at this point, and not until he had something more concrete upon which to hang his suspicions.

"One hell of one," Donovan said. "Next you'll be telling me the last names are the same as well."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch an eternity until Cathal broke it. "Christian's last name is Edmonds, yes." He shrugged. "He's my cousin on my mother's side, and we don't know much about his father's family."

"So they could be related?" Donovan still didn't sound convinced. "As explanations go, this one's reaching," he said. "The only thing it has going for it is the fact, as Tomas said, that Alice Finlay and her husband lived ninety years ago." He spoke slowly; the little hamsters in his head were obviously working overtime. "I'm a factual kind of guy, though I am partial to a good plot with some time travel in it." Fingers rubbed at his chin for a moment. "You're not going to tell me you're a time traveler, right, and you knew these guys ninety years ago?"

"No, I'm not going to tell you that." Cathal managed a half-smile, although it was strained. "I can assure you I'm not a time traveler." He indicated the books around them. "Not everything you read in books is true. Writers often stretch the truth for the sake of a good story."

Tomas stared at Donovan, still wrapping his head around the fact he'd suggested it. "Factual kind of guy, huh?" he teased, unable to resist the comment.

"I wasn't expecting him to say yes," Donovan retorted a little testily. "So, Cat," he continued quickly, ignoring Tomas's smirk. "Where did you say you were from again? I've got the deed for this place, and I don't remember any other people on it with those names apart from Tomas's artist friend, Alice."

"Christian didn't own it," Cathal said. "He lived here for a year. We both did." He still didn't quite meet Donovan's eyes. "I doubt he is listed on the deeds." He closed the open book with a bang, his tone shifting into something suggesting that he would not answer any further questions. "I didn't say where I was from. I am merely passing through so I can spend time with Tomas. That's all."

"Okay," Donovan raised his hands in surrender. "I'm a curious kind of guy." His tone hardened. "In my experience, if people aren't too open about where they're from, it's usually because they're hiding something. You seem like a nice guy, and it's obvious as hell you and Tomas have something going. I don't want to see either of you get hurt."

"He won't be." Cathal offered the book to Donovan. "That I can promise you."

"No." Donovan shook his head, refusing to take it. "Keep it. It's yours. The inscription says so." Although the words were spoken to Cathal, he was watching Tomas carefully. "So let's see if I have this straight. You lived here for a while, you and Tomas have known each other for a while, and you're just passing through."

"That's right." Cathal nodded slowly. "But you don't believe me, and you're curious and also concerned. Am I correct?"

"Donovan!" Tomas stepped between them. "That's enough. This isn't a damn interrogation. You're just loaning him some books. I'll vouch for him."

"It's all right," Cathal said softly. "He has every right to ask." He glanced toward the window, his eyes glazing over for a moment. "I'm not from around here," he continued very softly. "I come from somewhere you've never heard of, and hopefully never will." His expression hardened. "If I tell you, it puts you at risk, and I'm not prepared to do that. This might not be the Middle Ages, but some societies still exist who believe in punishments that supposedly fit the crimes committed against them. In my... village, the consequences of stealing another's property are so severe that there have been less than a dozen such incidents in the past two hundred years. No one would dare risk it. Fear is a great deterrent."

Tomas placed a hand on Cathal's arm. He shook it off. "I've said and done enough. I'm sorry." Cathal glanced at the pile of books on the chair, not quite hiding the wistful expression spreading across his features. "This was a mistake. I should go."

"Hold it a minute." Donovan moved quickly to stand in front of the doorway, blocking Cathal's exit. Cathal backed toward the window, his eyes darting between it and the door. A couple of drops of water hit the outside of the window in succession, blurring the clear glass. "You are in some kind of trouble, right? I'm not going to stop you from leaving, but if you ever need somewhere to stay, or feel you can tell me the truth, the offer's there." He and Cathal stared at each other for a moment. "Wherever this village of yours is, you're not there now. We can get the cops in on this and get you some protection from whatever or whoever you're mixed up in."

"I haven't lied to you, and I am still subject to their laws, wherever I might be," Cathal said flatly, his eyes a mixture of sorrow and fear when he met Tomas's. "You don't know me. Why are you doing this?"

"Instincts," Donovan said. "I told Tomas when we met that I'm good at reading people. You've gotten around some of those barriers he's erected to keep people out pretty damn fast. That says a lot too." He took a step sideways. "Take the books you wanted, Cat. Just bring them back sometime, okay?"

Cathal bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice choked, his eyes again darting toward the window, the increasing raindrop staccato loud against the silence of the room. "I wish I could...." Suddenly he dived past Donovan and ran, the poetry book falling to the floor to land at Donovan's feet on his way out.

"Cat!" Tomas yelled, glaring at Donovan. Why the fuck had Donovan pushed like this? Sure, he'd only put into words what Tomas hadn't, but that didn't make it right. Cathal was scared, not just for himself, but for both Donovan and Tomas as well. Screw the risks.

A hand on his arm stopped him following. He pulled it away. "Just be careful," Donovan warned. "I know you're falling for this guy, but he's involved in something. All the signs are there. I've seen it before."

"You don't know him," Tomas hissed. "Just fuck off, Donovan, okay? You've done enough!" He bent to grab the book Cathal had dropped and decided to leave it. Rain and books did not mix, and finding Cathal was more important. It didn't take a genius to know where he would be headed, and Tomas wasn't prepared to let him disappear again, not until after they'd talked, and perhaps not even then.

The door slammed shut behind him, but he didn't turn around. A small part of his brain told him that he owed Donovan an apology, but Tomas ignored it, even though he knew it was right.

"Cat, wait up," he yelled, but the figure in front of him continued striding across the courtyard at the back of the house, heading around the side of it toward the gap in the hedge, the sky darkening around them. "Cat! Please."

Shoulders hunched, Cathal kept moving quickly, getting farther ahead, until he was nearly level with the hedge. Sitting almost under it, washing herself, Blackthorn paused mid-paw and meowed plaintively. "Not now!" Cathal hissed loudly. The cat launched herself at his feet. He moved to one side, but not fast enough. Losing his balance, he stumbled, grabbing at the wooden post at the side of the hedge to steady himself. "Go away!"

Tomas sped up. "Cat! Stop! We need to talk."

"No!" Cathal shook his head, his whole body slumping. Blackthorn meowed again, rubbing herself against his legs, refusing to move when he tried to step around her. "Go away!" he hissed again, hoarsely.

"Cat, please." Reaching the hedge, Tomas ignored Blackthorn and pulled Cathal into his arms. Cathal tried to free himself, shaking. "It's okay," Tomas whispered, holding him tightly. "I've got you."

"No, it's not." Cathal buried his head on Tomas's shoulder, his voice muffled. "I can't tell him what he wants to know." He lifted his head briefly; his eyes were red and puffy. "I can't even tell you!"

"I know that." Tomas hated seeing Cathal upset like this, but Donovan had been right. "You're in trouble, aren't you? That's why you can't tell me. You're trying to keep me safe."

"I'm not in trouble," Cathal insisted, but he leaned further into Tomas's embrace rather than pulling away. Tomas caressed the side of Cathal's face gently with his fingertips, the skin damp under them though the rain was easing again. Cathal raised his chin, their eyes meeting briefly. "Yet," he admitted very quietly.

"It's only a matter of time though, isn't it?" Fur brushed against his legs, reminding Tomas that they were not alone. "Do you want to go somewhere more private?" he asked softly. Even if Cathal refused to talk about this, at least there might be less risk of them being disturbed.

"I've already told you I'm not prepared to--" Cathal protested. Tomas silenced Cathal's words with a finger over his lips.

"It's safer if we're not in plain view, right?" Tomas searched Cathal's eyes for confirmation that at least in that, he might agree. Cathal nodded but didn't seem convinced. He tried to pull away again. Tomas could not allow that to happen. "If you try to go back to wherever it is you come from, I'm following you," he insisted. Screw what he was or wasn't allowed or supposed to do. What Cathal had told them about the laws of his society had made Tomas all the more determined to learn the truth.

"You can't!" Cathal removed Tomas's fingers from his lips, grabbing Tomas's hand to prevent him from repeating the action. "If you want me to talk to you, it's hardly fair if you're not prepared to listen to what I have to say!"

"I am listening." Tomas didn't think Cathal's comment was exactly fair either. "And so far you haven't said a bloody thing that makes any sense. All you do is answer in riddles and generalizations." Cathal recoiled as though he'd been slapped, but Tomas wasn't in the mood to let that stop him, however much the reaction hurt. "You expect me to trust you, but you're still not trusting me."

"I trust you," Cathal insisted. "Or I wouldn't still be here." He sighed. "I've already told you what I'm able. You know far more than you should. If they find out...."

"Yes?" Tomas's voice took on a dangerous edge. "What will they do to you if they find out?" The more that was said, the more Tomas realized how little he knew about whatever Cathal was mixed up in.

"I...." Cathal glanced around nervously, letting go of Tomas's hand. He took a step back, putting distance between them. "I don't want to talk about this."

"We're talking about it," Tomas said flatly. Cathal had danced around this enough. Relationships needed to be built on trust, and Tomas wanted, no, needed to be able to believe what Cathal said. He was in trouble; that much was certain. "Where are you from, Cat, and who are you? Really?"

"I've already told you, I can't tell you!" Cathal hissed. He looked as though he was about ready to bolt, the nervousness coupled with something that appeared suspiciously to be fear.

"And I've already told you, we're going to talk about this," Tomas said. He folded his arms and leaned back against the wooden post, his voice softening. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Cat, but I can't help you if you don't let me."

"You can't help me." Cathal kicked a stone with his boot, watching it roll over the gravel to settle in the grass. He bit his lip. "Was this a mistake?"

"You tell me." Tomas hated himself for pushing, but enough was enough. He'd opened up to Cathal more than he'd ever done anyone else, including his sister. There was something between them, he couldn't deny that, and he wanted nothing better than to take Cathal into his arms again and reassure him, find a way to keep him safe.

"I... love you." The words stumbled out of Cathal's mouth. He took another step backward. "I can't let you get hurt. Can't you see that?"

"Right, and because of that I'm supposed to just do nothing and let whoever the hell you're scared of do something to you?" Tomas shook his head. "Don't do this, Cat. Please." He unfolded his arms, letting them drop to his side.

"It's not safe," Cathal said again, his lower lip trembling. He hugged himself, shivering. "Bloody hell, Tomas. Why are you so stubborn?"

"I guess it takes one to know one," Tomas snapped, his anger rising and taking any sense of tact with it. "How dare you? You come into my life and make me fall in love with you, and expect...." His words trailed off. He froze, the reality of the situation, of why he was so angry, hitting him squarely. He couldn't be in love with Cathal. He'd only known him a few days! He didn't do this. He couldn't do this. Yet the thought of Cathal leaving, of walking into God knew what kind of danger on his own and maybe not coming back, was something Tomas did not want to contemplate.

"What did you say?" Cathal was staring at him, his mouth opening and closing. "You... I...." He seemed to deflate emotionally, all the stubbornness and anger leaving him. Swallowing, he held out one hand to Tomas very tentatively. "We can't talk about this here," he whispered hoarsely. "Do you want to go somewhere private? I know somewhere we won't be disturbed."