Eyes of the Cat (32 page)

“I think you were gang for your bridegroom.” Angus spun her about to face him and whipped the cap off her short curls. He grinned. Not pleasantly. “I’ll take y’tae him, shall I?”

“Thank you very much, but I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself when I’m sure I can find my own way. I
have
been there before, you know,” Tabitha pointed out, as a rough grip on her wrist began hauling her up the stairs.

“’Tis nay trouble, Tabby dear.”

“Mr. MacAllister—Uncle Angus—Wait!” she cried, frantically trying to hold back. It was as easy as trying to hold back summer’s heat or winter’s cold. “You can’t go through with this combat. You don’t realize the danger!”

“’Tis nay danger neither. Nane for me, anyways. Nay man can stand against me and a claymore.”

“But that’s just it! What if Ian is innocent?”

“’Tis what the combat’s for, ain’t it? Tae decide whether he be innocent or nay.”

“If you’re certain of winning, all it will decide is that you’re a murderer!”

“If I win, he’s guilty, and there’s the end of it. ’Tis MacAllister law. I dinna ken why you’d want tae spare him, but you’ll nay do it. Save your breath, lass.”

“You fool! I’m trying to save
you
. MacAllister law may not be as secure as you think it is. This castle is being watched by the state. Did you know that? Your private code has been under some heavy suspicion, apparently. Officials will be riding in tomorrow to collect the Garcias’ murderers. I was told to warn you that if there’s any sign of ‘Claymore Justice’ when they arrive, you people could face some harsh penalties yourselves,” Tabitha shot at him, and then wondered if she had shot a little too far, too fast, and too much.

The look on Angus’s face as he snapped her over the top step and against the door to the tower room was not the look of an angry or vengeful man. It was the look of a suddenly cornered one. Which could be far more dangerous, she realized.

“You’d best explain yourself, lassie,” he said with deathly chill. “Who’s been spyin’ on us?
Who
gave you such a message?”

Would it hurt to tell? The man’s cover had already been blown, more or less.

“M-Mr. Elliott—I mean,
Captain
Elliott.” She tried not to wince as Angus’s grip bit into her wrist. “He’s a
Texas Ranger
.”

So there!

Or not.

The Scotsman threw back his big, bushy head and roared with laughter.

Not quite what she’d hoped for.

“Ah, you’re as daft as Ian! Or you’ve been into the vats again. That dandy’s nay more a Ranger than I’m an Englishman,” he scoffed, twisting his key in the lock. “In with you! I’ll let you both oot when I’ve finished this business.”

“You’re the one who’s daft! And when Captain Elliott gets back here you’re going to have a
vat load
of explaining to do. I wouldn’t want to be in your kilt!” she shouted as he shoved her into the musty, dark chamber and slammed shut the door with enough force to knock her careening across the floor. A flung out arm saved her from kissing the opposite wall.

“If there’s a spot of trouble to be found, you’ll land in the center, won’t you?” a husky baritone whispered close to her ear.

Alive and functioning. Hallelujah!

Awash with relief, Tabitha pressed against the body that voice came out of.

“
You’re
my center,” she half sobbed, and kissed a startled pair of lips instead of the rough bricks she’d almost hit.

It was the first kiss she had ever initiated between them. And the last thing, apparently, that Alan had expected—or needed—just then.

“Tabitha, this is hardly the… What’s gotten into… Have you fallen into another vat of beer?” he finally managed to strain out—having far less success disentangling himself from her stranglehold, what with his left arm being shackled and all.

What?

She could barely see him, but this
was
Alan, wasn’t it? She pulled back just enough to try to read his expression in what tiny light was seeping in through the grate in the door and the recessed window. The figure in her arms didn’t exactly sound or act like Alan, but it certainly felt like him. She pushed in closer in a desperate attempt to feel even more.

“Do you know you’re the third person to accuse me of that? Why does everyone think I’m drunk?” she complained.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely, unable to escape her. “Could it have anything to do with the fact that you’re making wild claims, getting yourself locked up, throwing yourself at men, and dressing as a”—he squinted at her—“scullery maid, is it?”

“This is Enid’s. I traded her the lime taffeta for it. But I think I got the best part of the bargain. This is a lot more comfortable than those frilly things you prefer me in.”

“Actually, I prefer you out of them.”

Ah, now
that
sounded like Alan.

Tilting her head back, she grinned up at him. “I should think you’d want to kiss your wife after she went to so much trouble to free you.”

“No one’s free yet, dear.” He strained as far away as the short chain of the wall manacle would allow. “And you seem to have forgotten that you’re a bit too young to be anyone’s wife.”

That shows how much you know, she thought, deciding the explanation could wait another few seconds. There was something perversely irresistible about the current situation after all the tricks he had been playing. Pushing close again, she slid her hands around the back of his neck, inching his head down to hers.

“That’s not what you said when you insisted on marrying me.”

“Tabitha… Please… That was a mistake. One I’m trying to atone for now. But you’re not making it very easy.”

“I’m not trying to. Come on, Alan, it’s only a kiss. Don’t tell me you’ve never been kissed before,” she coaxed, using a line she had heard elsewhere once.

“That’s not funny. And you’ll be sorry if you keep this up.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’ve picked one hell of a time to change your attitude, you know that?” He groaned as her lips seductively grazed his. But he was losing the battle. She could feel it even as she could feel his free arm losing the battle to not curl around her waist.

“I’m warning you,” he breathed, all his muscles tensing like a spring about to snap. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me—”

“If you insist.” Her lips pressed home.

The spring burst wide open—all around her—as both his arms pulled her off her feet and into a kiss that was like a dream and an awakening all in one. It stormed through her like a heavenly blast, sucking the breath out of her, spiraling all her thoughts into a glorious rainbow whirl. Their kisses, even when she had fought them had been indescribably ecstatic. Now that she was fully open to the experience, it was indescribably indescribable. The words simply hadn’t been invented yet that could say what that kiss released in her.

Nor her anger when she discovered their positions had reversed and
she
was the one chained fast to the adobe wall.

“Why, you—” She nearly bloodied her wrist in a furious attempt to jerk free.

“Stop that or you’ll hurt yourself,” Alan ordered. “I did warn you, you know. This cell was designed for women prisoners. I knew I’d be able to spring the catch on that manacle; it was never intended to hold anyone my size. But it ought to keep you out of trouble while I discover what the devil is going on around here.”

Striding to the door, he peered through the grill a moment before backing up a pace and landing two sharp, flatfooted kicks on the lock. It swung open with an ear grating creaking of hinges.

“I knew I’d be able to spring the latch on that, too.” He grinned, turning back to her. “Though I’m glad I had my boots on. That sort of thing’s a wee bit uncomfortable in moccasins.”

“I can imagine.” She glowered through the gloom at him. “But it was unnecessary, in any case. I have a key, you scoundrel.”

“Is that what that was? I thought I felt something long and hard down the front of your frock.”

“Yes, I thought I felt something long and hard on you, too,” Tabitha drawled, and was rewarded by a sight she never thought she would see. Alan blushing deep red under his tan. Even in the dim light, it was obvious. So obvious, she might have been tempted to giggle, if it hadn’t been followed by something she never thought she would hear—not even when she had wanted to.

“Heaven forgive me for corrupting a youngster,” he muttered to himself, angling awkwardly away. “
Ahem
”—he cleared his throat—“Tabitha, I wasn’t going to mention this just now, but…”

Oh, God, now what?
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. That was something she
had
seen before. She hadn’t liked it earlier, and it hadn’t improved any with a short aging.

“…But, under the circumstances, I think I’d better set the record straight between us.”

What circumstances? What record?
For the first time since she’d been here, things were finally clear in her own mind. What the hell needed straightening?

“You were right about me, I think. I have been a complete cad.”

No!
She’d been wrong—she knew that now.

“And I think the only way I can make amends is to… Well, as soon as I can arrange it, I’ll send you back to Philadelphia,” he said, swinging away and out the door.

“But I don’t
want
to go!”

Damn this manacle…
It wouldn’t let her reach him, and he was already in the passage…

“Alan MacAllister, you come back here and finish this!”

His silhouette reappeared in the doorway, and she let out a small sigh of relief. Then nearly choked on it at his words.

“Dear, that’s what I just told you. This
is
finished. You’re free to go.”

This was finished? This was ridiculous, that’s what it was.

“Of course I’m free. That’s why I’m standing here shackled to the wall.”

“That’s a temporary precaution to keep you safe. You’ll be out of it before you know… And then I’ll put you on the first train heading east.”

It was still ridiculous. Hadn’t he heard her?

She tried it again, speaking as calmly and clearly as she could, considering the lump that threatened to burst her throat. “Alan, haven’t you been listening? I do
not
want to go.”

Finally…
He was finally looking at her. And it didn’t help one blasted little bit. There seemed to be nothing but pity in that look.
Pity?
Dear God, this wasn’t ridiculous, after all. It was a bleeding nightmare!

“That’s just it, dear. You’re too young to know what you really want,” he said softly. “This ruddy combat—or the reason for it, anyway—has reminded me of that. Locked up here, I’ve been remembering how things were between Heather and myself.”

Oh no, was that it? He’d realized he was still in love with Angus’s daughter? Heaven help her, how could she compete with a memory?

“The fact is, I never should have married Heather. We’d nothing in common save what you referred to as
animal attraction
—the kind that burns itself out quickly. But we were too young to realize that. Plus, we had Uncle Angus egging us on. He wanted the match to secure the MacAllister rights. There’s one rather touchy clause in our pact with Texas, you see. Our arrangement holds only so long as a direct, legal descendant of the original laird is residing at the castle and acting as clan head. ’Twas the government’s way of hoping some day to end the deal, I suspect—not that it matters at present. The point is there are only two people today who can fill that position. Myself and my father. And he’d no interest in the job even when he was sane.”

“What about Angus? Don’t brothers count?”

“Not when they’re illegitimate, they don’t. My uncle wasn’t supposed to be illegitimate, mind you. ’Twas a wee oversight of my grandfather’s. When Laird Stuart was captured by the Comanche years ago, he fathered my father on one of their women, the sister of a powerful warrior. He married her, too, Highland style, to make her feel better about it. But to make himself feel better when he was eventually ransomed back, he took a MacAllister bride and fathered Angus. Only that marriage wasn’t legal, because he already had a Comanche wife. Bigamy is not a Highland tradition, you understand. I suppose he thought no one would ever find out about his first son, but the truth did come out… Only not till my father was nearly grown.

“They brought him here to the castle and tried to make him stay by marrying him to Molly’s daughter, Rowena. She was a bonny lass, and I think he honestly did love her, but he’d been born and bred Comanche. The MacAllisters got him too late. He couldn’t tolerate life here, so after I was born, he packed up my mother and me and rejoined his tribe. The thing was, though, Rowena had been born and bred MacAllister, and she couldn’t tolerate life with the Comanche. He cared enough for her happiness to let her return to the castle without him, and I spent my childhood split between both worlds. Half my time here and half with my father’s people… Then the year I was fifteen, my mother died. Wild Horse came for her burial, and when he left, I went with him. I didn’t see these walls again till I was eighteen.”