Shattered Rainbows (42 page)

Looking martyred, Haldoran got to his feet and lifted a bowl of roses from a side table. After tossing the flowers into the fireplace, he brought her the bowl. "Here you are, but you're wasting your time. He had a similar attack last year. He came through that one, but I believe a second is usually fatal."

"Not necessarily." Praying that she was doing the right thing, she knelt by the laird again and rolled his sleeve above the elbow. Then she made a careful nick in the vein.

Her grandfather's blood splashed into the bowl as forcefully as if it were coming from an artery.

Clive opened a box on the desk and took out a cigar. "Do you mind if I smoke, cousin?"

"I don't care if you
burn!
How can you be so callous?"

He found a tinder box in the desk and lit the cigar. "There's nothing I can do, so why flap about like a guillotined chicken? Speaking of chickens, don't count yours before they're hatched. You think you've won because he's already changed his will." He drew on the cigar, then slowly released a mouthful of smoke. "You're wrong. I want the island, I want you, and I intend to have them both."

"You're talking utter rubbish," she said impatiently, her gaze on her grandfather and the slowing stream of blood. "Neither Skoal nor I are trophies to be won."

"Ah, but you are," he said calmly. "When Lord Michael returns, you will tell him to leave the island because you've decided to accept my most flattering offer of marriage. You and I will rule Skoal together, the last feudal monarchs in the British Isles."

She looked up from her grandfather, incredulous. "Send Michael away? You're mad."

"Not at all," he said with the same eerie calm. "You're going to do exactly what I tell you."

His assurance was beginning to unnerve her. "Why the devil should I pay any attention to your ridiculous orders?"

He gave a smile of mocking triumph. "Because I have your sweet little daughter, Amy."

Catherine stared at her cousin, feeling as if he had struck her a physical blow. "I don't believe you."

"If you want the proof, we can go to Ragnarok. She is comfortably ensconced in one of my best guest rooms with a splendid view of the sea. She quite likes Skoal."

"You're lying," she said through stiff lips. "Amy is safe with friends."

"Not safe enough." Clive sat down and crossed one elegantly booted leg over the other. "Anne Mowbry was reluctant to let me take her without word from you, but the girl was keen to come, and of course I'm the gallant gentleman who conveyed the whole pack of brats to Antwerp last year. How could Anne doubt such a hero?" He pulled a cherry-colored ribbon from his pocket and tossed it at Catherine. It twisted in the air and fell to the carpet to he like a trail of blood.

She had bought 4he ribbon for Amy's birthday. The bright shade was so vivid against her daughter's soft, dark hair…Her hands tightened on her grandfather's limp arm. "If you've hurt her, you're a dead man."

"Maternal devotion is such a touching sight." He tapped ash from the end of his cigar. "Don't worry, Amy is quite safe, and doesn't realize yet that she's a prisoner. She thinks I'm going to bring you to Ragnarok so you can be surprised."

She tried to make sense of what was happening. "You knew from the first that the man with me wasn't Colin."

"How could you think I wouldn't recognize someone as prominent as Lord Michael Kenyon merely because we were never introduced? I made it my business to learn about your friends, escorts, and dance partners." His eyes narrowed to slits. "The two of you weren't lovers when you came to the island, but you are now. I knew it the instant you came in that door."

That more than anything else made her realize what a formidable adversary Haldoran was. Like a spider, he had been spinning his web for a long time, watching and waiting. "Why didn't you expose my deception immediately?"

"It was a surprise to find you blandly presenting Lord Michael as your husband, but I was charmed at how well you carried it off. You and I are much alike, cousin. What were our privateer ancestors but legal pirates? Blood will
tell"

She would rather be related to a scorpion. "If you want the island, I'll sign it over to you if the laird dies. That's only justice, since he doesn't want me to have it anyhow."

"The island is only half," he said gently. "I must have you as well. By marrying you, I will obtain both of my goals."

Clamping down on her fear, she forced herself to organize her thoughts. First, she must care for her grandfather. There was a pint or so of blood in the bowl and the flow had slowed to a normal rate, so she had better end the bleeding.

She used the penknife to cut strips from her petticoat and bandaged the laird's arm. His pulse seemed a bit steadier, but beyond that she had no idea of his condition. She got to her feet and retrieved the blanket that had fallen from the wheelchair, then spread it over her grandfather. Knowing that even a doctor could probably do no more for him, she stood and gave her cousin her full attention. "Michael will never allow you to get away with whatever mad scheme you've devised."

"Your lover is a capable man, but no match for me. Come over here. I've something to show you."

Wondering what new blow he had in store, she joined him at the window. He gestured at a carriage waiting in the courtyard. Two villainous-looking servants sat nearby, idly dicing. "I recruit my best employees from Newgate Prison, so they are even more dangerous than they appear. I have two more of similar stamp at Ragnarok. They've all committed murder, and will happily do so again if I wish. Four armed men, plus myself, are a rather small army, but it's large enough to rule Skoal. Your dashing former officer would have no chance."

Horror increased to nightmare proportions. "Are you saying you'll kill Michael if I don't send him away?"

"I've waited a long time for you, cousin. I don't intend to wait any longer." He cocked his head. "Did you really persuade Kenyon to marry you, or did you say that to mollify the laird?"

"No persuasion was required," she said stiffly.

"Quite a coup for someone whose birth and fortune are so inferior to his. A fine example of the power of beauty." He exhaled, the smoke wreathing diabolically around his head. "If you have any fondness for Kenyon, send him away. Having killed your husband, I will certainly not hesitate to kill your lover."

Stunned, Catherine swayed against the wall, on the verge of fainting. "It was you who murdered Colin?"

"Yes, though as a hunter I didn't take much pride in the kill. The average fox is harder to catch. He was too drunk to care when I shot him in the back." Haldoran smiled sardonically. "Surely you aren't going to claim you loved that fornicating oaf. You're a good liar, but not that good."

The horror was almost unbearable. Dear God, Colin, with his courage and brash good nature, was dead because of her. He had survived a decade of war only to be murdered by a madman. Haldoran was evil,
evil
.

And he held the lives of her loved ones in his hands. A lifetime spent with soldiers made her understand how five armed and ruthless men could terrorize a whole community, and she knew in her bones that if Haldoran and his killers began to run amok, they would not want to stop. Brutality bred further brutality.

She thought of the horrors she had seen in Spain, and closed her eyes, nauseated. For the sake of Michael and Amy and the islanders, she must go along with Haldoran, at least for now.

In the distance, a cannon blasted. Michael's artillery project. A second shot boomed across the island. The familiar battlefield sound made her thoughts go cold and clear. Haldoran had said that beauty was power. That gave her one frail weapon against him. That and her wits, which most men overlooked because they were dazzled by her face and form.

She opened her eyes, sweeping her lashes upward with provocative deliberation. "I underestimated you, Clive. I had thought you a bit of a dandy, all style with no substance. You are stronger and bolder than I thought."

For all his boasted cleverness, he was not immune to flattery. "You are coming to terms with the new order very quickly," he said, preening slightly. "Women are such practical creatures. In time,
you'll be grateful for my taking charge of your life. I am richer and far more interesting than Kenyon."

"I'm already beginning to see the advantages," she agreed. "My grandfather keeps a brandy decanter here, doesn't he? Pour me some. It's time for plain speaking."

He bowed with ironic respect, then turned to obey. She took advantage of the brief respite to sit down and order her near-hysterical thoughts. She must learn Clive's intentions; she must protect Amy and Michael; most of all, she must buy time. That meant she must become the liar Haldoran thought her. She had convinced the world she was an adoring wife for more than a decade, and she had successfully hidden her love from Michael. Her skill in dissimulation must be called on again.

Haldoran returned and gave her one of the two glasses he carried. She waved him to a seat. "You say you want both Skoal and me. Why? The island is remote and not rich, and while I am beautiful, there are other women of equal beauty."

"I am a collector of objects that are rare and matchless. Granted, Skoal is not valuable compared to the rest of my holdings, but its feudal nature is unique. On Skoal, the laird has more authority than King George himself. The prospect of holding such power is irresistible. As for you…" His gaze traveled over her, dark and covetous. "You underestimate your looks as much as you underestimate my cleverness. There is not a man in the world who will not envy me for possessing you. It was revolting to see you wasted on a boor like Melbourne."

She shrugged, and started the most cold-blooded lying of her life. "At the time my parents died, Colin was the best choice. I suppose I could have left him to become a rich man's mistress, but such positions are precarious. Marriage and reputation are a woman's best protections." She sipped her brandy, and prayed that he would accept her next condition. "Which is why I will not allow you into my bed until after we are wed."

His eyes darkened. "You slept with Kenyon."

"Not until he had offered for me." She pursed her lips. "Perhaps I should have waited, but I wanted to attach him more securely. He's the honorable sort, which means that he would never have broken a betrothal after promising marriage and lying with me. I wouldn't have done it if I had realized the extent of your interest, cousin. You should have spoken sooner."

A slow smile curved Haldoran's lips. "I always knew that under your saintly facade beats a heart of pure brass. We shall deal very well together"—he scanned her face with dangerous shrewdness—"as long as you don't think you can deceive me with the pretense of cooperation. Here on the island, my little army makes me invincible. If you betray me, it will be simple to dispose of you and make it look like an accident on the cliffs. I will do it in an instant if you make it necessary."

"I believe you. I'd be a fool not to."

He swirled his brandy in slow circles. "Your daughter is very like you, and she is on the verge of womanhood. Did you know that on Skoal, girls can be married at the age of twelve?"