Shattered Rainbows (47 page)

With one lithe movement, he pinned her against the wall, immobilizing her with his weight. "Quiet!"

She recognized the feel of his body even before she saw the green eyes blazing in the blackened face. Michael had returned.

"I'll take my hand away if you promise not to scream," he whispered. "Nod if you agree."

She nodded. He wore his menacing warrior's face, and she was not sure whether she was more afraid
of
him or
for
him. Nonetheless, her heart surged with involuntary pleasure in his presence.

"Given your record, I'm a fool to take your word," he said in an iron voice as he released her. "Remember that I can silence you quickly enough if necessary."

Wondering whether she dared tell him the truth or if she should try to send him away for his own safety, she asked warily, "Why are you here?"

His icy gaze bored into hers. "To learn what's really going on. When I thought things through, I realized your behavior didn't make much sense. Was Haldoran threatening you?"

If he had deduced that much, she would never be able to deceive him again. "Worse," she said with searing relief. "He has Amy."

"Damnation!" He closed his eyes for an instant, his expression rigid. "How?"

"On his trip to London, he called on the Mowbrys and told Anne I'd sent him to bring Amy to Skoal. Since he'd escorted them in Belgium, she saw no reason to doubt him." The defenses that had sustained her crumbled, leaving desolation. "Michael, I'm sorry, so sorry for what I did. I had no choice."

Desperate for his support, she reached out to him. After a moment of hesitation, he took her into his arms. She was shaking all over. His wool jersey was warm and softly scratchy against her cheek, as comforting as he was. Yet even in the midst of her grief, she recognized that he was different, more guarded than he had been before. That was not surprising. Though his mind might accept that she had acted under coercion, his emotions had taken a battering that would not easily heal. But for a few moments, she basked in the illusion of safety.

When she regained a measure of control, she said starkly, "It was Haldoran who killed Colin, not the Bonapartists."

"The
bastard
." Michael released her, his expression deadly. "So he's been planning this for some time."

"He said that if I didn't obey, he would kill you. And… and he made a point of saying that the island's legal marriage age is twelve, and Amy will be twelve next year."

Michael swore again. "Killing is too good for him. We must get Amy away immediately. Is she in the castle?"

"She's at Ragnarok. We haven't been able to talk, but Haldoran took me there yesterday and let me watch her walk in the garden. She's guarded whenever she leaves her room."

"Is she unharmed?"

"Yes. She doesn't know anything is wrong yet. He told her I was too busy nursing the laird to see her, and that she must be a good soldier and follow orders. But soon she'll start to become suspicious." Catherine swallowed. "I'm terrified that when she realizes she's a captive, she might do something reckless. She's like her father—utterly without fear."

"We'll have her before that happens," Michael promised.

Catherine rubbed her forehead, trying to think amid the tempest of her emotions. "Haldoran is sleeping in a room across the hall. He has four convicts working for him. I think two are here in the castle, one just outside the door. Thank heaven he didn't hear me cry out."

Michael glanced at the bed. "How is the laird?"

"A little better, I think, but still unconscious."

"No help there." He frowned. "If you leave him, will he be in any danger from Haldoran?"

It had occurred to Catherine how easily her grandfather could be smothered with a pillow. "I don't think so," she said, her voice troubled. "There's no advantage to killing him while I'm alive and the heir—but I don't know what Clive will do. I think he's half mad."

"Not mad. Evil." Michael ushered her toward the balcony. "It's time we were away."

The hall door opened and Haldoran swaggered into the room with a wolfish smile. Behind him were Doyle and another convict, both carrying shotguns. "Neither of you is going anywhere," Haldoran said curtly. "You shouldn't have given that charming little squeal of surprise when your lover arrived, Catherine, and the two of you shouldn't have wasted time talking."

Before Haldoran could say more, Michael sprang into action, hurling himself toward the intruders. At the same time, he shoved Catherine to one side so that she fell behind the sofa.

She was knocked breathless. For an instant she lay gasping, braced for the blast of a gun. It didn't come. Instead, there were sounds of smashing furniture.

Guessing that Haldoran didn't want to shoot for fear of waking the sleeping servants, she peered around the end of the sofa. Michael's swift assault had been effective, and Haldoran and Doyle lay stunned on the floor. Michael was now engaged in a ferocious struggle with the other convict. As she watched, he wrested the gun away and swung the stock in an arc. It smashed into the man's jaw with an ugly sound of breaking bone.

Haldoran leaped up and grabbed the poker from the fireplace. Catherine bolted from behind the sofa, crying, "Look out!"

Michael was pivoting and raising the shotgun when Haldoran cracked the poker against his skull. He crumpled to the floor, the gun falling beside him.

Catherine was gathering herself for a desperate assault when Haldoran snatched the shotgun and wheeled on her. A vicious bruise was forming on his jaw where he had been struck. "Don't try it, cousin. I'll blow you to pieces and tell the servants that your jealous husband shot you before we killed him. And if they don't believe me, I'll kill them, too."

She halted, knowing it would take very little to trigger lethal violence. In the tense silence, Michael groaned and shifted, on the verge of consciousness.

Haldoran snapped to Doyle, "Tie him up. It would be too messy to kill him here, so we'll have to take him to the cliffs. A rock on the skull and a few weeks in the water will take care of him nicely." His gaze raked Catherine.

"Shall I kill you with your lover, or gamble that you'll behave when he is dead?"

Though her face was expressionless, her mind was raging. If she hadn't cried out when she first saw Michael… if they had left immediately instead of talking… if she had warned him about Haldoran an instant sooner…

She cut off the useless regrets. Michael was doomed, and probably her with him. As for Amy…

It was the blackest moment of her life. Yet she could not give up and leave her daughter to Haldoran's evil. Trying desperately to sound persuasive, she said, "I always take the best opportunity available. Once again, that is you."

Haldoran scowled at her, clearly unconvinced, while Doyle searched Michael's limp body with rough efficiency. The convict removed a concealed pistol and boot knife, then lashed Michael's wrists together.

By the time Doyle was finished, Michael was conscious again. Blood oozed crimson from his scalp when he sat up, but the dark force that was so much a part of him was blazing like hell's own fire. "Congratulations, Haldoran," he said contemptuously. "You managed to bring me down with the help of only two other men. You must be terribly proud of yourself."

Haldoran glared at him. "I could have beaten you alone."

"Oh?" The lift of Michael's brows was eloquent with scorn. "I can outshoot you, outfight you, and I let you draw blood when we fenced because I was bored with your company and wanted to leave. You're an amateur, Haldoran. You fancy yourself a great sportsman, but you've never had the courage to face a real test."

Catherine's heart clenched as her glowering cousin took a step forward. "Rubbish. I'm the best rider to hounds in Britain, and I've defeated Jackson in his own boxing salon."

"Jackson is a clever fellow," Michael said with a mocking smile. "It's good business to let his vainer customers win now and then. I repeat: you're an amateur. Instead of joining the army and competing in the greatest game of all, you chased foxes in England and smirked about what a fine fellow you are. So much easier than actually risking your life."

Michael came very near death in that instant. Catherine made an anguished sound as Haldoran whipped the shotgun to his shoulder and prepared to fire.

Checking his fury, Haldoran contented himself with kicking Michael in the stomach, sending him sprawling again. "It's easy for you to taunt, but notice who's in control here."

"With professional help," Michael gasped when he had regained his breath. "I commanded a number of convicts like your men, and I have a certain respect for them. It takes strength and cunning to survive prison. For you, Haldoran, I have nothing but contempt. You're a bully who preys on women and children. You don't dare face a man who might be your match."

"Bastard!" Haldoran snarled. "I could defeat you in any fair contest, but you're not worth the effort."

"Poor devil." Michael shook his head with exaggerated sorrow. "Not only a bully and a braggart, but a coward. I'm surprised you can face yourself in the mirror."

Haldoran kicked him again, this time in the ribs. Michael rolled across the floor and into the sofa. Catherine shuddered, unable to understand why he was inviting such brutality.

Again it took Michael several moments to recover his breath, but he did not back down. "Everything you do confirms that I'm right," he panted. "If you weren't such a coward, I'd give you a challenge that would truly test you. But you would never accept it. You're afraid of me, and well you should be."

Eye glittering, Haldoran snapped, "What kind of challenge?"

"A hunt, since you're such a great huntsman." Michael's eyes narrowed, becoming feral. "You and me on the Isle of Bone. Give me five minutes' head start and you'll never catch me. Give me a day and you're a dead man, even if you're armed and I'm not."

Catherine caught her breath, understanding. He was trying to buy time, and a chance of survival.

Haldoran hesitated, his gaze going to Catherine.

"There's a kind of medieval grandeur to the idea," Michael continued. "You and I meet in single combat, and the winner gets the lady. Catherine won't give you any trouble if you manage to kill me. She didn't want me here.

When I came in, she told me to leave, that I would ruin everything."

Haldoran's anger flared again. "Liar. She was ready to go out the window with you."

His lips whitened as he looked from Michael to Catherine and back. Then they curved in a cruel, triumphant smile. "I don't have to prove anything to you, Kenyon. Single combat belongs to the Middle Ages. I prefer the pleasures of the chase. We'll go to Bone, but it will be me and Doyle tracking you and my deceitful cousin with only the sheep and gulls to see."

Michael's face paled, revealing underlying pain.

"That worries you, doesn't it?" Haldoran said, his voice almost crooning. "Alone, you might be able to elude me for some time, but not with Catherine to slow you down. You'll have to choose between abandoning her to preserve your own skin a few hours longer, or staying and dying together. Either way, you'll die, and I'll have the pleasure of hunting the ultimate game."

"You're a fool to kill a woman as beautiful as Catherine," Michael retorted. "A wife like her is. the ultimate trophy. You'll be the envy of every man you meet if you marry her."

Haldoran gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "True, but I can't help suspecting her good faith. She's the sort who could go meekly for years while she waits for the right moment to slip a stiletto between my ribs. Her daughter will be more malleable."

Voice lanced with anguish, Catherine said, "I'll swear any oath of obedience you want if you promise not to touch Amy."

"But I want to touch her. The thought of molding a virgin to my will is rather appealing." Haldoran
smiled again, and this time it came from the depths of his black soul. "The
knowledge that my saintly cousin Catherine died cursing me will add spice."

She glanced at Michael. His green eyes were fierce. She could almost hear him saying not to give up hope.

A measure of calm came to her. Michael had almost defeated three men
single-handedly, and she was less helpless than her cousin thought. Certainly she would not go
tamely to the slaughter. "A pity you didn't join the army,Clive. An officer like my father or Michael might have made a man of you."

Virulent dislike on his face, he waved his gun toward the door. "Move, both of you. We must leave Skoal before dawn. Don't try to call for help. My men and I can easily handle a parcel of unarmed servants, but I'd rather not have to kill them. My little kingdom needs all of its subjects."

Wincing, Michael got to his feet. "I realize that fairness isn't part of your nature, but you really should allow Catherine to change her clothing, it's going to be a damp, cold hunt."

Haldoran shrugged. "She can wear breeches if she likes. In fact, I'd rather enjoy seeing her in them. But I'll only allow her ten minutes in her
room to change. If she isn't ready, she'll have to run in her shift."

Catherine's mind raced as her cousin escorted her to her room. In fact, she had brought to Skoal the breeches she had worn on the Peninsula when conditions were particularly harsh. They would make it easier for her to run for her life. With luck, she would also be able to conceal a few small items about her person.

What a pity that her room did not contain a gun.