Shattered Rainbows (50 page)

Haldoran's gaze roved back and forth across the island. Though intuition confirmed that he had been right to abandon the hill region, he had yet to find signs of his prey. He should have brought hounds. He would later, if necessary.

Though he didn't doubt the ultimate result, the island was large enough that the hunt could take a long time. The damned resilient grass made it almost impossible to follow tracks. And on top of that, it looked as if a storm was coming.

His temper was not improved by the knowledge that he'd been a fool to let himself be baited into agreeing to this hunt. With the laird critically ill and Catherine vanished, it wouldn't do for the laird's closest male relative to be gone from Skoal for too long. He had left a note at the castle saying that his cousin had disappeared and he'd gone to search for her, but that excuse wouldn't hold up indefinitely.

Yet even though this hunt was unwise, he couldn't really regret doing it. He had always wanted a chance to track human game, and Kenyon was a wily quarry. As for Catherine—she would have to die, of course, but with luck he would have time to enjoy her lavish charms first. Doyle would also appreciate the chance to ravish a lady after his master was finished. The thought was almost as appealing as the prospect of killing Kenyon.

He found the first clear traces of the fugitives in the fairy wood. Crushed bluebells showed that two people had halted for a time. Knowing that they couldn't be far away, he pressed forward eagerly.

The old village was ahead. If they were there, it would be easy to corner them in the little valley. Anyone attempting to flee would be exposed on the bare, grassy flanks of the hills. And with a specially designed rifle like his, the entire valley was within effective shooting range.

He motioned for Doyle to join him. Together they breasted the hill. He made no attempt to hide their approach; he liked the idea of his quarry running in terror.

He paused at the top and studied the valley floor. Then he gave a sigh of voluptuous pleasure. "Eureka."

Barely visible among the orchard trees, the fugitives were eating apples. Fools. He could kill them both from where he stood. But that would be too easy. Too quick.

Raising his rifle, he cocked the hammer and took aim. "Let's watch them run before I finish them off." Smiling, he squeezed the trigger.

The apples were good. Even better was watching Catherine's unabashed enjoyment as she finished her second apple. Michael felt an ache of protective tenderness when she licked a drop of apple juice from her lips. She was the gamest woman he had ever known, doing what had to be done without complaint and never reproaching him for having precipitated this disaster by returning to Skoal.

She swallowed her last bite. "Since it might not be wise to come back here, let's take some apples with us."

"A good idea." He stepped away from Catherine. As he stretched up for more fruit, a shot rang out. The rifle ball slammed into the tree trunk between them.

"Damnation!" Cursing himself viciously for watching Catherine instead of the hills, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the middle of the orchard. The foliage would shield them from the view of anyone above. "They'll probably come down after us, so we'll have to retreat through the village."

There was fear in her eyes, but her voice was steady when she asked, "Won't they see us if we try to leave the valley? The hills offer no cover at all."

"You're right. Though it's risky, I think the best plan is to hide in one of the collapsed
houses. I noticed a likely spot earlier. With luck they'll think we managed to get out of the valley without them seeing."

Moving like shadows, they slipped through the orchard toward the village. When they reached the edge of the trees, Michael motioned for Catherine to stay while he moved forward and scanned the hillside from which the shot had come. If the hunters had separated and one waited above with a rifle, Michael would be an easy target. But both men were descending into the valley. He caught a quick glimpse just before they disappeared behind the trees. The fugitives had at most four or five minutes before the hunters finished searching the orchard and came after them.

He beckoned for Catherine to follow him. The building he had noted earlier was in the middle of the village. One wall had collapsed, leaving the other ends of the rafters supported by the back wall. Vines grew profusely over the beams to create a natural curtain.

Catherine regarded the tentlike shape doubtfully, clearly thinking that it was an obvious hiding place. He indicated the opposite side of the wall. There was a mat of vines there also, but it was so close to the ground that there didn't appear to be space to hide below. Earlier, however, he had noticed that the earth under the vines was depressed, perhaps from the collapse of an old root cellar. There should be enough room for them.

He raised the vines to reveal the little hollow below. Catherine crouched and started to crawl into the hole backward. A small creature exploded from the hole and raced away, scaring the devil out of both of them. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Then she continued backing into the space and flattened down on her stomach. He did the same, arranging the grass and vines to look undisturbed.

The hollow was damp and earth-scented, and tendrils snagged his clothing and hair, but there was, barely, enough space for two people to lie side by side. He settled against Catherine and put an arm over her shoulders. Not only did that save space, but he welcomed the opportunity to hold her. Though the earth was chilly against his belly, she was warm. Tiny gaps in the vines allowed them to see out a little. By this time they were both so earth-colored that they should be invisible from outside.

After ten interminable minutes, the hunters came down the street. The first the fugitives knew was when Doyle growled, "Where could the bastards have gone?"

"They haven't left the valley or we would have seen," Haldoran said coolly. "And they aren't in the orchard, because we just searched there. Ergo, they must be hiding here in the old village." He raised his voice. "I know you can hear me, Catherine. Come out now and I'll spare you and release Amy."

Catherine's shoulders tensed under Michael's arm. For an instant, he thought she was going to stand up and accept her cousin's offer. He couldn't blame her if she did; if Haldoran could be trusted, she would be better off surrendering than staying in this wicked hunt.

If
Haldoran could be trusted. Michael would put more faith in a rabid dog.

But Catherine did not try to rise. He turned his head a fraction and saw that her face was rigid with fury. If she had a gun, Haldoran would be a dead man.

The hunters approached with soft, rustling steps. Through the gaps in the vines, Michael glimpsed boots coming to a halt. "You just don't learn, do you, darling cousin?" Haldoran drawled. "Doyle, shoot in there. It's one of the few places large enough to hide two people."

A rifle discharged and the ball smashed into the other side of the stone wall, mere inches away. Debris spattered down on the fugitives.

If both hunters had fired, Michael would have risked an assault in the hope that he could bring them both down in the moments before they could reload. But Haldoran was too canny. Only one gun was discharged, and from the sounds, it was immediately reloaded. Then a rifle barrel prodded the vines on the other side of the wall, the metal scraping against the stone.

Within the circle of his arm, Catherine was trembling. He tightened his hold. Moving with absolute silence, she turned her head a little and rested her forehead against his jaw. He felt the quick beat of her pulse under cool, smooth skin. He closed his eyes, aching for what they had so briefly shared, and for what might have been. It was hard to imagine a future.

They stayed immobile as the hunters searched the village. Twice more there were gunshots, and once an indignant sheep fled, bawling furiously. Eventually the hunters came back along the street. Doyle grumbled, "They must have escaped from the valley when we were searching the orchard, my lord."

"I suppose you're right, though it's hard to believe they could run that fast," Haldoran replied testily. "Let's climb the ridge. The terrain is flat around the valley, so we should be able to see them. If not, we'll come back and search more thoroughly."

The sound of footsteps faded. Michael released his breath, almost light-headed with relief. Catherine said in the faintest of voices, "What next? If they come back, we might not be so lucky again."

"Yes, but if we leave the valley, they'll see us instantly. We're caught between the proverbial rock and hard place."

"I have an idea," she said hesitantly. "Do you think we might be able to conceal ourselves among the cattle that were grazing around the standing stones? The ones we encountered earner were placid beasts that didn't mind when we came close."

His heart jumped with hope. "That's brilliant! We'll give Haldoran a little longer to get away, then try the cattle."

It was a tense wait. Too long and Haldoran might be back, too short and the fugitives might be spotted from above. Since there was no way of knowing the best time to move, he relied on soldier's instinct.

When the time felt right, he crawled from under the vines, looking in all directions as he went. Nothing.

He motioned to Catherine. They moved down the street warily, darting from the shelter of one house to the next. There was no sign of the hunters in the village or on the hills.

About a dozen russet cows were grazing on the hillside below the Druid circle, with more at the top. After a last scan for danger, Michael gave the signal to advance. Keeping low, they sprinted up the hill, slowing only when they neared the cows. One edged away skittishly, but the others merely gave a glance of mild bovine curiosity before returning to their grass.

These cattle were as docile as the ones they'd seen earlier, for which Michael was grateful. Even so, he kept a wary distance from the long horns. The shaggy beasts were similar to the cattle of the Scottish Highlands, which were famous for their ability to thrive in difficult conditions.

They made it safely to the top of the hill, where several dozen cattle browsed around raised stones that were higher than a tall man's head. They were about to enter the densest section of the herd when a shot rang out, quickly followed by another. Chips flew from the nearest Druid monolith. Michael yelled, "Get behind a stone!"

They dived in opposite directions and took refuge behind adjacent monoliths. Keeping low, Michael peered around the edge.

The hunters were racing around the rim of the valley toward the stone circle, their forms silhouetted starkly against the sky. They paused long enough for the taller figure of Haldoran to fire his rifle. Then he traded weapons with Doyle and fired again as his servant reloaded. After trading guns again, they resumed the chase, Doyle reloading the second rifle on the run.

One of the bullets grazed a cow. After it bellowed with indignation, the nervous herd started moving away from the hunters. The next bullets would start a full-fledged stampede.

Michael glanced across to Catherine. "If I helped you onto the back of a cow, could you stay there as it ran?"

She blinked before saying succinctly, "Yes."

"Then let's go with the herd and see if we can catch some mounts." Keeping low and using the standing stones as a shield, the two of them darted among the cattle, keeping a wary eye on the horns. The animals were moving faster. Soon they would be impossible to catch.

Michael gestured at the cow nearest Catherine. "That one?"

She nodded and moved closer to the animal, running flat out to keep up. Michael stayed with her, a step away. When she leaped upward, he caught her waist and boosted her as smoothly as if they had rehearsed. She landed on the beast's back and threw one leg over. Then she leaned forward and locked her hands on the horns.

Bellowing with surprise, her mount threw its head up, trying to shake its burden. Catherine clung to its back like a limpet. The animal took off at full gallop, easily outpacing Michael, who watched admiringly for a moment longer. Who would have guessed that a woman who looked so delicately beautiful in a ball gown could also be so strong and so brave?

Then it was time to find a mount of his own. Most of the herd had passed, but a leggy young steer was overtaking him. He fell in beside the beast, barely able to match its speed. Then he sprang onto its back and flattened along its spine, grasping the horns as Catherine had done.

This steer was more temperamental than the other, and it twisted and bucked as furiously as a horse. Michael clung tenaciously, knowing that failure would probably be fatal. After a brief, violent battle, the steer decided it was more important to stay with the herd than to dislodge its unwanted burden. It settled down and charged after its fellows.

So far, so good. But now that they had been seen, it would be very hard to shake their pursuers. As he kicked his mount to greater speed, Michael wondered what the devil to do next.

Dumbfounded, Doyle said, "They're riding the bloody cows!"

"Ingenious." Haldoran glared after the stampeding herd. Already his quarry was beyond effective rifle range. Within a matter of moments it became impossible to see which beasts had riders. "Kenyon is the most challenging game I've ever pursued, and Cousin Catherine has unexpected tenacity. But the cattle will soon come to the cliffs. When they do, they'll swerve, probably to the west, since that will be a wider angle. If we cut straight across to the end of the island, we'll be waiting there when the animals tire."

Smiling wolfishly, he began jogging toward the sea. The end of the hunt was at hand. He would not have missed this for anything.