Stormfire (38 page)

"It's not my fault I've turned pretty!" she hissed. "Every time you ogle me, I wish I had a face of mud!"

"Vain, now, too," he gritted. "A few moth-eaten rags and you think you rival Godiva! You did wear clothes into town, I hope?"

Catherine's temper exploded. "I'll carve you up! Put me down, you slandering Irish ape!"

He stuck his nose against hers. "It's no slander to say you're a blackmailer! I've no doubt you coerced Flynn's daughters by threatening to reveal what I told you in private, didn't you? You played at being Irish and simpered at Liam until he put his head and mine into a noose. Irish! You're as Irish as Josephine Bonaparte and about as discreet!"

"And what would you know, ye blitherin' lummox? I can fling drivelin' blarney with the likes of you any day!" His startled look and relaxed grip allowed her to knee his groin. He dropped her like a hot
coal.
Bouncing away from her doubled-up aggressor, Catherine cooed, "Ohh, I've been waiting for that! But to think I've waited all these weeks to . . . you swaggering bully; you smug, hypocritical sermonizer! You're so careless of rutting, you assume everyone else is indiscriminate!"

The Irishman sagged against the wall while she railed, and slowly Catherines anger ebbed as she saw beads of sweat on his brow. Uneasily remorseful, she took a hesitant step toward him. "Are you all right?"

He shrank back. "Stay away."

"I didn't
realize . . .
let me help you to a chair," she urged.

A hand shielding his groin, he sidled along the wall. "Oh, no, you don't. I'm hanging on to the remains of my manhood . . . literally."

Averting her eyes, Catherine fidgeted in embarrassment. Suddenly, a quick, slithering movement riveted her attention. "Now I've got you!" she exulted.

Sean flinched as she pounced toward him. Triumphantly, she snatehed up a field mouse. Cupping it in her hands, she stroked the creature to ease its fear. As its bright red eyes peered at him nervously above twitching whiskers, the Irishman let out his breath. "I should have known you'd have a familiar about."

She arched a dark brow. "It's ever a witch's habit. If I had intended to render you impotent"—her head jerked at a broom resting in a corner—"I only needed to wave my wand."

Ruefully, he stared down at himself. "I wonder if mine will ever wave again."

"Of that, I've no doubt. You'll be swaggering about, intimidating everyone again in all too short order."

He grinned crookedly. "You weren't much impressed."

"Oh, but I was," she answered quietly. "Even afraid."

He straightened, his grin fading. "You hid it well enough."

"Haven't you ever smothered fear with hostility?"

He was thoughtful for a moment, then admitted slowly, "Perhaps that's part of the reason I attacked you. Anger removed the uncertainty from our meeting again." He fell silent, for the first time letting himself enjoy the quiet pleasure of her nearness. Her hair fell in a black, silken torrent down her back from a head that seemed too small to carry such luxurious weight. She appeared unchanged, her exquisite, fine-boned face, if anything, more flowerlike. Blue eyes met his with a child's unwavering candor. He yearned to take her in his arms, yet dared not touch her, for he could not trust himself not to whisper impossible words of need. "I've a peace offering," he said quietly.

"Not my freedom?" She searched his eyes. "No, I thought not. Never that." She slipped the mouse into a small cage on the desk. "This mouse and I are much alike." She turned, adding ironically, "Slaves aren't permitted to be ungrateful; therefore, I most humbly accept your gift." The remoteness that held Liam at bay transmitted its chill to his brother.

Though he found her change of manner disquieting, Sean did not retreat. "I bring only what is yours already."

"A slave has no possessions. All is her master's."

"Even so. What is yours is now mine. Come . . ." He took her hand and led her to the window. After pushing it open, he swung across the sill and indicated for her to follow. Intrigued in spite of herself, she adroitly obeyed. "No need to alert the fleet," the Irishman muttered as he led her at a trot to the front of the building.

She caught sight of the stallions and broke into a run. Both blacks whickered a greeting, but it was her own pet she threw her arms about. "Numidian! Oh, darling. I thought I'd never see you again." Her head buried against the animal's neck, she was only dimly aware of Mephisto's nudge at her shoulder.

"My nag thinks it's a fickle wench y'are," came a soft lilt behind her. "He's jealous."

She turned to him, her eyes luminous. "How could you know?" she whispered. Tears blurred her vision and the words drifted away. The tall Irishman and the slim girl looked long at one another as the sea wind whipped silently about them. Then Mephisto broke the quiet by impatiently poking his head at Catherine's shoulder. Her eyes reluctantly slipped from the Irishman's as she stroked the sulky stallion's nose. When her eyes lifted, they were uneasy. "What have you done?" she asked softly, joy shadowed by growing apprehension. "You must have stolen Numidian. Father would never sell him and Amin would die before letting a stranger . . ."

"I picked him up in a horserace," Sean replied quietly. "Your father and the old Arab are well."

She stared at him. "Race? But Numidian isn't raced. Father promised . . ." Not wanting her father's enemy to catch some slur, she bit the words off and turned to play with Numidian's forelock. "How did he place?"

"If I had been his rider, he'd have won," was the flat reply. "You've made him a pet. Mephisto won by a half- length for that reason alone."

"Numidian will run for me!" Her blue eyes flashed. "He's not used to strangers."

Culhane smiled faintly. "Neither is Mephisto. I've trained him to tolerate no other man on his back, and he's trampled two who tested his schooling. It never occurred to me a bit of fluff could sweet-talk the big lummox into heading for the hills."

Catherine jumped to the stallion's defense. "Mephisto isn't a lummox! He's a better horse than you're likely to see again!"

"The best in Britain," agreed Sean inconsistently with a complacent grin. "Not another horse in the islands can beat him."

Her small chin lifted in blunt challenge. "Want to bet?"

His grin widened. "What have you to wager?"

She flushed, remembering she could claim nothing, not even the clothes on her back. Then her chin lifted a notch higher and her tone suggested an offer of the crown jewels. "You've heard me play the pianoforte. If I lose, I'll play for you whenever you like."

He nodded graciously. "Done. I'll throw in a new dress." Catherine kicked off her slippers; Sean tucked them into his jacket pockets, then gave her a hand up onto Numidian's bare back. She sat casually astride, long skirts hiked to her knees. After vaulting onto his own mount, he led the way down the bluff to the beach.

Ahead of the cantering riders, low tide bared a stretch of pebbles in a shimmering sweep at the base of white limestone cliffs. Slicing through a silver haze, seabirds screamed over surf the sheen of pearls. Sensing they were to be let out, the stallions snorted restively. "We'll line up with that rock fault," Culhane's voice lifted above the surfs rumble, "and use that far outcrop as the finish." He pointed to a prominent wedge of weathered limestone a few hundred yards down the beach toward Shelan where the
Mary D.
was already raising sail for departure. Catherine nodded, hair drifting out on the breeze like a banner. When a side glance assured Sean she was ready, he shouted, "Go!" and kicked Mephisto sharply in the flanks. Both horses leaped forward, haunches bunching and hooves spattering grit, then leveled out. As the riders leaned low over their necks, they pounded up the beach. Intent on proving the folly of coddling a racehorse, Sean gave his challenger no quarter, but when the outcrop was passed, he was irritably stunned to find himself the loser by a full length.

Perched like a gull's feather on Numidian's broad back, Catherine grinned as she circled and slowed to an easy trot. "There's no need to scowl like a jilted suitor! After all, I'm much lighter than you, and Numidian knows I adore him; he'll run his heart out for me."

Still frowning, Sean shook his head. "I've left light riders eating dust, and Mephisto's belly-deep in awe of me. It doesn't make sense."

She laughed. "Only if you persist in basing his efficiency on fear."

Culhane kneed the stallion impatiently down the beach. "Mephisto obeys because he knows I won't tolerate less, and punish disobedience."

Catherine was silent for a moment as they cooled the sweaty horses. "What is
my
punishment to be?"

"Which offense do you have in mind?"

"Take your choice. You seemed to have a rather long list when you barged into the infirmary. I don't expect a man with your stringent demands of his possessions to dismiss such transgressions."

Knowing she was forcing his hand to make a point, the Irishman thoughtfully regarded her fine-boned profile and rigid expectancy. "So I have," he said quietly, "and I'll do so now." Leaning over, he caught her bridle, pulling Numidian to a halt. Catherine tensed, her slim body ramrod straight as he turned his mount in a tight circle to face her; their knees brushed. "The price of your crimes is a kiss."

Her sapphire eyes went wide. "A kiss?"

"Only that."

She shifted. "Now?"

"Now."

Resignedly, she leaned toward him, closed her eyes, and waited. After a moment, when there was no response, she peeked at him. "No?"

"No," he intoned with mock gravity. "You're to kiss me."

She blinked. "Oh." Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned hesitantly toward him again, rising slightly to reach the required target.

Just as her lips started to hastily brush his, Sean whisered, "No pecks, little miscreant. Pay the hangman his due."

Her eyes opened half-wary, half-mesmerized by green eyes that seemed to draw her into their darkly clouded depths. She steadied herself with one hand against his chest. Her lips brushed his shyly, then clung as his mouth warmed to hers.

Sean had resolved to retain control, but instinctively his hand moved to lift her face gently to his and his lips
 
parted, luring her to kiss him more deeply. Irresistibly drawn, Catherine answered the lure and kissed him fully, holding back nothing. A vibrant current flowed through her limbs as if his lips offered the only warmth in the world. She put all her longing for the haven his strong arms had strangely come to promise into the softness of her kiss; and Sean's need for her welcome found release in his gentle acceptance of it. When at last he let her go, they looked at each other silently, without lust, both at peace and content to wait.

That night, Catherine was asleep long before Sean finished reviewing the work piled up in his absence. Though the hour was late, he lay awake, studying her profile in the streaming moonlight, knowing its perfect serenity to be an illusion. Peg had told him of Catherine's worsening nightmares. Something or someone must have triggered her old terrors. The housekeeper thought her distress had increased at the same time Flynn's patients had returned, but that made no sense. His mind prowled restlessly. What had been different? In the village, she had encountered strangers for the first time in months; one of them, a street, a name, might have recalled an obscure memory.

His mind cast farther. Liam had been her escort. Had he made advances? Peg's advice echoed in his brain: "She'd bloom in the arms of a lovin' man." Catherine's spirits had drooped during Liam's absence in America, despite her protests of mere friendship. He had believed her, but had he deluded himself? Once the idea of her warming to his brother's caresses hooked into his mind, he could not wrench free of its barbs. Liam was no longer an insignificant dreamer, but a determined rival with odds grossly in his favor. Her tenderness was no proof she did not yearn for another man's arms, yet more than ever, he wanted to protect her. Once he had coldly sought the- key to her dreams in order to break her; now he was determined to break their spell. Still, he wondered whether recalling intolerable memories would end their recurrence or drive her mad.