Warning at Eagle's Watch (12 page)

"To say that I am totally innocent in this whole fiasco would be a waste of breath, I am sure. But I am. And I don't care what you think of me. My intentions are only to have Priscilla Scott well and back to her former health. But I can't speak for your intentions."

Her eyes traveled around the room. The Highfields were sitting together on the sofa, their faces alike in their looks of suspicion and hate. Arnold Weaver sat almost coyly, his legs crossed in an easy chair, regarding her through eyes that were like slits. No need to wonder what he thought. Mitchell looked miserable, his offhand charm at a loss. For once, he stood shifting his weight from one foot to another. He clearly didn't know what to think.

Dr. Newburg sat back in an overstuffed chair, his glasses low on his nose, and regarded her with the look of a man who was taking in all that was going on around him.

At least, Hillary thought fleetingly, he knows Priscilla. He knows about these relatives. He'll be fair.

But it was Kent Harris that almost broke her heart. He was detached from the group, standing with his back to the conversation that shot like bolts of lightning through the room, his dark eyes gazing out into the blackness of the night through the large windows that faced the ocean. He gave no sign of believing the wild ideas of the family, which might, under normal circumstances, have been a comfort to Hillary. But standing alone, amidst all the faces in the room, with no one rushing to her defense or understanding her unfair plight, she felt his lack of response was like hostility. It was as if he were shouting out to her that he agreed with the others.

She felt miserable. "I think you're horrible. All horrible! And I can't help but hope that none of you will ever benefit from Miss Scott's estate. You are the most selfish and unfair people that I've ever laid eyes upon!"

She flung herself out of the living room as the last of her words fell from her shaking lips, swinging the doors behind her. As she entered the foyer, the sight of the large front door before her seemed a haven, an escape from the pain and confusion that was overflowing from her heart.

She opened the black door with tears in her large green eyes and fled thankfully into the cool night air.

Chapter 10

The breeze that drifted in over the ocean worked like a slap in the face for Hillary's raging mind, an instant plunge back into reality, a tonic for her ragged nervous system.

She drew a deep breath of the fresh air, and silently and carefully picked her way along the dark path that led to her favorite spot on the ocean cliffs. The night was very black around her, the moon hidden behind clouds in the summer sky, the stars not even in sight overhead.

It was the first time she had ventured outside of the thick castle walls after dark, and she found it eerie and more than a bit lonely. But she did not turn back, and made her way slowly as her green eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light.

She jumped with fright for an instant, as something warm and soft brushed against her ankle. But she berated herself for her absurdly silly behavior when a hard look revealed that it was only Percival who accompanied her. The black cat brushed against her affectionately, and she felt more relaxed for his company.

She reached the rocky seat that had been such a spot of contentment for her, and gazing out over the darkness of the ocean, she tried to sort out her troubled thoughts and mixed-up emotions.

There was no way that she could clear her name from suspicion in the eyes of the household members, without laying her life bare before them, telling them the set of circumstances that had led her to Eagle's Watch and Priscilla Scott. And that she was not willing to do. It did not matter, in reality, what they thought of her, as long as Scotty herself knew and understood the situation and did not share in their thoughts. But it would make her life so much easier if Scotty would announce her plans for the sharing of the estate, to remove any traces of the doubt that they had about her.

Kent. He had not even given her so much as a glance as she had faced those adamant accusers. He had not even seemed to care about her guilt or innocence. Hillary tried to recapture the moment that she had entered the dining room, the moment when she had shared the glow that had emanated from his eyes. But it seemed an eternity ago. It seemed a dream. Things had changed in the meantime, and she was at a loss to know what to do about it.

It was a very unsettling thought to know that almost all of the people that surrounded you would be happier if you were not there. In her mind, Hillary saw the ugly red word LEAVE scrawled across her mirror once more. Which one of them had written it? It could have been any of them. It could have been all of them.

She reached down and stroked the well-groomed back of Percival, and he responded with a resounding purr.

"At least you're on my side, Percival. You and Scotty. I guess I will have to be satisfied with that." And perhaps in time, some of the other members of the household would see that her intentions were good. She tried to raise her hopes, but the thought of Kent Harris's broad back as he turned away from her blotted out any progress her morale was making.

The chill of the night was beginning to reach her bones. The thin material of her dress was no shelter from the biting sea air that blew across the top of the cliff. She could not stay in this spot any longer. The time had come to return to the castle. Hopefully, she could avoid any further confrontations with those she did not wish to see.

She stood up to begin her return along the path. At that instant, the sound of a yowl reached her ears, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand out, making a chill run the entire length of her spine.

Percival. Never before had she heard the cat utter such a noise—so angry, so aggressive.

She spun around to see what had caused him to react in such a way. And then it happened.

Something hit her. The force caught her right in the back of the knees, like a none-too-subtle football tackle. It sent her sprawling forward, totally off balance, totally out of control.

She felt her heart rise high into her dry throat, as her body hurled several feet forward, her mind screamingly conscious of the edge of the cliff looming before her in the silent darkness of the night.

She was going over the edge, and there was nothing she could do about it. She opened her mouth and tried to scream, a last-ditch effort to protest the horrible fate that she saw undeniably before her. But no sound would come out. Her mind was frozen, her vocal cords were paralyzed. This was the end.

* * *

But it was not the end. As she closed her petrified eyes, her body felt a searing sword of pain. Something had broken her fall. She was still far above the crashing sound of the waves at the bottom of the cliff.

Indeed, she had gone over the edge, to what surely looked like a plummet to a horrible death. But as if by a miracle, she had been caught against a rough and jagged plateau of rock that jutted out a few feet from the almost sheer cliffside. She had fallen almost ten feet, she saw in amazement, as she strained her eyes to calculate the distance to the top of the cliff.

The throbbing in her leg brought her mind back to practical matters. She had been injured in the perilous fall, but was, she realized with a sudden burst of amazement, much better off than she would ever have dreamed possible.

She shuddered as her eyes wandered to the darkened waves breaking on the rocks below. She looked away quickly, vowing to keep her equilibrium in a situation that was still far from settled.

The ledge she had landed on was far too small for much maneuvering, and so she inspected her battered body the best she could while clinging to the rough stone wall behind her. Her ankle was swelling rapidly, but she suspected that the damage was a sprain, rather than a break, as she could still move her foot about, if a bit uncomfortably. Her legs were scraped, and she felt the warm wetness of blood running down her right cheek from a surface wound near her hairline. Her dress was torn to rags.

She would be fine, she consoled herself as she huddled on that little slip of a ledge, feeling the cold air whip around her tousled red hair. Fine, that is, as soon as she could once again find her feet on the solid ground that was now so many feet above her head.

She tried to use her voice again. "Help!" she called with all of the strength she could muster. "Help!" The sound of the waves below her, coupled with the force of the wind, drowned out the feeble attempt. What could she do?

And then Percival saved the day. High above, on the edge of the cliff, she heard him howling at the top of his lungs. The sound was ear-splitting and nerve-grating, but it certainly did its job. In a very few moments, she heard rapid footsteps on the path above her.

"It's the cat. Listen to him! What on earth is the matter with him?" They tried to shoo him away unaware of the cat's single-minded intent. But he would not be stilled.

"Help!" cried Hillary with all of her remaining strength. "Down here! Over the cliff!"

Three dark silhouettes appeared above her.

"Good heavens!" came Kent's deep voice. "It's Hillary! Are you all right?"

"What on earth happened?" Mitchell sounded dazed.

"I say now. This is a problem." Even Arnold's voice was a welcome sound.

Kent sprang into action.

"Get ropes," he ordered the two men and called to the others, who were further down the path, "warm blankets. Hot coffee! It's darn cold out here. She's going to need some attention when we get her up."

Before much more time had passed, Kent's dark figure appeared over the edge of the cliff, a thick rope knotted securely around his waist.

"Kent, are you sure you want to go down there?" Dr. Newburg's voice was questioning.

"I'm sure." He made his way down the side of the darkened cliff. "More light," he called to the group at the top. And then he reached her.

There was scarcely room for his feet to stand safely on the life-saving ledge that supported her, but he managed to balance long enough to tie an additional rope around her now almost limp form and pull her to her feet.

She cried out in pain as her foot tried to support her weight.

"Just relax, Hillary," came his voice, moments ago so strong and forceful, now suddenly soft and calm. "I'll take care of you."

His broad arms scooped her into his with a single action as he lifted her gently and instructed her to hold on to his shoulders.

"All right," he called to the top. "Let's go."

The trip up was, as she heard later, a risky and treacherous one. But to Hillary, leaning so totally on Kent's strong form, and in a mild state of shock, it was a deliverance.

She was rushed to the house, where Mrs. Raymond bustled about her, removing the remains of her once striking dress and pulling a warm flannel bathrobe tightly around her thin figure. She sat in one of the comfortable living-room chairs, under a pile of blankets, while many hands plied her with hot coffee and tried to be solicitous.

Dr. Newburg quickly and efficiently wrapped her painful ankle and bandaged her wounds. Kent stood by his side, and she noticed him flexing the fingers of his right hand as he watched.

"How terribly unfortunate," came Belinda's high-pitched voice. "What a terrible accident."

Arnold was less patronizing. "Really, Hillary, you should be more careful than to climb about on those horrible cliffs at night. Especially in a dress like that. No wonder you fell."

Something inside of her snapped.

"Who did this to me?" she cried out in rage. "Who pushed me?" She distinctly remembered the hold around her legs, the unmistakable feeling that a human force had started her descent. "I swear I was pushed."

The eyes that stared back into hers were wide and shocked. Silence filled the room.

"Certainly, she's upset. Isn't she, Doctor? Perhaps we should get her right up to bed." Belinda sounded strained and upset.

"I'm fine. But I was pushed. By someone who doesn't want me around here."

"Perhaps it was the cat, Hillary," Arnold suggested. "He's awfully high-strung, according to Mrs. Raymond. Perhaps he bumped into you on the trail of a mouse or some such thing. I really don't think that anyone here would "

"Think what you like," Hillary stormed. "But someone doesn't want me around here. Someone also stole into my room the other day and defaced the mirror with a message for me to leave. Was that the cat, too?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "Well, I don't think we are going to be able to solve any of this at this hour of the night and I know that you, young lady, must go to bed right now. You've had a narrow and extremely harrowing escape, whatever caused it. And if you don't want any more ill effects, I prescribe instant rest and quiet. And that's an order."

His voice was quiet and mellow, but its message came firmly across to Hillary, who knew herself that his medical advice was very sound. Besides, she was weary.

She nodded numbly, and Dr. Newburg motioned to Mr. Raymond to help her up to her room. She went willingly, her heart still not emptied of the anger and fear that had been planted within it, like a fertile seed. She noticed, with a twinge of pain, as she was taken from the living room, that Kent Harris was once again standing at the window on the far side of the room, his back once again facing her heavy heart.