"He... we... I mean, I can explain. You see, I..." Her gaze snagged on a woman with a babe in her arms. "I was too ashamed to face Hugh. I'm with child."
Why did Ciaran look as shocked and pained as if she'd just driven a knife into his chest? And the villagers—she might as well have screamed that she'd slept with every soldier in the barracks, they looked so appalled. They wouldn't be babbling on about Vanessa and Norton Fyfe tonight.
"Damn it, Fallon, have you lost your mind?" Ciaran demanded as a gasp echoed through the onlookers.
"With child?" Redmayne's cool eyes widened just a fraction, then dipped to her waist so intently it felt as if he could see all the way to her backbone. "A most distressing circumstance for a lady such as yourself. I never would have guessed it. You're still slender as the frond of a willow."
Fallon pressed one hand against her stomach. "I've done my best to conceal it."
"And you've done an astonishingly good job of it. I would never have believed..." He let the words trail off, hang between them for a moment as torturous as the rack. "However, all things considered, I am astonished that your betrothed would allow you to be in the midst of such an unfortunate scene as the one taking place here today." Redmayne pursed his features into a moue of concern. "This disturbance cannot be good for you in your condition, Miss Delaney." He said, waving a hand at the milling townsfolk. "It must upset you. Doubtless it would be much better for you if we were to pursue this conversation in the comfort and privacy of my offices."
She wanted to scoop up her skirts, bolt as fast as her feet could carry her, but there could be no escape. The red brick face of the Fyfe house loomed behind them, the crowd fencing them in on all other sides. What a disaster! She glanced up at Ciaran, the expression in his eyes making her knees shake. Lord, what had she done? He looked ready to bury her instead of marry her.
As if that wasn't bad enough, in trying to conceal Ciaran's identity, she'd just crossed over a dangerous line. It was one thing to help an anonymous traveler injured by the side of the road, and another thing entirely to lie to the authorities on his behalf.
She might be certain Ciaran wasn't one of the smugglers Redmayne sought, but what if the captain decided to press the issue? What alternatives would she have? Ciaran had lost his memory. There would be no way to prove that he was not Redmayne's quarry. And she could sense, with every instinct, that Captain Lionel Redmayne believed none of the lies she'd spun and that he had no intention of letting a prime suspect go, once Ciaran was in his grasp.
Following the captain to his lair like lambs to the slaughter was too great a risk. There was only one thing to do. She had to make certain Ciaran bolted the instant the chance presented itself.
The captain made a sweeping gesture with one hand, the crowd dividing as if he were the Celtic sea god Mannan MacLir commanding the waves to part. Then he turned his back on them, walking with deceptive negligence toward the place where his horse was tethered.
Fallon's hand shook where it gripped Ciaran's. Her first instinct, whenever shamed or scorned, had always been to thrust up her chin, donning the hauteur of a captive queen and never allowing anyone to glimpse weakness. But much as it pinched at her pride, she did the opposite, burying her face against Ciaran's shoulder, feigning embarrassment. Doubtless an emotion the crowd felt was natural enough. After all, she was now a fallen woman in the eyes of everyone present.
"Run," she whispered for his ears alone. "The moment we're in the clear, you must run."
"Abandon the mother of my child?" She'd never heard such burning scorn. "What kind of a coward do you take me for?"
Her head jerked up so fast her neck all but snapped. She glared at him. "Don't be a fool," she mouthed the words, saw understanding register in Ciaran's eyes.
God above, didn't Ciaran realize Redmayne was offering them a perfect opportunity to... to what? Cudgel the captain over the head? Make a break for open ground?
At that instant, the anguish and fury in Ciaran's eyes seemed to shift, and it was almost as if she could hear what he was thinking through some connection of their minds.
Redmayne was offering them a perfect chance, but not the one she would have embraced so recklessly. Rather, he was attempting to lure them in, to confirm the suspicions that had been lurking in his eyes from the moment he had seen Ciaran.
She glanced up into Ciaran's tempestuous face as they edged through the crowd, and in his gaze she could see a dozen plans for escape hastily formed, then discarded. Why? The answer was as obvious as her penchant for disaster: because she was entangled in this mess, and he would die before he left her to fend for herself. A fist closed about her heart, and she gathered up her courage, her resolve.
"It will be all right," Fallon whispered. "We just have to brazen this through."
Angry as he was, he tightened an arm about her and cast her a glance that stripped away any delusions. In that instant, she glimpsed splashes of red against whitewashed walls. An escort of a half dozen soldiers stood at the ready just beyond the Grenadier's Inn, awaiting their commander's pleasure.
Or, Fallon wondered, did the soldiers believe they were waiting for a far more vital reason—to spring a trap upon the lord of smugglers who had eluded them for so long?
Chapter 7
Instinct—deeper than memory, more potent than anger—a cipher engraved deep into every fiber, every sinew, every breath that he took. It stirred, awakened, came to life inside him—a piece of the man he'd lost.
Ciaran grasped it as the Celtic hero Cuchulain had grasped the enchanted spear Gae Bulga, clutched it with the same fervor with which Arthur Pendragon had taken the mighty sword Excalibur in his hands—for it was his only weapon against the adversary he now faced.
This adversary endangered the woman who had found Ciaran wandering amid the ruins and offered him safe haven, a place to gather up the scattered fragments of his memory. Fallon, with her legend-brightened eyes and her courage, and the secret lonely places in her heart.
It would take all his wits, now, to save her from paying a terrible price for protecting him. But, half-blinded as he was by his own ignorance, did he have the strength? The cunning? He'd pleaded with the fates to give him that power during the miles he'd ridden, Redmayne's soldiers clustered in a loose chain about him, a hangman's noose woven of men, ready to jerk tight at the first sign of an attempt to escape.
He would need every resource at his disposal to best Redmayne, that much he knew. Because the Englishman was watching, gauging every movement, every fleeting expression during the miles they'd traveled from the Fyfe house.
Ciaran had been all too aware of Redmayne gathering information about him from the instant he'd gotten up on Fallon's mount and cradled her before him. The Englishman had marked Ciaran's discomfort on a horse and noted the subtlest nuances of emotion. Every scrap of information might be invaluable in what was to come.
A duel of wits.
A match that could have dangerous consequences for the woman who had spun such desperate lies on Ciaran’s behalf, if he should lose. But despite all his vigilance, Ciaran had learned precious little about the officer who now held Fallon's fate in his hands. He hoped like blazes he would discover something now.
Awkwardly dismounting, he turned to lift Fallon down, felt the trembling in her. The need to protect her turned fierce inside him.
"If you will follow me?" Redmayne invited, as he cast the reins of his mount into the hands of one of his inferiors. "We will get through this as quickly as possible, in deference to Miss Delaney's delicate condition."
Ciaran's jaw clenched against the instinctive denial that rose in his throat. Their lives were in peril. Why should it matter so much to him that any man—especially a cur like Redmayne—thought he had seduced Fallon? But the fact ate at Ciaran's pride, seared him as if taking this woman's virginity, dishonoring her so, was a betrayal of everything he believed, everything he was.
He swore inwardly, pulling his attention back to the situation at
hand. He had to keep alert, focused, or he'd come awake to find Redmayne's blade at his throat, figuratively if not literally.
He paced after the captain, taking in their surroundings. Flags and sabers lined the walls of the military post. Artist's renditions of men's quests for glory brightened the walls like blossoms of blood on the chest of a dying general.
Each nook and cranny of the building was decked out like the soldiers themselves, every inch of uniform that could be emblazoned with some medal or award or trophy was crammed tight with something glittering. With every step, Ciaran attempted to memorize what he saw, in an intuitive attempt to know the enemy he now faced.
Redmayne ushered them into his private office, a place far different from the corridors they'd just passed through. Ciaran's hope of learning of some weakness in the man died.
The chamber was like a secret, tightly guarded.
The walls of Captain Redmayne's study were bare, everything else in the room so precisely in its place it bespoke a man who left no detail to chance, no avenue unexplored. A man this merciless in ordering his quill pens in their box would be even more ruthless in trying to bring order to the suspicions in his mind, Ciaran thought grimly.
The door closed behind them, and with a look of concern, Redmayne ushered Fallon to a chair as if she'd suddenly turned invalid. "You mustn't tire yourself, my dear. We would not want anything untoward to happen to your baby."
Ciaran sensed that Fallon's nerves were stretched so taut she could barely keep from pacing. "I prefer to stand," she said.
"But I must insist." In Redmayne's voice there was something as forceful and irresistible as a hand on her shoulder, nudging her down. She sat, looking suddenly terribly young and vulnerable in her soft muslin gown.
"Now, let us begin at the beginning," the captain said. "Where did you and Mr. MacDonough meet?"
"You can have no interest in such a tedious story, and such a personal one," Fallon began.
"I assure you, I am interested in anything concerning your... betrothed." There was the tiniest hesitation, yet Redmayne's doubts rippled along Ciaran's nerves. "Where and how did you meet?"
"I... we... I was on my way home from visiting the widow Treacle. I met him on the road. My horse had bruised its fetlock on a stone."
"With his talent for riding, it's obvious to the most untutored eye that Mr. MacDonough is exactly the man you'd wish to have on hand when you were having difficulties with a horse. An expert equestrian."
Ciaran tensed at the blunder, but Fallon covered it neatly. "I didn't say he was able to help me with the horse, only that I met him when Cuchulain began to limp. But once I did see Mr. MacDonough, I was glad enough to walk the rest of the way, as long as he was at my side. You see, we—"
"You what?" Redmayne prodded.
"We fell in love at first glance."
That much was true, Ciaran thought, wincing in discomfort. The woman had gazed on him with embarrassing adoration the minute he'd walked out of the mist. But then, it must be easy to fall in love with a legend rather than a mortal man. Why did the knowledge give him a twinge?
The captain laid one finger along his jaw. "Miss Delaney, I wish I could believe you. But there is something in your countenance that troubles me. Where exactly are you from, Mr. MacDonough?"
Ciaran shrugged. "Nowhere. Everywhere. I travel where I'm needed."
"Or where you are able to find a hot bed in which to plant the seed of rebellion? Smuggling goods in defiance of the Crown? This ground would be as fertile as Miss Delaney's womb, I assure you."
"Captain Redmayne—" Fallon started to protest, but Ciaran cut in.
"Keep your crude comments regarding my relationship with Fallon to yourself, Captain," Ciaran warned. "I am no rebel, Redmayne. I have no family, to my knowledge, and no place to call home. That is no crime, that I'm aware of."
"You were raised in a poorhouse then? A foundling home?"
Why couldn't he think of something to say? Why couldn't he fabricate one of the tales that tripped so glibly off Fallon's tongue, desperate as she was?
"You seem most reluctant to impart simple information, Mr. MacDonough. Is there something you're concealing—not only from me, but from the lovely Miss Delaney as well? Something you are ashamed of? Perhaps you are not a fit mate for a lady such as she?"
Fallon thrust her chin in the air. "I don't care if he was born in a cow byre! I love him, and I will have him!"
"You've made that quite plain. And as for you, Mr. MacDonough, considering your past, I can see much more clearly why the attractions of Miss Delaney were irresistible to you. It would be enough for many men that she is lovely, spirited, a promising filly to tame. Add to that the fact that she is an heiress—"
"I don't give a damn about her money!"
"Of course you don't," Redmayne said slyly. "You wish to marry her no matter what the cost. It is merely a happy chance that the two of you will be able to live on her fortune. Yes, a most romantic epic."
Rage flared, but Ciaran wrenched it under control. The captain was up to something. Closing for the kill. Ciaran could all but feel the wolf's breath at his throat. But how? How would Redmayne attempt to bring him down?
"Mr. MacDonough, that is a nasty gash on your forehead. How did you come by it?"
"His horse stumbled," Fallon leapt in. "He fell."
Ciaran cast her a glare. "I was in such haste to get to my beloved." Could that tender word sound more like an epithet? But Fallon latched on to his arm, forcing a smile.
"You've mentioned his clumsiness on horseback," she said. "Surely such an accident couldn't come as much of a surprise?"
"Not the most dashing of entrances in such a romantic tale." Redmayne steepled long white fingers, tapping them against his chin. "We must make certain there are no more such blunders along the path to true love. And I would guess that the most dangerous obstacle is even now in his study at Misthaven House working on his ledgers. A great man for detail, your brother is, madam. If I were to guess, I would say that it will be difficult indeed for you to avoid the censuring hand of Hugh Delaney. Quite a weighty problem."
"I'm certain Hugh will come to agree once he understands that Ciaran is the love of my life. That I would die without him."
It was a damned uncomfortable thought that if she kept these lies up much longer she'd be more likely to die with him, on the gallows.
A chuckle erupted from Redmayne, his eyes narrowing. "We cannot run the risk of such a tragedy." The captain purred. "Miss Delaney, what would you say if I confessed to you that I have a tender spot in my heart for young lovers?"
"I'd say you were a liar," Ciaran began then stopped as those shrewd eyes flashed to his.
Redmayne sketched him an infinitesimal bow. "A rather ungenerous label to apply to your benefactor, Mr. MacDonough. You see, I've devised the perfect way to be of service to both of you. Your child will carry its papa's name before this night has flown."
"Impossible—" Ciaran began, but Redmayne cut him off with a feral smile.
Redmayne crossed to the door, opened it. "Crimmins, Dalton."
Two soldiers, one hard and hairy as a blacksmith's hand, the other proudly sprouting his first whiskers, entered and came to attention. Ciaran could see that there was a wariness about the men, as if they weren't yet certain what to make of their new commander.
"Aye, Captain, sir," Crimmins saluted. "The battering rams you requested are almost finished. Sturdy as we can make them, sir. They'll be ready before two weeks are out, just as you ordered."
"Good. They'll be put to hard use in the next few months. The castle on the cliff is only the beginning. One needs sturdy equipment to sweep the whole of a county clean of this ancient stone refuse."
Even distressed as she was, Ciaran could see Fallon flinch at Redmayne's talk of destruction. Two weeks. He was to begin his campaign of demolition in two weeks. But how could the infernal woman be so worried about a heap of crumbling stone when both their lives hung in the balan
ce?
"However, at the moment I have another mission for you, gentlemen. Sergeant Crimmins, you will ride to the bishop's and secure a special license for a marriage between Miss Fallon Delaney and Mr. Ciaran MacDonough. And Dalton, you will fetch a clergyman."
Ciaran felt as if the man had snatched the earth from under his feet. His head reeled, nails digging deep into his palms. "What?"
"You are both perishing to wed. Such devotion should be rewarded. No chance must be taken that your babe will be born a bastard, Mr. MacDonough."
"But I don't... There is no..." Ciaran glanced wildly from Fallon to the soldiers to Redmayne, and the protests died on his lips.
"There is no what, Mr. MacDonough?"
Ciaran swore under his breath. Mother of God, the man was diabolical in his genius. While Ciaran had been watching, bracing for attack from other, more obvious quarters, Redmayne had slipped up behind him and thrown a noose around his neck. They were trapped. Damn Fallon for her tangle of lies. They'd only bumbled into an even worse disaster than before.
Marriage? It was unthinkable! For all he knew, he already had a wife somewhere, waiting for him. Yet the infernal captain had manipulated it all so neatly. What were Ciaran's choices? Marry Fallon, or confess the truth? He glanced down at Fallon, saw her eyes saucer-wide, her lips parted in a gasp. Could Redmayne and his soldiers possibly misinterpret shock as joy?
He half expected Fallon to cry off her tale, to say "never mind" and make a dash for the door. "This isn't necessary, Captain Redmayne," she stammered. "I would not want to place you or your men in the middle of a family argument. It wouldn't be fair."
"For two lovers all but dying to pledge their vows, you are both astonishingly patient. Why this cooling of your ardor? Or perhaps it never burned as hotly as you wish me to believe?"
"Yes!" Fallon stammered. "I mean, no! Please send your soldiers on their way... to the bishop and—"
Her Magic Touch (Celtic Rogues Book 3) Page 12