* * *
"Pardon, Monsieur Culhane, have you seen Mademoiselle Flynn? I am promised the last dance and I should be most unhappy to miss it. General Bonaparte himself would have difficulty in combatting the contestants for her favors."
Culhane smiled faintly at the anxious young officer. "I've not seen the young lady in some time, Lieutenant Courbier. Perhaps she has retired." Courbier's face fell, then he glumly wandered off toward a servant bearing a tray of port.
Sean surveyed the dance floor. Catherine was indeed nowhere to be seen. He strolled out onto the terrace, idly noting fanciful arrangements of greenery at either end. Perhaps she had retired. The light rouge on her cheeks had not completely disguised their pallor. The last strains of music faded away and impatiently he wanted the place cleared. Sylvie was to hoist anchor by late morning, and he would not be free to retire until the Meridian sailed after midnight. That left only a few precious hours to hold Catherine, perhaps for the last time.
"Mr. Culhane, the French are waitin' to take their leave."
"Thank you, Halloran."
Mercifully, those farewells were brief; unfortunately the other guests, unobliged to catch the tide, were less pressed. Last-moment trivial gossip and reassurances about the forthcoming conflict made it difficult for Sean to maintain his civility. When the last carriage rolled away, he sighed in relief.
Pelting up the stairs, he loosened his stock and tugged off his jacket as he entered his room. Disappointed not to find Catherine waiting in bed, he unbuttoned his waistcoat as he opened the connecting door to her chamber. His fingers missed the last button. Lingerie neatly lay across the bed where the maid had left it. Uneasily, he lifted a bit of lace and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. He had taken great care to display the desirability of his mistress. What if some randy buck had become dissatisfied with mere observation? Courbier had been eager enough. But the French were gone . . .
Then another thought occurred to him. Trying the door o Liam's chamber, he found it unlocked on both sides; Liam's room was empty, his things undisturbed. Sean's trust flailed desperately. Liam had brought Catherine downstairs. Peg would have let him in from Catherine's side. That was it. That had to be it. Kit wouldn't. . .
But somehow, he knew they were gone. Dying slowly inside, he knew it even as he ordered a search and sent Halloran to question the tower watch. When the man returned with two woozy, panicky guards in tow, an agony exploded inside his soul, sending sheets of pain arching like sunbursts, blackening finally to a dull, smoldering ache.
When Mephisto pulled up lame and he saw the deliberately angled nail, the first hate began.
CHAPTER 15
The Arena
A few hours from Shelan, the fleeing riders entered the Derryveagh foothills. They picked their way precariously as the incline grew steep, then dismounted. The horses' hooves slipped on wet bracken and twice Catherine fell, reducing the Parisian gown to a muddy, sodden wreck.
Just before dawn, they reached a high, narrow valley and secreted the horses in a moss-blanketed niche in the mountainside. Liam hung feed bags over the animals' heads, then pulled a fishing net from a canvas sack hidden in a rock cranny and strung it across the corral opening. He nodded to the rocks above. "There's a cave up there. We'll rest for a couple of hours, then move on through the high passes. Sean will think I've headed for Omagh. By the time he knows differently, his mounts should be dropping in their tracks, while we'll be halfway to Londonderry. He won't be sure where we'll emerge from the mountains, but once we do, we'll have to run like hell. . . . Go on, climb up. I have to tie the horses' mouths after they're fed, just in case. And be careful; the stones are loose."
As Liam had warned, the rocks were treacherous; negotiating them in a ball gown was no simple matter. She crawled into the cave through a narrow double entrance divided by a boulder whose shadow formed bars of waning moonlight into a blunt triangle across the cavern floor. The ceiling's peak, less than head high, sloped to the back of the cave. She recoiled as her knee hit something that fell over heavily and cracked. In a few moments, an entrance blacked out and Liam whispered hoarsely, "What was that noise?"
"A pot of some kind. I broke it." He swore and dragged himself inside, then squatted to brush pebbles and crockery away to clear a sleeping space. "What is this place, Liam?"
"A prehistoric burial cave. You just dumped the occupant's remains into the dirt."
"What?"
"You'll see when the sky lightens."
Absently, she pushed the collapsing coiffure out of her face. "When did you hide the net here?"
"While you and your stud were at sea. At the time, I was certain you could be persuaded to come with me."
She could almost see his bitter expression, though his face was in shadow. "When do we leave the mountains?"
"At nightfall after we rest again. Once in the open, we rest one more time, thirty miles from Londonderry, then run the final leg."
"You've planned efficiently."
"I had time. And reason." He paused, a dark shape made vaguely inhuman by the cloak's contours. "And now that I've kept my part of the bargain, it's time you kept yours."
Her fingers, tangled in her hair, stilled. "What do you mean?"
"We're man and wife in theory. When we leave this cave, we'll have been joined in fact."
"I'm tired, Liam, as you must be, and we've yet a long way to travel," she answered levelly, "We need rest. Surely your marital privileges can wait until we reach safety."
His lips curled. "My privileges, madame? You mean my rights. As for fatigue, if you had kept to your bed last night . . ."
"You!" Anger bubbled up. "Were you that drunk, or simply fool enough to try to bed me within Sean's grasp? What if the conference had broken up early? A meeting you should have been sober enough to attend. Then we might have more information, not just scraps!" She felt like hurling a pot fragment at him, knowing even in her mounting rage she was releasing the pent-up tension of days.
He laughed dryly. "So that's where you were. Playing spy. And you talk of discretion! Devious little Kitty Flynn." He shrugged off his cloak and spread it on the ground, then began to undo his clothing. When she made no movement to disrobe, he looked at her calmly. "I suggest you undress, my love; otherwise, I'll tear that dress to rags. As we're shortly appearing in public, you may prefer to keep it intact."
Catherine's anger became edged with uneasiness. "I'm not your whore. I'll not be taken like one."
"No. You're my wife," was the unruffled reply. He pulled off his shirt and vest and folded them for a pillow. "In a few hours, we may both be recaptured or dead. Would you deny me a few moments of wedded bliss?"
Realizing his implacability, she tried a new tack. "Liam, we may have years together. Would you begin our marriage so callously? Would you destroy any affection I might have for you?"
His eyes were the shade of steel in the moonlight, like the cool sheen of his hair. "I've waited long enough for your affection. Tried to earn it with gentleness and consideration. I was an idiot. You simply required a stud. Now you have one for life." He pulled off his boots, his lean chest and arms gleaming white above the remaining breeches. "Don't be too forlorn. My brother would never have married you. Ireland will always be first in his heart, and the only woman he ever really craved was Megan. I have no distractions. I want only you."
"Liam, please. Wait until we reach Londonderry. Only two more days. We'll go to the finest hotel . . ."
"Ah, my sweet, you're so lovely and so transparent. Do you really think I'm fool enough to give you grounds for annulment?" His eyes glinted dangerously and his voice lost its coolness. "If you have a stitch on after two minutes, I'll tear it to shreds."
He had her. She had given him the opportunity and the right. Now there was no choice. To find the way out of the mountains without him was impossible. She undid the catch of the cloak and let it fall, then the ball gown and chemise. v
Liam's roughened breathing was the only
sound in the cave as he unfastened his breeches. "Lie down." She started to spread the cloak. "No. In the dirt. No more altars for you, Jove." Lying down, she waited, stiff with loathing. The dirt was a powdery dust and she wondered what once-living refuse was mixed with it.
"Open your eyes, wife, and get used to the sight of me." Reluctantly, she obeyed. Naked, he was kneeling over her, his torso ghostly white, his sex jutting above her belly. " Touch me." She did not move. He caught at her wrist, dragged her hand downward, then covered her. He forced entry, and the knowledge that he was forcing her to submit, that he was dominating her, made him buck exultantly until sweat glistened on his flesh. He moaned in private ecstasy as all too quickly his ejaculation burst; then he fell away, panting.
Catherine lay unmoving, sprawled as he had left her, her body a dry husk, capable of feeling only a terrible, irrevocable loss. She had utterly betrayed Sean's trust; lack of choice made no difference. Anguish for his pain as well as her own suddenly rocked her with helpless, silent sobs.
Out of the dark, Liam's fingers brushed her cheeks with unexpected gentleness. "I didn't want it to be like this," he whispered. "I needed you so much and I waited so long. Then to see you begin to love him." His fingers stilled. "I couldn't bear it." There was no response. "I swear I'll be a good husband. You'll be happy, you'll see." He hesitated uneasily. "Don't hate me. I love you so much."
"I don't hate you." Her whisper was a monotone.
"You won't try to leave me? You promised before God . . ."
"Yes. I promised God and now I'm your wife." Catherine sat up and dragged the cloak about her, then stared at him over her shoulder. "But if you ever force me as you did tonight, you'll never see me again. Do you understand?"
He flushed. "I understand."
She curled Up in the cloak in the back of the cave, leaving him to seek his own makeshift arrangements.
* * *
The day was damp and overcast, the rumbling thunderheads lending a blueish cast to lush verdancy of rugged mountain slopes that surrounded the two riders threading through the vales. "Stay alert," Liam called back over his shoulder. "Sometimes rain-swelled rivers flood the valleys."
By daylight, he looked incongruous in his dusty formal clothes, particularly so far from civilization; but, Catherine reflected wryly, she could look no better. Her hair was a mass of tangles, gown filthy. Her face must be dirty as well. Dripping foliage brushed her sandaled foot. Green. Everything in Ireland was green. Like the shadowed green eyes that would haunt the rest of her days. Her chest began to ache as she fought away the memories and eventually lapsed into dull, swaying blankness, not thinking of the future, far less the past.
Liam peered through the gloom cast by the copse of trees that sheltered them. At their backs, mountains almost blocked the moon. Nothing visible moved across the grassy plain. To the northeast, the River Foyle glinted like a silver bangle. He finally nodded. "It's time."
They mounted quickly and urged the horses to an easy canter. Controlling the pace in the open country that stretched to Londonderry was crucial. They were far north of where Sean would expect them to exit the mountains, but rest and irregular terrain had cost precious time.
Dawn paled the sky without sign of pursuit. Toward noon, they reached a stream choked with weeds and yellow water lilies. After watering the animals, they wearily collapsed on the bank for a few minutes' rest. Long meadow grass fanned under a serene blue sky filled with the puffy clouds of a perfect spring day that reflected no hint of the threat that lay over the land. Catherine's mind drowsed wearily, lulled by the sun's warmth and the fragrant fields. Only moments seemed to have passed when Liam nudged her shoulder. "We have to keep moving. Sean will have picked up our trail by now. We've another fifty miles to cover."
* * *
By moonlight, the cashel resembled a low hill; only within a few hundred feet did the stone appear to be regular, like a giant's battered teeth set around an earthen tongue. Its boulders loomed high against the moon as the two riders dismounted. Liam pointed at a black-mouthed doorway formed by a crude, monstrous stone lintel. "We sleep in there."
"What is it?"
"A primitive fort; one of several about the countryside. The interior is a maze of souterrains that open out into a cleared area. Over there"—he nodded to a gap in the southern wall—"the roof has collapsed."
"A hospitable haven," Catherine remarked dryly. "Tons of earth must be atop the remaining passages."
Liam shrugged as he unfastened his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. "This is the best cover in miles and offers a chance of escape if we're surprised. Several souterrains open to the interior ring and the plain beyond."
He led Alcazar into the black maw of the doorway. The passage they followed was pitch-black and they stumbled over the debris of centuries, but Liam seemed to know exactly where he was going. "I explored this place as a boy," his voice echoed hollowly in the darkness. "There's a chamber where we can rest for a couple of hours." Shortly, he stopped. "This is it." She felt about to discover a dank cell only slightly wider than the passage. The horses whickered nervously and she could smell them and the mold in the place. She heard Liam drop his saddlebags. "Follow me with your canteen."
They negotiated a short, curving tunnel into a open space brilliant in the moonlight. It resembled an ancient Roman arena pierced with dark passage openings like the one from which they had emerged. Like blunt, stubby columns, huge stones were overturned among the sporadic holes and mounds of rubble that dotted the rocky, mossy floor. A cistern lay at the center. Liam dropped down at its edge and lowered his canteen by a long string. The canteen hit water far below with a faint slap and slowly filled. He hauled it up, then lowered the second canteen.
Catherine stooped by the well and looked down. A faint,moonlit glimmer of water shattered as the canteen struck it; rings rippled into darkness. She stood up, wincing at sore muscles. She was nearly asleep on her feet, the arena merging into moonlit, rubble-strewn dreams with dim, shapeless figures moving in their shadows. Her spine prickled. "Liam," she whispered unevenly, "don't look up. There are men in the passages."
He froze. "Where?"
"Ahead of me and to my left. Wait. I'll adjust my hair . . ." Fingers trembling, she reached for the tangled mass at her nape and turned slightly. Her knees seemed to melt as she sobbed under her breath, "Oh, God." No longer bothering to keep to the shadows, they emerged from the tunnels and moved silently like nightmares across the clearing. Liam got to his feet, swiftly drawing his pistol from his waistband.
The foremost specter spoke icily. "Try it, brother, and you'll have a bullet through your skull before you level the barrel."
Liam hesitated, then snarled, "These are my liege men. They'll not shoot me on a bastard's orders."
"No?" Sean stepped full into the moonlight. He was a clear target, and from several yards away, Catherine felt the dangerous look in his eyes. "They're accustomed to following my commands automatically and quibbling later. Care to test that theory?"
Sensing Liam's slight movement behind her, Catherine stepped forward to block his aim. Pistols cocked. With tongue turned to parchment, she fought to speak evenly. "I'm the one you want. I appealed to Lord Culhane's honor to help me escape."
Sean walked forward with his deceptively lazy, silent stride. His dark face was expressionless, his comment conversational. "You've a curious choice of timing, Miss Enderly, and an even more curious choice of route. Why Londonderry, when Donegal Town promised safety?"
"You have spies there, haven't you? I was afraid of being retaken so close to Shelan."
"You're lying in your teeth, Miss Enderly," the Irishman said amiably, beginning to circle to her left. Catherine moved stealthily to stay between him and Liam. He stopped and looked at her quizzically. "I'm not going to shoot your tongue-tied Galahad, Countess. He's really quite safe unless he intends to be more of an idiot than he has been."
"If you've no quarrel with me, then we'll leave," Liam snap
ped.
Culhane hooked his fingers in his belt. "You can go to hall if you like, brother. But the lady stays with me."
Liam jerked Catherine back against him. "That's where you're wrong. The lady is my lawful wife."
For an instant, Culhane tensed and his eyes flickered as if he had been struck. "You're lying."
Liam laughed ironically. "I see for once I've surprised you. If I may be permitted to reach into my waistcoat pocket, I have a marriage document. You may inspect the copy in Father Ryan's records. Naturally, other duplicates are less accessible." Sean held out his hand. As his brother scanned the paper, Liam commented, "As you see, properly witnessed . . ." His voice took on a grim note of pleasure. "And duly comsummated."
Sean's dark head came up slowly. "It seems you were willing to go to any lengths to escape me, Lady Culhane. I badly misjudged your talent for duplicity." The stunned pain and contempt in his eyes as he looked full into hers belied his soft voice. "My apologies for interrupting your honeymoon, brother, but I must insist on detaining your bride."
Liam's arm tightened about his wife's waist. "I'll kill you if any man makes a move to take her."
Sean's lips curved as subtly as a patient wolfs.
A sob rose in Catherine's throat. "Please! He means it."
The Irishman's eyes idly flicked over her. "Aye. You've a way of twisting a man's mind into knots. Lovely, lying Kit."
"You'll stop insulting my wife, bastard," Liam snarled. "You've shamed her for the last time." He turned to the nearest Irishman. "Give me your sword, Halloran."
Sean's eyes narrowed. "Don't be a fool. I've no wish to kill you."
"How noble. Or is your reluctance merely practical? You know my father's men won't follow the bastard murdefer of his legal son and heir!"
Sean's eyes glinted. "You've no proof I'm a bastard."
"No? In Father's absence, our mother was no better than a common whore. One of her many lovers was an English naval lieutenant. Perhaps the source of your attraction to the sea?"
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