Snow cushioned his landing, but he welcomed the jarring blow that rattled his bones and shook the despair loose from his head. Barely pausing, he Changed and began to run as hard and as fast as he could, away from the room and the ranch and Athena.
It was a strange thing, that he returned. He dragged himself back to the barn to dress just before dawn, aware that the snow had started again and boded a storm for the day ahead. A storm that might trap anyone—any human—who desired to leave the mountains.
A wolf could leave any time. That was what kept Morgan circling the house like a whipped cur, until Harry stepped out one of the side doors shortly after sunrise and blew a puff of pipe smoke into the expectant air.
Harry was looking for something. Someone. Morgan knew what he hoped to see, and what the others must think. He would make sure they knew how wrong they were.
Morgan Changed in the barn, pulled on his clothes and stalked up to the porch. Harry started slightly when he saw Morgan, and then his shoulders fell.
"It looks like snow," he remarked as Morgan joined him. "Bad weather. I feel it in my bones."
"A storm." Morgan willed the hair to lie flat against his neck. "You don't have to worry. You are safe here."
"Are we staying?"
"Athena would not let Munroe drive you out," he said bitterly. "She cares too much about… helping."
Harry glanced at him. "Morgan, I am sorry. I wish I could have done something to intervene. We all do. We've known… almost from the beginning how the girl felt about you, and you her." He coughed behind his hand. "I'm a meddling old fool. I made her come here, with my letters, when I should have stayed out of your business. But all we want… all I want, is your happiness. Yours and Athena's." He blinked several times. "I know you well enough—I presume to know—that what you want to do now is run off. Permanently. But—"
He took a long breath and faced Morgan. "I ask you to trust me, Morgan. Trust me, as you would your own kin. You're like a son to me, even though… though I'm a poor excuse for a father. Even so, as a father I advise you to wait. Be patient. Stay a little longer. Whatever obstacles may stand before you now, they can be overcome."
Morgan swallowed and looked toward the mountains. Harry reached out a hand, hesitated, and let it come to rest on Morgan's shoulder. It felt curious, that touch, after Athena's. Too close, too intimate, like that of kin. Family.
A father's touch.
"You do not want to be my father," he said, holding absolutely still, afraid of his own terror. "Do you know what happened to my real father, Harry?" He lifted his hands. "I killed him. I killed him with these two hands."
Chapter 17
"I don't believe it," Caitlin said. "Not for a moment." Ulysses looked at her gravely and met Harry's gaze. They sat, the three of them, in Caitlin's room while the storm raged through its third day outside the sturdy walls of the ranch house. The wind howled no more fiercely than Morgan had done every night since Niall's arrival. No one had seen Morgan since Harry's brief conversation with him, but he had not gone. The howls proved as much.
Caitlin knew that Harry had waited to tell her and Ulysses Morgan's terrible revelation, working himself into a dither over how much to share. In the end, he had been unable to keep it to himself. It was not in his nature to suffer alone, or let others suffer likewise. His heart was too big to hide in a corner.
All the troupers had been hiding, in one way or another, while Niall remained at Long Park. He avoided them, and Athena kept to her room—Niall's room, given to her after the incident with Morgan—but the atmosphere felt as poisonous as the smoke belching from one of those horrid Denver smelters. Ulysses had learned, from listening to maids who hardly noticed his existence, that Athena was to return to Denver with Niall as soon as the weather permitted. She was not to see Morgan again, and she was to keep apart from the circus folk.
A devil's bargain, Caitlin thought. Niall had demanded her obedience in exchange for the safety of the circus—and perhaps of the man she loved. That she loved Morgan, Caitlin had no doubt. Just as she knew Morgan could not live without her.
"No," she repeated firmly. "Morgan could not have killed his own father. Didn't he say anything else, Harry?"
The old man's face sagged as if he had lost several pounds in as many days. "No. He left me with that, and walked away. As if he… wanted me to think the worst."
"He lives under the weight of an intolerable burden," Ulysses said quietly. "Intolerable enough to make him avoid the company of other people—as you observed yourself many times, Firefly. He punishes himself."
"For murder?" Caitlin snorted. "No. There must be much more to the story. Did he talk to you, Uly? You must tell us."
Ulysses only looked away, avoiding the question. Caitlin longed to shake him. "You're hiding something, I know it. But I also know Morgan is not a killer. I would feel it if he were."
"There are times when feelings are inadequate."
"And sometimes they are all we have," Harry said. "If he had something to do with his father's death, there must have been a very good reason."
"I agree," Uly said. "But I am at a loss as to how to assist him."
"The help he needs most is with Athena—and Niall," Caitlin said.
"Interference now might make matters worse," Uly said. "Morgan must recognize the danger of confronting Munroe directly."
"And what of you, Firefly?" Harry asked gently.
She knew what he was asking but chose to pretend otherwise. "I know there must be a way of thwarting Niall," she said. "He needs to be distracted until Athena finds a means of outwitting him. With a little encouragement…"
"I don't like the look on your face, Firefly," Harry said.
"Niall is as dangerous as Morgan," Ulysses cautioned. "You have seen that for yourself."
"And you've repeatedly warned me to take care, like an old grandmother," Caitlin said with a laugh. "Did you think I really swooned up in Athena's room?"
Ulysses and Morgan exchanged glances. Harry assumed a stern expression ill-suited to his jolly St. Nicholas features.
"We are here on Munroe's sufferance," he said. "Athena would never allow any harm to come to us, but if she chooses to defy her brother, he may eject us forthwith." He met Caitlin's eyes. "I won't see us cast out, Firefly, as long as we are capable of leaving of our own free will. Nor will I allow you to place yourself in jeopardy, of body or of soul. I will give orders for the troupers to prepare to depart as soon as the storm passes."
"You don't mean it, Harry. It's almost winter. We can't travel now—and you want to see Athena and Morgan together just as much as I do."
"Yes. But I have witnessed the consequences of our meddling, and I feel—" He blinked, giving the impression of a slightly befuddled owl. "I feel in my bones that we must go."
"Is this because of what Morgan said?"
"I fear what he will do if he is driven too far," Harry admitted. "I'll try to persuade him to come with us. Then, when everything is calm again, he may return."
Caitlin studied Harry with growing trepidation. She had never seen him look so grave, or so determined. Did he truly believe that she would get herself, or the troupe, into a predicament she couldn't climb out of?
"You're wrong, Harry," she said. "No good will come of running away now."
"I have made my decision." He got to his feet and started toward the door. "I shall tell the others to begin preparations, and we will leave at the first sign of clear weather."
When Harry was gone, Caitlin looked at Ulysses. "You agree with him, don't you?"
"I would make any personal sacrifice on Morgan's behalf," he said. "I would assist Miss Munroe if I were able. But it is my considered judgment that the welfare of the troupe must take precedence over that of Athena and Morgan. They must make their own choices." He paused. "I am sorry, Caitlin."
She saw that arguing with him was as futile as it would have been with Harry. Men could be so stubborn once they had an idea in their heads, no matt
er how wrong it was. She'd thought that Harry followed his heart more than most, but even he fell prey to the idea that money meant power, and women had to be protected from their own foolish notions.
She lay in bed, fuming silently, for a good hour after Ulysses left. The troupe must not leave until the business with Athena and Morgan was resolved. She had taken great pains to throw them together, and she'd be damned if she'd let Niall Munroe ruin her plans.
The storm might pass at any moment, but it would take several days for the troupe to prepare to move. Even in fair weather, the snow would impede progress and make the pass difficult to negotiate. That gave her a little more time.
If Harry and Ulysses feared some rash action on her part… well, she would make very certain not to disappoint them.
"A letter has just arrived, Miss Hockensmith" Parton said, presenting the paper on a silver tray with a little bow. "It was marked urgent."
Cecily paused to accept the envelope, listening to make sure that the ladies assembled in her parlor were still engaged in conversation. When Parton had gone to retrieve more refreshments for her influential guests, she examined the return address with an eager smile.
It was marked from Yankee Gulch, the only substantial town nearest Niall's ranch. Her hope that the letter might be from Niall was all too quickly dashed. The spidery writing was definitely not his, nor did it belong to Athena.
Niall had been gone several days, doubtless due to the bad weather blanketing the mountains. She had been glad for the respite. With the Winter Ball only days away, nothing could interfere with the social coup she was about to achieve.
She frowned at the envelope and turned it over in her hands. If it was not from Niall or Athena…
She began to read, wrinkling her nose at the highly spiced scent of the paper, and nearly dropped it.
You promised to help me, it became without salutation, if I aided you in keeping Munroe and our Caitlin apart. I gave you information that you were to use to control the girl and influence your lover. But now you must know that he is here, with Caitlin, as Athena is with my wolf.
Cecily held the letter by her fingertips, wishing she could burn it immediately. She did not have to read the scrawled name at the bottom of the letter to know who had sent it.
Tamar. Tamar, that horrid snake-woman with her veiled threats and promises, whom Cecily had hoped she would never hear from again. She had not even guessed the gypsy could read, let alone write.
Your brother intends to make Athena return to Denver, the letter went on, but Morgan remains under her spell. She is now able to stand and walk, which removes an obstacle between them. Morgan may attempt to follow. I have spoken to Harry French and convinced him that our Caitlin will put herself in danger by pursuing your brother and trying to meddle in Athena's affairs. He has agreed that we must leave this place. We will be departing when weather permits. But if Morgan does not come with us, you must make sure that Athena is made to wish never to see him again.
I know that Morgan was sent to prison for the crime of killing his own father. You must learn the truth of these matters swiftly, so that when Athena returns you may tell her what breed of man her lover is. When she turns against him, he will come to me. Do not fail.
Cecily crumpled the paper in her fist, her mind racing with the information Tamar had imparted. So Niall had seen Caitlin, had he? And the girl was still pursuing him, in spite of her supposed injury?
And Morgan Holt was a convict. A patricide. Cecily smiled with satisfaction. She was not surprised, for it fully justified her complete dislike of the man and his cohorts. A crime of that kind could not easily be forgiven. Even Athena would quail and shudder at such knowledge, especially when she had so adored her own father.
And she was able to walk! Cecily's smile soured. It had occurred to her, once or twice, that Athena's lameness might be a ploy to win the sympathy of society and support for her causes. Certainly many of the ladies would not have been so generous had she not been a cripple, and thus worthy of pity herself.
Had "love" transformed Athena, or had she decided she wanted something more than what had contented her in the past? Niall would not be so cursed protective if his sister could walk. But the girl might prove much more troublesome and difficult to influence. She might even fight for the position Cecily was stealing from her.
Cecily shoved the letter into a fold of her skirt and walked slowly toward the parlor. Tamar claimed that Cecily owed her, but Cecily recognized no such debt. Indeed, if she chose she could simply ignore the information about Morgan and allow matters to take whatever course fate decreed. If the foolish child fell into the hands of a convicted murderer and ran off with him, why that was of no consequence as long as Cecily had Niall's devotion and he did not suspect her of any personal involvement. Why should he? Athena would be out of the way once and for all, ruined in society.
On the other hand, if Cecily were to confirm Tamar's information and report it to Niall, he would have even more reason to be grateful to her for alerting him.
Yes. Cecily paused at the doorway to the parlor, listening to Mrs. Merriwether's lavish expressions of anticipation for the ball to come. She would take great personal delight in exposing Morgan Holt to Niall, Athena, and the world. That would put an end to his contemptuous looks and loutish disrespect for his betters. All she need do was make a few discreet inquiries—her father certainly knew the right people, now that he was in partnership with Niall—and she could learn everything necessary to shatter Athena's puerile hopes of romance.
Smoothing her skirts, Cecily sailed into the parlor and graciously accepted the homage of her new and most devoted courtiers.
Four days after Niall's disastrous arrival, the snow stopped falling. That same morning, just after dawn, he bundled Athena into the ranch's heavy drag and ordered the driver to take them to Denver.
Athena had nothing to say to Niall, and he maintained the same grim silence. She stared out the window and looked for Morgan, tormenting herself with the thought that she would never see him again. Once, near the edge of the park, she heard a wolf howl. That was all.
She had known that Morgan would refuse her invitation to return with her. She had known that she risked nothing in asking him, that there was no question of breaking her bargain with Niall.
She could have told him all her reasons for declining his offer to take her with him. But when he had made his accusations, pride had left her mute. Let him believe such things of her. Let him go back to his wild life and freedom.
She did not let Niall see her weep.
Passage through the mountains was difficult because of the depth of the snow, and they stopped to change horses and stay overnight in a hotel in Golden. By the time they reached Denver on the evening of the second day, Athena had made herself numb to all feeling.
Cecily was at the house to greet them as if she had known exactly when they would arrive, and instructed Brinkley to see to their comfort with presumptuous confidence. Once they were settled in the sitting room, she fawned over Niall—elegantly, of course—and acknowledged Athena with a brief nod. She did not mention the ball, though it was only four days away.
Athena hadn't the heart to ask. For the first time she saw something in the older woman she neither liked nor understood. She had assumed that Cecily was her friend and confidante, but Niall had said she'd warned him about Athena "taking on too much" some time before. How long had Cecily been talking behind her back? Did she see Athena as a hindrance to her social ambitions—the crippled sister who would only be in the way?
Athena had misjudged so many people. Could she have been so wrong about Cecily's friendship? And if she had been wrong about that, how much else had she also misjudged? How would her society friends respond to her ability to walk again? Would they be happy for her? Would they welcome her as an active, mobile member of their elite circle?
She had always been safe in the assumption that she was one of them, regardless of her inability to shop or t
ake luncheon at the Windsor or waltz at a dance. Not merely one of them, but a leader, an impeccable hostess able to persuade the wealthiest Denverites to attend her gatherings, join her charitable societies, and donate liberally to her causes.
She should have been eager to resume her work and her place as founder of one the grandest balls of the year. Yet all the things that had once seemed so important had become more duty than pleasure, responsibilities that must be seen to no matter how much she wished she could crawl into a cave and hibernate until the heartache had passed.
Morgan had become a part of her. It was more than love, more than any longing she had ever suffered. She could almost feel him across the miles, sense his anger and confusion and pain, as if their very emotions had merged into one. One heart, one being, one soul. A soul denied any hope of solace.
Niall's raised voice drew her out of the pit into which she had fallen. He was still speaking to Cecily, and his expression told Athena that he had heard some news he did not like. He looked up and stared at her as if she were Morgan himself.
"Niall? What is it?"
He jerked his head aside and gave Cecily a terse command. She nodded, glanced at Athena with a too-blank expression, and left the room.
"I am returning to Long Park at once," he said, as soon as they were alone. "You will remain here in Cecily's care. I have asked her to make certain that you are confined to the house this time, and will instruct the servants accordingly. Remember that if you break your promise—"
"Returning?" She gripped the armrests of her chair so hard that her fingers ached. "Why? I have done what you asked—"
"You do not need to know my reasons. Do as Miss Hockensmith tells you—she has the wisdom and experience you so obviously lack—and I may explain when I come back to Denver."
"No." She tensed the muscles in her legs, preparing to face him on her feet. "That is not good enough, Niall. Your reasons may have bearing on our agreement, and that gives me the right to know."
Never before had he looked so ready to strike her. She refused to retreat. After a moment he drew back, fists balled at his sides.
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