Shattered Rainbows: Book 5 in the Fallen Angels Series

by Mary Jo Putney

  Life had returned to normal for everyone except Michael. Though the pain had lessened, he was still maddeningly weak. The brisk Dr. Kinlock had assured him that his condition was normal after such blood loss, but the knowledge did not increase his patience. He particularly hated having Catherine see him in such a pathetic state. The fact that she was an experienced nurse and not in love with him did not assuage his tattered male pride.

  His condition had one advantage: he was too feeble to feel desire. Instead, his yearning was of the heart, not the body. He had not realized how deeply he cared for Catherine until now, when passion no longer obscured more subtle feelings.

  Amy read the main stories of the day, translating from French to English. Michael knew French, of course, but listening to English was less effort. Besides, he enjoyed her company. If he ever had a daughter, he hoped she would be like Amy.

  She turned the page. "Here's a nice story. The French army surgeon, Baron Larrey, the one who invented the field ambulance? He was captured by the Prussians after Waterloo. Marshall Blücher was going to have him executed, but a German surgeon who'd heard Baron Larrey lecture went to Blücher to plead for his life." She looked up, her eyes shining. "And guess what?"

  "Blücher changed his mind, I hope?"

  "Not only that. It turned out that Blücher's own son had been wounded and captured in a skirmish with the French, and it was Larrey who had saved his life! Isn't that wonderful?" She looked back at the paper. "Now Marshal Blücher is sending Baron Larrey back to France with a Prussian escort."

  "That's a very good story," Michael agreed. "The world needs all the healers it can get."

  As Amy refolded the newspaper, her mother entered. "Time to go upstairs for your lessons, my dear."

  After grimacing elaborately. Amy dropped an elegant curtsy. "So good to see you again, Colonel Kenyon. Until tomorrow?"

  "Until tomorrow, Mademoiselle Melbourne. Thank you for the gift of your presence."

  Her dimples flashed as she skipped out, a tomboy again.

  Catherine said with mock severity, "What, pray tell, is Louis the Lazy doing on your bed?"

  "Sleeping, of course." Michael rested his hand on the dog's back. "Does he ever do anything else?"

  "He eats. Sometimes he scratches. It's a narrow range." Catherine ruffled the dog's silky ears. "Do you mind if I do my knitting here? This is the quietest room in the house."

  "You're always welcome, if you can bear my snappish temper."

  "Actually, you're surprisingly good-natured for a man who is probably being driven mad by inactivity." Catherine took a seat and removed embroidery from her work bag. Now that she was less busy, she spent hours sitting quietly with him, doing needlework or writing letters. It was healing to have her near.

  "I don't have the strength to throw a really good tantrum," he said wryly. "Not when my great achievement of the last week has been managing complete sentences again."

  "Ian Kinlock says you're making excellent progress." She looked up with a stern glance. "As long as you don't bring on a relapse by trying to do too much, too soon."

  "I can't lie here like a limp cravat forever," he said reasonably. "You're very patient, but surely you want to join your husband in Paris. Life will be much gayer there."

  Her gaze dropped and she made a precise stitch. "A letter came from Colin today. He said that since he owes you his life, I must stay in Brussels until you're well."

  Michael's mouth tightened. "There is a limit to how much charity I can accept."

  "There is no charity involved." She selected a new skein of silk thread. "Having spent an exhaustingly brilliant spring in Brussels, I'm in no hurry to frolic in the fleshpots of Paris. Besides, with Charles leaving the army and taking his family back to London, heaven knows when I'll see the Mowbrys again."

  He released his breath in a slow sigh. Perversely, he was simultaneously glad not to be a burden and regretful that he was not more important to her.

  Footsteps were heard approaching along the hall. After a perfunctory knock, Anne opened the door. "Michael, are you well enough for a visitor? A friend of yours has just arrived from England." She stepped aside and ushered in Nicholas, then left.

  "Good Lord," he said blankly. "I'm dreaming."

  "No such luck. I've tracked you down." Nicholas clasped Michael's hand, the hardness of his grip belying his casual air. "Clare sends her love. She would be here if not for the baby."

  Michael tried to think of some witty response, but he failed. After swallowing hard, he said, "Catherine, meet the Earl of Aberdare. Nicholas."

  The earl turned and gave a warm smile. "Sorry, I didn't see you there. I'm glad to meet the legendary Saint Catherine."

  The obvious affection between Michael and his friend made Catherine feel forlorn and excluded and not at all like a saint. Disliking her reaction, she rose and offered a smile in return. "The pleasure is mine. How did you get to Brussels so quickly?"

  "A good yacht and captain." The earl glanced at Michael again. "Both courtesy of Rafe, who sends his best wishes, and a severe scold for being fool enough to get yourself shot."

  A smile crossed Michael's gaunt face. "Knowing Rafe, the scold probably came first."

  "Yes, but I'm too tactful to admit that." Aberdare reached inside his coat and pulled out a shining silver tube. "Lucien sent this, to replace the one that was destroyed."

  "Does it include the same good luck?"

  "Guaranteed." Aberdare gave him the kaleidoscope.

  Michael held it to his eye and turned it slowly. "This version is a little larger than the other, and even lovelier. Catherine, you never saw the original before it was smashed, did you? Take a look."

  She accepted the tube and pointed it at the window. Inside was a brilliantly colored star-shaped pattern. She gave a sigh of delight. "Enchanting."

  The figure changed as she turned the tube and the colored fragments realigned. They really did look like pieces of rainbow. Lowering the device, she said to the visitor, "It was good of you to come. Are you on the way to Paris?"

  Aberdare shook his head. "No, I've come to take Michael back to Wales. That is, if he wants to go and can be moved."

  Fighting back a ridiculous urge to say that he was hers and she wouldn't let him leave, Catherine said, "It's up to the doctor, of course, but surely that's a long, exhausting trip even for a healthy person."

  "I'll take him to the coast by barge," the earl said. "Then the yacht will sail around Britain to the port of Penrith, only a few miles from home. Not a fast trip, but going by water all the way should make it fairly painless. Also, I brought a nurse handpicked by Lucien's wife to take care of Michael on the trip."

  "Home." Michael's eyes closed for a moment. "I'd like that. Very much."

  "Then it will be done." Aberdare regarded him thoughtfully. "It's time to leave. We're tiring you."

  His eyes opened again, looking very green. "Not really. I'm this useless all the time."

  "True, but Mrs. Melbourne will surely have my head if I don't let you rest." Aberdare briefly laid his hand on Michael's. "Until later."

  Catherine and Aberdare left the room. As soon as the door closed, the earl exhaled roughly and covered his eyes with his hand. Concerned, Catherine asked, "Are you unwell, my lord?"

  "Please, call me Nicholas." He lowered his hand, revealing a strained expression. "We knew he had been gravely wounded—that's why I came. But it's still a shock to see him like this. He's always been so strong. He must have lost two stone, and he looks like his own ghost. It brings home how close we came to losing him."

  "He's fortunate to have such friends," Catherine said as she led the way downstairs. "You've gone to a great deal of effort for him."

  "Michael is family, really. He lives just across the valley from us. He's godfather to my son." Nicholas ran tense fingers through his black hair, "We've been friends since our school days. I'm half Gypsy, not the best ancestry for a snobbish place like Eton. Michael was the first boy willing to
make friends. I've never forgotten that." He gave Catherine a slanting glance. "I promise we'll take good care of him, Mrs. Melbourne."

  Wondering uncomfortably how much the earl had seen in her face, Catherine said, "You must call me Catherine." They entered the drawing room. "Where are you staying?"

  "Nowhere yet—I came directly here." Nicholas made a dismissive gesture. "With everyone gone to Paris, it should be easy to find rooms in a hotel."

  "You can stay here. The room across from Michael's is empty, and there's room for three or four servants."

  "Thank you." He gave a tired smile. "You're very kind."

  Catherine smiled back, but underneath, her heart ached. Though she had known she would lose Michael, she had not expected it to be quite so soon.

  * * *

  It took Nicholas only two days to complete the arrangements to return to Wales. Michael was not surprised; having known Nicholas for twenty-five years, he was well acquainted with the efficient, razor-sharp mind concealed beneath the casual charm.

  By the day of departure, Michael had progressed to sitting up, though doing so was painful. As they waited for the coaches to come, he fingered the edge of his robe restlessly. "Is that rumble outside the departing Mowbrys?"

  Nicholas glanced out the window. "That was the baggage wagon leaving. The coach is being delayed while that over-exuberant canine called Clancy is being corralled, Anne Mowbry is looking understandably harassed. Ah, Charles is exerting his authority as an officer and gentleman and ordering the beast into the carriage. It looks like they are finally on their way."

  "It doesn't take long for a home to come unraveled."

  Michael wondered if Catherine would come to say goodbye. It might be easier if she didn't, yet he hated the thought that he might not see her again. Perhaps she would say a public farewell, when he was being carried out on a litter. He hated that thought also. "This really was a home for several months."

  "Credit going to Anne and Catherine, I assume. I like them both immensely." Nicholas gave his friend a shrewd glance. "Especially Catherine."

  There were advantages to learning to control one's emotions from infancy. "They're both a credit to the female half of the race. I'll miss them and the children. I'll even miss Louis the Lazy, who is surely the most inert dog on God's green earth."

  Nicholas laughed. "The carriages I hired to take us to the barge will be here soon. Are you ready?"

  "As ready as I can be." Michael sighed. "I had hoped that when the time came, I would be able to walk out of the house, but that's obviously impossible."

  "All in good time. From what Dr. Kinlock said before he returned to London, within a few months you should be entirely recovered, barring some colorful new scars."

  "He also said I must lie about doing nothing for weeks to come." Michael's fingers drummed on the coverlet. "Patience has never been my strong point."

  "True, but don't worry about whether you can be still for that long," Nicholas said pleasantly. "If you try to push yourself too hard, I will nail you to the bed."

  Michael smiled, knowing full well that his friend's words were not a joke. He would have a leisurely convalescence whether he wanted it or not.

  A soft rap on the door heralded Catherine. "Nicholas, your carriages have arrived."

  The earl glanced from her to Michael. "I'll go and supervise the baggage loading." Tactful as a cat, he left.

  Catherine's hair was drawn back simply, emphasizing the fine bones of her face. Her cheekbones were more prominent than when they met. She had lost weight, much of it because of the work and worry he had caused.

  Eyes not meeting his, she said, "I hate good-byes, but I suppose they're necessary."

  "They make it clear when something is over," he agreed. "When are you and Amy leaving for Paris?"

  "Tomorrow. The house will seem empty tonight with everyone gone." She drifted to a window and gazed out at the ramparts. "It's strange. You and I became good friends, yet much of that was a result of being in the same place at the same time."

  Was that what she thought of the complicated, undefined feelings between them? "I would like to think we would be friends under any circumstances."

  "I'm sure we would be." A pulse was beating hard in her throat. "Perhaps what I meant was that our paths would not have crossed if not for the war. Since you're selling out of the army, we probably won't meet again."

  He was painfully aware of that fact. "If you and Colin should ever wish to tour Wales, you would be very welcome at Bryn Manor. You would enjoy Nicholas's wife, Clare."

  "Nicholas is wonderful," she said with a quick smile. "He could charm the fish from the sea. What is his wife like?"

  "Very down to earth. Clare was a village schoolmistress before her marriage. She says there is nothing like teaching thirty children to make one practical." He spoke almost at random, all of his attention on the lithe figure silhouetted against the window. Even though passion was beyond him at the moment, he knew the memory of Catherine's provocative curves would haunt him through sleepless nights the rest of his life.

  One thing must be said before he left. "A simple thank-you seems inadequate when you saved my life several times over. I am deeply in your debt, Catherine."

  "And you saved Colin and Charles."

  "Lending a horse is hardly in the same category with what you did," he said dryly.

  "All women are nurses when necessary," she said with an embarrassed shrug.

  "Oh?" He held out his hand. Uncertainly she came forward and clasped it. He pushed her sleeve up with his free hand, revealing the small, not yet healed scar inside her elbow. "This is hardly normal nursing. Elspeth told me. Why didn't you?"

  Her mouth curved ruefully. "I was ashamed of my presumption. Though the transfusion worked out well, it might easily have killed you."

  "Instead, it saved my life," he said quietly. "You gave me your heart's blood. I will never receive a more precious gift."

  "Given for selfish reasons." Shimmering tears made her aqua eyes enormous. She blinked them away. "I don't like my patients to die. It's bad for my saintly reputation."

  His hand tightened on hers. "Catherine, if ever you need any kind of help, come to me. I will do anything in my power."

  Her gaze shifted away. "Thank you. I'll remember that."

  He raised their joined hands and kissed her fingertips, then released her. "See that you do."

  "Good-bye, Michael. I'm very glad our paths crossed." She touched his cheek with gossamer lightness, then turned and left the room. She swayed gracefully, a sensual saint.

  He wanted to call her back, to lock her in his arms so she could never escape. He wanted to plead with her to leave her husband and live with him no matter what the consequences. To prevent that, he clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached.

  Perhaps he might have asked her to leave her husband if he had not once before urged a woman to do exactly that. He had already used his lifetime's supply of folly.

  The door closed behind her. As he listened to her retreating footsteps, he felt the tightening of his lungs that heralded an asthma attack. Bands of fire constricted his breathing and the first tendrils of fear clawed into his muscles.

  He lay back and forced himself to inhale and exhale very slowly. In and out, in and out, until the air was moving smoothly again. The scorching pressure and fear faded away.

  Drained, he stared at the ceiling. It was the closest he had come to an asthma attack in years. Since Caroline had died.

  He closed his eyes. He had done the right thing. Someday he would be proud of that, but now he felt only anguish.

  Catherine was the most remarkable woman he had ever known. And he hoped to God that he would never see her again.

  BOOK II

  The Road to Heaven

  Spring 1816

  Chapter 16

  The door of the London town house was opened by a neatly dressed housemaid. Catherine said, "Is Mrs. Mowbry home? If she is, please tell her that Mrs. and
Miss Melbourne are here."

  The housemaid glanced curiously at their travel-stained clothing before going to obey. A minute later, Anne came swiftly into the vestibule. "Catherine, how wonderful to see you! I thought you were still in France." She hugged both of her visitors.

  Catherine noticed that Amy was now almost as tall as Anne, and Anne had regained her figure after the birth of her second son. Much can happen in a year. Too much. "We've only just arrived in England." She took off her dusty bonnet. Her temples were throbbing with a rare headache. "Is Charles home? Or your mother-in-law?"

  "They're both out." After a shrewd glance at Catherine's face, Anne continued, "Amy, would you like to join Molly and Jamie? I believe they are about to have tea in the nursery."

  Amy brightened. "Oh, yes, I'd like that. I've so much to tell them! I want to see Clancy and Louis, too."

  After the housemaid took Amy off, Anne ushered her friend into the small drawing room. As soon as the door closed, she said, "It isn't polite to say this, but you look downright haggard. Are you ill, or simply tired by the long journey?"

  Catherine sank onto the sofa. Now that she had reached a safe haven, she didn't know if she would ever be able to move again. "Colin is dead."

  "Dear God!" Anne's eyes widened with shock. "What happened?"

  Catherine peeled off her gloves and crumpled them into a ball. "He was murdered."

  "Oh, Catherine, how horrible! After he had survived so many battles without a scratch."

  "It happened on the street late one night. He had just left a friend's house." Catherine pressed her fingers into her forehead, remembering the horror and disbelief she had experienced when Colin's commanding officer came to break the news. "He was shot in the back. It... it was over in an instant. A violet scarf and a note saying 'Vive le empereur' were left beside him. Apparently he was killed by a Bonapartist, for no better reason than because he was a British officer."

  Wordlessly Anne sat and gathered Catherine into her arms. Her friend's sympathy released the tears that Catherine had been holding back ever since she'd learned of Colin's untimely death. When her tears had finally run dry, she said in a raw whisper, "It almost made me wish he had been killed at Waterloo. That was the death he would have wanted. To die at a coward's hand was damnable."