Shattered Rainbows: Book 5 in the Fallen Angels Series

by Mary Jo Putney

  She cut off the useless regrets. Michael was doomed, and probably her with him. As for Amy...

  It was the blackest moment of her life. Yet she could not give up and leave her daughter to Haldoran's evil. Trying desperately to sound persuasive, she said, "I always take the best opportunity available. Once again, that is you."

  Haldoran scowled at her, clearly unconvinced, while Doyle searched Michael's limp body with rough efficiency. The convict removed a concealed pistol and boot knife, then lashed Michael's wrists together.

  By the time Doyle was finished, Michael was conscious again. Blood oozed crimson from his scalp when he sat up, but the dark force that was so much a part of him was blazing like hell's own fire.

  "Congratulations, Haldoran," he said contemptuously. "You managed to bring me down with the help of only two other men. You must be terribly proud of yourself."

  Haldoran glared at him. "I could have beaten you by myself!"

  "Oh?" The lift of Michael's brows was eloquent with scorn. "I can outshoot you, outfight you, and I let you draw blood when we fenced because I was bored with your company and wanted to leave. You're an amateur, Haldoran. You fancy yourself a great sportsman, but you've never had the courage to face a real test."

  Catherine's heart clenched as her glowering cousin took a step forward. "Rubbish. I'm the best rider to hounds in Britain, and I've defeated Jackson in his own boxing salon."

  "Jackson is a clever fellow," Michael said with a mocking smile. "It's good business to let his vainer customers win now and then. I repeat: you're an amateur. Instead of joining the army and competing in the greatest game of all, you chased foxes in England and smirked about what a fine fellow you are. So much easier than actually risking your life."

  Michael came very near death in that instant. Catherine made an anguished sound as Haldoran whipped the shotgun to his shoulder and prepared to fire.

  Checking his fury, Haldoran contented himself with kicking Michael in the stomach, sending him sprawling again. "It's easy for you to taunt, but notice who's in control here."

  "With professional help," Michael gasped when he had regained his breath. "I commanded a number of convicts like your men, and I have a certain respect for them. It takes strength and cunning to survive prison. For you, Haldoran, I have nothing but contempt. You're a bully who preys on women and children. You don't dare face a man who might be your match."

  "Bastard!" Haldoran snarled. "I could defeat you in any fair contest, but you're not worth the effort."

  "Poor devil." Michael shook his head with exaggerated sorrow. "Not only a bully and a braggart, but a coward. I'm surprised you can face yourself in the mirror."

  Haldoran kicked him again, this time in the ribs. Michael rolled across the floor and into the sofa. Catherine shuddered, unable to understand why he was inviting such brutality.

  Again it took Michael several moments to recover his breath, but he did not back down. "Everything you do confirms that I'm right," he panted. "If you weren't such a coward, I'd give you a challenge that would truly test you. But you would never accept it. You're afraid of me, and well you should be."

  Eye glittering, Haldoran snapped, "What kind of challenge?"

  "A hunt, since you're such a great huntsman." Michael's eyes narrowed, becoming feral. "You and me on the Isle of Bone. Give me five minutes' head start and you'll never catch me. Give me a day and you're a dead man, even if you're armed and I'm not."

  Catherine caught her breath, understanding. He was trying to buy time, and a chance of survival.

  Haldoran hesitated, his gaze going to Catherine.

  "There's a kind of medieval grandeur to the idea," Michael continued. "You and I meet in single combat, and the winner gets the lady. Catherine won't give you any trouble if you manage to kill me. She didn't want me here. When I came in, she told me to leave, that I would ruin everything."

  Haldoran's anger flared again. "Liar. She was ready to go out the window with you."

  His lips whitened as he looked from Michael to Catherine and back. Then they curved in a cruel, triumphant smile. "I don't have to prove anything to you, Kenyon. Single combat belongs to the Middle Ages. I prefer the pleasures of the chase. We'll go to Bone, but it will be me and Doyle tracking you and my deceitful cousin with only the sheep and gulls to see."

  Michael's face paled, revealing underlying pain.

  "That worries you, doesn't it?" Haldoran said, his voice almost crooning. "Alone, you might be able to elude me for some time, but not with Catherine to slow you down. You'll have to choose between abandoning her to preserve your own skin a few hours longer, or staying and dying together. Either way, you'll die, and I'll have the pleasure of hunting the ultimate game."

  "You're a fool to kill a woman as beautiful as Catherine," Michael retorted. "A wife like her is the ultimate trophy. You'll be the envy of every man you meet if you marry her."

  Haldoran gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "True, but I can't help suspecting her good faith. She's the sort who could go meekly for years while she waits for the right moment to slip a stiletto between my ribs. Her daughter will be more malleable."

  Voice lanced with anguish, Catherine said, "I'll swear any oath of obedience you want if you promise not to touch Amy."

  "But I want to touch her. The thought of molding a virgin to my will is rather appealing." Haldoran smiled again, and this time it came from the depths of his black soul. "The knowledge that my saintly cousin Catherine died cursing me will add spice."

  She glanced at Michael. His green eyes were fierce. She could almost hear him saying not to give up hope.

  A measure of calm came to her. Michael had almost defeated three men single-handedly, and she was less helpless than her cousin thought. Certainly she would not go tamely to the slaughter. "A pity you didn't join the army, Clive. An officer like my father or Michael might have made a man of you."

  Virulent dislike on his face, he waved his gun toward the door. "Move, both of you. We must leave Skoal before dawn. Don't try to call for help. My men and I can easily handle a parcel of unarmed servants, but I'd rather not have to kill them. My little kingdom needs all of its subjects."

  Wincing, Michael got to his feet. "I realize that fairness isn't part of your nature, but you really should allow Catherine to change her clothing. It's going to be a damp, cold hunt."

  Haldoran shrugged. "She can wear breeches if she likes. In fact, I'd rather enjoy seeing her in them. But I'll only allow her ten minutes in her room to change. If she isn't ready, she'll have to run in her shift."

  Catherine's mind raced as her cousin escorted her to her room. In fact, she had brought to Skoal the breeches she had worn on the Peninsula when conditions were particularly harsh. They would make it easier for her to run for her life, and she'd also be able to conceal a few small items about her person.

  What a pity that her room did not contain a gun.

  Chapter 33

  It was a beautiful dawn for sailing, with indigo clouds edged in crimson and salmon pink. But the swirling currents and lethal rocks lived up to the channel's perilous reputation. Catherine would have found the trip alarming if greater danger weren't imminent.

  Haldoran's island background had made him a good sailor. As the sun inched above the horizon, he steered his boat capably between the reefs and barked orders at Doyle and another of his men, a ferret-faced fellow called Spiner. The convict with the broken jaw was nursing his injury at Ragnarok.

  Catherine felt very alone and afraid. Haldoran had made a point of tethering her and Michael in positions where they could not see each other. She was within her cousin's view, though. She schooled her face to impassivity whenever his avid gaze went over her breeches-clad legs. If he caught her alive, he would surely rape her before she died.

  But her masculine attire would be useful later. Besides riding boots and tan breeches, she had followed Michael's lead and donned a knitted jersey that had been the gift of an elderly island woman. The garment
was made from un-dyed wool in colors ranging from cream to dark brown, which should help her blend into the landscape.

  All too soon they reached Bone. The boat glided into a small bay surrounded by steep hills. It was a desolate place, the only sound the splash of waves on the shingle beach and the harsh cries of gulls. Haldoran docked the boat neatly at a crude jetty. Then Doyle cut the prisoners' bonds and roughly shoved them from the boat. Spiner stayed inside, under orders to guard the vessel while his master hunted.

  Catherine's position in the boat had been cramped, and her strained muscles caused her to stumble as she climbed onto the jetty. Michael caught her before she could fall, then wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to the shingle beach. "Get your body flexible so you can run when the time comes," he ordered.

  Blood had dried in his hair and his face was dark with soot and bruises, but he looked magnificent and dangerous, like an ancient warrior king. His shrewd gaze was scanning the hills, assessing conditions. The sight of him gave Catherine a glimmer of hope. She began bending and stretching her limbs.

  After Haldoran collected his expensive sporting rifle and ammunition pouch, he followed them to the shingle beach. "You said you could escape me with a five-minute start, but I'll be generous and give you ten minutes. It will take at least that long for you to get out of sight."

  Michael regarded him coolly. "Since you know the island and we don't, there's a chance you might win. But you'll find no satisfaction in it. For the rest of your life, you'll have to live with the knowledge that I was the better man. The only way you could defeat me was by stacking the deck in your favor."

  "It sounds like you've resigned yourself to losing and are preparing your excuses," Haldoran said scornfully. "Try to give me a good run, Kenyon. It's been damned boring on the island lately." He pulled a watch from his pocket. "You have ten minutes starting now."

  So soon? Catherine stared at him. Despite her cousin's stated intentions, she had not truly grasped the brutal fact that in the space of a heartbeat she could be transformed from an ordinary, civilized woman to prey.

  More experienced with savagery, Michael had no such problem. "Time to be off, my dear." He caught her hand and tugged her forward. "We'll take that path to the left."

  Her paralysis broken, she set off beside Michael at a fast jog, the best pace possible on the rounded stones of the beach. Once they reached the surrounding grassland, her speed increased. Michael loped beside her, matching her pace effortlessly.

  It took about two minutes to reach the foot of the animal track that zigzagged up the steep, clifflike hill. She quailed at the sight of the narrow path. She would never be able to reach the top in the time allotted.

  "You first," Michael said. "Don't set a pace so fast that you'll exhaust yourself halfway up."

  She balked. "You go ahead. I'll slow you down."

  "We stand or fall together, Catherine." He gave her a slap on the backside, as if she were a nervous pony. "Move."

  She began to climb. Years of campaign life had hardened her physically, and in peacetime she had stayed active with walking and riding. Yet though she was strong for a woman, she could never keep up with a man like Michael. Haldoran had been right—if Michael stayed with her, it might well cost him his life. Yet for honor's sake, he would never abandon her. Knowing his survival depended on her performance increased her determination.

  The grass was damp and several times she slipped. She kept her eyes on the path. A twisted ankle would be a death sentence.

  By the time they reached the midway point, her breath was coming in hoarse pants and her legs were shaking with strain. The spot between her shoulder blades began to feel itchy. How many minutes had passed? Six? Seven? As long as they were on the hill, they were in deadly peril.

  Haldoran's voice boomed out, echoing menacingly across the bay. "Eight minutes gone, and you're still easy targets."

  "Don't waste time worrying," Michael snapped. "When he shoots, he'll aim at me first, and at this distance he'll probably miss."

  In spite of the admonition not to worry, a clock began ticking in her mind, counting off the seconds. Eleven, twelve... She gasped and doubled over when she was struck by an agonizing stitch in her side. Straightening, she forced herself to ignore the pain and keep going. Thirty-five, thirty-six...

  How much farther? Fifty, fifty-one... She glanced up and saw despairingly that there wasn't enough time. Sixty-two, sixty-three... She was staggering and on the verge of collapse.

  Michael said sharply, "Think of Amy."

  Energy from some unknown reserve renewed her. The brink of the hill was tantalizingly near. A hundred one, two, three... The pitch steepened. She caught at the tough clumps of grass and used them to drag herself upward. Her lungs were burning with a desperate need for air. Fifteen, sixteen...

  The clock in her mind reached two minutes. Only a few more yards and they would be out of danger, but Haldoran could start shooting at any moment.

  The pitch flattened and the path became wider. Michael drew even and hooked his arm around her waist, virtually carrying her the last stretch. As soon as they crested the hill, he dragged her to the ground. The harrowing blast of the rifle rang out even before they hit the grassy turf. A spurt of earth marked the spot where the ball struck a few feet behind them.

  "That's a good rifle and he's a good shot," Michael panted. "But we've won the first round. We should go a few feet farther. Then we can rest for a minute."

  She nodded mutely and crawled across the grass on her hands and knees until they were well beyond the edge. Then she rolled onto her back, her lungs pumping frantically. Michael was treating her exactly as if she had been a particularly feeble soldier under his command. No doubt he was wise to avoid the personal issues between them. Nonetheless, she would have been humiliatingly grateful for any word or touch that showed that they had been lovers.

  Michael was also breathing hard, but he kept his head up, studying their surroundings with cold concentration. "One thing that might cheer you a little. I gave a letter to the boatman who brought me to Skoal. He was to post it to London if I didn't meet him at dawn. Since I missed the rendezvous, the letter is on its way to my friend Lucien. I explained my suspicions and asked him to investigate if I disappeared. He spent years as the government's chief spymaster, so he will be able to discover what happened and take appropriate measures against Haldoran."

  She raised her head, desperate with hope. "Will he be able to free Amy?"

  "I guarantee it. It may take a little time, but she will not be left in Haldoran's hands."

  "Thank God." Though it was a tremendous relief to know that her daughter would not be a victim for long, the thought of what might happen first was sickening. Catherine lay still for another dozen heartbeats, then pushed herself to a sitting position and surveyed the island.

  Bone was a wild, barren place that reminded her of the Yorkshire moors. There were only a handful of stunted trees, not enough to break the force of the ceaseless sea winds. The right end of the island rose to rugged hills. However, most of the landscape was a plateau of rocks and vividly green grass cropped short by grazing animals.

  The fuzzy gray shapes of several hundred sheep were scattered across the plateau with a sizable flock a few hundred yards to the left. There were also occasional cows, stocky russet beasts with long horns and shaggy coats. "There aren't many places to hide. Should we head into the hills?"

  "Haldoran will probably assume we'll go that way. Better to go to the left, through the flock of sheep. The ground is more irregular than it appears, so there are plenty of places for concealment. We're also fortunate that this grass is so springy. If we're careful, we'll be almost impossible to track."

  Wearily she got to her feet. "Lead on, Colonel. You're in charge of strategy and tactics."

  Michael walked quickly until they neared the flock. Then he slowed to keep from frightening the sheep, which might alert their pursuers. The leisurely pace made Catherine's skin crawl.
How long until the hunters reached the plateau?

  Once through the flock, they went faster. Michael was right about the roughness of the ground. Gentle rises and depressions offered more cover than she had expected.

  When the cliff edge was no longer visible, he cut left and circled until they were behind a small ridge crowned with squat shrubs. "Wait here," he said quietly. "If I've judged rightly, we should be able to see without being seen."

  He went up the rise at a crouch, crawling on his belly when he reached the shrubs. A minute later, he whispered, "Success. If you want to see, come forward carefully."

  She dropped down and crept up beside him. Their ridge offered a clear view of the spot where they had come onto the plateau. The small figures of Haldoran and Doyle were visible there now, catching their breath from the climb. Both carried rifles. Her cousin slowly scanned the plateau, then gestured toward the hills. The two men set off briskly, moving away from their quarry.

  She gave a long sigh of relief. They had won a second round, and it gave them some respite. Keeping her voice low even though the hunters could not possibly hear at this distance, she asked, "Do you have a plan?"

  "To avoid getting caught," Michael said dryly. "I don't have plans, merely contingencies. There's a bad storm coming, probably tonight. That will work in our favor. The island will not be a pleasant place when the storm hits. Haldoran and his men will probably return to Skoal to avoid being caught in it."

  "I suppose it's too much to hope that they would drown on the trip back. Is there any chance that the shot Clive fired will attract attention on Skoal?"

  "Not with the wind blowing from the east. Even if a fisherman heard and investigated, it wouldn't help us. Your cousin would give some plausible lie for being here. If that didn't work, I don't think he would hesitate to kill."

  She should have known that Michael had already thought out the possibilities. "What do you think of our chances of surviving? The truth, please."