by Mimi Riser
“How can you be so calm about it?” She shuddered. “Can’t your father do something? Does he know what they’re planning?” Perhaps he was as bad as Gabrina’s folks—though one would have thought a Bostonian had more sense of propriety than that.
“My father?” Mary blinked. The notion seemed to surprise, or at least confuse her for a second. Then she gave a quick laugh. “Oh, yes, dear old Papa. He’d be rather put out about it, I suppose—as much as he does want me to marry. But you see, he…he’s touring Europe this spring, so I haven’t been able to get a message to him.”
Uh-huh.
Something felt odd here. Mary wasn’t being completely truthful, but why should she feel the need to lie? Unless her Boston father was in on the arrangement, and she was too embarrassed to admit that. It must be disheartening to discover your parent would sell you off to a high bidder.
Tabitha shook her head. She was embarrassed to admit something, herself. More than embarrassed. Ashamed. But the fact was this news had bolstered her spirits tremendously. Not because she was happy about Mary’s position, but because it was such a relief to know she wasn’t the only captive at the castle. With two of them, their chances of escape had just increased exponentially, sort of like one plus one equaling two hundred. With a little luck they could be out of here and almost to Abilene before the next sunrise.
And I have to be gone by then.
It had recently occurred to her that she might have misunderstood Alan’s parting words. He might have meant he would return before this dawn. And she had no intention of being anywhere on hand to greet him.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “We can get past the bailey wall from behind the stables if we wait until full dark. It’s the most sheltered area. No one will notice a hole there until daylight.”
“A hole through six solid feet of adobe? Do you have some dynamite hidden in your flounces, honey?” Mary laughed, never missing a step. “Or maybe you are a witch, after all, and can make it disappear?” She gave Tabitha’s fingers a friendly squeeze.
Tabitha squeezed back. “No, I’m afraid not. But I happen to know of a nearby wizard who has a device that will do the trick.”
The tall redhead stopped short, dropping Tabitha’s hand and scorching the air with a blast of terminology one doubted she had ever learned in Boston. “So that’s how he got me off the ledge!” She glowered at the generator tower. “Are you trying to tell me that Sm— I mean, Mr. Elliott and Dr. Earnshaw have invented a…a disintegration gun? That’s impossible!”
“Not as much as you might think. More than one person has researched the possibility already. It’s a valid concept, based on the principle of vibrational pitch. Sort of the way some singers can shatter a glass by hitting a particular note. Not exactly, mind you, but that’s the simplest way I can explain it. Understand?”
“No. And I’m amazed that you can. What are you, some kind of…scientist?” Gauging by Mary’s look, she was seriously reconsidering the witch theory.
Tabitha suppressed a grin. She’d dealt with looks like that since childhood, when she’d first realized that many otherwise intelligent people regarded the modern era’s fast paced scientific research as little better than hocus-pocus.
“I’m not much more than an amateur at present,” she admitted. “But my aunt was a topnotch professional, and I grew up helping her. One of the last projects she was working on before she died was a form of disintegration device that could be used in mining operations. I think what Dr. Earnshaw and Mr. Elliott have invented must be something similar. Aunt Matilda and Dr. Earnshaw were close colleagues. I know she discussed the basic concept with him. That’s probably what gave him the idea for what he’s developed here.”
“Well, if it could be used for mining, the MacAllisters would certainly be interested in it. There’s at least one mine on the property.” Mary began walking again, but only a few steps this way and that, back and forth, like a cutout duck in a carnival shooting gallery.
Tabitha joined her in the pacing; she needed to be moving. “I didn’t know that. Lady Gabrina told me they raised horses.”
“Alan is the horse breeder. The rest of the clan are craftsmen, farmers, or miners. Gold miners. That’s what the family fortune is built on,” Mary muttered, evidently still trying to reconcile herself to the idea of a disintegration gun. “Um…I hate to bring this up, in case it’s painful for you, but…how did your aunt die?”
“There was an explosion in her lab. It took most of the house with it.” Tabitha heaved a small, shaky sigh.
Mary heaved a larger, shakier one. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. Was…was she working on this…this disintegration thing at the time?”
“I honestly don’t know. She always had several projects going at once. But that may have been the one that triggered the blast. There wasn’t enough left of anything to tell for sure.”
“I’m sorry,” Mary said softly. Then stopped so abruptly, Tabitha almost smacked into her. “No, I don’t like it! It sounds too risky. Too weird. Anyway, there’s a simpler way out. Through the dungeons. There’s a tunnel that leads under the moat and palisade and comes out near the horse corrals,” she offered rather reluctantly. “I learned about it from Molly my second day here. It’s been my ace-in-the-hole… I’m just not sure I want to play it yet.” She gazed pensively over Tabitha’s head, while Tabitha stood staring openmouthed up at her.
Mary was being held prisoner.
Mary, however, knew of an escape route.
But Mary wasn’t sure she wanted to use it?
Tabitha didn’t even bother shaking her head. She knew it wouldn’t rattle that lack of logic into any semblance of sense.
And just when I’d begun to think she was almost sane, too.
Oh well, Boston bred or not, Mary was a MacAllister, Tabitha reminded herself, as though that explained everything. Which in her mind, it did.
“All right, you don’t have to leave yet if you’re not ready. Just tell me where the tunnel is so I can use it,” she said, careful to keep her voice calm.
“Don’t be silly, honey. You wouldn’t last an hour in this wilderness by yourself,” Mary said, still staring over Tabitha’s head, like the answer she sought was written on the wall between the two yards.
“And you could, I suppose? What makes you think a Bostonian could handle it any better than a Philadelphian?” Tabitha argued, a little waspier than she’d intended. She didn’t want to antagonize Mary, after all.
Fortunately, Mary didn’t seem the least bit ruffled. “Oh, you’d be amazed what a gal can learn in…Boston,” she murmured, her cultured accent softening a trace around the edges.
Tabitha finally gave in to habit and shook her head as hard as she wanted to shake Mary. “I don’t care. I’d rather take my chances with the prairie than with Alan. I’m leaving here tonight! Either through the dungeons or through the wall. Do you want to come with me or don’t—”
“Shh,” Mary hissed so sharply Tabitha almost bit her tongue as she bit back her last word.
“My, you two look as pretty as picture postcards,” came a lazy voice from behind her. “I’d like to put stamps on both of you and mail you home to Mother. You’d be so decorative in her curio cabinet.”
Marvelous.
Tabitha turned just in time to see Simon Elliott stepping out of a nearby patch of shadows.
“How sweet.” Mary beamed him a smile he could have read by. “But I’m afraid that would hardly be adequate compensation to the poor dear for the aggravation of having a son like you.”
Answering her with a low chuckle that could have meant anything, Simon turned his smoky gaze on Tabitha, who quickly moved closer to Mary. “Oh now, don’t look at me that way, Miss Jeffries. You ought to know by now that I’m not the big bad wolf around here.”
“You could have fooled me.” Mary wrapped a protective arm around Tabitha’s shoulders.
Simon ignored the jibe. “I was hunting you, however. We�
�ve just had a runner at the postern gate with a message from Alan. He said to tell you he’s sorry he’s been detained, but—ahem—he’ll make it up to you when he returns.”
The news was delivered with such an air of apology, Tabitha was half inclined to forgive him for it. But the other half won out.
“How sweet,” she mimicked Mary’s smooth sarcasm. “Did…did the messenger give any indication when Alan will be back?”
“Probably around sunrise. But cheer up. Sunrise is still hours away. You’re safe for the moment,” Simon said, that slow grin spreading over his face.
“I’ve asked you before, Mr. Elliott, to stop trying to cheer me,” Tabitha told him, frost crystals on every word.
He pretended to shiver—“brrr…point made”—then suddenly wiped the grin from his face. “I’m quite serious, though, Miss Jeffries. This is very dangerous country with all sorts of wild…animals on the prowl. You are safer here right now than you’d be outside these walls. Especially tonight. Please don’t try anything foolish. That goes for you, too.” He fired a stern look at Mary.
She shot back an angelic smile. “How nice of you to be concerned. But unnecessary. I never do foolish things. I’m a very practical lady.”
“Well, let’s hope you’re practical, anyway.” His smile returned.
Mary’s disappeared. “Why don’t you play wizard for us and vanish—before I forget my manners and do something…catty.”
A little amazed, Tabitha glanced from Simon to Mary and back again. It took barely an instant, and by the second time she looked at him, the man was his usual enigmatic self, but she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. For the briefest moment, the unflappable Simon Elliott had been swinging wildly in the wind, like a loose shutter.
And Mary was grinning like a kitten who’d just stolen a pitcher full of cream. “I merely wanted to make sure we understood each other,” she purred.
“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” Simon drawled. “I appreciate your having enough confidence in my chivalry to let me know.”
“Oh, I have no confidence in you whatsoever. I was simply demonstrating how much confidence I have in myself,” she said pleasantly. “Come along now, Tabitha dear, I’ll help you get ready for bed.”
Simon blocked her path. “A word of warning, Miss…ah, MacAllister. As confident as you are, even a cat has only nine lives, and you must have used up several of yours already. I’d be extremely careful if I were you. Unless, of course, you’re looking to get burned.” He grinned down at her.
She looked unimpressed. “And I wouldn’t worry about me if I were you, Mr. Elliott. As you said, Tabitha and I are quite safe behind these walls. There’s nothing to burn us here that I can see at the moment. Just a little smoke on the wind.”
His grin crystallized into a tight line. “Ah, but where there’s smoke, there’s also fire.”
“Yes, and where there’s fire, there’s always a lot of hot air!” She swished past him with Tabitha in tow. “Come on, honey. I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted. I think I’ll sleep late tomorrow,” she announced with just a bit more volume than seemed necessary.
Pulled along behind her in the growing gloom of the yard, it took Tabitha a minute to regroup her scattered wits. “What on earth were you two talking about?” she finally managed to ask.
“Shh, I’ll explain later,” Mary whispered, “when we’re in the dungeons.”
If Mary’s hand hadn’t kept her moving, Tabitha might have tripped over her own skirts. “You…you’re going to show me the tunnel?” she whispered back.
“Show you, hell. I’m coming with you! This game is over. I’ve played enough poker to know when to fold ’em and walk away. It’s time to cut my losses. That man infuriates me so much, I’ll have a murder charge added to my handbills if I stay here any longer. No amount of gold is worth that.”
Handbills?
Tabitha tripped for real, landing on her knees just as they reached the bottom of the keep’s entrance ramp. She was suddenly remembering the row of wanted posters she’d noticed through the train’s window back in Abilene Station, while Leslie and Gabrina were playing footsie behind her in the cramped compartment. Given the awkwardness of the moment, none of the posters had really registered on her. Except one. A lady outlaw, how unusual, she’d mused at the time. A very pretty lady, too, with large eyes and a classically structured face.
Like Mary’s.
“Oh, God,” she breathed. “You’re Cat Kildare.”
“In person, not a picture.” Mary-Cat winked and glanced over her shoulder—presumably to make sure they weren’t being watched—then helped Tabitha to her feet. “Except my real name is Kathleen. You can call me Kathy. That is…” She hesitated, her usual composure suddenly cracked by wavering doubt. “That is, if you still want to come with me. You’re a decent girl, Tabitha, the kind of girl who’s not supposed to associate with… I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if—”
“Are you joking?” Tabitha waved the issue aside. “With so many cultural scales weighted in favor of men, it’s a wonder more women don’t turn to crime. Good heavens, how you manage your life is your business. I’m not here to pass judgment on you.” She grabbed Kathy’s hand and took the lead as they rustled up the ramp and into the keep. “Frankly, I’m too relieved to learn you’re not a MacAllister to worry about anything else.”
She felt like she could breathe freely again after days of suffocating tension.
Unfortunately, the free feeling lasted only until they were back in the bedroom. Where Alan’s clothes still lay slung over a chair as he’d left them the previous day. Her chest constricted at the sight. Or maybe it was the sudden awareness that she’s never again see what had been in those clothes. She stood motionless a moment—trapped between hot memories and a chilling, unreasoning sense of loss—until Kathy’s voice broke the trance.
“This is outrageous!” she said, buried to the elbows in Tabitha’s trunk. “There are no riding togs here at all. I thought those British aristocrats were supposed to be such avid equestrians. What kind of wedding trousseau is this anyway?” She slammed the lid down and stood up.
“Lady Gabrina didn’t ride. She told me she was afraid a horses.” Tabitha felt the heat and the cold again as the simple word horse conjured the very un-simple image of a wild Appaloosa stallion and its wilder rider galloping full tilt across her mind’s eye.
“Well, in that case, Gabrina certainly would have been the perfect match for Alan,” Kathy quipped. “He’s practically a centaur. How about you?”
“Wh-what?” Tabitha rasped, her face burning and her pulse galloping faster than the image of the stallion.
“Relax, honey, I only meant can you ride? Or are you bothered by horses, too?”
“Oh”—cough—“I’m no expert, but I can usually stay in the saddle. I like horses.”
It’s Alan who bothers me.
“The problem with that, I’m afraid, is they don’t keep any saddles near the corrals, and we won’t be able to risk raiding the tack room near the courtyard stables. We’ll have to make it seem like we’ve gone to bed and then slip through the dungeons in a couple of hours when all’s quiet. If we leave the keep anymore tonight, it’ll look too suspicious. Have you ever ridden bareback?”
Tabitha gave a humorless laugh. “Only once”—she was remembering a moonlit ride with savage arms locked around her—“but I…I wasn’t on the horse alone.”
“Fine. You won’t have to do it alone this time, either. You can ride behind me; it shouldn’t slow us down. The two of us together don’t weigh much more than a good-sized man,” Kathy said half to herself, like she was thinking the whole thing through aloud. “And you can wear my riding skirt. I believe I’ll be a boy for a while. It’ll give me a good cover when we reach Abilene, and be safer for us on the prairie. I doubt we’ll meet anyone tonight, but if we do, we’ll be in a stronger position if they think one of us is male.”
“Then I should be a boy, too—if I can find t
he clothes.” Tabitha yanked her wavering resolve up by its bootstraps. She was darned if she’d let Kathy think she was some helpless little fluff-budget.
But that was, apparently, what Kathy thought. “Honey, that’s silly. I do have an extra pair of britches you could use, but you’d never pass for a boy. You’re way too pretty. Too delicate and feminine looking.”
Now that stung. And Tabitha was glad it did. The irritation was exactly what she needed to fasten her resolve in place until they were far away. Otherwise there was the unnerving possibility she might not be able to go through with this escape. The castle—or one of its occupants, anyway—was slowly but relentlessly dragging some alien person to her surface, someone she couldn’t control. Or was it just that part of her didn’t want to control these disturbing new sensations?
A rhetorical question, Tabitha decided. Once she was back in Philadelphia, in staid, familiar surroundings, she’d forget this experience like it was nothing but some hellish, bad dream.
You may be able to do that, the voice in her head taunted, but will you ever be able to forget the heavenly parts of this dream?
“Be quiet,” she told it, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What was that?” Kathy asked, too deep in her own planning, one hoped, to have heard.
“Ahem…” Tabitha cleared her throat and mentally slapped herself back to the business at hand. “I was just saying don’t let these ridiculous ruffles fool you. Underneath I’m quite a Plain Jane, not your feminine type at all. I can probably make a better boy than you can.”
“All right, we’ll both be boys, then. At least it’ll make it easier for you to move about in rough terrain.” Kathy laughed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you don’t fool anyone.”
It was just the sort of challenge Tabitha needed to distract herself from the ruthless images in her head and the exasperating little voice that kept whispering, unbidden, that it made no difference how far or fast she ran.