An earsplitting whinny tore the air, and Limerick charged toward Patrick.
Catherine's heart stopped. The stallion aimed directly at the fence and without a pause sailed over. Shaking his head and bucking, Limerick tore across the uneven, rocky ground toward the place where Patrick hid.
"Hey!" The door of the hut flew open. There was a scramble inside, and then the man reappeared with a rifle. As he stepped into the daylight, Catherine felt a scream trapped in her throat. The man she was looking at was Patrick Shaw!
In slow motion he lifted the rifle to his shoulder and sighted down it at the galloping stallion. "To hell with you, you sneaky devil!"
His words had a curiously flat intonation. Catherine started forward, her body moving even though her brain had yet to give the command. By three strides she was in a dead run, and on the seventh, she launched herself at the man. Everything she had, she put into the jump. Stretching and flying, she reached toward him as she watched in slow motion as his finger pulled the trigger. Her body struck his as the shot rang out. The rifle bucked in his hand and the barrel flew up. His fist came down, brutally striking her shoulder as he turned to defend himself. And somewhere in the distance there was the scream of an injured horse.
Catherine felt the man's balance give. He started to fall, and she went with him. Together they tumbled to the hard earth, the rifle beside them. Before she could scramble away from him she felt his hands at her throat. Rolling, cursing, she fought.
"What a devil," he grunted, grabbing her hair and thumping her head against the rocky ground. "A bit of spirit is a good thing in man and beast, but you're taking this too far."
Catherine saw him, then. Her first clear look at his face stopped her cold. "Patrick?" But she knew it wasn't.
As soon as she quit struggling, the man stopped pounding at her. His blue eyes assessed her and he released his hold a little, allowing her some room to breathe.
They were staring at each other when there was the cock of a gun. The barrel of the rifle swung directly against the man's head. Catherine's gaze followed the barrel up to see Patrick's finger curled around the trigger. The look on his face was cold fury.
"Welcome home, Colin." Patrick stood over his brother, gun ready to discharge. "Now let Catherine up and go stand against the wall."
When Colin didn't move, Patrick kicked his leg savagely. "You don't have your mates here now to blow up innocent people or terrorize me. You've managed to beat up a woman and shoot a horse. That's quite a record, even for Cuchulain." He spoke the last with bitterness.
Catherine gasped as Colin lifted his weight off her. Still stunned, she pulled her feet under her and stood. "Shot a horse." The phrase echoed in her ears. "Limerick!" It was half question and half cry. She started to run toward where the horse had jumped out of sight, but Patrick pulled her to him. "Don't!"
"Limerick!" Catherine surged against Patrick's grip, but he held her.
"Don't, Catherine!" The sharp tone of his voice stopped her. Very slowly, she turned back to face Colin.
With a sudden scream, she threw herself at him, her fists pounding his face and chest. "I'll kill you myself," she screamed. "Give me the gun! You've killed Limerick!"
Patrick grasped Catherine's arm and pulled her away. The entire time he kept the gun pointed at his brother. Their gazes were steady, each unwilling to look away.
Finally Colin spoke. "So, you're still so sure I'm guilty of everything that ever went wrong in your life, aren't you? It must be nice to have someone to blame."
Patrick's gaze didn't waver. "I know, Colin. You did what you had to do. Isn't that the way you phrased it? Doing what you had to do, regardless of the damage to other people. Colin the patriot, the hero, the man who put country first. It sounds wonderful, unless you see the firsthand results of that behavior. I saw what happened to Ma after Lucy died. And Da'. I saw him wither and shrink, selling first one dream and then another to bail you out of trouble."
Colin shook his head. "Forget the past, Patrick, and listen to this. There's someone in the rocks behind the house." There was a low urgency to his voice. "He was aiming at the horse. That's who I was shooting at. Forget the past and believe me."
"I'm not eight years old anymore. You can't play that game with me, Colin." Patrick shook his head. "I see it all now. It always took me a while to catch on to you. Cuchulain! You were the beggar on the road. Another of your little games. What were you doing? Traveling in disguise? Well done. I honestly thought you were an old man. And I gave you the idea of resurrecting this whole Cuchulain business." Patrick's voice was self-condemning. "Didn't I always play right into your hands?"
"It was innocent, Patrick. I swear to you, that part of it was innocent. But that isn't the issue now. You have to listen to me."
"I'm not one of the suckers you can pull into your tales and rebellions. You meant to kill that horse and ruin me. Did you come home just to finish off what little I had left?"
"Don't be a dolt. I'd never shoot a horse, and especially not that one. I was aiming at the man." Colin pointed vehemently at the rocks that towered above them. "He's up there, you bleedin' idiot. He's been tailing me and the horse. He was at the place where you'd hidden the animal. That's why I took Limerick in the first place. To protect him and to protect you."
"I'm going to kill you, Colin. For the past, and for Limerick." Patrick lifted the barrel of the rifle and aimed it at his brother's heart.
"Stop it!" Catherine touched Patrick's arm. She angrily dashed the tears off her cheeks. Limerick was dead. A magnificent animal had suffered and died in a feud between brothers. But that was enough. "Stop it now, Patrick. You can kill Colin, but you won't be able to live with yourself if you do. Besides, it won't bring Limerick back."
"I'd like to try." Patrick's aim never wavered.
"If it will help your feelings, kill me. But you'd better be fast. I'm telling you, there's someone with a gun, and if you don't watch your back, he's going to catch you by surprise."
Catherine caught either a tone of sincerity or desperation in his voice. She looked behind Patrick, scanning the horizon for any sign of a person. Behind the small barn that was connected to the paddock, Catherine saw something move. It was a shift of shadow on shadow.
"Patrick…there's something there," she said softly.
"Damn you!" Patrick turned from his brother in time to see Kent Ridgeway striding out from behind some rocks and headed toward them. He carried a rifle with a scope in his hand.
"Hello, Catherine, Patrick. And this must be Cuchulain, though I see more of a resemblance to the Shaw family, so you must actually be Colin, the rebel. It would seem you've done a very nasty job for me. My thanks." His smile stretched even further. "I never realized that Colin Shaw would be helping the British. But you see, if Limerick had raced, I would have lost a great deal of money. Even worse, Catherine Nelson would have owned the stallion that might well have put me out of business. It's always a shame to destroy an animal as splendid as Limerick, but then it's even worse to see yourself ruined."
Catherine took in the gun and his expression. She knew he'd come to shoot Limerick. He'd intended to hide in the rocks and kill him. A sniper. A miserable sniper.
Patrick's face remained blank, but Colin's darkened. His intense blue gaze shifted from his brother to the man who stood so casually cradling an expensive rifle in his arms. No matter how casual the pose, Kent's finger was on the trigger and the barrel was only inches from Patrick's chest.
"You're from Wicklow, aren't you?" Colin asked. His voice was deceptively soft. "When I heard about the troubles at Beltene and that Patrick had been forced to sell, your name came up again and again. Does Miss Nelson know that you tried to buy Beltene out from under her?" He smiled at the shocked expression on Catherine's face. "I see I hit a nerve with the lady." He looked at Patrick. "I came home to check on my little brother, not to make trouble."
"Running the risk of capture, I might add." Ridgeway grinned. "So you're the broth
er, the rebel who fled. If Patrick doesn't kill you, I suppose I'll have to turn you in to the authorities. Catherine, you can take partial credit. That would endear you to the crown, you know." Kent shifted slightly. The rifle he held was only inches from Patrick's chest. "You'd better put your weapon down now, Shaw. I wouldn't want some misguided sense of family to force me to kill you or your brother."
The true horror of what had happened was breaking over Catherine. Colin had been aiming at someone— at Ridgeway. If she hadn't ploughed into him, he wouldn't have hit Limerick. It was her action that resulted in Limerick's death.
Without thinking, Catherine bent down. She swept up a handful of rocks and dirt. "You bloody bastard!" She threw as hard as she could, aiming accurately for Kent's eyes.
He lowered the rifle for a second as he threw back his head and tried to clear his vision. Patrick and Colin moved as one. Patrick hit Kent at the knees while his brother caught him from the other direction at the shoulders. The trainer went down with a knock hard enough to force the air from his lungs.
Catherine picked up Kent's rifle. Aiming it at his head she stood over him. Once he'd caught his breath, she lifted her foot. "I'd grind your face beneath the heel of my boot," she said, her voice shaking with fury.
"It doesn't matter." Kent was still struggling for breath, but he was undaunted. "Limerick will never race. I've won, and there's nothing you can do about it now."
"Catherine!"
She felt Patrick's hands on her, dragging her back and away. Her finger was on the trigger and the desire to pull it was almost irresistible.
"You can't kill him." With a quick motion, he took the rifle and threw it to Colin. "Watch him, will you? Catherine and I need to take care of something."
She realized what he intended and she balked. "Patrick, I can't. I just can't." She had no desire to see what her interference had done to Limerick. It was enough that he was dead.
Patrick stepped away from her, watching the play of emotions on her face. "You can, Catherine. Trust me, you can."
Chapter Eighteen
Catherine's breath caught on a sob as she walked beside Patrick. The place where Limerick had fallen was hidden by a dip in the ground and the barn. Patrick took her arm and gently pressed it, moving her forward.
"Catherine, it's not as bad as— "
"I'll kill Kent myself. I will." She choked on a sob.
"Catherine, please."
They turned the corner and she stopped. Limerick was on his side, his gray coat covered in blood and mud.
Catherine jerked free of Patrick and started to turn back. His fingers closed over her arm. "Catherine."
She shook her head and refused to turn around.
He gave a soft, low whistle, then another.
There was the sound of movement, and Catherine turned back. Limerick was rising. Putting both front feet out in front of him, he lumbered up. As he came toward Patrick, he stumbled, giving to his left shoulder. A fresh trickle of blood began to ooze through the mud on his coat.
"He's not dead!"
"Not by a long shot." Patrick smiled. "I doubt he's hurt much, either, but he's a damn fine actor, isn't he?"
With a cry, Catherine ran toward the horse. He greeted her with a soft whinny, but his attention was on Patrick. He blew a soft greeting, but held steady while Catherine examined him. Her fingers moved over his shoulder, flaking away the mud. There was a clean furrow where the bullet had grazed him, cutting deep into the flesh but not striking bone or tendon.
"He looked dead." She spoke aloud, but it was as if she were talking to herself. "He really looked dead." She turned back to Patrick, still not believing what she was seeing.
"I told you Limerick and I had a few tricks. When Limerick was a foal, I amused my father by teaching the horse movie tricks. Playing dead was one of our specialties. I'm afraid my father didn't find it so amusing, though. I thought Colin was trying to kill Limerick. Just in case my brother got away from me, I wanted him to believe he'd finished the job with Limerick. I put the mud on him to clot the blood. The wound didn't look bad, but bog mud can cure many a terrible injury." As he talked, his smile grew wider. "I do believe you'll have a horse ready to race by Saturday."
* * *
"ARE YOU CERTAIN?" Catherine adjusted Timmy's silks, but her attention was on Patrick. "The agreement was a forgery. We could always dispute it, but we have to do it now, before the race." She put in the final pin and allowed the jockey to leave.
"Have you no faith in a horse that's been resurrected from the dead?" Patrick, his blue eyes dancing, looked over Limerick's withers at Catherine.
"To lose him now…" Catherine didn't finish the sentence.
"I make you a promise, Catherine. Kent Ridgeway will never own Limerick. Never." The dark promise behind those words didn't have to be spoken. Ridgeway was free and preparing King's Quest to run. They could find no evidence to prove beyond a doubt that he'd forged the racing agreement, or that he'd attempted to kill Limerick. He'd never fired a shot. His claim was that he'd been hunting in the mountains and had stumbled upon Patrick's party just in time to offer assistance.
Although Catherine had wanted to press harder to bring charges, Patrick had convinced her to hold still. "The race will be punishment enough," Patrick assured her. "Let him lose. It will only be the beginning of what you can do to him in the future. You can drive him out of business, and that will be worse than anything else."
Only that promise had kept her from publicly declaring what a crook and coward the man was.
Now her future hung on the fact that Limerick, his shoulder sore but healing, could outrun King's Quest. Limerick had had no preparation. His pasterns and elbows were nicked and scraped where he'd run among the stones with Colin, but there seemed to be no permanent damage. Still, with his shoulder wound, it was such a risk. And Patrick hadn't even had a chance to put him on the Kildare track. Timmy would be riding him cold, not certain how he would break out of the Kildare gate. It was a big gamble. Only Patrick's calm demeanor, his steady voice and hand as he groomed the stallion, gave her any hopes of success.
"Patrick?"
She turned to the door of the stall and saw Colin Shaw. He was wearing dark glasses and a hat, a disguise made necessary by the fact that he was still a wanted man.
"Colin." Patrick's tone was softer than any he'd ever used when speaking of his brother. All through the night they'd talked, voices rising and falling as Catherine had held Familiar and sat on a bale of hay near Limerick's door. They were guarding the horse against further mischief, but the two brothers were also working through years of enmity, unwarranted beliefs and false accusations. By dawn, they had come to terms with each other. She could hear it in the way they spoke to one another. Colin had finally made Patrick believe that his return to Ireland, risking capture, had been to see if he could help his younger brother. The past could never be undone, but Colin had been able to give Patrick an understanding of events.
To give them a moment of privacy, she turned to stroke Familiar as he perched on the saddle. He'd been in the horse van with Limerick when they'd driven straight to the track, and he'd stayed at the stall the entire time.
"After the race, I'm going back to the States," Colin said.
"This is your country, Colin. If you want to stay, I'll help you fight the charges."
Colin shook his head. "As long as you know the truth, Patrick, the rest doesn't matter. Da' spent the money because he believed I was innocent. I was. Lucy— " He turned away on a muttered curse. "If I'd known what she was up to, I would have stopped her. But I had nothing to do with that bomb, or any other. It was a setup."
"I believe you." Patrick walked to the stall door. "Be careful. Once the race is over, Ridgeway will do anything he can to get even. I'm sure he'll have the authorities looking for you."
"If I ever had a desire to blow anyone up, it would be him." Colin grinned. "I'm sure I can learn the expertise if you need me to."
"We'll han
dle him in our own way," Patrick said, but he was smiling, too. "You can stay, you know."
"My life is in America now. I've found a home, a woman who loves me." He looked at Catherine. "She's as pretty as Catherine, in her own way. And as fiery. It seems we share a passion for scrappy women." His next remark was directed solely to Catherine. "Take care of him for me. He's always been difficult. A hard man, stubborn as a Dublin donkey. But I do think he's trainable. Just don't hold back on the bat and spurs."
Catherine laughed. Still holding the pins she'd been using to secure Timmy's blouse, she went to the stall door. "Good luck to you, Colin. If you ever decide to come back to Ireland, you have a place at Beltene. I saw you ride the night you were pretending to be Cuchulain. Beltene can always use another horse trainer with that kind of expertise."
"I didn't mean to endanger the horse," Colin said. "I knew the path, and I could see that Limerick had the heart and spirit to tackle it without any difficulty. I would never have injured him. I only took him to protect Patrick. I hope you believe that."
"If you hadn't taken him from the hideout, Ridgeway or Emory would have hurt him," Catherine said. "You did us a great favor."
"And tweaked my brother's leathery hide a bit at the same time." Colin put his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Tell Mick goodbye for me."
"Tell me yourself, you big oaf." Mick stepped up and took Colin by the shoulders, hugging him fiercely. "Watch yourself, man."
"And you." Colin grinned widely. "I hear Allan Emory and his friend suffered some bruises on their trip to the authorities. You wouldn't have beaten men who were already tied up, would you, Mick?"
"Nah! On my mother's grave, I would never do such a thing."
"What happened to them?"
"Can I help it if they had some difficulty rolling around in the back of Patrick's Land Rover? I'd make a curve, and they'd thump, thump, thump across the floor. I'd make another curve, and there they'd go to the other side. Was little I could do to help them, me with my hands busy driving."
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