Dangerous to Hold (40 page)

David gasped, sagged, and fell back. Catherine let out a horrified moan. The letter opener was embedded in his chest, just below his shoulder. She’d hurt him, but not enough to make a real difference. Though his face was contorted with pain, and a horrible red stain was spreading
out along the front of his coat, he was still holding the pistol.

Marcus shouted, “Cat, get out of here! Run for it!”

Already, David was pulling himself to his knees. She quickly crossed to Marcus. “Let’s both get out of here,” she said, and supporting him as best she could, she led him through the French doors to the path that gave onto the heath.

Snow was beginning to fall, blurring the outline of trees and hedges. Catherine thanked God for it. It was to their advantage, and they needed every edge they could get. Their pace was so slow that a tortoise could have overtaken them, and at any moment, she expected to hear Marcus’s cousin hard on their heels. She’d hurt him, but she wasn’t sure how badly.

“This way,” she said, and urged Marcus downhill through a dense grove of oaks.

One of his arms was looped around her shoulders, and he leaned heavily against her for support. Every now and again, she could feel his hand move to cover the wound in his thigh. One part of her mind was sick with shock. David was Marcus’s cousin. She had liked him. This couldn’t be happening. Another part of her mind was working mechanically, planning a route that would give them some cover and, at the same time, lead back to civilization where they could get help. There was no point in just trying to hide themselves. There were few places to hide on the heath and she knew that a man who had plotted all these years to get this far would never give up until he’d found them.

They did not go far before she veered off the track. On the right, there was a steep bank. It wasn’t much protection, but it was enough. She helped Marcus over the crest, and dragged him along the ditch on the other side till they came to a ledge of rock with an overhang that offered some shelter from the elements. Here she stopped, and they both sank down with their backs against the granite-faced wall.

She wanted to tell him that as a child, this little space
had been her own private domain, where she’d come when she wanted to escape from the world. No one else knew about it, not even Amy. Why was she thinking of this now?

Swallowing against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, she turned her attention to Marcus. He had removed his neckcloth and was wadding it into a dressing to staunch the flow of blood. She lifted her skirts and tore off a strip of her petticoat, then bound the leg tightly. Marcus did not protest, but she felt his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

“Why have we stopped?” he asked.

She was terrified at how weak his voice was. “If David passes us,” she replied as confidently as she could, “I thought we could double back.”

She had to dip her head to hear his reply. “What is our situation. Who knows we’re here?”

“Amy knows I’m here. And
El Grande
is waiting for me at the local livery stable. He may be gone by now.”

Marcus said, “You must leave me here and go and get help. You know that, don’t you?”

She didn’t argue with him. It might come down to it, but not yet, not until there was no other way. She wasn’t going to leave him to his cousin’s tender mercies.

She pushed the ugly thoughts to the back of her mind and tried to take stock of their position. She’d knifed David in the shoulder, but that wouldn’t slow him down as much as Marcus had been slowed. Then where was he? What was he doing? It occurred to her then that he might be tracking them, following a trail of blood to their hiding place. Hard on that thought came another. If the snow kept falling, their tracks would be easy to follow. But it would be a long time before that happened, and meantime, the snow was their ally, veiling them, though imperfectly, from the eyes of their pursuer.

Signaling to Marcus that she was going to spy out the lay of the land, she pulled to her knees, then to her feet and edged soundlessly to the crest of the bank. A watery dawn was making little headway against an overcast sky and the steady snowfall. The heath was hushed but it wasn’t soundless. Catherine heard the trickle of a stream
that fed into one of the ponds, and the sounds of animals either stirring from their lairs or going to ground. There was something else she couldn’t quite identify, and she tilted her head, straining to catch the sound.

Suddenly, she flattened herself against the hard packed earth. A horse and rider had come into view. She saw David check his mount as he turned in the saddle to look around him. Now she knew why he had taken so long to come after them. He’d taken the time to saddle Vixen. That meant he must have hidden his own horse some distance from the house, too far for him to get to it easily, and she thanked God for this small mercy. There was a pistol in his hand and she did not doubt that it was loaded. He wasn’t panicked as she had been panicked when she’d run from the house with Marcus. He was taking his time, doing things thoroughly. And why shouldn’t he? They weren’t going anywhere, not when Marcus could hardly walk.

“Catherine.” David’s voice was low and muted and seemed to float to her on the falling snow. “Catherine, I won’t hurt you. All you have to do is tell me where Marcus is, and I’ll let you go.”

She turned quickly away from that unholy voice. Marcus had started to his feet, but as he took a step toward her, his leg gave way and he fell headlong. The sound of his fall and the groan of pain brought a roar of triumph from David.

There was no point in silence now. Catherine jumped over the ditch and made a desperate attempt to help Marcus rise. Fear gave her strength, and she pulled him to his feet, then half dragged, half propelled him along the edge of the ditch. The sounds of pursuit pushed them onward. Even through her terror, Catherine was aware that David did not have everything his own way. The ditch was a trap for the unwary. Rocks and small stones littered their way, as well as rotting branches and potholes. It was hard going, but even harder for a man on horseback.

They burst through a dip in the ground and came out onto an avenue of trees. There was nothing to slow their pursuer here. Catherine knew that Marcus was weakening.
He was almost bent double and his breathing was frighteningly hoarse. Without pausing, she left the path and pulled him into a dense stand of saplings and vines. It was just in time. As they crouched down, horse and rider vaulted onto the path and thundered by. Then suddenly—silence.

Marcus whispered, “Cat—”

She put a finger to her lips, cautioning him, then whispered one word. “Trick.”

Marcus nodded, and listened as she listened, head cocked to the side, ears straining. Nothing could be heard but their labored breathing and the rapid pounding of their hearts. Gradually, his eyes closed.

Catherine let out a small, shaken breath, and looked at Marcus. His eyes were closed and she could hear his teeth as he clenched them against the pain from his wound. She’d nursed him in Spain and knew just how much he could tolerate without complaint.

Pulling to her knees, she examined the makeshift dressing. In that half-light, the blood on it appeared to be black ooze. When she touched his leg, tightening the bandage, he drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes.

Very softly, he said, almost mouthing the words, “You know you have to leave me. I’m holding you back. You must get help.”

Unsure, wavering, she lifted her head and met his eyes.

A twig snapped and she jerked round. The silence mocked her. She knew that he was out there, waiting as a cat waits for a mouse. He’d waited four long years. He would never give up now.

But the heath was her domain. She knew it intimately, as he could not possibly know it. If she kept her wits about her, she could still escape with Marcus.

She felt on the ground and came up with several small pebbles.
Up.
She mouthed the word, and Marcus nodded. Grinding his teeth together, he heaved himself to his feet. Her arm went back and she tossed a pebble clear across the grove where it struck a tree and went rattling into the undergrowth.

Silence.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and with that incautious remark, the silence was blown apart.

He charged them from a clump of pines not more than twenty yards away. A bullet gouged a hole in the trunk of a tree hard by Marcus’s head. Catherine didn’t have time to think. He was almost on them. She drew back her arm and let fly with all of her pebbles. They caught Vixen on the chest like pellets from a shotgun. The terrified beast checked, reared up, then lost its footing on the slick ice and slithered into the underbrush.

Without waiting to see more, she grabbed for Marcus. “This way! This way!” and she dragged him into the cover of the trees.

The way down was perilously steep, but the saplings helped to check their headlong descent. Marcus’s breathing was rough, and one hand was clamped against his flank where the bullet had entered. From time to time, Catherine flashed him an anxious look but she didn’t slacken their pace, not when she knew David was right behind them. She, herself, was gasping for breath, and the stitch in her side stabbed at her like a red-hot needle. When she realized it had stopped snowing, she sobbed in fear. Oh, if only
El Grande
would come back for her.

“What is it?” asked Marcus.

She shook her head, but in another moment, Marcus saw why she was so mortally afraid. They’d come to the end of their cover and, now that it had stopped snowing, they could see for miles over the heath. In front of them was a stretch of water, one of the small lakes or so-called ponds that proliferated on the heath. In the center of the pond was a small island. On three sides, it was hemmed in by hills with no cover to shelter them.

Marcus was hanging on to one of the saplings, struggling to even his breathing. His eyes were searching in every direction, looking for a place to hide. The only cover was back the way they’d come or on the island in the middle of the lake. He heard a horse neighing and that decided him.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said. “We can’t outrun him, but we might outwit him.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Depends whether he has reloaded. Have to take the chance. Distract him, Cat. Leave the rest to me.”

A few minutes later, David and his mount emerged from the cover of the trees. When he saw his quarry, he gave a whoop of triumph. They were on the heath, and Catherine was stooped over Marcus’s inert form, wringing her hands. David slid from the saddle and advanced toward them. Catherine’s heart sank when a quick furtive look revealed a pistol in his hand. It wasn’t her pistol or Marcus’s. That meant it was his own pistol and loaded.

“Don’t leave it too late,” murmured Marcus.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

She waited till she heard the click of the pistol’s lock, then she flung round to face him. Her little paper knife had done a certain amount of damage. She was sorry she hadn’t aimed a little lower, closer to his heart. There was a stain along the front of his right breast.

Remembering the part she was playing, she cried out, pointing to Marcus, “If we don’t get him to a doctor, he’ll die. He’s lost so much blood.”

“Let him die. It will save me the bother of killing him.”

David’s eyes flicked beyond her to the boneless huddle that was Marcus, then they focused on Catherine again. She was edging away from him, and he followed after her.

“You won’t get away with this,” she cried out.

“Make this easy on yourself, Catherine. Don’t run away. If I wound you, I’ll have to kill you with my bare hands, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself! I wounded you. I struck close to your heart. In a few minutes, you’ll be dead.” She knew this wasn’t true. Her one aim was to keep his back turned on Marcus.

He looked down and touched a hand to his bloodied chest, and in that moment, Marcus flung himself on him. Both men went rolling to the ground, but for all the surprise, Marcus did not have the strength to hang on to him. They rolled again, and when they stopped, Marcus was prone on his face, and David was straddling him. He
had the gun in his hand. Catherine moved like lightning, kicking out with all her strength. The blow struck David’s arm and the pistol flew wide and disappeared into a cushion of heather. She would have gone after it if David had not grabbed Marcus’s head in a wrestler’s lock. She cried out when he smashed Marcus’s face into the ground once, twice, then she flung herself at him.

Marcus was no longer resisting, and David turned on her with a snarl. In one ferocious, backhanded blow, he sent her sprawling, then he went after the gun. Catherine shook her head to clear her vision,. Marcus was groaning as he came to himself. She looked up to see David with the gun in his hand. His lips were pulled back in a grotesque grin and the breath tore out of his throat in a horrible dry rasp that reminded Catherine of a death rattle.

But it was her own death she was facing.

She threw herself in front of Marcus, instinctively shielding him.

David smiled. “You first?” he said.

Her voice was calm, and that surprised her. “Better me than Marcus.”

He was so close she could smell his sweat.

He leveled the pistol, then spun round when an unholy roar of rage rent the silence. It came from a rider who was descending one of the slopes at a furious pace.

“El Grande!”
Catherine whispered, and tears started to her eyes. She would recognize that figure anywhere.

As she watched, others came over the rise, a small detail of militia in red and white uniforms, but
El Grande’s
mount was well in the lead. Catherine turned to look at Marcus. He was wiping the blood from his face, but he had seen them too.

David Lytton spared them not one word or look. He turned and lurched toward his own horse.
El Grande
came on, and his expression was murderous. Catherine could see him clearly now, and he wasn’t armed. He was almost upon David Lytton when David turned and leveled his pistol.