Eyes of the Cat (17 page)

“Can’t I?”

Too late she realized what she’d prompted. Alan’s weight pressed her into the mattress; his lips were on hers before she could even think of resisting. And once the kiss had begun, she didn’t want to try. It held her like a silken snare, soft and slow and exquisitely sweet. Even from the center of the bonfire it lit within her, she could tell what infinite care he was taking to not hurt her bruised face. For some reason, that awareness made the experience all the more devastating.

And not just for her, it seemed. Alan’s gaze, when he finally raised his head, was almost frightening in its emotional depth. Tabitha nearly drowned in it. It was hunger and passion and longing and a sort of desperate tenderness all crystallized together into a single heart-stopping look. It shot deep into her—then was gone so abruptly, she wondered if she’d imagined it.

“Did you like that?” His low voice smoked over her.

Like?

How could he relate such a simple term as
like
to what that sweet, soul-shattering kiss had done to her?

“No,” she tried to answer truthfully, but she could barely get the single syllable out.

A small, satisfied grin touched the corners of that wickedly sensual mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

Rolling off, he stood by the bed, staring down at her for several long breaths, his powerful chest rising and falling with each one. “No more nonsense now. You’ll bide me and stay put while I’m gone.” He strode for the door with a feral feline grace. “I should be back before dawn.”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” Tabitha drawled, finding her voice the moment his eyes were off her.

The only sign that he heard was a slight tensing of shoulders and spine as he paused an instant in the doorway. “You’re not fooling anyone but yourself, you know,” his whisper filtered back to her as he stepped into corridor.

Huddling deeper into the pillows, she heard the door pull shut behind him with an ominous, decisive click.

Chapter 6

Alan did not return to the castle before dawn as he had said he would. Nor did he return after dawn. He didn’t return at all.

It had been mid-afternoon the day he’d ridden out, but by the time the sun had disappeared in rosy flames behind the western ramparts the following day there was still no sign of him, and Tabitha had begun to feel oddly concerned.
Why
, she couldn’t imagine. It made about as much sense as a condemned man worrying over what had happened to his executioner. She could only assume her head injury had rattled her reasoning more than she’d realized.

It had kept her abed the remainder of the previous day, at any rate. Despite her outer aches and inner turmoil—or maybe because of them—she had fallen into a heavy doze shortly after Alan departed, and hadn’t roused until the sun was low and the food that had been set upon the table hours before was stone cold and barely edible. Tabitha had eaten some of it anyway, because she’d awoken ravenous. And bolstered by that, had promptly fallen into a second sleep and a long, muddled series of dreams that kept her tossing in the big bed until late morning.

She’d remembered little about them on waking, but they had left her with the same confusing sense of overlaying images that the former night’s dream had triggered—the uncanny perception that she was herself yet someone else, too, someone who had lived at Castle MacAllister decades before. An extremely awkward feeling, and one that was not made more graceful by the fact that half the castle’s community seemed suddenly and perversely determined to treat her like she had always been a valued member of the clan.

“It’s your own fault. I warned you that you’d regret making Alan free Dunstan. They want to court your favor now because it seems you have such a powerful influence over their laird,” Mary teased.

She and Tabitha were strolling the inside perimeter of the outer courtyard, looking like a couple of spring blossoms in the last rays of the setting sun, with Mary in a vivid blue muslin creation that intensified her eyes, and Tabitha in a ruffled confection of peaches and cream organdy that made her feel like a French pastry. She hated it, but no more than the rest of Gabrina’s criminally feminine trousseau, and at least the organdy was cool in the warm evening air. She managed a stiff wave and stiffer smile as several men returning from some outside labor hailed her with big, toothy grins and a bushel full of unwanted compliments on her “bonny frock.”

“Maybe I should have worn the lime taffeta. It would have set off my bruises better,” she grumbled.

“Actually, your bruises are fading already. In a day or two, they’ll hardly be noticeable. Molly’s cures work like magic.” The redhead stifled a yawn. “Are you sure you don’t want to go in now? I know Molly said it would be all right for you to have some exercise today, but we’ve walked the whole castle from end to end five times over. Aren’t you tired?”

She had a point. From end to end, as the crow flew, the interior of the castle complex was over three hundred yards. And the two females had been skirting the perimeters of both the inner and outer courts, more than doubling that distance. A prodigious amount of legwork. But tiring?

“Hardly,” Tabitha murmured. She’d had enough sleep the previous day to fuel her for a week. Even without that, nerves alone would have kept her feet pumping. She had too much to think about, and for Tabitha, thought and motion had always gone together. Her brain seemed to be inextricably connected to her legs. “You can turn in, if you like.”

“No, I’ll stay with you. But we’ll have to give up soon. It’ll be too dark for this in a bit. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for out here, anyway.”

Tabitha pulled up short. “And just what do you think I’m looking for?”

Mary gazed at her as though she’d given the girl credit for more intelligence than that. “An escape route, naturally. But it can’t be done from out here. I know. I’ve already checked all the possibilities.”

“You…” Tabitha’s jaw dropped as awareness struck.

“That’s right.” Mary shrugged. “I never intended for things to go this way, of course, but I’m as much a prisoner as you. Except my position is a little safer because Uncle
Matchmaker
Angus hasn’t decided yet which one of his toads—I mean, sons—he wants to inflict upon me. I suspect it may come down to a contest of ‘tossing the caber.’ With me as the prize.” She took Tabitha’s hand as they neared the middle wall that separated the two courtyards. And, curiously enough, Tabitha’s hand was the one that was shaking.

“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.