Stormfire (52 page)

"Stop it!"

"That something went wrong in the escape plan . . ."

"Liam, for God's sake, I'm not going to tell him. I have to go through with this, in spite of Sean, in spite of
you.
Don't threaten me." Her voice was cold and steady, although she felt light-headed. The whirling . . . "I'm dizzy. Let's leave now."

He nodded and steered her toward the terrace. The cool breeze hit her like smelling salts and, fighting for air, she leaned briefly against the stone balustrade.

Liam's voice came from behind her, gentler now. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." She straightened.

"Very well. We'll stroll toward the ruins. If someone sees us, they'll assume we're having a moonlit tryst."

No one saw them. Nebulous shapes in the shadows, the horses whickered and Liam put his hands over their noses. Quickly, he tossed Catherine a cloak, then threw one over his own shoulders. Without waiting for assistance, she mounted. Bending low over the horses' necks, the riders walked the horses a few hundred yards north of the ruins.

At a safe distance from the house, they spurred to a gallop.

*
   
*
   
*

"Pardon, Monsieur Culhane, have you seen Mademoiselle Flynn? I am promised the last dance and I should be most unhappy to miss
it.
General Bonaparte himself would have difficulty in combatting the contestants for her favors."

Culhane smiled faintly at the anxious young officer. "I've not seen the young lady in some time, Lieutenant Courbier. Perhaps she has retired." Courbier's face fell, then he glumly wandered off toward a servant bearing a tray of port.

Sean surveyed the dance floor. Catherine was indeed nowhere to be seen. He strolled out onto the terrace, idly noting fanciful arrangements of greenery at either end. Perhaps she
had
retired. The light rouge on her cheeks had not completely disguised their pallor. The last strains of music faded away and impatiently he wanted the place cleared.
Sylvie
was to hoist anchor by late morning, and he would not be free to retire until the
Meridian
sailed after midnight. That left only a few precious hours to hold Catherine, perhaps for the last time.

"Mr. Culhane, the French are waitin' to take their leave."

"Thank you, Halloran."

Mercifully, those farewells were brief; unfortunately the other guests, unobliged to catch the tide, were less pressed. Last-moment trivial gossip and reassurances about the forthcoming conflict made it difficult for Sean to maintain his civility. When the last carriage rolled away, he sighed in relief.

Pelting up the stairs, he loosened his stock and tugged off his jacket as he entered his room. Disappointed not to find Catherine waiting in bed, he unbuttoned his waistcoat as he opened the connecting door to her chamber. His fingers missed the last button. Lingerie neatly lay across the bed where the maid had left it. Uneasily, he lifted a bit of lace and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. He had taken great care to display the desirability of his mistress. What if some randy buck had become dissatisfied with mere observation? Courbier had been eager enough. But the French were gone . . .

Then another thought occurred to him. Trying the door
o Liam's chamber, he found it unlocked on both sides; Liam's room was empty, his things undisturbed. Sean's trust flailed desperately. Liam had brought Catherine downstairs. Peg would have let him in from Catherine's side. That was it. That had to be it. Kit wouldn't. . .

But somehow, he knew they were gone. Dying slowly inside, he knew it even as he ordered a search and sent Halloran to question the tower watch. When the man returned with two woozy, panicky guards in tow, an agony exploded inside his soul, sending sheets of pain arching like sunbursts, blackening finally to a dull, smoldering ache.

When Mephisto pulled up lame and he saw the deliberately angled nail, the first hate began.

The Arena

A few hours from Shelan, the fleeing riders entered the Derryveagh foothills. They picked their way precariously as the incline grew steep, then dismounted. The horses' hooves slipped on wet bracken and twice Catherine fell, reducing the Parisian gown to a muddy, sodden wreck.

Just before dawn, they reached a high, narrow valley and secreted the horses in a moss-blanketed niche in the mountainside. Liam hung feed bags over the animals' heads, then pulled a fishing net from a canvas sack hidden in a rock cranny and strung it across the corral opening. He nodded to the rocks above. "There's a cave up there. We'll rest for a couple of hours, then move on through the high passes. Sean will think I've headed for Omagh. By the time he knows differently, his mounts should be dropping in their tracks, while we'll be halfway to Londonderry. He won't be sure where we'll emerge from the mountains, but once we do, we'll have to run like hell. . . . Go on, climb up. I have to tie the horses' mouths after they're fed, just in case. And be careful; the stones are loose."

As Liam had warned, the rocks were treacherous; negotiating them in a ball gown was no simple matter. She crawled into the cave through a narrow double entrance divided by a boulder whose shadow formed bars of waning moonlight into a blunt triangle across the cavern floor. The ceiling's peak, less than head high, sloped to the back of the cave. She recoiled as her knee hit something that fell
over heavily and cracked. In a few moments, an entrance blacked out and Liam whispered hoarsely, "What was that noise?"

"A pot of some kind. I broke it." He swore and dragged himself inside, then squatted to brush pebbles and crockery away to clear a sleeping space. "What is this place, Liam?"

"A prehistoric burial cave. You just dumped the occupant's remains into the dirt."

"What?"

"You'll see when the sky lightens."

Absently, she pushed the collapsing coiffure out of her face. "When did you hide the net here?"

"While you and your stud were at sea. At the time, I was certain you could be persuaded to come with me."

She could almost see his bitter expression, though his face was in shadow. "When do we leave the mountains?"

"At nightfall after we rest again. Once in the open, we rest one more time, thirty miles from Londonderry, then run the final leg."

"You've planned efficiently."

"I had time. And reason." He paused, a dark shape made vaguely inhuman by the cloak's contours. "And now that I've kept my part of the bargain, it's time you kept yours."

Her fingers, tangled in her hair, stilled. "What do you mean?"

"We're man and wife in theory. When we leave this cave, we'll have been joined in fact."

"I'm tired, Liam, as you must be, and we've yet a long way to travel," she answered levelly, "We need rest. Surely your marital privileges can wait until we reach safety."

His lips curled. "My privileges, madame? You mean my rights. As for fatigue, if you had kept to your bed last night . . ."

"You!" Anger bubbled up. "Were you that drunk, or simply fool enough to try to bed me within Sean's grasp? What if the conference had broken up early? A meeting you should have been sober enough to attend. Then we might have more information, not just scraps!" She felt like hurling a pot fragment at him, knowing even in her mounting rage she was releasing the pent-up tension of days.

He laughed dryly. "So that's where you were. Playing spy. And you talk of discretion! Devious little Kitty Flynn." He shrugged off his cloak and spread it on the ground, then began to undo his clothing. When she made no movement to disrobe, he looked at her calmly. "I suggest you undress, my love; otherwise, I'll tear that dress to rags. As we're shortly appearing in public, you may prefer to keep it intact."

Catherine's anger became edged with uneasiness. "I'm not your whore. I'll not be taken like one."

"No. You're my wife," was the unruffled reply. He pulled off his shirt and vest and folded them for a pillow. "In a few hours, we may both be recaptured or dead. Would you deny me a few moments of wedded bliss?"

Realizing his implacability, she tried a new tack. "Liam, we may have years together. Would you begin our marriage so callously? Would you destroy any affection I might have for you?"

His eyes were the shade of steel in the moonlight, like the cool sheen of his hair. "I've waited long enough for your affection. Tried to earn it with gentleness and consideration. I was an idiot. You simply required a stud. Now you have one for life." He pulled off his boots, his lean chest and arms gleaming white above the remaining breeches. "Don't be too forlorn. My brother would never have married you. Ireland will always be first in his heart, and the only woman he ever really craved was Megan. I have no distractions. I want only you."

"Liam, please. Wait until we reach Londonderry. Only two more days. We'll go to the finest
hotel . . ."

"Ah, my sweet, you're so lovely and so transparent. Do you really think I'm fool enough to give you grounds for annulment?" His eyes glinted dangerously and his voice lost its coolness. "If you have a stitch on after two minutes, I'll tear it to shreds."

He had her. She had given him the opportunity and the right. Now there was no choice. To find the way out of the mountains without him was impossible. She undid the
catch of the cloak and let it fall, then the ball gown and chemise. v

Liam's roughened breathing was the only sound in the cave as he unfastened his breeches. "Lie down." She started to spread the cloak. "No. In the dirt. No more altars for you, Jove." Lying down, she waited, stiff with loathing. The dirt was a powdery dust and she wondered what once-living refuse was mixed with it.

"Open your eyes, wife, and get used to the sight of me." Reluctantly, she obeyed. Naked, he was kneeling over her, his torso ghostly white, his sex jutting above her belly. " Touch me." She did not move. He caught at her wrist, dragged her hand downward, then covered her. He forced entry, and the knowledge that he was forcing her to submit, that he was dominating her, made him buck exultantly until sweat glistened on his flesh. He moaned in private ecstasy as all too quickly his ejaculation burst; then he fell away, panting.

Catherine lay unmoving, sprawled as he had left her, her body a dry husk, capable of feeling only a terrible, irrevocable loss. She had utterly betrayed Sean's trust; lack of choice made no difference. Anguish for his pain as well as her own suddenly rocked her with helpless, silent sobs.

Out of the dark, Liam's fingers brushed her cheeks with unexpected gentleness. "I didn't want it to be like this," he whispered. "I needed you so much and I waited so long. Then to see you begin to love him." His fingers stilled. "I couldn't bear it." There was no response. "I swear I'll be a good husband. You'll be happy, you'll see." He hesitated uneasily. "Don't hate me. I love you so much."