Stormfire (53 page)

"I don't hate you." Her whisper was a monotone.

"You won't try to leave me? You promised before God . . ."

"Yes. I promised God and now I'm your wife." Catherine sat up and dragged the cloak about her, then stared at him over her shoulder. "But if you ever force me as you did tonight, you'll never see me again. Do you understand?"

He flushed. "I understand."

She curled Up in the cloak in the back of the cave, leaving him to seek his own makeshift arrangements.

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The day was damp and overcast, the rumbling thunderheads lending a blueish cast to lush verdancy of rugged mountain slopes that surrounded the two riders threading through the vales. "Stay alert," Liam called back over his shoulder. "Sometimes rain-swelled rivers flood the valleys."

By daylight, he looked incongruous in his dusty formal clothes, particularly so far from civilization; but, Catherine reflected wryly, she could look no better. Her hair was a mass of tangles, gown filthy. Her face must be dirty as well. Dripping foliage brushed her sandaled foot. Green. Everything in Ireland was green. Like the shadowed green eyes that would haunt the rest of her days. Her chest began to ache as she fought away the memories and eventually lapsed into dull, swaying blankness, not thinking of the future, far less the past.

Liam peered through the gloom cast by the copse of trees that sheltered them. At their backs, mountains almost blocked the moon. Nothing visible moved across the grassy plain. To the northeast, the River Foyle glinted like a silver bangle. He finally nodded. "It's time."

They mounted quickly and urged the horses to an easy canter. Controlling the pace in the open country that stretched to Londonderry was crucial. They were far north of where Sean would expect them to exit the mountains, but rest and irregular terrain had cost precious time.

Dawn paled the sky without sign of pursuit. Toward noon, they reached a stream choked with weeds and yellow water lilies. After watering the animals, they wearily collapsed on the bank for a few minutes' rest. Long meadow grass fanned under a serene blue sky filled with the puffy clouds of a perfect spring day that reflected no hint of the threat that lay over the land. Catherine's mind drowsed wearily, lulled by the sun's warmth and the fragrant fields. Only moments seemed to have passed when Liam nudged her shoulder. "We have to keep moving. Sean will have picked up our trail by now. We've another fifty miles to cover."

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By moonlight, the cashel resembled a low hill; only within a few hundred feet did the stone appear to be regular, like a giant's battered teeth set around an earthen tongue. Its boulders loomed high against the moon as the two riders dismounted. Liam pointed at a black-mouthed doorway formed by a crude, monstrous stone lintel. "We sleep in there."

"What is it?"

"A primitive fort; one of several about the countryside. The interior is a maze of souterrains that open out into a cleared area. Over there"—he nodded to a gap in the southern wall—"the roof has collapsed."

"A hospitable haven," Catherine remarked dryly. "Tons of earth must be atop the remaining passages."

Liam shrugged as he unfastened his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. "This is the best cover in miles and offers a chance of escape if we're surprised. Several souterrains open to the interior ring and the plain beyond."

He led Alcazar into the black maw of the doorway. The passage they followed was pitch-black and they stumbled over the debris of centuries, but Liam seemed to know exactly where he was going. "I explored this place as a boy," his voice echoed hollowly in the darkness. "There's a chamber where we can rest for a couple of hours." Shortly, he stopped. "This is it." She felt about to discover a dank cell only slightly wider than the passage. The horses whickered nervously and she could smell them and the mold in the place. She heard Liam drop his saddlebags. "Follow me with your canteen."

They negotiated a short, curving tunnel into a open space brilliant in the moonlight. It resembled an ancient Roman arena pierced with dark passage openings like the one from which they had emerged. Like blunt, stubby columns, huge stones were overturned among the sporadic holes and mounds of rubble that dotted the rocky, mossy floor. A cistern lay at the center. Liam dropped down at its edge and lowered his canteen by a long string. The canteen hit water far below with a faint slap and slowly filled. He hauled it up, then lowered the second canteen.

Catherine stooped by the well and looked down. A faint,
moonlit glimmer of water shattered as the canteen struck it; rings rippled into darkness. She stood up, wincing at sore muscles. She was nearly asleep on her feet, the arena merging into moonlit, rubble-strewn dreams with dim, shapeless figures moving in their shadows. Her spine prickled. "Liam," she whispered unevenly, "don't look up. There are men in the passages."

He froze. "Where?"

"Ahead of me and to my left. Wait. I'll adjust my
hair . . ."
Fingers trembling, she reached for the tangled mass at her nape and turned slightly. Her knees seemed to melt as she sobbed under her breath, "Oh, God." No longer bothering to keep to the shadows, they emerged from the tunnels and moved silently like nightmares across the clearing. Liam got to his feet, swiftly drawing his pistol from his waistband.

The foremost specter spoke icily. "Try it, brother, and you'll have a bullet through your skull before you level the barrel."

Liam hesitated, then snarled, "These are my liege men. They'll not shoot me on a bastard's orders."

"No?" Sean stepped full into the moonlight. He was a clear target, and from several yards away, Catherine felt the dangerous look in his eyes. "They're accustomed to following my commands automatically and quibbling later. Care to test that theory?"

Sensing Liam's slight movement behind her, Catherine stepped forward to block his aim. Pistols cocked. With tongue turned to parchment, she fought to speak evenly. "I'm the one you want. I appealed to Lord Culhane's honor to help me escape."

Sean walked forward with his deceptively lazy, silent stride. His dark face was expressionless, his comment conversational. "You've a curious choice of timing, Miss Enderly, and an even more curious choice of route. Why Londonderry, when Donegal Town promised safety?"

"You have spies there, haven't you? I was afraid of being retaken so close to Shelan."

"You're lying in your teeth, Miss Enderly," the Irishman said amiably, beginning to circle to her left. Catherine moved stealthily to stay between him and Liam. He
stopped and looked at her quizzically. "I'm not going to shoot your tongue-tied Galahad, Countess. He's really quite safe unless he intends to be more of an idiot than he has been."

"If you've no quarrel with me, then we'll leave," Liam snapped.

Culhane hooked his fingers in his belt. "You can go to hall if you like, brother. But the lady stays with me."

Liam jerked Catherine back against him. "That's where you're wrong. The lady is my lawful wife."

For an instant, Culhane tensed and his eyes flickered as if he had been struck. "You're lying."

Liam laughed ironically. "I see for once I've surprised you. If I may be permitted to reach into my waistcoat pocket, I have a marriage document. You may inspect the copy in Father Ryan's records. Naturally, other duplicates are less accessible." Sean held out his hand. As his brother scanned the paper, Liam commented, "As you see, properly witnessed . . ." His voice took on a grim note of pleasure. "And duly comsummated."

Sean's dark head came up slowly. "It seems you were willing to go to any lengths to escape me, Lady Culhane. I badly misjudged your talent for duplicity." The stunned pain and contempt in his eyes as he looked full into hers belied his soft voice. "My apologies for interrupting your honeymoon, brother, but I must insist on detaining your bride."

Liam's arm tightened about his wife's waist. "I'll kill you if any man makes a move to take her."

Sean's lips curved as subtly as a patient wolfs.

A sob rose in Catherine's throat. "Please! He means it."

The Irishman's eyes idly flicked over her. "Aye. You've a way of twisting a man's mind into knots. Lovely, lying Kit."

"You'll stop insulting my wife, bastard," Liam snarled. "You've shamed her for the last time." He turned to the nearest Irishman. "Give me your sword, Halloran."

Sean's eyes narrowed. "Don't be a fool. I've no wish to kill you."

"How noble. Or is your reluctance merely practical? You know my father's men won't follow the bastard murdefer of his legal son and heir!"

Sean's eyes glinted. "You've no proof I'm a bastard."

"No? In Father's absence, our mother was no better than a common whore. One of her many lovers was an English naval lieutenant. Perhaps the source of your attraction to the sea?"

Catherine's hand flew to her lips to stifle a scream as Sean pulled his pistol. His eyes were ftill of death, though he spoke gently. "Still, I'll kill the man who yields you his weapon. Go home, brother. Yon scheming bitch isn't worth your life. She doesn't love
you . . ."

"Doesn't she?" Liam's voice rose, almost cracking. "We've'been lovers since you took the expedition to England! Catherine swore she'd never forgive you for destroying her father and dishonoring her. Each time you touched her, she was thinking of me to keep sane until we could be together. You pathetic, infatuated—"

"Shut up!"

"You're the fool, brother, to believe a woman you used so contemptibly could ever love you. You disgust her!"

Stunned with horror at Liam's vitriol, Catherine dimly heard Sean's harsh order. "Give him your saber, Halloran."

"No!" she cried, bolting toward Sean. "Please. You cannot murder him! He isn't responsible."

"Get her out of the way," Sean snapped. As she dragged desperately at his sleeve, his arm lashed out. Smashing against the side of her head, it flung her to the ground to lie tangled in the cloak.

When a man pulled her up, she clawed hysterically until she saw it was Flannery. Desperately, she clung to his arm. "It's murder! Stop them! Please!"

Flannery hoisted her up with an arm about the waist and muttered against her ear, "Be still, girl! Too much has been said to let pass. This has been comin' for years. Ye cannot stop it now!"

He dragged her away, still writhing like a madwoman; then she heard sabers rake steel. She went limp and watched in horror.

Surrounded by watchers whose features glowed like
banked red coals, the circling adversaries were etched harshly against the smoky flare of torches. Although Liam was a fair swordsman, Flannery had not exaggerated Sean's skill. As supple as a panther, he moved silently, a rippling in the torchlight, part of the night itself. Yet, as he persisted in retreating, seeming to be intent on wearing his brother down, she was terrified Liam might achieve a lucky thrust. At length, the young lord began to strain, face flushed from exertion. He must have known his fiercest attacks were for nothing, for they continually met thin air, never the mortal target he craved. He was becoming exhausted, his saber increasingly heavy and unwieldy; still, he asked no quarter, and she had to admit that whatever else he was, Liam was no coward. He was reeling, guard nonexistent when, without warning, Sean sent the saber spinning from his numb fingers into a rock pile. Liam stumbled after it, only to see his brother lightly ascend the pile, flick the saber up with the tip of his own weapon, and break it across his knee. Swaying, Liam stared at him, then turned to the rebel soldiers. "Give me another weapon," he muttered hoarsely.