Stormfire (54 page)

"You're done, Liam. Go home."

Liam whirled, arms dangling. "The hell you say! You've stolen my home, you misbegotten thief! But you'll not steal my wife . . ."

Sean nodded to two men. "Tie him to a nag."

They hesitated. One looked at the other, then at several of his fellows and stepped forward. He cleared his throat. "We follow yer orders, sor, always have. But. . ."

"But what?" Sean's voice was coldly clipped.

"We . . . we've no right to lay hands on Lord Culhane."

Rouge shouldered forward from the group and raised a belligerent fist. "Aye, that's the way of it! Ye've swaggered about in Lord Brendan's boots long enough; it's time they went back to the man who ought to be wearin' 'em."

Liam sensed potential allies and turned to look at the uneasy men. "He's right and you all know it! My father was your clan chief and friend. Many of you swore allegiance to him and his lawful issue. I'm Brendan Culhane's elder son and Irish law gives me sole title to his estates. It's
English
law that gives a share to a younger brother. A
few weeks hence,
Irish
law will rule the land. Will you decry your oath to my father and raise this bastard upstart to bring you all to the gallows as outlaws? He'll never be the next O'Neill! There 4s no legal right to the succession through a woman. He plans to steal the high throne of Ireland as he stole my inheritance! You'll have to kill me before I return to my own lands as that thief s prisoner!" He staggered around the circle of torches. "Choose here and now. Follow the bastard or me!"

Encouraged by Rouge, a ragged cheer went up.

A grim smile curved Sean's lips. "Will you follow
this
into battle, lads? Beat back the enemy with paintbrushes? Oh, aye, my brother's picked up a bit of skill with the blade, but we all know where his talents lie. You see the sorry wreck an experienced adversary makes of him. Even Enderly's English brat can reduce his brains to pudding."

"You're not the only competent commander in Ireland!" Liam snarled. "If I've not the present skill to lead men, we'll join with one who does. And as for a pudding, every man here knows of your obsession with my wife! On the very eve of battle, you've dragged them halfway across Ireland to indulge your jealousy!"

Sean stepped down and slowly walked toward his brother, his green eyes glittering in pure fury. "I didn't follow the witch out of affection, brother! Whether you know it or not, she's carrying information for General Lake. If you don't know it, you're a fool; if you do, you're worse. I ought to stand you both against a wall; but you're my brother, and for Brendan's sake, I'm letting you off with your life. Take it and go while my patience holds."

Liam felt his confidence and growing alliance among the men begin to ebb. Even Rouge looked unsure. There was no way in hell he would be able to leave with Catherine now; still, he desperately persisted. "You'd use any lie to retrieve Catherine, wouldn't you? What do you intend to do with her?"

Sean's smile grew nasty. "I've thought of several things. They wouldn't amuse you."

"I won't surrender her to torture or death! Give me your
word . . ."

The smile faded. "I've given you all you're going to get.
Go."

Liam whitened. "You'll pay for this. I'll have my own back, and your black heart as well!" He whirled. "Who'll join me against this rogue?"

There was a silence, and then Flannery stepped into the firelight. "I, my lord."

Culhane's eyes narrowed. "Aye, why not? My brother's prowess with the blade reeks of your tutelage. The same can be said of the wench. Did you hope she'd murder me to put your pet in the saddle?"

"I've no wish for yer death," replied the redhead quietly. "I'm bound by oath as ye well know."

Two others, then a third stepped forward. "We're oath held, too. Sorry."

"You're
sorry,
right enough," said Sean coldly. "Your lord called you to heel with his gallows talk, didn't he?" Disgusted, he rammed his saber in its sheath. "Go and be damned to you! I've no use for lily livers."

One man stiffened and reached for his pistol, but found Flannery's big paw on his wrist. "There'll be no more fighting among good Irishmen tonight. We go now." He looked at Liam and jerked his head at one of the passages. Liam shot a last promising glower at his brother and led his small band out of the cashel.

Sean's arm tightened about the limp, small form that drooped with exhaustion before him in the saddle. His prisoner was nearly asleep, head nodding with each stride of the horse. Grimy, her hair in tangles, and now barefoot, the fragile sandals ruined by the swift stumbling exodus from the fortress, she was still beautiful, still proud, though the despair in her eyes had mocked the erectness of her stance as he ordered her to horse after the fight. She had looked upat him without flinching, the eerie beauty of her eyes shaking him even then, even while he hated the tear streaks through the dirt on her face that betrayed fear for his brother. He had wanted to hit her, to exhaust his fury hitting her; but she was ready for that and worse, with the stubborn courage he had always unwillingly admired. That so frail a wench could defy him, could bend
him like a feather to her wiles made his gorge rise. He should have tied her across one of the fresh remounts they had picked up in Balleybofee. The faint, familiar fragrance of her body that taunted him into restless memory, the silken tendrils at her nape that tempted a man to lift them and kiss delicate flesh. . . Entirely asleep now, she sagged full against him, filling his arms, the swell of her breasts and body between his thighs warming his loins unbearably. "Sit up," he snapped in her ear.

Startled, she stiffened and clutched the pommel. Five minutes later she was asleep again and Sean swore under his breath—but let her be.

Stopping only a few hours to rest, they reached Shelan late the following night. Restored to her old cell, Catherine, utterly worn out, slept again, then awoke to find a plate of kitchen fare near the door. She ate the food, slept. There was nothing else to do until they came for her. But no one came.

The pattern continued for weeks. When awake, she lay on the cot, mind inert, wondering almost idly if there came a point when a living thing could no longer be terrorized because fear became too familiar; probably the same could not be said of pain. She wondered if she could endure what the Irishman might do to her.
God, let him come back alive and help me not to be a coward when he does. I've, failed at everything else.

The Reckoning

Late one night near the end of June, a tired, dusty Halloran came for her. He roughly jerked her hands behind her, then tied them tightly. After shoving her through the darkened house, he thrust her into Sean Culhane's bedroom. Culhane's tall frame leaned against the mantel as he gazed into the fire. He did not acknowledge Halloran's salute or departure. Catherine saw his clothes
were stained
with dirt, sweat, and blood. A streak of dried blood from a scalp gash was partly hidden by his hair, and a barely averted saber blow had grazed the curve of his shoulder and back, narrowly missing his neck. Involuntarily, she stepped toward him. His head turned and the look in his eyes stopped her. Before he spoke, she knew the rebellion had failed. His body seemed to remain erect through sheer force of will.

"My compliments," he said dully. "You've evened the score; better, you've helped level a country." When she made no reply, he walked to the desk and wearily sat on it, took up the brandy decanter, and slowly untwisted its stopper.

"You need bandaging. Please untie me. I won't try to escape."

Taking a drag on the bottle, he nearly choked. "Madam, if I didn't know how deceitful you are, I'd believe you concerned. The truth is, you're green with disappointment I didn't return strung over my saddle. I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

"You don't believe I acted out of revenge," she said quietly.

"Don't I?" His green eyes narrowed dangerously. "What should I believe when standing knee-deep in the bodies of my countrymen in Wexford. They cut down men like wheat, there and at Tara
Hill,
and in Antrim. The wounded were bayoneted where they lay and the survivors hanged." He dragged at the bottle and stared at her. "I should have died with them, but at the last moment, I ran. Back to you. The bitch engineer of it all."

"If General Lake knew about the uprising, I didn't tell him. I didn't have the chance."

"Not for lack of effort, madam. But Liam had the chance. The Committee was surprised while it was in session; most of them were taken. And Fitzgerald was shot in his hiding place; he died in prison. It seems Liam got a message through before your escape. He also smashed our musket flints, ruined the powder, and spiked the cannon." He dully nursed the bottle. "You destroyed years of work in a single
night . . .
if one doesn't count the nights you squirmed in my brother's bed."

"Sean . . ."

"After our duel, my men deserted like rabbits. Barely enough were left to load what muskets we could salvage on the wagons. We met British artillery with clerks and farmers armed with pikes." He went on staring. "It's one thing to hate and ruin me; you had reason. But Liam never hurt anyone in his life. I put him up to kidnapping you. He just wanted to be left alone with his paintpots. We had our differences, but he used to follow me like a pup. You turned him into a killer and a traitor. I'm unable to find an excuse for that, though God knows I tried. Like the weak-witted, pathetic fool he called me, I tried!" His voice dropped to a despairing whisper. "Even if you told me he was lying; even now, I'd want to believe you." Hardly aware of what he was doing, he came to stand bare inches from her and she looked up at him as she had the first time he had seen her, only now her eyes were filled with a terrible sadness that seemed to rise from his own torn soul. "Was he lying, Kit?"

Oh, God, how can I tell him Liam was never the friend he remembers? Catherine thought in anguish. I've already mutilated his love, his life, his hope. He owes it to his dead to kill me. If he lets me live, he'll despise himself for it. She took a breath. "Liam, didn't betray you. I destroyed your munitions and listened to your conference with Fournel from the ballroom, then sent a message by Padraic. He, of all of you, believed I was Irish. He thought nothing of delivering a note via the Donegal Town mail coach addressed to Lord Camden's sister. I daresay he's forgotten all about it by now." She knew Sean, even in rage, would never hurt the idiot boy, but now his fury threatened to break over her.

"Did you love Liam?" His voice was a ragged whisper.

"Never. I used him."

His long, powerful fingers caressed her throat. "As you used me. Yet you married him."

"The Vigny name still carries enough weight in Rome to assure an annulment."