Stormfire (61 page)

Father Ryan's toadlike eyes slid up, his plump hands folded neatly under his cassock as he leaned back in his chair. "So, ye expect me to absolve yer whore?" The priest keenly savored the moment; it was almost the equivalent of a miracle. Never had he expected the stiff-necked Culhane to beg the aid of the Church, much less his.

The dark man leaned across the table. "You will not call her whore, priest."

Ryan felt a prick of apprehension. He withdrew his pale hands and fanned them. "But how should the Church regard her, Mr. Culhane? I've heard talk—"

"Fishmongering gossip! Whatever Catherine is, I made her. She had no say in the matter."

"I've heard differently," the priest purred.

"How
differently?"

"She incestuously seduced her uncle, Michael Flynn."

"You married her to Liam! You know she's not Flynn's niece!" spat the Irishman.

"She willingly serviced ye and yer brother . . . she took part in orgies with yer
men . . ."

"Who fed you this incredible filth? Flynn's harpy daughters?"

"I'm the father confessor of this parish," the priest answered blandly. "How should I not be hearing its sins?"

Sean reached over the desk and jerked the man up by the front of his tunic. "Off your fat backside, you miserable turd! I've no time to play devil's advocate!"

Sheer pig rage stifled Ryan's natural cowardice. "Yer bitch can die and be damned!" His last phrase ballooned out from a ruthless punch in the belly. He moaned.

"Is that your last word,
Father?"

The priest gathered his bile and spat. The next blow was to his genitals; he screamed and fainted.

Hearing a knock, Flynn left Catherine's side and went to the door. "Father? How good— Perdition! What the devil!" He was summarily dragged outside the room by a tall, hooded figure who closed the door behind him. "Sean! Where's the priest?"

"Ryan is unavailable," was the brief response. "Is she conscious?"

"Barely, but you cannot impersonate a priest! It's sacrilege! Besides, she'll
know."

"Kit's half out of her head. She'll not see my face. As an altar boy in Kenlo, I assisted at the Last Rites." He removed Flynn's hand from his arm and opened the door. "It will be on my head."

Catherine's face was translucent, her breathing labored. "Father?" she whispered as Sean tucked her cold hand into his warm one.

He stroked her eyelids closed, his voice a low, rasping brogue. "Peace, lass. Rest quietly."

Her fingers tightened imperceptibly. "I would make . . . confession."

Sean hesitated, the awful travesty of what he was doing seeping into his marrow. " 'Tis not necessary, child, if ye repent in yer heart."

She did not seem to hear him. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." The confession poured out in a faltering, widening stream from a bursting heart. "I willingly became mistress of a man who raped me, then . . . came to love him . . . beyond honor, beyond life; but he would have opened the way to . . . endless bloodshed. I . . . betrayed those who trusted me. I defiled God's Holy Sacrament of
Marriage . . .
by pledging
faith . . .
to one whose wife I did not intend to remain. I . . ." She faltered, fighting for breath. "I brought misery and death to this land. And to a man . . . oh, God, help him! He's so alone." The murmur became almost inaudible. "Father . . . forgive . . ."

Brokenly mumbling the Latin, the Irishman drew a jagged cross of oil and ash on his lady's forehead and took her hand. With ebbing strength, she pressed his hand to her lips, opening her eyes as she did so. And saw his heavy Celtic ring. She stiffened in horror and looked full into the shadowed face under the cowl. "You . . . mock me!"

Desperately, Sean threw back the hood and planted his hands on either side of her head. "I mock you as you mock God! Would you die so easily and give your child to darkness? To stifle unanointed in your womb? To be damned to wander Limbo for eternity while its mother basks in God's limitless forgiveness?"

"No." Her eyes went wild. "The baby's. . . dead. It must be!"

"It lives."

"No!" she gasped. "I don't. . . believe you! You're lying, lying . . ." The words died away.

He could not find her pulse. Jerking out his dagger, he held it to her parted lips. A faint film of mist formed and faded, then another. He clamped her hands in his. "Stay. Hold on, little one. If God won't help you, cling to your demon!"

And so, drawing her bit by bit from the seductive shadows that promised release, he clung to her, hour by weary hour, day after day, feeding her, coaxing, bullying until he scarcely knew what he was croaking. When she lay senseless, he bathed her and changed dressings as Flynn had taught him. And when the pain mauled her, he held her until finally his own helplessness and exhaustion strangled his hope.

Is there no mercy in Heaven? She's suffered enough. I'm the one to blame. Give me her pain. I don't know how to pray. I only know she hurts.

Early one morning, the girl's breathing eased and sweat beaded her brow. As the sun came up, she slept, worn out with the battle. Light-headed with
fatigue and relief, Sean
opened the curtains to let pale, golden light stream into the darkened room. In the mirror, he glimpsed a beard-stubbled face with burning eyes in hollow sockets.

An hour and a hefty breakfast later, Sean fell asleep again in the big chair beside the bed and did not awaken until late afternoon. His eyes opened to meet Catherine's, still so dark their blue was difficult to distinguish, but without the blackness that spoke of intolerable suffering. "You look exhausted," she murmured
Softly
as he rose and came to the bed.

He wrapped an arm around a bedpost. "There's not much I can say about what I've done. As soon as you're whole again, I'll send you home. You and your father will never see or hear from me again. I'll have a private account set up for you in London. You can begin a new life to lead as you see fit, without interference from your father or anyone else. If I may make a suggestion, America would be a good choice of residence." He turned away to gaze out to sea. "A new wind is blowing there, sifting away the old rotten seeds of this plague hole." Catherine said nothing. He had not expected paeans of joy. She had little left of home and family, even reputation, but still he had hoped „she would feel some relief. "Don't you believe me?"

"I believe you," she replied quietly. "May I sleep now? I'd like to recover as quickly as possible."

He retreated behind a polite mask. "Of course. If you need anything, I'll be in the adjoining room. Just ring that bell on the table."

"Thank you." She closed her eyes.

He left the room, feeling like discarded rubbish. But then, what had he expected?

He was even less surprised when the remaining servants transferred their loyalty to their former master's elder son and left. Only Peg, Rafferty, and a young scullery maid remained.

Because too few servants remained to care for the livestock, Sean auctioned the breed stock to neighboring landowners and gave the rest to local villagers. Only Mephisto, two coach horses, and a draft mule remained. The estate became as silently deserted as the original ruin brooding above the cliffs.

Unaware of Shelan's alteration, Catherine slept most of the time, her body beginning to mend. Though Sean read aloud to distract her from pain-nagged waking hours and patiently fed her, their conversations were brief, polite, and impersonal. They might have been strangers. When she slept, he worked like a peasant in the stables and kitchen garden, deliberately losing himself in toil, breaking up hard clods of rock and dirt with pitchfork, boots, and hands; hacking peat from the bogs with a slane until his mind dulled.

Nora, the scullery maid, sidled up to Peg's elbow as she rolled out a piecrust. "Ma'am?"

The housekeeper jumped. "Will ye scare the wits out of me, girl? Ye're supposed to be sittin' with Lady Culhane 'til she wakes." The girl looked at her nervously and Peg softened. "Lunch, is it? I'm runnin' a bit late, but 'twill be ready in an hour. I'll not forget ye."

The girl made no move to go. " 'Tisn't that I came for, ma'am. It's . . ." she faltered. "It's milady. She's awake,
but. . ."

Peg caught her arm with a floury hand. "What about her? Out with it!"

"She don't know me."

Peg sighed and relaxed her grip. "Oh, that's all, is it? Well, goose, I doubt if she's laid eyes on ye before."

The girl's eyes widened. "But I don't think she knows
anybody.
I spoke to her plain and she didn't answer a word. 'Twas . . . scary, like she wasn't really there."

Peg pulled off her apron. "I'll have a look. We'll not disturb the master just yet."

Sean stroked the curls back from the still face. "Can you hear me, little one?" There was no sign his voice or touch registered. Dark blue eyes looked through, beyond him with a sadness that tore into his soul. He caught her head between his hands. "Kit, don't hide from me."

Flynn gently caught his shoulder and nudged him out of the way. He pricked her instep with a needle, then again, harder. He looked up grimly. "I've seen this condition in asylums."

"Ye mean, the lass is daft?" queried Peg.

"It appears so."

"I told her the baby survived," Sean said dully. "It was the only reason she tried to live. Finally, she must have realized the truth."

Silent for a moment, Flynn rolled down his sleeves. "You'd do well to send her to England now to be among loved ones in happier surroundings. In time, she may recover."

"Enderly has no love for her, no money or inclination to look after her!" the younger man argued. "She'd be carted off to a madhouse to be starved and beaten and live in filth! They'd tie her up and worse."

Flynn sighed in exasperation. "I find it difficult to believe he'd send his daughter to such a place, if only to protect his reputation."

"Kit's nothing but merchandise to him. Like this, he cannot even make a paying prostitute of her, though I wouldn't put even
that
past him." Sean turned away. "Kit has to go back whole and able to deal with him on her own terms."

Flynn spread his hands in resignation. "Suit yourself, as always. I can certainly do nothing for her." He tugged his jacket from a chair back and shrugged into it. "As she no longer requires my services, I'll be moving to Edinburgh for further studies. I've bemoaned the lack of medical skills in rural areas too long, ignoring my own inadequacy. I've arranged for a younger man, Doctor Edwin O'Donnell, to take over the clinic in my absence. His brothers were killed in the uprising, leaving him with a mother and family to support. He's glad for the opportunity."

"You'll be missed here."

"I doubt it."

Into Eden