The Pride of Lions (14 page)

“Are you saying you don’t think you can control what she says or does over the next few days?” Cameron asked.

“I’m saying … she has confused priorities at the moment, compounded by a stubborn streak a mile wide. I think as soon as she is set free all hell will break loose. She’ll have every hound in England set loose to hunt you
down, and if she even suspected I was involved in helping you, she would send them after me as well.”

Cameron took a deep breath, uncrossed his ankles, and stood up. “What if the consequences of such actions were spelled out to her?”

Damien studied the hard, uncompromising set to Cameron’s jaw. “I don’t want her frightened any more than she is already.”

“Threats don’t usually come sugarcoated.”

“Maybe I can talk to her.…”

Cameron tossed his cigar into the fire. “We can’t take the chance she won’t listen.”

He strode across the room and went up the stairs. Damien started to follow, but Aluinn was there to block the way.

“He can be diplomatic when he wants to be. And extremely persuasive.”

Cameron used his boot to kick open the door, not bothering to slow down or knock before he entered Catherine’s room. The force tore the iron latch out of the wall and sent it cracking against the wood with the report of a gunshot. Deirdre, in the middle of undressing Catherine’s hair, scattered a handful of steel pins across the floor. Catherine jumped to her feet, her cheeks instantly flushing with two hot spots of indignation.

“What is the meaning of this? How dare you burst into my room uninvited!”

The dark eyes held hers for the span of several throbbing heartbeats, then flicked to the maid. “Leave us alone for a few minutes.”

“Stay where you are,” Catherine cried and reached out to grasp Deirdre’s hand. “Whatever you have come to say, sir, you can say to both of us.”

He nodded, his eyes now narrowing. “I suppose that is only fair, since you will both undoubtedly be sharing the same fate.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“In plainer language? I understand you have been eavesdropping on my business. Eavesdroppers often hear things they shouldn’t—things that prevent them from remaining healthy for too long.”

Catherine glanced at the shattered door. “Damien,” she whispered. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing. Yet.”

“I want to see him. I want to see my brother.”

Cameron crossed his powerful arms over his chest, posing a formidable threat. “You are hardly in a position to make demands, madam.”

“What do you plan to do … 
Mister Cameron
? Kill us? Damien told Father he was coming after me. If anything happens to us they will send every soldier in England after you. They will catch you and drag you before a tribunal, and they will see that you die a slow, terrible death as a traitor and murderer before they hack you to pieces and feed you to the dogs!”

“My, what a picturesque imagination you have. But just how do you propose your father—or anyone else, for that matter—will find me, let alone catch me?”

“Your arrogance is misplaced, sir. You sadly underestimate my father’s influence with the army.”

“On the contrary; I warrant he and his hordes of avenging devils would not hesitate to turn London upside down in their search for the elusive Raefer Montgomery. But how long would it take them, do you suppose, to realize Mr. Montgomery no longer exists?”

The truth of what he said struck Catherine like a cold, cruel slap. No one outside the walls of this inn knew that Raefer Montgomery was a disguise. Even Hamilton, who had sworn to come after her, would instinctively follow the road to London, searching for clues to her disappearance. By the time the deception was discovered—if it ever was—their slain bodies would be long overgrown with weeds.

“What do you plan to do with us?”

“That, madam, depends entirely upon whether or not we can come to an agreement.”

She crossed her own arms over her chest and studied him belligerently. “What kind of an agreement?”

“I will tell you what I need from you”—the dark eyes narrowed—“and then we can decide what method of persuasion to use to win your cooperation.”

“Never,” she said promptly. “I will never cooperate.”

“I need a week,” he continued, as if he had not heard the interruption. “I need time to reach the border, cross into Scotland, and ride up into the Highlands without anticipating a shot in my back every step of the way.”

“A musket would be too merciful. They hang spies, you know. They draw and quarter them and stick their severed heads on pikes until they shrivel and blacken like figs.”

Cameron grimaced wryly. “You have been reading too many novels.”

“And you, sir, are without a conscience, without a soul. The punishment fits the crime, to my way of thinking.”

“You can petition for any manner of punishment you see fit … providing you give us the week we need.”

“Nothing you say or do could induce me to make such a rash promise.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” she declared flatly.

His eyes descended from the blaze of defiant violet down the slender curve of her throat to come to rest where the soft white flesh of her breasts plumped temptingly over the edge of her bodice.

“Have you forgotten, madam, our participation in a certain poignant ceremony last evening? I believe it gave me … shall we say … some rather specific rights and privileges.”

Catherine refused to acknowledge the cool shiver that rippled down her spine. “If you are referring to conjugal rights, sir, you could indeed claim them, but in doing so you would be adding the charge of
rape
to your already illustrious array of crimes, and I fail to see how doing so
would win my silence. If anything, it would only increase my desire to see you crushed beneath the heels of justice.”

Cameron felt his temper rising, felt a desire of his own to crush something with his bare hands. “What if I said that to refuse your cooperation would mean you would never see your brother alive again?”

Some small part of her had been expecting the threat, yet it still took all of her strength to keep her expression clear of any emotion. “I do not believe you would kill him so easily,” she said quietly. “Damien befriended you.”

“I am required to befriend a good many people in my line of work.”

Her hands inched up toward her bodice, toward the concealed hilt of Deirdre’s knife. “He … invited you into our home. He defended you against Hamilton and the others.”

“He is a lawyer. He defends people for a living.”

“And you could kill him? Without suffering a single qualm?”

“If, as you say, I am without a conscience or a soul, what is one more murder? Or three, for that matter?”

Catherine clasped her hands over her breasts and stared into the bottomless black eyes. She saw the surprise register in their depths a moment before she drew the knife and sent it slashing toward his face. He sidestepped the attack and was able to catch her wrist with insolent ease, using more force than was necessary to twist her hand cruelly around and up into the small of her back. An expert pinch on the appropriate nerves produced such an excruciating flash of agony that her fingers sprang apart and her knees buckled beneath her. The knife fell to the floor and was instantly lost under the swirling confusion of her skirt.

Deirdre lunged after it, pushing aside the crush of velvet and lace, scrambling to find the hilt and rise to her mistress’s rescue. She saw the gleam of metal on the floorboards and was reaching for it when a second strong pair of arms went around her waist and lifted her bodily
away from where Catherine still thrashed frantically to free herself from Cameron’s grip. Aluinn Mackail cursed aloud as Deirdre’s hard-soled shoes gouged his shins with several well-placed kicks. He flung the Irish virago aside and was reaching for the knife when the maid launched herself at him again. This time he swung his arm up to protect his face from the threat of clawing nails, but instead of deflecting the attack, his fist slammed solidly into Deirdre’s temple. The blow snapped her head to one side with enough force to send her sprawling to the floor.

She did not move again.

Catherine ceased her struggles instantly. “You’ve killed her! Oh, my God … 
you’ve killed her!
”

Aluinn knelt quickly beside the maid’s prone form and pressed his fingers against her throat. He looked almost as relieved as Catherine when he found a pulse.

“She’s all right. She’s just out cold. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“
Murderers!
” Catherine screamed. “Traitors! Spies! I’ll see you both hung for this! If it is the last thing I do, I will see you hung! Hung and drawn and—”

“Oh, for the love of Christ.” Cameron leaned forward, scooping Catherine up and over his broad shoulder. He carried the shrieking, flailing bundle out into the hall and down the stairs, dumping her unceremoniously by the hearth.

Damien rushed to her side, a wild eye on Cameron as he helped his sister right herself. Instead of cringing into his arms, Catherine flung herself at the Highlander again, vilifying him with every curse and expletive she could recall hearing. Damien had to grab her around the waist and physically haul her back.

“Let me go!”

“Catherine, please—”

“
Let me go!
What difference does it make what we say or do, they’re going to kill us anyway. They’ve already tried to kill Deirdre!”

Damien glared at Cameron over the top of her head.
“What is she talking about? What have you done to Deirdre?”

“Nothing.
She
was the one who pulled a knife and tried to settle accounts. The maid got in the way and was knocked out.”

“Murderer,” Catherine spat. “Traitor! Spy!”

“Damned nuisance,” Cameron muttered and searched his pockets for another cigar.

MacKail came back downstairs then, his face tight. “She’ll likely be out for a couple of hours, but she’s all right. Nothing is cracked or broken.”

“What happened?” Damien demanded.

“More to the point,” Cameron said, “what happens now? With or without a sugarcoating, your charming little sister is refusing to listen to reason.” He arched an eyebrow warningly as she opened her mouth to offer up a retort. “And if I hear one more word from you, madam, I won’t be responsible for what condition your hide will be in when and
if
you live to see daylight.” His gaze shifted back to Damien, “I’m open to any suggestions you might have. We need time. A couple of days at the very least.”

“Let Catherine and Deirdre leave. Keep me with you as a hostage to guarantee their silence.”

Catherine whirled around, horrified he could even propose such a thing. “Damien—no!”

“It is the only way, Kitty. They need assurances.”

“Or a stout shovel tae dig graves,” Iain remarked dryly.

Catherine twisted her hands around fistfuls of her brother’s jacket. “Even if they do take you as a hostage, how do you know they’ll let you go once they’re away from here?”

“You would have my word on it, for one thing,” Cameron said evenly.

“Your word as who—Raefer Montgomery or Alexander Cameron?” She flashed hot eyes in his direction. “And your word as what—a spy or a murderer?”

“I don’t know anything about any murders he may or may not have committed,” Damien said truthfully, “but I do know he could commit three here and now and no one would be any the wiser for weeks … months.”

“You want us to trust him? Even though he is neither the friend nor the
gentleman
you thought him to be?”

“A man can change his name and his appearance, but he cannot change who he is inside. If he says he will let us go free in exchange for a few days’ worth of silence, I have to damned well believe he will let us go free.”

She studied each of the three hostile faces, settling on Cameron. He in turn was watching the subtle changes in her expression with a thoughtful look that combined anger, impatience, and the conviction that even if they could frighten a promise of silence out of her, it would last only as long as it took her to find the nearest garrison of militia.

“Iain … how long do you estimate it will take us to reach the border?”

The younger man shrugged. “Four nights. Happens less, happens mair, dependin’ on how hard we push the horses an’ how thick the patrols might be.”

“How thick were they when you came south?”

“Thick as a sheep’s coat against the shears.”

“What of the roads? Are they passable?”

“Roads? Aye, the militia keep them well used.” He looked puzzled and glanced askance at Aluinn, whose smoky-gray eyes were intent upon Cameron’s face—as if he knew what the other man was thinking and didn’t believe it himself. “Wade’s roads are passable, aye, if ye have a cravin’ tae see a hangman’s gibbet up close.”

“Or if we wanted to travel by coach,” Cameron said quietly.

“By
coach
? Are ye daft? Why would we be after doin’ such a clarty thing?”

Aluinn offered the answer with a sigh. “Because three men—or four—on horseback, riding north, staying well
off the main tracks and traveling mostly by night, would draw far more attention if they were stopped by a patrol of lobsterbacks than would a fine English coach carrying an English gentleman, his wife, and servants … traveling in broad daylight, of course, in plain view of anyone with eyes to see them. Have I about interpreted the gleam in your eye correctly, Alex?”

“You usually do,” Cameron acknowledged with a nod.

“But would it work? A coach will add anywhere from a week to ten days—assuming the weather cooperates.”

“I am still open to alternatives. But while you are trying to think of some, keep this in mind: Damien’s unscheduled absence would be certain to raise a question or two, whereas the newly wed Mrs. Montgomery has a very good reason to disappear for a several weeks during her … impassioned honeymoon trip.”

Damien stiffened. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that
Catherine
accompany you?”

“Accompany him?” she asked. “Accompany him where?”

“You could consider it a vacation,” Cameron said dryly, tapping ash from his cigar. “Scotland is beautiful in July.”