The Pride of Lions (51 page)

Alexander remained on the glittering shore, his broad frame bathed in the bluish moonlight, his hair whipping in the salt air. His gaze stayed fixed on the bobbing craft until it was absorbed into the blacker shadow of the waiting
Curlew
. Within minutes the sheets of wide canvas were unfurled on her two tall masts, swelling and straining eagerly forward as they filled with the stiff southerly wind. The ship glided soundlessly out of the narrow inlet, bending her bow gracefully into the larger waves beyond the jagged point of land. By morning they would be clear of the most dangerous stretch of water and out into the open sea-lanes. Two days, three at the most, and they should be close off Blackpool.

“I will come for you, Catherine,” Alexander whispered. “I swear I will come for you, though hell might stand between us.”

The wind snatched the vow and flung it to the heavens
as he turned away from the water’s edge, his convictions pounding solidly in his chest. But it would be many months before he would find himself on the road to Derby again. And then not as a husband seeking to reclaim his wife, but as a soldier in the Highland army seeking to reclaim a throne for his king.

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The Pride of Lions

The Blood of Roses

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The Blood of Roses

It had been because of an almost desperate need to feel the sunlight on her face, to smell the crisp, clean air, and to escape to the haunting beauty of the still, silent forest that Catherine had ridden away from Rosewood Hall that morning.

Somewhat calmer now, she led her horse along the dappled pathway, the only sound being that of the hoarfrost crunching underfoot. Why she found solace and comfort in retracing the steps that had led to her initial meeting with Alexander Cameron she did not know. Was it because, secretly, she hoped to find him in the clearing again? Or that she thought by some miracle he had come back to her and was waiting to carry her away just as he had promised?

No. If that was what she thought and hoped, then she was dreaming again.

Her heart and thoughts heavy, she rounded the final copse of evergreens and stood at the outer rim of the clearing, almost in the exact spot she had halted the first time she had seen Alexander. The pond where he had been bathing was crusted with a thin rime of ice, the mossy banks were frozen and coated brown with fallen leaves. Even though it was winter now and the trees were stripped to their bare branches, the sunlight was still mottled where it touched the ground, the beams broken and stippled with shadows.

Catherine could still feel his presence. She could still recall with startling clarity every detail of their first encounter—her shock at seeing a half-naked man bathing by the pond; the first riveting moment when their eyes had
met; the seemingly endless eternity before her heart had commenced beating again. In her confusion and foolishness she had accused him of trespassing, poaching … anything that came to mind in the heady rush of excitement. It had been a defensive measure, taken against an intoxication the likes of which she had never felt before and doubted she would ever feel again.

Catherine closed her eyes, reliving the sensation of his hands stroking down her body, of his mouth winning her capitulation. He had possessed her completely, body and soul, flesh and spirit, and had branded her forever a woman.
His
woman. Even if he never came back into her life, he had spoiled her for all others. His passion, his strength, his tenderness could have no equal. Never.

“Catherine?”

She opened her eyes slowly, not daring to move or breathe. It was a trick of the wind, it had to be—a torturous murmur of frosted air that carried the echo of a voice, nothing more.

“Catherine?”

She gasped and whirled around. Louder this time, the voice had not been a trick of the wind nor a taunt of her imagination. It was real!

“Alex?”

“Catherine, are you here?”

With a sob she ran back along the path. She saw a cloaked figure standing partially concealed behind two tightly interwoven evergreens and hesitated the merest fraction of a second before flinging herself into his outstretched arms.

“Damien! Oh, Damien, it’s you! You’ve come home! You’ve come home!”

“Good heavens.” Her brother was taken aback as he cradled the sobbing bundle against his chest. “For a greeting like this I would make a point of coming back to Derby every other day. Here now, what’s all this? I know it’s been almost two months since I removed myself to London, but—”

Catherine lifted her tearstained face from his shoulder. For a long moment his confusion was genuine, but then he looked around and cursed his own stupidity.

“Damn, Kitty. I’m sorry. I should have waited and called at the house, but I wasn’t thinking. I saw you ride out of the stables and wanted to see you alone, without Mother or Father badgering me with endless questions … and, well … I guess I just didn’t think.”

Catherine sniffed loudly and wetly. Having brought no handkerchief with her, she patted Damien’s breast pocket and relieved him of his. She held the linen to her nose and blew, looking up into her brother’s face as she did so and nearly gasping aloud. He looked dreadful! His complexion was sallow and unhealthy, his eyes were clouded with fatigue that could not be the mere result of a hurried trip from London.

“Dear God,” she cried. “Has something happened to Harriet?” Reaching out, she clutched his arm, nearly tearing the seam of his cloak in her anxiety. “Is she ill? Has something happened to the baby?”

“No! No, Harriet is fine. Honestly. She’s fine. A little plumper around the middle, but otherwise shamelessly content.”

Catherine swallowed a deep gulp of air to regain her composure. “Then what is it? Why are you sneaking about the woods like a thief?”

Damien arched an eyebrow wryly. “I think I prefer your first greeting, thank you. And since when is it a crime to seek out the bosom of one’s own family on one’s own land?”

“Damien Ashbrooke, the only bosom you have cared to seek out for the past few months has belonged to Harriet.” She finished wiping away the streaks of tears from her cheeks and glared up at him accusingly. “And what leads you to believe Father would badger you with anything less than a trowel after the argument the two of you had following the happy occasion of my wedding? You
have been carved up and served for dinner
in absentia
more often than a joint of mutton.”

“I gather he is still angry over my decision to take permanent residence in London? It never seemed to bother him before I was married.”

“Before you were married and while you were sowing your wild oats all over hell and gone, he was perfectly content to keep you and your scandals in London. But, may I remind you, you are his son and heir. You are respectably—if somewhat hastily—married, with a possible son and heir of your own on its way. He assumes there is just as much law to be practiced in Derby as in London, and as much determination in your soul to preserve the fortunes of Rosewood Hall as there was in the souls of twelve preceding generations of Ashbrookes.”

“Kitty—” He sighed. “I am abandoning neither my heritage nor my duty. I am twenty-four years old, hardly the age to consider retiring into dotage. I have a thriving practice in London, which I am not prepared to forfeit just yet. I am fully aware of my responsibilities as an Ashbrooke—good Lord, they have been drummed into me since birth—but I am also concerned with my responsibilities to my wife and child.”

“Bravo.” Catherine smiled. “Well said, my brave and beautiful brother. And said well in the seclusion of the forest.”

“I have said the exact same thing to Father’s face.”

“Indeed, you have. Unfortunately, he isn’t nearly as astute or sympathetic as the trees, nor as perceptive as your little sister. There is something more going on behind all this skulduggery, and if you don’t out with it soon, I shall go after you with a trowel of my own.”

Damien laughed softly. “Obviously, my concerns for your welfare have been unfounded; you haven’t lost the edge to your wit yet. Has all been forgiven, or have you just managed to stay out of Father’s way?”

It was Catherine’s turn to sigh. “He has been so damned civil since you confided the extent of the absent
Mr. Montgomery’s wealth that one would think he had orchestrated the whole affair himself. Hearing him wax profound on his new son-in-law even has me listening in awe sometimes and wishing I could meet the fellow myself.”

“Better that than the alternative. Father can be a self-righteous swine when he wants to be.”

“Swine is hardly the word I would have used to describe a man who forces his only daughter into marriage with a complete stranger. He should just
dare
to lecture me on my behavior.”

“Meaning … what?”

She glared up at him again. “I haven’t been following in dear Mother’s footsteps, if that’s what you are asking, though not for any lack of opportunity.”

“It never occurred to me that you might. You do, after all, have Alex.”

“Do I? Where?” She looked around angrily. “Are you seeing someone here that I am not?”

“Kitty—”

“Don’t
Kitty
me. And don’t patronize me either. I haven’t seen Alex, haven’t heard one single word from him in over three months.”

“He hasn’t exactly been languishing on his laurels all this time. And if you love him—”

“If I love him?
If
I love him?” She clasped her hands tightly together in frustration. “You have no idea how many times I have asked myself the same question. Do I love him? Do I even know him? I spent less than four weeks with the man—half of the time plotting how to turn him over to the authorities and collect the reward! The rest of the time …” Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head slowly. “The rest of the time I was so frightened I think I could have convinced myself I loved Attila the Hun if he had rescued me.”

“Kitty … you don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know anything anymore. Who is to say I would not have been
just as happy—or as miserable—married to Hamilton Garner? At least I would know where he was and know what he was doing all these miles from home. Every time I turn around someone is talking about Hamilton Garner. Lo—the brave hero! Did you know he was promoted to major? I could have been the wife of a respected army officer, boasting night after endless night of my husband’s accomplishments. Instead, I find myself spending so much time in my rooms I have begun to tat the cobwebs into lace. Have I spent one moment at Rosewood that hasn’t been plagued with doubts and fears? Is my husband alive? Is he dead? Did everything happen the way I remember it, or am I seeing things, believing things that just are not true, not even real? Does he think about me? Does he wonder how I spend my days and nights? If I have enough food to eat? If I’m warm or cold? Am I one-
tenth
as important to him as … as …”

“As he is to you?” Damien provided softly.

She looked up at him and scowled. “Do not put words in my mouth, Damien Ashbrooke. Especially when you cannot possibly be sure of what they are.”

He sighed expansively, “Very well. I guess I was wrong. I guess I should not have told him you wanted to see him.”

Catherine grew very still. It came together, like two tin pans crashing in the silence, why Damien had followed her into the woods instead of meeting her at the house, why he looked so tired, so haggard, so … worried!

“You’ve seen him. Has something happened to him? Has he been hurt?”

“No! I mean, yes, I’ve seen him, but no, he hasn’t been hurt. Well, not that you’d notice at any rate. He was wounded at Prestonpans, but—”

A roaring filled Catherine’s ears. The roaring was Damien’s voice and she could see his lips moving, but the words were running together in a series of distorted sounds and echoes.

She swayed forward slightly and he had to reach out
and catch her about the waist to prevent her from falling. He led her to a nearby tree stump and made her sit down. Watching the color come and go in her cheeks, he searched beneath the frilly jabot at her throat until he found and unfastened the top three buttons on her jacket.

“Wounded?” she gasped. “You said he was wounded?”

“He has a few new scars to show you. Nothing serious. Nothing missing, nothing broken, nothing twisted out of shape or disfigured. My word of honor, Kitty. He’s fine.”

“Wh-where did you see him?”

“He showed up in London a few days ago. Completely unannounced, of course, and walking bold as brass through Piccadilly Square as if he owned the place. He stayed a few hours, gave me a list of errands as long as your arm to run, then vanished again, him and that great bloody stallion of his.”

“Alex was in London?” She repeated it slowly, her heart hammering against the confines of her tightly laced stomacher. To reach London he would have had to pass by Derby … wouldn’t he?

“His business was urgent,” Damien said, reading the question in Catherine’s eyes. “He could not afford to stop or delay on the way there. However—”

“He is coming here on the way back?” she cried.

“That, uh, was his intention. Until I, in a more rational state of mind, managed to dissuade him.”

“You did
what
?”

“Well, for one thing, there is the trifling matter of the two companies of militia Father has so generously invited to encamp on our grounds.” The point, well-made, was also thickly coated in sarcasm. At the first news of the Pretender’s intent to march south, Lord Alfred Ashbrooke had run, wig askew, to Colonel Halfyard’s headquarters and demanded armed protection for his property. “A tinker cannot get close to the house without running a gauntlet of questions and accusations. I was stopped four times in the final mile.”

“I could meet him,” she gasped. “Anywhere!”

“Anywhere and everywhere is swarming with soldiers. And I wasn’t the only one who followed you away from the stables. A rather priggish-looking lieutenant stopped me at the edge of the forest and would have run me through with his saber if I hadn’t been able to convince him I was your brother. If you don’t believe me, look behind you … 
carefully
. You can just catch a glimpse of a red tunic through the trees. Lord help both of us if we don’t walk away from here arm in arm singing praises to the King.”