“Back to Beltene. Give me three hours. There’s something I have to do.”
“What about Old Mick?”
Patrick shook his head. “No questions, Catherine. Three hours, and then I’ll tell you everything. Is that a deal?”
“Can I really trust you, Patrick?”
The question hung softly in the night, unanswered.
Patrick made the long walk up to Limerick’s hideout. Concerns about Old Mick plagued him. There was only one thing to do. Bring Limerick back to Beltene. Catherine had demonstrated her good faith—and good sense. Now it was time to bring the stallion home and hopefully remove the incentive that had made Old Mick McGuire a hostage.
Bone weary, he trudged toward the old barn. As he drew close, he glanced around for the horse. Limerick was usually waiting at the fence.
He gave a low whistle, the signal that had been used between them for the three years the stallion had been alive.
Nothing stirred in the pasture.
He walked on, his pace steady. Limerick was sometimes playful. A game of hide-and-seek wasn’t beyond his capability.
A small prayer formed in Patrick’s brain. “Let him be here. Let him be here.” The words were part of his walk. He whistled again.
Nothing.
Patrick climbed the stone wall into the pasture. As soon as he’d discovered Old Mick missing, he should have known to check Limerick. But in hunting for the old man and doing his chores, he’d had no time. He’d soothed himself with thoughts that no one, no one at all, could find the hideout. The trail was too treacherous, the area too isolated. Limerick had to be there.
The saddle he’d left, in anticipation of the ride, was still on the wall, slightly covered in mist. The bridle hung beside it, untouched. Circling the pasture, Patrick searched everywhere. The decrepit lean-to that had served as Limerick’s stable was empty. The pasture was empty.
Limerick was gone.
9
Staring out the window in Catherine Nelson’s office, Patrick saw the black cat sleeping on the windowsill. He was stretched in the sun, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Yet Familiar had been at the barn waiting for him when he’d returned from hunting Limerick. The cat had followed him, silent but there, as if he, too, had a stake in what happened to the big gray stallion. It was a pitiful state when he was taking comfort from a big black cat that didn’t even live in Ireland.
Mauve brought in a tray of coffee, complete with toast and a rasher of bacon for Patrick.
“You look like you’re near to death, Patrick,” Mauve said disapprovingly. “You’ve dropped half a stone in the past ten days. Your skin is as pasty as a corpse, and you look like the devils are eating at your vitals. What’s wrong?”
“Too much,” he answered, too tired to take offense at her honesty.
“Miss Catherine will be with you in a few moments. She asked me to see that you had some coffee and something to eat. When she takes a look at you, she’ll probably ask the coffin maker to take measurements.”
“Thanks, Mauve.” But the cook’s remarks earned a slight grin. Patrick reluctantly took the seat that Mauve indicated and watched her pour the coffee. The caffeine would help ease his pounding headache, he knew. That would be something.
Nothing would cure the fact that both Old Mick and Limerick were gone. Both without a trace—that he could find. He had every intention of going back to the hideout in the next hour or two. He’d take several of the best men from the barn. Men who knew how to track a horse through river and bog. Because whoever had spirited Limerick away had not gone down the road. They’d taken him toward the Twelve Bens, the magnificent mountain range, where only the locals knew the safe paths. The bogs were extremely treacherous for those who didn’t know the way.
“Patrick.”
Catherine Nelson’s voice was businesslike, but there was a hint of something else. Pleasure? Anticipation? Patrick groaned silently.
He stood and turned to face her. Before she could say anything else, he told her. “Limerick is gone.”
“It would seem we’re back to square one.” Catherine smiled. “So when will he be coming back?”
Patrick realized that she knew he’d taken the horse. She’d known all along—or at least for the best part of the time. Yet she’d done nothing. Why not? What had possessed her to trust him with an animal as important to her future as Limerick? It was something that required a great deal of thought, and time was the one thing he didn’t have.
“Catherine, he’s gone. I’ve lost him.” He watched reality dawn on her, and he realized the depths of shame and guilt he was capable of feeling.
“How is he gone? What do you mean?”
“Someone took him yesterday. Probably during the early evening hours. When I went to ride him, he was gone.”
Catherine walked very slowly to her desk and sank into the cushioned chair. Nothing had prepared her for this. She’d come into the room anticipating a bit of a negotiating session with Patrick—she’d consent to his racing schedule and he’d agree to bring the stallion home. Nothing had prepared her for this blow.
“He was safe and well taken care of.” Patrick forced himself to look at her pale face, at the way her green eyes widened with distress. This was his doing. This was his fault. He’d taken an action that had resulted in a terrible turn of events. Not to mention the fact that his best friend, a man who was like a second father to him, was also missing and might be in terrible danger.
“What happened?” Catherine picked up the pen on her desk and pulled a pad toward her. She would make notes. Once the facts were written down, they would be easier to understand. She’d lulled herself into an acceptance of Limerick’s disappearance because she’d been certain that Patrick had him and would take care of him. Now what?
“He was about twenty-two kilometers from here, tucked away in an old barn and pasture that was my mother’s sister’s place years ago. No one knew about that place. I planned to ride him once more tonight and bring him home tomorrow. He was healed. I was merely putting the last bit of conditioning on him so he could go to the track nest week for you.”
Catherine’s eyes were glazed with the shock of the news. “Am I supposed to believe this?” she asked quietly.
Her words were more effective than a slap. Without a doubt, Patrick knew that his word was no longer good coin with her. She had every right to feel that way about him. Hadn’t he lied to her once before? Hadn’t he managed to lose her horse and possibly her future? Yes, he wasn’t exactly the kind of man in which she should put her trust.
“I intend to get him back.” What else could he say?
“And how do you propose to do that?” The glazed look was disappearing from her eyes. What was left was flinty jade. Hard, cold, angry, and afraid.
Patrick saw and understood each of those emotions. “I’ll begin by tracking him from the hideout. Perhaps it would be best if you called the authorities.”
“It’s a little late for that.” Catherine was shaking with rage, a great deal of it self-directed. “How would I explain to the authorities that I’d allowed my head trainer to steal the horse and keep him for over a week? Should I ask them to call my father and explain that I’d made a small mistake in judgment? That I’d known the man who’d taken Limerick all along, but that I’d dragged my feet about reporting him? That I could have had the stallion back at Beltene, safe and sound, if only I’d taken the action that anyone with two brain cells would have taken!”
Patrick accepted the truth of her words. For whatever reasons, she hadn’t called the authorities. She’d known he had the horse, and she’d trusted his judgment. Now she’d suffer because of it.
“Whatever can be done to get him back, I will do. Old Mick is missing, too.” He saw her blanch even more. Her skin was so white, almost translucent. If he touched her, she’d probably bruise. But God, how he wanted to touch her. If he could only put his fingers on her cheek, she’d know how sorry he was, how worried about Old
Mick and Limerick.
“Are Old Mick and Limerick together?”
“I don’t know.” She’d get the truth from him from now on, no matter what the cost. “Old Mick was taken the night before. I’ve been everywhere looking for him. There’s a chance he might have been...forced to tell where Limerick was. Catherine, they would have had to hurt him badly to make him tell.”
At the look that crossed her face, Patrick started forward to steady her.
“Stay away,” she said, leaning back in her chair away from him.
Her words stopped him short. He was helpless to give her even the smallest comfort.
“What can I do?” she asked slowly, looking out the window instead of at him. “What should I do?”
From the first day that Catherine Nelson had appeared at Beltene as the new owner, Patrick had wished to see her knocked down from her high horse. She’d been so arrogant, so cold. He’d laughed with the others and made bets on how long it would take to put a little muck on her breeches. Now he saw her, completely vulnerable, unable to decide what course of action to take. He felt no satisfaction, only shame. He had forced this on her.
“Let me look for them. I’ve thought about it, and I believe the two disappearances are related. Maybe I can find something, some clue that will help me locate them. I’ve some contacts in the border patrol. The horse won’t go north. Maybe I can make sure he doesn’t go across the water either.”
“Patrick, who do you think took him?” The question was sincere and filled with dread. “Will they hurt him?”
They looked at each other, taking each other’s measure. “I don’t want to make this any worse, but I’m not going to lie to you again. Whoever took the horse may be completely ruthless. They’ve taken an old man, with no regard for his...way of life.”
“Who would want to hurt me that much?” Catherine’s eyes beseeched him to come up with a plausible answer. “I’ve never hurt anyone. Even at the bank, I always argued for more time for people who were trying to pay their loans. Daddy said I was a hopeless soft touch. That’s why he finally agreed to buy Beltene for me. He realized how unhappy I was at the bank. Who would want to hurt me this much?”
Patrick cleared his throat. “It may not be you, Catherine. Whoever took Limerick knows I took the horse. They’ve stolen him from my care, not yours. Therefore, I’m responsible since I stole him first. This could be directed at me.”
“Who?”
It was a simple question, but one without an answer. “I have enemies. Maybe more than my share. I’ve been a hard man to some, and I haven’t walked away when I felt a wrong needed to be righted.”
“Especially when a horse was involved.” There was the faintest touch of humor at Catherine’s mouth. “I want you to tell me one thing. Honestly. Were you riding Limerick and pretending to be Cuchulain?”
“Honestly, no. I was riding on the Clifden seacoast road and I ran into an old man who called me Cuchulain. It was foolishness. I didn’t pay it any attention, but when I went looking for Old Mick I discovered it was a topic of conversation in O’Flaherty’s.”
“You didn’t take the horse for that reason?”
“It may be hard for you to believe, but I have no interest in stirring violence. I’ve lost my family to the troubles. It’s cost me my home and my heritage. My brother can give his speeches and rally the mobs. I’ve no use for that silly rhetoric. I love the past, the stories, and legends, but the past is the past. Ireland must move forward.”
Catherine stood. “I won’t say that I believe you, but I don’t disbelieve you. When you get ready to search for Limerick, please notify me. I’m going with you.”
Patrick started to argue then stopped. She had a right to go. God knows, he wouldn’t trust Limerick’s return to the same idiot who’d lost him. “I’ll send one of the men up to get you,” he said. “It should be about forty minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.” She wavered slightly, as if standing made her dizzy. Regaining her balance, she walked to the door and opened it for Patrick.
The sharp shrill of the telephone froze them both. Patrick waited while Catherine ran to answer it. Both were thinking it could be a call about the horse. They’d played with the idea of ransom, but now it was a reality. Patrick watched the clear emotions on Catherine’s face. He saw alarm.
“No, it would be best if you stayed in England.” She looked briefly at Patrick and then away. “I’m busy, Kent. No, Limerick is fine.” She twisted the telephone cord. “I’m perfectly fine, I don’t care what you think.” There was another pause. “I need some time to myself. If you care about me, give me that.” She replaced the receiver.
“Kent is coming, I’m afraid. He’s in England, but he said he’d be here in the next day or two. I tried to discourage him, but he started getting suspicious.”
Of all the people in the world, Ridgeway was the last one Patrick wanted to see. But there was a certain justice in it, he had to admit. Kent might have crippled horses left and right, but he’d never lost a stallion like Limerick. He’d never allowed a horse in his care to vanish into the night without a trace. Bitterness made his voice sound harsher than he intended.
“If we haven’t found anything in twenty-four hours, I want you to call the police,” Patrick said. “Old Mick’s life might depend on it.”
“And if I call them, and they kill him or the horse because I did.... That’s what I think about.”
“It’s a knot.” Patrick strode through the open door and down the hall. He couldn’t get outside soon enough. It was as if the walls were inching down on him, drawing in closer and closer. He had to get into the sunshine and the fresh air.
Bursting out the front door, he stood nearly panting on the portal. The two things he loved most in his life, an old man and a gray horse, were in danger. He had to think of a plan. A good one.
So, ice queen and the Lone Ranger are going to team up, at least until the horse is found. That makes me feel better. There’s something between those two that they don’t recognize. Every time they’re in a room together, it makes the hair on my back bristle. Electricity. It’s the old yin and yang principle, and not even two such iron-willed creatures can hold out against the forces of nature forever.
The important thing is that Patrick told her the truth. He came clean, even though it nearly killed him to admit he lost Limerick. That tells me something about his character, and I’m beginning to see why Eleanor and Peter are so taken with this man. He’s got a core to him, a solid core.
But that doesn’t have a thing to do with Limerick or Old Mick. What clues can I put together? Well, they were both abducted at night. Old Mick from a bar and Limerick from his hideout.
It’s crossed my mind that a few of the grooms might get together to show Catherine Nelson who really runs Beltene, but they wouldn’t hurt Old Mick in the process.
No, this is an outsider. Someone who has nothing to lose by taking Old Mick and the horse. The question in my mind, since I know someone followed Patrick to the hideout, is this—why did they need to take Old Mick if they already knew where Limerick was? Unless they thought it might keep Patrick silent. Wrong! Man, this is getting complicated. I need a bite of brain food. Fish. That’s what my little mama always told me when I was a kitten with teeth as sharp as needles. Eat plenty of fish to help develop my brain. And even though I’m a fully-grown cat, I’d never want to disobey my loving mama.
Meow, Mauve, I’m coming your way.
This would be a great vacation if Mauve ran the place and everyone else was gone. No mystery. No disappearing acts. Just good food and a nap in the warm sunshine. Maybe even time for a postcard to Cassandra and Adam back in Tennessee. I miss that little mountain witch. And Adam wasn’t bad, for a suit-wearing kind of guy.
My, my, what’s the hubbub in the kitchen? Mauve has her daughter, Bridget, almost ready to cry. I’ll do a little purr and distraction maneuver. It always startles them so when a cat demonstrates a talent for diversion. They forget w
hat they were about. I wonder if that short-circuited thinking is a byproduct of walking on two legs. It’s long been my theory that humanoids don’t get enough blood to their brains. Charming creatures, but not always real bright.
Ah, Mauve. “Meow! Meow!”
The cat walking nonchalantly along the kitchen counter made Mauve pause in midsentence. Familiar had always been so well-behaved in the house. “Scat, cat,” she said, waving her hands at him. “Get off my clean counter, you four-legged satan.”
Familiar did a dodge and weave, leaping completely over a bowl of chicken and making tracks through the remains of flour for a pie crust.
“My land!” Mauve grabbed a dishtowel and flapped it at the cat. “The creature has been possessed! Get out of here!” She flapped the towel and waved her other hand, calling loudly for help.
Bridget leaned forward on her stool, entranced by the sight of her mother driven to extremes by the beautiful black cat that leapt from counter to counter, never breaking a thing but never allowing Mauve to touch him.
“Look, Mama, he’s on top of the refrigerator!” Bridget was delighted. “Here, kitty.” She held out her arms and to her surprise, Familiar leapt into them. The weight of the fifteen-pound cat almost toppled her from the stool, but she locked her feet around the bottom bar and managed to stay upright.
“Meow,” Familiar offered, nuzzling her chin with his whiskers.
“He likes me.” Bridget stroked the cat’s head, and when Mauve approached with the broom in hand as a weapon, Bridget put herself between the cat and her mother. “He’s fine now. I have him.”
“That little rascal,” Mauve said, panting. “I let him in and fed him, and now he runs the house. He even sleeps in Miss Catherine’s bed. He’s moved in here like he’s a lost lord. Next thing you know he’ll be writing the dinner menus.”
Thrice Familiar Page 12
