Up ahead, Patrick gave his own pony free rein. “Stay behind me,” he called out to her. “There’s a path, and you have to stay on it.”
Looking around her, Catherine saw nothing except rocks, grass, and the black mud. If there was a path, only Patrick knew it.
Her mare slipped suddenly, plunging chest deep into the bog. “Patrick!” Beneath her the horse floundered, thrashing with its front legs to find rock. The thick mud churned, sucking at horse and rider. “Patrick!”
“Let her loose!” Patrick called back to her. His face was drawn with worry. “Give the mare her head, Catherine!”
Catherine loosened her hold on the reins, and the little mare lunged forward, catching rock with both front feet and hauling herself and Catherine to safety.
“Are you hurt?” Patrick asked.
Catherine looked down at her mud-covered legs. Beneath her, the horse quivered. “No, we’re both shaken but not injured. Patrick, if they brought Limerick through this, he’ll never race. He’s not as tough as the ponies. His legs…the rocks....” She faltered. It was too awful to imagine what condition he’d be in after slipping around in the muck.
“He’s tougher than you know, Catherine. He comes from Irish stock, animals who’ve learned to survive.” Catherine’s fears were the exact same ones he’d confronted and chosen not to voice. One slip, one misstep, and it could be the end of Limerick’s career as a racehorse. And if he didn’t race, he wouldn’t develop the reputation necessary to serve as a stud.
Instead of thinking about potential disaster, Patrick focused his rage at Kent Ridgeway. Turning his gelding back to the path, he rode on. Ridgeway would pay for this. It was total disregard for Limerick, almost a desire to cripple him. There was a perversity in Ridgeway that Patrick intended to beat out of him, pound by bloody pound.
After two hours, Patrick reined his horse around and waited for Catherine to catch up. The ponies needed a rest, and Patrick needed time to pick up the trail. They’d left the bog behind, and were glad of it. Now the ground stretching before them was all rock, and he’d lost the notched hoof- print long ago.
“My God, it looks like the moon, or some forsaken biblical land.” Catherine took in the bleak landscape. Rocks jutted everywhere, some forming smooth plateaus that rippled upon themselves, broken only by an occasional scattering of gorse or heather. There was a wild beauty to the land, a defiance that brought joy and fear for Limerick.
Patrick saw the fatigue and worry on her face as he led his horse over, so that he could stand beside her. “I’m going to hunt for tracks.” He handed her his gelding’s reins. “See that rock over there?” He pointed west.
Catherine spied the strange outcropping, a square formation of rock. She nodded.
“I played in these mountains as a child. The little people make their homes here.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to lean back against him, so he could whisper in her ear. “That rock is a leprechaun chair.”
Even as tired as she was, Catherine smiled. “So we’ve given up on hunting horses and taken to hunting leprechauns?”
“Not exactly.” He tightened his grip and held her securely. “But while I’m looking for tracks, you keep an eye on that chair. If we could catch one of the little men, we’d get a wish, you know.”
“Ah, a wish.” Catherine gave herself the luxury of one minute leaning against Patrick. One fraction of time when she didn’t have to face everything alone.
“We could wish Limerick home safe and sound.”
“Thank you, Patrick.” She turned her head up and kissed his jaw. “Thank you.”
He squeezed her to him once more before he set off over the rocks. For a while, Catherine could watch him, coursing hound like, back and forth across the rocks. Dark hair tousled by the wind, he was almost primitive against the stark stones and sky. How well he was suited to the land. In many ways, he was as rugged and unyielding. And as rich and life giving. He took a long leap and disappeared from her view.
How could anyone find a clue on the hard stone? She watched the horizon, aware of how much she anticipated his return. When she did see him, he was waving her over a good distance to the north. Leading both horses across the treacherous rocks, she started toward him. As she drew closer, she saw the excitement on his face.
“What?”
He held up a finger to his lips, then pointed toward a large outcropping of rock. Catherine felt the hope shoot through her. Had he found Limerick? Certainly, if he had, the horse was alive and well. She hurried forward.
He met her and took the reins. Pointing to the rock, he whispered. “Climb up and look east. It’s Limerick. Be careful, he’s watching.”
“Who? Kent?”
“No, Limerick. If he sees you and recognizes you, he’ll callout.”
“Not to me,” Catherine said. “He’s your horse, Patrick. Not mine. I may hold the papers on him, but he’s your horse.” She turned away to climb the rocks before he could say anything else. She’d spoken the truth. Right or wrong, if they got Limerick back, she was going to return him to Patrick. If he was able to race, maybe they could work out arrangements where Patrick would race him and then allow her to stand him at stud. If he couldn’t race.... She couldn’t think about that now.
Near the top of the rock, she found a ledge to hide behind. Crouched down as far as possible, she peered over the top. Far below, in a small paddock, was a big gray horse. Nostrils flaring, he was sniffing the air. He tossed his head, mane flowing in an unkempt tangle.
Catherine’s practiced eye ran over him. At such a distance, she couldn’t be certain, but his legs looked clean, his spirit undaunted. He pranced around the small enclosure, obviously aware of something. Catherine ducked lower.
As she inched back up for another look, the door of the small hut beside the paddock opened. She caught only a glimpse of broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs. The man called out, threw something at the horse, and stepped back into the shadow of the door.
“Patrick!” Catherine called his name as she hurried down. “There’s someone in the hut. A man.”
“Ridgeway?” Patrick looked hopeful.
“I couldn’t be certain, but he’s there. A big man, like you. Maybe heavier. I couldn’t see his face, but it might be Kent. What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to hold the ponies here.” Patrick gave her the reins. “I’m going to go down there and kill whoever has Limerick.”
He spoke so softly that Catherine thought at first that she’d misunderstood. “What?”
“He’s a dead man. He just hasn’t crawled properly into his coffin.”
“Patrick!” But he was gone, striding off over the rocks without even a pebble for a weapon. As she watched his strong back disappear, she felt a moment’s pity for the other man. Patrick could kill him. The question was, would he?
As soon as he was out of sight, she tethered the horses to a bit of gorse. The Connemaras were so calm, so absolutely sensible, that they stood without objection. Catherine hurried down the slope after Patrick, cursing softly to herself as she slipped among the rocks. She’d lost sight of Patrick, and she’d begun to feel that if she didn’t catch up to him she might lose him completely, forever.
Working her way down as quickly as possible, Catherine concentrated on her footing. When she was close to the bottom, she looked up. Patrick was still not visible. But Limerick was watching her.
The stallion stood at the stone wall, dark eyes eagerly following each move she made. He didn’t make a sound.
Catherine ducked behind the largest rock she saw, hoping that whoever was in the cottage was less vigilant than the horse. The one thing she didn’t want to do was alert the horse nappers that they had company.
She caught a glimpse of quick movement behind the small hut, and to her relief, Patrick ran from one rock to another. He was circling closer to Limerick, but on the off side. While she watched, Patrick disappeared behind the small lean-to that served as a barn.
Sensing something, Limerick whirled and sniffed the air in Patrick’s direction.
An earsplitting whinny tore the air, and Limerick charged toward Patrick.
Catherine’s heart stopped. The stallion aimed directly at the fence and without a pause sailed over. Shaking his head and bucking, Limerick tore across the uneven, rocky ground toward the place where Patrick hid.
“Hey!” The door of the hut flew open. There was a scramble inside, and then the man reappeared with a rifle. As he stepped into the daylight, Catherine felt a scream trapped in her throat. The man she was looking at was Patrick Shaw!
In slow motion, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder and sighted down it at the galloping stallion. “To hell with you, you sneaky devil!”
His words had a curiously flat intonation. Catherine started forward, her body moving even though her brain had yet to give the command. By three strides she was in a dead run, and on the seventh, she launched herself at the man. Everything she had, she put into the jump. Stretching and flying, she reached toward him as she watched in slow motion as his finger pulled the trigger. Her body struck his as the shot rang out. The rifle bucked in his hand, and the barrel flew up. His fist came down, brutally striking her shoulder as he turned to defend himself. And somewhere in the distance, there was the scream of an injured horse.
Catherine felt the man’s balance give. He started to fall, and she went with him. Together they tumbled to the hard earth, the rifle beside them. Before she could scramble away from him, she felt his hands at her throat. Rolling, cursing, she fought.
“What a devil,” he grunted, grabbing her hair and thumping her head against the rocky ground. “A bit of spirit is a good thing in man and beast, but you’re taking this too far.”
Catherine saw him, then. Her first clear look at his face stopped her cold. “Patrick?” But she knew it wasn’t.
As soon as she quit struggling, the man stopped pounding at her. His blue eyes assessed her, and he released his hold a little, allowing her some room to breathe.
They were staring at each other when there was the cock of a gun. The barrel of the rifle swung directly against the man’s head. Catherine’s gaze followed the barrel up to see Patrick’s finger curled around the trigger. The look on his face was cold fury.
“Welcome home, Colin.” Patrick stood over his brother, gun ready to discharge. “Now let Catherine up and go stand against the wall.”
When Colin didn’t move, Patrick kicked his leg savagely. “You don’t have your mates here now to blow up innocent people or terrorize me. You’ve managed to beat up a woman and shoot a horse. That’s quite a record, even for Cuchulain.” He spoke the last with bitterness.
Catherine gasped as Colin lifted his weight off her. Still stunned, she pulled her feet under her and stood. “Shot a horse.” The phrase echoed in her ears. “Limerick!” It was half question and half cry. She started to run toward where the horse had jumped out of sight, but Patrick pulled her to him. “Don’t!”
“Limerick!” Catherine surged against Patrick’s grip, but he held her.
“Don’t, Catherine!” The sharp tone of his voice stopped her. Very slowly, she turned back to face Colin.
With a sudden scream, she threw herself at him, her fists pounding his face and chest. “I’ll kill you myself,” she screamed. “Give me the gun! You’ve killed Limerick!”
Patrick grasped Catherine’s arm and pulled her away. The entire time he kept the gun pointed at his brother. Their gazes were steady, each unwilling to look away.
Finally Colin spoke. “So, you’re still so sure I’m guilty of everything that ever went wrong in your life, aren’t you? It must be nice to have someone to blame.”
Patrick’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know, Colin. You did what you had to do. Isn’t that the way you phrased it? Doing what you had to do, regardless of the damage to other people. Colin the patriot, the hero, the man who put country first. It sounds wonderful, unless you see the firsthand results of that behavior. I saw what happened to Ma after Lucy died. And Da’. I saw him wither and shrink, selling first one dream and then another to bail you out of trouble.”
Colin shook his head. “Forget the past, Patrick, and listen to this. There’s someone in the rocks behind the house.” There was a low urgency to his voice. “He was aiming at the horse. That’s who I was shooting at. Forget the past and believe me.”
“I’m not eight years old anymore. You can’t play that game with me, Colin.” Patrick shook his head. “I see it all now. It always took me a while to catch on to you. Cuchulain! You were the beggar on the road. Another of your little games. What were you doing? Traveling in disguise? Well done. I honestly thought you were an old man. And I gave you the idea of resurrecting this whole Cuchulain business.” Patrick’s voice was self-condemning. “Didn’t I always play right into your hands?”
“It was innocent, Patrick. I swear to you, that part of it was innocent. But that isn’t the issue now. You have to listen to me.”
“I’m not one of the suckers you can pull into your tales and rebellions. You meant to kill that horse and ruin me. Did you come home just to finish off what little I had left?”
“Don’t be a dolt. I’d never shoot a horse, and especially not that one. I was aiming at the man.” Colin pointed vehemently at the rocks that towered above them. “He’s up there, you bleedin’ idiot. He’s been tailing me and the horse. He was at the place where you’d hidden the animal. That’s why I took Limerick in the first place. To protect him and to protect you.”
“I’m going to kill you, Colin. For the past, and for Limerick.” Patrick lifted the barrel of the rifle and aimed it at his brother’s heart.
“Stop it!” Catherine touched Patrick’s arm. She angrily dashed the tears off her cheeks. Limerick was dead. A magnificent animal had suffered and died in a feud between brothers. But that was enough. “Stop it now, Patrick. You can kill Colin, but you won’t be able to live with yourself if you do. Besides, it won’t bring Limerick back.”
“I’d like to try.” Patrick’s aim never wavered.
“If it will help your feelings, kill me. But you’d better be fast. I’m telling you, there’s someone with a gun, and if you don’t watch your back, he’s going to catch you by surprise.”
Catherine caught either a tone of sincerity or desperation in his voice. She looked behind Patrick, scanning the horizon for any sign of a person. Behind the small barn that was connected to the paddock, Catherine saw something move. It was a shift of shadow on shadow.
“Patrick...there’s something there,” she said softly.
“Damn you!” Patrick turned from his brother in time to see Kent Ridgeway striding out from behind some rocks and headed toward them. He carried a rifle with a scope in his hand.
“Hello, Catherine, Patrick. And this must be Cuchulain, though I see more of a resemblance to the Shaw family, so you must actually be Colin, the rebel. It would seem you’ve done a very nasty job for me. My thanks.” His smile stretched even further. “I never realized that Colin Shaw would be helping the British. But you see, if Limerick had raced, I would have lost a great deal of money. Even worse, Catherine Nelson would have owned the stallion that might well have put me out of business. It’s always a shame to destroy an animal as splendid as Limerick, but then it’s even worse to see yourself ruined.”
Catherine took in the gun and his expression. She knew he’d come to shoot Limerick. He’d intended to hide in the rocks and kill him. A sniper. A miserable sniper.
Patrick’s face remained blank, but Colin’s darkened. His intense blue gaze shifted from his brother to the man who stood so casually cradling an expensive rifle in his arms. No matter how casual the pose, Kent’s finger was on the trigger, and the barrel was only inches from Patrick’s chest.
“You’re from Wicklow, aren’t you?” Colin asked. His voice was deceptively soft. “When I heard about the troubles at Beltene and that Patrick had been forced to sell, your name came up again and agai
n. Does Miss Nelson know that you tried to buy Beltene out from under her?” He smiled at the shocked expression on Catherine’s face. “I see I hit a nerve with the lady.” He looked at Patrick. “I came home to check on my little brother, not to make trouble.”
“Running the risk of capture, I might add.” Ridgeway grinned. “So you’re the brother, the rebel who fled. If Patrick doesn’t kill you, I suppose I’ll have to turn you in to the authorities. Catherine, you can take partial credit. That would endear you to the crown, you know.” Kent shifted slightly. The rifle he held was only inches from Patrick’s chest. “You’d better put your weapon down now, Shaw. I wouldn’t want some misguided sense of family to force me to kill you or your brother.”
The true horror of what had happened was breaking over Catherine. Colin had been aiming at someone—at Ridgeway. If she hadn’t ploughed into him, he wouldn’t have hit Limerick. It was her action that resulted in Limerick’s death.
Without thinking, Catherine bent down. She swept up a handful of rocks and dirt. “You bloody bastard!” She threw as hard as she could, aiming accurately for Kent’s eyes.
He lowered the rifle for a second as he threw back his head and tried to clear his vision. Patrick and Colin moved as one. Patrick hit Kent at the knees while his brother caught him from the other direction at the shoulders. The trainer went down with a knock hard enough to force the air from his lungs.
Catherine picked up Kent’s rifle. Aiming it at his head, she stood over him. Once he’d caught his breath, she lifted her foot. “I’d grind your face beneath the heel of my boot,” she said, her voice shaking with fury.
“It doesn’t matter.” Kent was still struggling for breath, but he was undaunted. “Limerick will never race. I’ve won, and there’s nothing you can do about it now.”
“Catherine!”
She felt Patrick’s hands on her, dragging her back and away. Her finger was on the trigger and the desire to pull it was almost irresistible.
Thrice Familiar Page 23
