A Stranger at Castonbury

by Amanda McCabe

  But before she could tell him that, before they could begin the rest of their lives afresh, she had to get out of this prison....

  She studied their provisions. It wasn’t much. A few charred sticks in the fireplace, the wooden shelves that appeared solidly bolted to the walls, the blankets. But there were also some pottery jugs lined up on the highest shelf. She turned to examine the bolted door.

  ‘If Webster came back, he would have to come through that door, right?’ Catalina said. ‘There are no windows.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Alicia said listlessly.

  ‘Then maybe I have an idea.’

  Alicia peered up at her warily. ‘What sort of idea? I’m not so sure...’

  ‘Oh, come, Alicia! Surely anything is better than just sitting here waiting,’ Catalina exclaimed. ‘Help me reach those jugs up there, and then we can bind one of the blankets over the doorway.’

  ‘Oh!’ A spark lit Alicia’s eyes as she sat up and turned to the door. ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘There are two of us, and hopefully when he returns Webster will be alone, and leave that traitorous footman behind,’ Catalina said as they attached the blanket on either side of the door in a sort of rope. ‘If we can trap him as he comes in, we’ll have a second to hit him over the head with the jugs. Then we can lock him in and run for help.’

  And if it did not work—at least they had tried. Catalina wasn’t ever going to stop trying to get back to Jamie. She had to tell him she was wrong, that she loved him and that was all that mattered. All that had ever mattered.

  Once they were done with their task, they crouched to either side of the door and waited. It seemed like hours but was probably not very long at all when Catalina heard the metallic grind of a bar being lifted from outside the door. The door swung back and a man in a rough grey coat stalked into the room.

  Catalina only had a glimpse of blond hair before she shouted, ‘Now!’

  Alicia brought her jug crashing down on his head, and he collapsed to the floor, entangled in the blanket. Catalina saw it was the footman unconscious on the floor and not Webster, but there was no time to think. She grabbed Alicia’s hand and they ran out of the door. They were almost free of the clearing around the cottage, the sky growing dark around them, when Webster stepped out from behind a tree.

  He caught Catalina around the waist and swung her off her feet. Her hand was torn from Alicia’s.

  ‘Run!’ Catalina screamed, and Alicia took off as fast as she could. She quickly disappeared into the dusk, and Webster wrenched Catalina’s arm hard behind her back until she gasped with the pain.

  ‘You Spanish whore,’ he said harshly, twisting even harder. ‘You always have to be where you’re not supposed to be. Just like in Spain. My quarrel was with Alicia, not you. But you’ll do just as well to draw Hatherton out.’

  Catalina remembered what Webster had tried to do in Spain, the horrible hot weight of his body on hers, and she kicked out at him as hard as she could. Through the cold haze of terror she hardly knew what she was doing, but she felt her teeth sink into his hand as he tried to silence her.

  ‘Whore!’ he shouted. He lifted her higher in his arms and carried her back into the cottage just as the footman staggered out. ‘I’ll deal with you later. I have to catch that bitch Alicia first.’

  He shoved her into the room and slammed the door behind her. Before she could throw herself at it, she heard the bolt drop back heavily into place. As she sank to the floor, the stub of the candle flickered and threatened to go out, leaving her alone in the semi-darkness.

  Alicia got away, she told herself. She would surely fetch help.

  But in the meantime Catalina was by herself. She wrapped her arms around her waist and closed her eyes as she envisioned that day she had married Jamie in Spain. His hand in hers as he led her up the aisle, his smile as they promised themselves to each other. It had meant so much to her then; it had meant everything.

  It still did. She only wanted the chance to tell him that.

  She sank down onto the floor, her arms around her knees and began to sing in a shaky voice. ‘Conde Niño, por amores es niño y pasó a la mar...’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jamie didn’t like the feeling of disquiet that came over him as he looked up at Alicia’s house. He wasn’t sure what had urged him to come here, but when Lily told him that Catalina had gone into town again something had told him he had to follow her.

  And now he was glad he had. The guard he had set on the house that day had vanished. Everything seemed just as quiet and peaceful as ever on the street, yet he knew so well how deceiving appearances could be.

  On the way out of Castonbury he had seen William Everett and asked the man to meet him there at Alicia’s house. He hadn’t arrived yet, but Jamie took his pistol and dagger and climbed down from the curricle. He silently went up the front steps and found the door ajar.

  Every muscle in his body tensed and went on alert. He nudged the door open with his boot and slipped inside.

  He listened closely for any hint of noise, any slight rustle of movement, but there was nothing. The house was eerily silent.

  ‘Catalina? Alicia?’ he called. His voice echoed through the empty hall. He went through to the sitting room and heard the grind of broken glass under his boot.

  In one frantic moment he saw the shattered window, the overturned furniture. Catalina’s shawl on the floor. In the centre of the settee a dagger hilt was standing straight up. Jamie stumbled forward to find a note pinned under the blade.

  If you want your whores back, Hatherton, go and get them at the old sheepherder’s cottage in the woods....

  ‘Lord Hatherton? Are you there? What has...’ Everett appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath as if he had run after Jamie. ‘What has happened here?’

  Jamie silently showed him the note, and Everett’s sun-browned face turned pale. ‘He has taken them, this man Webster?’

  ‘To the hut at the edge of the woods,’ Jamie said tightly. If that bastard Webster had been writing a melodramatic play he could not have chosen better than to take Catalina to the place where they had made love. Where they had finally found each other again. Now it was her prison.

  But he would have her out of there soon enough. And then he would kill Webster.

  He turned around silently and headed out of the shambles of the sitting room.

  ‘I am coming with you, my lord,’ Everett said, hurrying after him.

  ‘It is me Webster is after,’ Jamie said. ‘I can’t ask anyone else to go into danger.’

  ‘You aren’t asking me, my lord—I’m telling you,’ Everett said stubbornly. ‘I have to help her.’

  Jamie turned to see the same burning fear and resolve he himself felt reflected in the estate manager’s eyes. ‘You care about Alicia.’

  ‘I love her. And even if she won’t have me, I have to help her now. To do anything I can for her.’

  ‘So be it,’ Jamie said with a nod. ‘I am glad to have you with me, then. You are armed?’

  Everett showed him the pistol he had tucked inside his coat. They hurried back to the carriage and Jamie urged the horse as fast as it could go back on the road out of town. They drove in grim silence, the evening gathering quickly in on them.

  Until suddenly a pale figure darted out from the thick stand of trees by the side of the lane. It was a woman in a light blue dress, and she waved her arms frantically as she screamed his name.

  ‘Lord Hatherton!’ she cried. ‘Oh, thank heaven you are here.’

  ‘Alicia,’ Everett shouted. He leapt down from the carriage even before Jamie could draw to a full stop and ran to catch her in his arms. She clung to his neck, sobbing. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, no, but—oh, Lord Hatherton, you must go after Catalina,’ Alicia said. ‘She distracted Webster so I could run away, but now she is trapped there.’

  ‘In the cottage?’ Jamie demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ Alicia choked out. ‘I don’t kno
w if she is alone, or...’

  Jamie didn’t stop to hear any more. He knew he could move quicker now on foot than in the carriage, and he ran towards the pathway. He didn’t even feel his injured leg any longer. He only knew he had to get to Catalina.

  ‘Wait for me, my lord,’ Everett called.

  ‘No,’ Jamie shouted back. ‘You see to Alicia. Go to Castonbury for help.’

  And he kept running until he glimpsed the cottage just ahead in the clearing. But he saw to his horror that it was in flames....

  * * *

  Catalina must have fallen asleep, she realised as she suddenly jerked awake. For an instant she felt dizzy and disoriented, as if caught in the sticky web of some dark nightmare. Her throat felt dry and raw, and something sharp and pungent was seeping into her nostrils.

  Her eyes flew open, and she saw that the candle had toppled into a pile of blankets and flames were dancing up the wall. Smoke curled around her feet.

  She leapt up and ran to the door, frantically trying to pull it open. It was still barred.

  ‘Let me out!’ she screamed, pounding on the door. She coughed on the smoke and pressed her arm over her face. ‘Dejar yo fuera, let me out!’

  Was this the end, then? Had she survived everything in Spain only to die here? So many things flashed through her mind, Lydia and Mr Hale, Lily and Giles’s wedding. The cool green fields and pale walls of Castonbury. Jamie and how very much she loved him. Were they all gone from her now?

  ‘No,’ she cried. No, she would not give up her life so easily. She had so much to live for. She had found Jamie again. She threw her whole body against the door. Pain shot down her side, but she ignored it and threw herself forward again and again until she sobbed in exhaustion.

  Suddenly the door was flung open and she stumbled. She would have fallen if a pair of strong arms hadn’t closed around her and lifted her up.

  ‘Catalina!’ Jamie shouted. ‘My darling, are you hurt?’

  She clung to him as she shook her head. ‘I’m not hurt,’ she managed to choke out just as she heard timbers snapping in the roof.

  Jamie spun around and ran with his love in his arms to the edge of the clearing. The night was terribly lit up with smoke and flames. He lowered her carefully to the grass and kissed her hard over and over. His gaze scanned over her as if to assure himself she was truly unhurt.

  ‘Where is Alicia?’ she asked.

  ‘She is safe,’ Jamie said. ‘We found her running down the road. She and Everett have gone to fetch more help at Castonbury.’

  ‘Oh, Jamie,’ Catalina whispered, suddenly realising the enormity of what had almost happened. They had nearly been parted again, for ever this time. She couldn’t quit shaking. ‘I thought I might never see you again.’

  Jamie held her close and kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, over and over. ‘I’ll always come for you, my love. Always, no matter what. I promise you that.’

  He kissed her once more and helped her to her feet. When her knees nearly buckled, he caught her around the waist and held her steady.

  ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I should take you home now and send for the doctor.’

  ‘No, I don’t need a doctor,’ Catalina protested, but she let him lead her into the stand of woods that led to the road.

  But they did not get very far. A man suddenly stumbled out from behind a tree in the darkness. His coat was torn and his red hair tangled, yet Catalina could see the mad glitter of his eyes. It was Webster. And he held a pistol levelled on them.

  Catalina’s mouth went dry, and her heart pounded with a fresh rush of panic. She spun around hard, pulling Jamie with her, but the footman was behind them with another gun in his hand. His face was white and his breath was laboured as if his panic was even greater than hers. The gun wavered in his hand yet he held on to it.

  ‘So you got my message, Hatherton,’ Webster said with a terrible triumph in his voice. ‘I knew if I just waited in the right place you would come to me. This is meant to be.’

  Jamie’s hand moved towards his coat, as if he hid weapons there.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Hatherton,’ Webster said. ‘Not with my friend’s gun aimed right at Mrs Moreno’s pretty head. I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, as it did in Spain.’

  Jamie’s arm tightened around Catalina. ‘What is your game, Webster?’ he said brusquely.

  ‘I have no game here,’ Webster said, his voice escalating. ‘You are the one who ruined my life by being alive, by exposing the plot I so carefully constructed around Miss Walters and her brat. You always did have a knack for using your unearned privileges to ruin other people. But now it looks like I have the upper hand at last.’

  Catalina glanced frantically between Webster and his footman accomplice. The man didn’t seem to share Webster’s wild confidence. The hand holding his gun trembled, which made the firearm wobble around in a terrifying way. What if it went off?

  She was sure if she could catch him off guard she could knock him to the ground, leaving Jamie free to deal with Webster. But as she took a step towards him, the gun suddenly swung up and pointed at her face.

  ‘Don’t—don’t come near me!’ the footman screamed.

  ‘Catalina,’ she heard Jamie shout. He dragged her down just as a deafening explosion went off. The flames behind them crackled higher, and Jamie threw her to the ground, his own body over hers.

  ‘Jamie! Are you shot?’ She ran her hands desperately over his back and shoulders, searching for any wounds. She felt his breath on her skin, steady and warm.

  ‘It’s not me,’ he said roughly as he pushed himself up over her. ‘For God’s sake, woman, what were you thinking, moving towards him like that? He could have killed you!’

  ‘I thought I could distract him.’ Catalina peered over Jamie’s shoulder to see that it was the footman who had been shot. A pool of dark red blood spread over his chest as he toppled to the ground.

  Webster still held the smoking pistol levelled in his hand. He shook his head with a horrible calm. ‘That was regrettable, wasn’t it? He was a useful ally for a time, but he was obviously losing his nerve.’

  He tossed away the empty pistol and drew out a dagger. As he took a step towards them, Jamie jumped to his feet and pulled Catalina up with him. He gave her a hard push and told her, ‘Run, Catalina, now!’

  She did as he told her—she ran. But she didn’t go far. She could never leave Jamie. She snatched up the footman’s gun from where it had fallen on the ground and dashed to the edge of the clearing, where she took what shelter she could behind a tree and tried to get a clear shot at Webster.

  He and Jamie circled each other warily, their intent stares never wavering from each other. The glare from the fire glinted off the knives in their hands as Catalina’s heart pounded with fear.

  Suddenly, Webster lunged forward with his blade raised to strike. He let out a crazed, furious shout, but Jamie just slid agilely to the side. Jamie parried with his own dagger and drove Webster back.

  And he kept driving him back, until he landed a strike on Webster’s arm, raising a line of blood on his sleeve. With a cry, he lashed out hard with his foot to kick Jamie on his bad leg and sent him falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

  Catalina cried out, but Jamie seized Webster’s wounded arm as he went down and dragged him along. They grappled heavily in the damp dirt, and Catalina couldn’t see clearly what was happening. She heard grunts and dull thuds, barely audible over the crackle of the flames.

  Webster’s arm arced back to deliver a killing blow. Seeing the tip of the blade come to within an inch of Jamie’s face, she screamed. But the sound strangled in her throat as Jamie twisted his assailant’s arm sharply and pushed him off.

  It was a horribly confusing scene in the firelight, a tangle of limbs and strikes and shouts. She couldn’t see who was where, or get any kind of clear shot.

  She fell to her knees with a frustrated sob just as Jamie�
��s dagger thrust upwards and landed deep in Webster’s chest. He fell face-first as Jamie rolled away, and then he was very still.

  Jamie lurched to his feet to stare down at his fallen enemy, the man who had given them so much trouble. He carefully turned Webster over with his boot, and Catalina could see that he was truly dead. His eyes stared up at the night sky, glassy and sightless in the red light.

  Jamie’s face was completely blank, no triumph or fear written there. Catalina dropped the heavy gun she held and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder and held on to him as close as she could. He was alive! They were alive, and together at last. It hardly seemed possible after all that had happened.

  But then she felt something warm and sticky on her skin, and swayed with a rush of dizziness. She suddenly remembered the blow to her head which she had forgot in the fight; it came back to her with a wave of cold nausea.

  ‘Catalina!’ she heard Jamie shout about the snap of the flames. Then she fell down into blackness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Conde Niño, por amores es niño y pasó a la mar...’

  Catalina slowly opened her eyes and pulled herself up from the soft, dark cloud of sleep at the sound of a voice singing. It was not a sweet siren’s song; the tone was cracked and dry, off-key. Yet she had never heard anything more beautiful. It made her want to struggle up out of the dreams that threatened to pull her back, even when pain pricked at the edges of her awareness.

  But pain was as nothing compared to the hand that held on to hers. It made any torment of life worthwhile if she could just feel that touch for ever.

  She opened her eyes to a piercing pale grey light. She was in her chamber at Castonbury, and rain pattered at the window. A tray sat on the bedside table, holding a pitcher of water, a bottle of some kind of medicine, a basin and a pile of cloths. The bedclothes were tucked around her, except for the hand that lay on the counterpane.