Shattered Rainbows fa-5

by Mary Jo Putney

  Haldoran kicked him again, this time in the ribs. Michael rolled across the floor and into the sofa. Catherine shuddered, unable to understand why he was inviting such brutality.

  Again it took Michael several moments to recover his breath, but he did not back down. "Everything you do confirms that I'm right," he panted. "If you weren't such a coward, I'd give you a challenge that would truly test you. But you would never accept it. You're afraid of me, and well you should be."

  Eye glittering, Haldoran snapped, "What kind of challenge?"

  "A hunt, since you're such a great huntsman." Michael's eyes narrowed, becoming feral. "You and me on the Isle of Bone. Give me five minutes' head start and you'll never catch me. Give me a day and you're a dead man, even if you're armed and I'm not."

  Catherine caught her breath, understanding. He was trying to buy time, and a chance of survival.

  Haldoran hesitated, his gaze going to Catherine.

  "There's a kind of medieval grandeur to the idea," Michael continued. "You and I meet in single combat, and the winner gets the lady. Catherine won't give you any trouble if you manage to kill me. She didn't want me here.

  When I came in, she told me to leave, that I would ruin everything."

  Haldoran's anger flared again. "Liar. She was ready to go out the window with you."

  His lips whitened as he looked from Michael to Catherine and back. Then they curved in a cruel, triumphant smile. "I don't have to prove anything to you, Kenyon. Single combat belongs to the Middle Ages. I prefer the pleasures of the chase. We'll go to Bone, but it will be me and Doyle tracking you and my deceitful cousin with only the sheep and gulls to see."

  Michael's face paled, revealing underlying pain.

  "That worries you, doesn't it?" Haldoran said, his voice almost crooning. "Alone, you might be able to elude me for some time, but not with Catherine to slow you down. You'll have to choose between abandoning her to preserve your own skin a few hours longer, or staying and dying together. Either way, you'll die, and I'll have the pleasure of hunting the ultimate game."

  "You're a fool to kill a woman as beautiful as Catherine," Michael retorted. "A wife like her is. the ultimate trophy. You'll be the envy of every man you meet if you marry her."

  Haldoran gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "True, but I can't help suspecting her good faith. She's the sort who could go meekly for years while she waits for the right moment to slip a stiletto between my ribs. Her daughter will be more malleable."

  Voice lanced with anguish, Catherine said, "I'll swear any oath of obedience you want if you promise not to touch Amy."

  "But I want to touch her. The thought of molding a virgin to my will is rather appealing." Haldoran smiled again, and this time it came from the depths of his black soul. "The knowledge that my saintly cousin Catherine died cursing me will add spice."

  She glanced at Michael. His green eyes were fierce. She could almost hear him saying not to give up hope.

  A measure of calm came to her. Michael had almost defeated three men single-handedly, and she was less helpless than her cousin thought. Certainly she would not go tamely to the slaughter. "A pity you didn't join the army,Clive. An officer like my father or Michael might have made a man of you."

  Virulent dislike on his face, he waved his gun toward the door. "Move, both of you. We must leave Skoal before dawn. Don't try to call for help. My men and I can easily handle a parcel of unarmed servants, but I'd rather not have to kill them. My little kingdom needs all of its subjects."

  Wincing, Michael got to his feet. "I realize that fairness isn't part of your nature, but you really should allow Catherine to change her clothing, it's going to be a damp, cold hunt."

  Haldoran shrugged. "She can wear breeches if she likes. In fact, I'd rather enjoy seeing her in them. But I'll only allow her ten minutes in her room to change. If she isn't ready, she'll have to run in her shift."

  Catherine's mind raced as her cousin escorted her to her room. In fact, she had brought to Skoal the breeches she had worn on the Peninsula when conditions were particularly harsh. They would make it easier for her to run for her life. With luck, she would also be able to conceal a few small items about her person.

  What a pity that her room did not contain a gun.

  Chapter 33

  It was a beautiful dawn for sailing, with indigo clouds edged in crimson and salmon pink. But the swirling currents and lethal rocks lived up to the channel's perilous reputation. Catherine would have found the trip alarming if greater danger weren't imminent.

  Haldoran's island background had made him a good sailor. As the sun inched above the horizon, he steered his boat capably between the reefs and barked orders at Doyle and another of his men, a ferret-faced fellow called Spiner. The convict with the broken jaw was nursing his injury at Ragnarok.

  Catherine felt very alone and afraid. Haldoran had made a point of tethering her and Michael in positions where they could not see each other. She was within her cousin's view, though. She schooled her face to impassivity whenever his avid gaze went over her breeches-clad legs. If he caught her alive, he would surely rape her before she died.

  But her masculine attire would be useful later. Besides riding boots and tan breeches, she had followed Michael's lead and donned a knitted jersey that had been the gift of an elderly island woman. The garment was made from un-dyed wool in colors ranging from cream to dark brown, which should help her blend into the landscape.

  All too soon they reached Bone. The boat glided into a small bay surrounded by steep hills. It was a desolate place, the only sound the splash of waves on the shingle beach and the harsh cries of gulls. Haldoran docked the boat neatly at a crude jetty. Then Doyle cut the prisoners' bonds and roughly shoved them from the boat. Spiner stayed inside, under orders to guard the vessel while his master hunted.

  Catherine's position in the boat had been cramped, and her strained muscles caused her to stumble as she climbed onto the jetty. Michael caught her before she could fall, then wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to the shingle beach. "Get your body flexible so you can run when the time comes," he ordered.

  Blood had dried in his hair and his face was dark with soot and bruises, but he looked magnificent and dangerous, like an ancient warrior king. His shrewd gaze was scanning the hills, assessing conditions. The sight of him gave Catherine a glimmer of hope. She began bending and stretching her limbs.

  After Haldoran collected his expensive sporting rifle and ammunition pouch, he followed them to the shingle beach. "You said you could escape me with a five-minute start, but I'll be generous and give you ten minutes. It will take at least that long for you to get out of sight."

  Michael regarded him coolly. "Since you know the island and we don't, there's a chance you might win. But you'll find no satisfaction in it. For the rest of your life, you'll have to live with the knowledge that I was the better man. The only way you could defeat me was by stacking the deck in your favor."

  "It sounds like you've resigned yourself to losing and are preparing your excuses," Haldoran said scornfully. "Try to give me a good run, Kenyon. It's been damned boring on the island lately." He pulled a watch from his pocket. "You have ten minutes starting now."

  So soon? Catherine stared at him. Despite her cousin's stated intentions, she had not truly grasped the brutal fact that in the space of a heartbeat she could be transformed from an ordinary, civilized woman to prey.

  More experienced with savagery, Michael had no such problem. "Time to be off, my dear." He caught her hand and tugged her forward. "We'll take that path to the left."

  Her paralysis broken, she set off beside Michael at a fast jog, the best pace possible on the rounded stones of the beach. Once they reached the surrounding grassland, her speed increased. Michael loped beside her, matching her pace effortlessly.

  It took about two minutes to reach the foot of the animal track that zigzagged up the steep, clifflike hill. She quailed at the sight of the narrow path. She wou
ld never be able to reach the top in the time allotted.

  "You first," Michael said. "Don't set a pace so fast that you'll exhaust yourself halfway up."

  She balked. "You go ahead. I'll slow you down."

  "We stand or fall together, Catherine." He gave her a slap on the backside, as if she were a nervous pony. "Move."

  She began to climb. Years of campaign life had hardened her physically, and in peacetime she had stayed active with walking and riding. Yet though she was strong for a woman, she could never keep up with a man like Michael. Haldoran had been right-if Michael stayed with her, it might well cost him his life. Yet for honor's sake, he would never abandon her. Knowing his survival depended on her performance increased her determination.

  The grass was damp and several times she slipped. She kept her eyes on the path. A twisted ankle would be a death sentence.

  By the time they reached the midway point, her breath was coming in hoarse pants and her legs were shaking with strain. The spot between her shoulder blades began to feel itchy. How many minutes had passed? Six? Seven? As long as they were on the hill, they were in deadly peril.

  Haldoran's voice boomed out, echoing menacingly across the bay. "Eight minutes gone, and you're still easy targets."

  "Don't waste time worrying," Michael snapped. "When he shoots, he'll aim at me first, and at this distance he'll probably miss."

  In spite of the admonition not to worry, a clock began ticking in her mind, counting off the seconds. Eleven, twelve… She gasped and doubled over when she was struck by an agonizing stitch in her side. Straightening, she forced herself to ignore the pain and keep going. Thirty-five, thirty-six…

  How much farther? Fifty, fifty-one… She glanced up and saw despairingly that there wasn't enough time. Sixty-two, sixty-three… She was staggering and on the verge of collapse.

  Michael said sharply, "Think of Amy."

  Energy from some unknown reserve renewed her. The brink of the hill was tantalizingly near. A hundred one, two, three… The pitch steepened. She caught at the tough clumps of grass and used them to drag herself upward. Her lungs were burning with a desperate need for air. Fifteen, sixteen…

  The clock in her mind reached two minutes. Only a few more yards and they would be out of danger, but Haldoran could start shooting at any moment.

  The pitch flattened and the path became wider. Michael drew even and hooked his arm around her waist, virtually carrying her the last stretch. As soon as they crested the hill, he dragged her to the ground. The harrowing blast of the rifle rang out even before they hit the grassy turf. Almost simultaneously, a spurt of earth marked the spot where the ball struck a few feet behind them.

  "That's a good rifle and he's a good shot," Michael panted. "But we've won the first round. We should go a few feet farther. Then we can rest for a minute."

  She nodded mutely and crawled across the grass on her hands and knees until they were well beyond the edge. Then she rolled onto her back, her lungs pumping frantically. Michael was treating her exactly as if she had been a particularly feeble soldier under his command. No doubt he was wise to avoid the personal issues between them. Nonetheless, she would have been humiliatingly grateful for any word or touch that showed that they had been lovers.

  Michael was also breathing hard, but he kept his head up, studying their surroundings with cold concentration. "One thing that might cheer you a little. I gave a letter to the boatman who brought me to Skoal. He was to post it to London if I didn't meet him at dawn. Since I missed the rendezvous, the letter is on its way to my friend Lucien. I explained my suspicions and asked him to investigate if I disappeared. He spent years as the government's chief spymaster, so he will be able to discover what happened and take appropriate measures against Haldoran."

  She raised her head, desperate with hope. "Will he be able to free Amy?"

  "I guarantee it. It may take a little time, but she will not be left in Haldoran's hands."

  "Thank God." Though it was a tremendous relief to know that her daughter would not be a victim for long, the thought of what might happen first was sickening. Catherine lay still for another dozen heartbeats, then pushed herself to a sitting position and surveyed the island.

  Bone was a wild, barren place that reminded her of the Yorkshire moors. There were only a handful of stunted trees, not enough to break the force of the ceaseless sea winds. The right end of the island rose to rugged hills. However, most of the landscape was a plateau of rocks and vividly green grass that was cropped short by grazing animals.

  The fuzzy gray shapes of several hundred sheep were scattered across the plateau with a sizable flock a few hundred yards to the left. There were also occasional cows, stocky russet beasts with long horns and shaggy coats. "There aren't many places to hide. Should we head into the hills?"

  "Haldoran will probably assume we'll go that way. Better to go to the left, through the flock of sheep. The ground is more irregular than it appears, so there are plenty of places for concealment. We're also fortunate that this grass is so springy. If we're careful, we'll be almost impossible to track."

  Wearily she got to her feet. "Lead on, Colonel. You're in charge of strategy and tactics."

  Michael walked quickly until they neared the flock. Then he slowed to keep from frightening the sheep, which might alert their pursuers. The leisurely pace made Catherine's skin crawl. How long until the hunters reached the plateau?

  Once through the flock, they went faster. Michael was right about the roughness of the ground. Gentle rises and depressions offered more cover than she had expected.

  When the cliff edge was no longer visible, he cut left and circled until they were behind a small ridge crowned with quat shrubs. "Wait here," he said quietly. "If I've judged rightly, we should be able to see without being seen."

  He went up the rise at a crouch, crawling on his belly when he reached the shrubs. A minute later, he whispered, "Success. If you want to see, come forward carefully."

  She dropped down and crept up beside him. Their ridge offered a clear view of the spot where they had come onto he plateau. The small figures of Haldoran and Doyle were visible there now, catching their breath from the climb, both carried rifles. Her cousin slowly scanned the plateau, hen gestured toward the hills. The two men set off briskly, loving away from their quarry.

  She gave a long sigh of relief. They had won a second round, and it gave them some respite. Keeping her voice low even though the hunters could not possibly hear at this distance, she asked, "Do you have a plan?"

  "To avoid getting caught," Michael said dryly. "I don't have plans, merely contingencies. There's a bad storm coming, probably tonight. That will work in our favor. The island will not be a pleasant place when the storm hits. Haldoran and his men will probably return to Skoal to avoid being caught in it."

  "I suppose it's too much to hope that they would drown on the trip back. Is there any chance that the shot Clive fired will attract attention on Skoal?"

  "Not with the wind blowing from the east. Even if a fisherman heard and investigated, it wouldn't help us. Your cousin would give some plausible lie for being here. If that didn't work, I don't think he would hesitate to kill."

  She should have known that Michael had already thought out the possibilities. "What do you think of our chances of surviving? The truth, please."

  "It's hard to say." His expression was troubled. "I think it's possible to hide and live off the land indefinitely, but Haldoran's patience won't last for more than a day or two. My fear is that he'll bring dogs to track us."

  The idea sent a chill through her. Hounds baying at their heels… "Is there any way to turn the tables on him?"

  "Perhaps. I want to study the lay of the land. There might be a spot for an ambush, though it won't be easy to bring down two armed men." He gazed toward the sea, his eyes narrowed. "As a last resort, it might be possible to swim to Skoal."

  She stared at him. "Are you serious? The channel between the islands is notoriously
dangerous. I can swim a little, but I'd never make it that far in rough seas."

  "I might be able to do it. If I succeed, I could send help back to you." He frowned. "But I'd rather not leave you alone."

  The idea appalled her. Not only would Michael be braving cold water, rocks, and vicious currents, but he would probably have to attempt the crossing at night to avoid being seen. The odds of him surviving were not good. "Swimming is definitely a last resort."

  He shrugged. "Drowning while trying to escape would be better than being shot like a deer."

  Stealthily he withdrew from the shrubbery. Catherine followed him down the slope. At the bottom was a tiny brook. He pressed his palms into the muddy bank, then wiped smudges on her tan breeches with impersonal hands. ''You'll be harder to see if dark patches break up the lightness. Wipe some on your face, too. If we find any light-colored clay, I'll use it to splotch up this dark outfit of mine."

  "You seem to know a great deal about being hunted."

  He grimaced. "Once as a very new officer in Spain, I became separated from my men during a scouting patrol. Not my finest hour. The French learned a British officer was lost behind their lines and organized a manhunt. Though I eluded them for three days, eventually I was captured. I managed to escape, but the other officers in my company teased me unmercifully for being so inept. It was a very chastening experience."

  She smiled a little, though her mood was somber. She lad brought so much trouble on Michael, as she had on everyone close to her. Colin had died because of her, Michael might die as well, and Amy was a prisoner who faced in unspeakable future. Rationally Catherine knew she was lot responsible for Haldoran's wickedness-yet even so, crushing guilt weighed on her.

  She studied Michael, who was washing the mud from his lands. He would do his best to get her out of this alive. For honor's sake, he would probably sacrifice his life if it might save hers. But he would not want her in his life after all that had happened. She had placed her darts well when she sent him away, and the fragile trust that had been growing in him had been crushed, probably beyond repair.