"Good God!" Davin's face paled. "Once or twice yesterday, I thought I heard shots coming from Bone."
The laird closed his eyes, trying to control the unexpected rush of emotion. It might be too late. Catherine had deceived him, but… he'd grown fond of her.
"How did you learn all this?" the constable asked.
"Everyone talked in front of me as if I were already dead." The laird took a deep breath, struggling to organize what must be said. "Clive has Catherine's daughter at Ragnorak. Take some of the militamen and get her out. I don't know if Clive is there, but go armed. He's mad and dangerous. After you have the child, cross over to Bone and see if… Catherine and that fellow are alive. If she isn't…" His voice faded away.
Accepting the outrageous story without question, Davin got to his feet. "I'll be on my way as soon as I can collect half a dozen men. First Ragnarok, then Bone."
"Don't trust Clive."
"I never did." The constable turned and was gone. The laird closed his eyes and tried not to weep. He was an old man. He should be used to loss by now.
There wasn't a single light visible on Skoal, though that wasn't surprising at this hour of the night. As they approached the island, Catherine sharpened her vigil, knowing that this last stretch was the most hazardous.
The currents worsened, whipping the boat back and forth. Michael was panting with exertion as he fought to keep them steady. The boom of the surf intensified, vibrating in her bones. The silhouette of an islet appeared ahead. She warned Michael and he managed to pull away, but a ferocious current grabbed the boat, sweeping it toward a jagged rock. She shouted another warning. The stony pinnacle loomed above her, almost close enough to touch. In the nick of time, Michael pulled them beyond the lethal obstacle.
The moon came out again, illuminating what lay ahead. "We're only a couple of hundred yards out," she reported. "From the sound of the breakers, it's a beach, but I can see boulders."
"Good," he said breathlessly. "That's what the shore is like on the south side of Little Skoal."
The surf caught the boat, hurling it toward land. They were close enough to see the pale, undulating lines of breaking waves. Catherine clamped her hands on the gunwales, frightened by the speed with which they were flying toward shore. One small part of her mind said that they would never survive this wild ride, while another said that Michael could do anything. The rest of her mind, and all of her body, was focused on watching what lay ahead.
Too late, she saw the rock lurking just below the surface. "Look out, to the right!"
As Michael tried to pull away, one oar crashed into the stone and shattered. He yelled, "Brace yourself!"
Out of control, the boat spun sideways and slammed into another rock. Catherine was almost pitched out by the impact. Water gushed in through the crushed planks.
But they were moving too quickly to sink. An immense surge of water swept them into the air with a wrench that turned her stomach. The boat seemed to hang endlessly. Then the wave smashed them onto the beach. The boat capsized and Catherine was thrown out. A vicious undertow dragged her back toward the sea, rolling her over and over along the seabed. She was drowning, helpless to break free…
Then Michael seized her and dragged her to her feet. "Get up! We're almost there!"
The waves fought to pull them under, but he kept her upright, his grip the one sure thing in a tumultuous world. The last stretch was interminable, a treacherous slope of stone and seaweed and crushing waves. Then suddenly they were beyond the reach of the water. They staggered a dozen steps farther before sinking to the ground, clinging to each other. Catherine felt as if her heaving lungs would burst through her chest.
Michael gasped, "Are you all right?"
She took stock of her aches and pains. "Some bruises, and a passionate desire never to board a boat again."
He gave a breathless chuckle. "Intrepid Catherine."
"No," she said firmly. "Cowardly, exhausted Catherine."
"We only have to keep going a little longer."
She left his embrace with reluctance. His touch made everything seem possible.
As they stood, she saw that Michael had managed to retain the smuggler's sword and the coiled rope. Amazing. "Do you recognize where we are?"
"I think that Ragnarok is less than half a mile away." He pulled off his jersey and wrung the excess water from it, then squeezed what moisture he could from his other garments. "It won't take us long to climb this hill and reach there."
"Then what?" Catherine asked as she wrung out her own jersey.
He smiled, his teeth a white, wolfish flash in the dark. "Then, my dear, we'll brave the dragon in his own den."
It took time for Davin to rouse a handful of the island's best militiamen. They gathered at the castle stables, where he handed out rifles and tersely explained the situation. His words were received with matter-of-fact nods. No one appeared to have trouble believing that Haldoran was a villain. On the other hand, Catherine and her husband-or whoever he was-had made a good impression on the islanders.
The men were harnessing horses to a flat wagon when a well-dressed stranger strolled into the stableyard. Davin raised his torch and stared at the man. "Who the devil are you?"
The newcomer's brows rose. "And a very pleasant good morning to you, too." The fellow was tall and brown-haired, with a voice as elegant as his clothing.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Davin said, "but we're about to leave. There's some trouble."
The stranger sighed. "If there is trouble, my little brother is probably right in the middle of it. What's wrong?"
Brother? Davin studied the newcomer and realized that there was a distinct resemblance to the man who had been known as Catherine Melbourne's husband. Countering with another question, he said, "Who are you, and what are you doing here at this hour?"
"My name's Ashburton, and I came to the island last night. I believe my brother is visiting here. Since I'm acquainted with the laird, I decided to pay a call," the gentleman said rather vaguely. "Because of the storm, we arrived so late that the boatman who brought me over suggested I stay at his house. I woke early and decided to go for a stroll."
"If you say so," Davin said dryly.
Ashburton's gaze went over the wagon. "Do you need any help on this expedition of yours? I happen to have my traveling pistol with me."
Ashburton seemed sound, and if he was the brother of Catherine's alleged husband, he had a right to come along. "Climb aboard. I'll explain what little I know on the way to Ragnarok."
"The twilight of the gods?" Ashburton said, startled.
"I sincerely hope not" As the small band rattled toward Little Skoal at full speed, Davin hoped the name would not prove to be prophetic.
In spite of Catherine's fatigue, she was almost running when they approached Ragnorak. The sun rose early at this season, and the sky was lightening in the east.
More cautious, Michael held her back and made sure that they used what cover was available. As they neared the house, he said quietly, "Did Haldoran indicate where Amy is being held?"
Catherine thought back. "He said she was in one of the best guest rooms with a fine view of the sea."
"Then we'll go to the ocean side and see if we can deduce where she might be."
Stealthily they circled the house. Though the sky was brighter, the shadows were still dense. Catherine scanned the windows, wondering if maternal instinct could do what vision couldn't. Something long and pale was fluttering across the wall of the house. "Can you make out what that light-colored thing is?"
Michael looked where she pointed, then sucked in his breath. "It looks like a rope made of sheets. And below- Christ, I think that dark blob is Amy huddling on a ledge."
Catherine gasped and broke away from Michael to run to the house. At the foot of the wall, she called in a trembling voice, "Amy, is that you?"
"Mama!" The dark shape wavered. For a horrified instant Catherine thought her daughter was about to fall. Then t
he girl leaned back against the wall. "I… I'm stuck here."
Michael came to Catherine's side. "Keep your voices down!" Softly he went on, "It's Colonel Kenyon, Amy. Are you uninjured?"
"Yes, sir." There was a muffled sniff. "I was trying to escape."
"Brave girl. Stay where you are and I'll come get you."
"How can you do that?" Catherine asked, her throat tight.
Michael unlashed the rope. "I'll go up that tree on the corner. From there, I can throw a loop of rope over that stone thing under the roof and swing to Amy's ledge. Then I'll bring us down." He undid the sword and laid it on the ground.
She stared upward, barely able to see Amy, much less the "stone thing." There was a special horror in having Amy so close, yet in such danger. She said tightly, "Be careful."
He touched her shoulder for a moment. "I always am." Then he went to the tree and began climbing.
Catherine watched her daughter, so frightened she could scarcely breathe. Though Michael had made the rescue sound easy, she knew how perilous it would be. The rope might break, the stone thing might fail, someone might see them.
The two people she loved most were at risk, and all she could do was pray.
A strange cry brought Haldoran from his sleep. Not a gull, or any other form of local wildlife. He rose and went to his window. It was dawn. Time to get up, breakfast, and return to Bone. He looked forward to the day's hunt.
He saw a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to look more closely. What the devil?
A dark shape swooped recklessly across the wall, halting about halfway to the ground. Kenyon! And that was Catherine on the ground, the pale oval of her face tilted upward. Damnation. Not only had the pair of them somehow escaped Bone, but they had the audacity to come to Ragnarok.
The slowly increasing light enabled him to see that there was a second, small figure beside Kenyon. Amy. It looked like the brat had been trying to escape. She was as untrustworthy as her mother. Now he'd have to dispose of her as well.
Swiftly he turned and pulled his bell. He was already half dressed when Doyle appeared sleepily. "Get the other men up and dressed, and have them bring their weapons to the front hall now" he barked. "It's time to move in for the kill."
As Michael landed on the ledge by Amy, he said in a conversational tone, "What happened?"
"I made a rope of sheets and it broke." She wiped her smudged face with the back of her hand. "I managed to jump to this ledge, but I couldn't go either up or down."
"Have you been here long?"
"Forever!" Her voice quivered. "Last night Lord Haldoran told me Mama was dead, so, I decided I must escape to find out if he was telling the truth."
The bastard. Michael muttered an oath that he should not have used in the presence of a child. Haldoran must be in the house, which made their situation even more perilous. Concealing his concern, he said calmly, "As you can see, he was lying."
"I could kill him for what he said!" There was nothing childlike in her voice.
"I'll do my best to kill him for you."
As he tested the line, she asked, "Why are you with Mama?"
Michael thought quickly to come up with an edited form of the truth. "Your mother was nervous about visiting Skoal. Since we're friends, she asked me to come with her."
Amy accepted that without comment.
He continued, "The fastest way down is for you to ride piggyback. It will be scary. Can you do it?"
She nodded vigorously. "Whatever it takes to get down!"
With a smile, he turned and crouched so she could mount. Though her slim body was icy cold, she wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly. "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
He stepped from the ledge, Amy clinging like a monkey. The wind whipped at them, making the rope sway, and Amy's weight drastically unbalanced him. The slow descent became a test of pure strength, a resource that was in perilously short supply after days of virtually nonstop exertion. One hand at a time. Then another. Keep it smooth so Amy won't be jarred off. By the time his feet touched the ground, his palms were raw and his arms shaking with strain.
"Mama!" Amy jumped free and hurled herself into her weeping mother's arms.
Michael leaned against the wall and drew deep, shuddering breaths as he watched their reunion. What would it be like to experience such tender mutual love? He hoped Amy realized how lucky she was. It looked as if she did,
He turned and picked up his sword. "Time to be going. Haldoran is here, so we must get away without being seen."
"Yes, sir, Colonel." A wide grin on her face, Amy turned to him, her hand in her mother's. Catherine's face was glowing.
Even Michael allowed himself to feel hopeful as he led his charges away from the house. In a few more minutes, they would be safe. Only a few more minutes…
Chapter 39
Though the sun was rising and objects were clearly visible, Michael didn't try to keep his small party behind cover. Speed was more important than stealth. After they crossed the Neck to Great Skoal, they would be able to disappear into the scrubby bushes, but until then they were vulnerable. He carried the sword in his hand, hoping it wouldn't be needed.
When the sound of crashing waves indicated that they were close to the Neck, he said, "Amy, did you come this way when Haldoran brought you to his house?"
She made a face. "The Neck. It's narrow and scary. I'm glad it's light enough to see the way across."
"Then you know to be careful."
"I will." She tightened her clasp on her mother's hand. "I don't like heights."
Catherine chuckled. "I'm afraid I don't, either, my love."
"Then it's fortunate you won't be crossing," a lazy voice drawled. There was sudden movement in the bushes on both sides of the track. Five men stepped onto the road, swaggering with the confidence of well-armed bullies. Haldoran and Doyle were on the left while the other three convicts stood directly in front of the fugitives, blocking the way to the Neck.
Knowing he had only an instant to act, Michael leaped at the convicts in front of him. His first sword stroke slashed the trigger hand of the man whose jaw he'd broken in their earlier encounter. Without pausing, he spun and stabbed the second convict in the shoulder. As the fellow reeled backward, Michael jerked his blade free and swung on the third convict, chopping deeply into the fellow's thigh. As his victim crumpled to the ground with a howl, Michael yelled, "Run!"
Catherine and Amy bolted through the gap Michael had created and raced onto the Neck. Not wasting a glance after them, he turned to face his opponents.
The first three men hadn't yet recovered, but Doyle was aiming his rifle, murder in his eyes. As the gun blasted, Haldoran struck the flat of his sword on the barrel, sending the ball harmlessly into the earth. "Don't kill him!" he barked. "I want to do that myself."
He stalked forward, his blade raised and ready. The early morning light gleamed on the superb Saracen weapon he had wielded against Michael once before. "That point goes to you, Kenyon. You attacked as quickly as when I caught you and Catherine in the laird's bedroom. I should have remembered the tactic."
"If you weren't an amateur, you would have." Michael backed onto the Neck, watching the other man like a hawk. The eyes would signal the moment and direction of an attack.
Haldoran scowled. "I wish I could take my time, but I'll have to kill you quickly so we can catch Catherine and her brat."
"You'll have to come through me to get them," Michael said flatly. "That may be harder than you think."
"Oh?" Light-footed and eyes gleaming, Haldoran stepped onto the Neck. "I defeated you before and you weren't exhausted then. I know damned well you were goading me when you claimed later you'd let me win. This time, there will be no question of my victory." He lunged with lightning swiftness.
Warned by the flicker of his opponent's eyes, Michael parried. Fatigue had dulled his reflexes, and he barely managed to block the blow in time.
Haldoran responded with
a series of brutally powerful thrusts. The blade glittered Wood red in the rising sun as he slashed forward, nearly breaking through his opponent's guard. As Michael retreated, Haldoran sneered, "That isn't much of a sword. Where did you find it?"
"In a smuggler's cave. It's a standard-issue naval weapon," Michael panted. "A real soldier doesn't need elaborate weapons."
Haldoran struck again. When Michael warded off the blow, he was aided by the gusty wind, which kept his opponent off balance for a moment. Michael took advantage of the brief respite to glance over his shoulder. Catherine and Amy had vanished. Profoundly relieved, he returned his attention to his enemy.
Exhaustion had dulled his wits, his speed, even his desire to survive. The only thing left was the steely core of skill forged in the hardest of schools. Endless drill and more skirmishes and battles than he could remember had taught him to strike, to parry, to lunge, even when his sword seemed too heavy to lift and his muscles trembled with strain.
They fought in grim silence, the ring of their weapons piercing the dark roar of the waves and the occasional cries of gulls. They were both sweating now. Though Haldoran was always on the verge of making a fatal thrust, he never quite succeeded. Somehow Michael's tired arm and leaden feet always managed to parry and withdraw before the other man could strike.
Michael found bleak satisfaction in his modest successes. He would not win this fight. Even if by some miracle he defeated Haldoran, he'd be shot by the waiting convicts. But every moment he endured gave Catherine and Amy more time to escape.
When he fell back another step, Haldoran snarled, "Stand, damn you! Fight like a gentleman, if you know how."
It was an enormous effort to answer, "All I can do is fight like a soldier-to win."
Enraged, Haldoran charged forward. The razor-sharp tip of the Saracen blade grazed Michael's forearm, slicing through the bulky jersey and probing for a vital spot. Hastily Michael retreated-and his right heel landed on open air. The Neck had tightened to its narrowest width, and completing the step would be fatal.
He twisted to the left like an acrobat. The movement saved him from going over the cliff, but he ended sprawling on the edge of the precipice.
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