Stormfire

by Christine Monson

  "You may not. You may hold down little else, but you'll digest this dish of crow if it kills you." He changed tack abruptly. "What did Flynn have to say? There was some emergency at the clinic and he lit out like a smoked hornet . . . unless," he added sarcastically, "he was tempted to oblige your invitation?"

  "Abuse me if you want; I can hardly stop you, but if you have any decency, spare Doctor Flynn your insinuations."

  He snapped the door open. "The sorrel gelding is yours."

  Under a gray November sky, the riders idled on their mounts, a perfectly turned-out Lady Duneden gracefully perched on Numidian's glossy back. Acknowledging the greetings of the other riders, Catherine walked to her mount. Sean perfunctorily gave her a foot up to the saddle and she swayed, fighting a wave of dizziness. Not looking at her face, he caught up the reins and thrust them into her hands, then turned to his own horse.

  "How delightful that you're able to join us, Miss Flynn," Duneden's warm, melodic voice stroked her. "None of us will ever forget your lovely concert last night. I'd give anything to play so well." When Catherine did not answer, she added, "But I suppose you hear this sort of praise often."

  Catherine turned with an effort. "I'm sorry. You must think me rude. You're most kind."

  "No, not rude," the redheadsaid thoughtfully. "Are you quite sure you feel like riding today, my dear?"

  Sean, giving his cinch a jerk, threw Catherine a warning look. She stared him in the eye, then answered the Irishwoman. "I've been so closely confined of late, my lady, that

  a breath of freedom is somewhat overwhelming. I wouldn't miss this ride for the world."

  They set out across the lawn at an easy trot. The gelding lacked Numidian's satin gait, but with some effort, Catherine was able to adjust a post to absorb the jar. Luckily, the party was in a lazy mood, content to keep an easy pace. Soon, however, the brisk weather made the horses impatient to be let out. She managed fairly well for a while; then, her legs lacking their former strength, the pace became increasingly difficult. The injured side aching badly, she lagged behind. Lady Ellen dropped back. "Forgive me, Miss Flynn. In my absorption with Mr. Culhane's superb gift, I've neglected everyone." At Catherine's puzzled look, Ellen smiled. "You'd not yet joined us when Sean presented me with this stallion. His name is Numidian. Isn't he wonderful?"

  "Yes . . . he's wonderful."

  Ellen guided the stallion closer. "My dear, I realize it's none of my affair, but you're deathly pale. May I see you home?"

  Catherine was silent for a moment, then answered quietly, "Numidian has found a good mistress. You're very kind, my lady, but I cannot go home. Please don't disturb yourself. I'll rejoin you in a moment."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure."

  Ellen galloped ahead and reined in by Sean. "Darling, I think we should go back. Miss Flynn is ill; I'm sure of it."

  "The young lady's no mean actress, Ellen. She's polished her skills on far less trusting people than you."

  "But, why?"

  "To gain sympathy. She's made a virtual profession of it. She'd gull the devil to get her way."

  Ellen frowned. "Are you saying her illness is contrived?"

  "Was the Trojan horse full of sweetmeats?"

  Duneden quickened her gait to match Sean's. "You seem to know her rather well," she said calmly.

  "She lives not two miles away. Why shouldn't I know her?"

  Duneden arched a russet brow. "Carnally?"

  "I'd sooner lie with a cobra."

  "I think you're exaggerating. I offered to take her home, but she refused."

  "Why not? She's having a field day. You're clucking over her like a mother hen."

  "If you're wrong, she might be injured. She can hardly stay in the saddle,"

  Sean snorted. "Our Miss Flynn has led you a dance! The wench rides like a cossack." He wheeled Mephisto away. "Wait here."

  Sagging in the saddle, Catherine had dropped far behind, unable to endure a pace faster than a walk. Then, with a prick of fear, she straightened as a tall horseman left the group ahead and pounded across the stubbled field. Cleanly the rider cleared the stone wall where she had relived Elise Enderly's nightmarish death.

  Sean's fury rose. The English bitch sat the slab-nosed gelding like the queen of England. Let her stiff-necked pride be crushed; if she thought the misery of the Irish so amusing, let her squirm on the enemy pike as they did. "Well, Miss Snivel," he sneered as he reined in with a clatter of rocks, "you have Ellen believing you're at death's door. God knows you look the part, but if you think I'll let you play your tricks on her, you're grievously in error. Get that nag moving! Do you believe me idiot enough to let you drift blithely off to Donegal Town?"

  "I cannot—"

  "I don't want to hear it! I'm sick of your whining. Even the sight of you alive sickens me."

  She lost her straightness then and seemed to-huddle against the wind. "You want me dead so much?"

  His green eyes slanted wickedly. "How could I not weary of maintaining your carcass like stinking carrion? For all your rottenness, madam, you once had courage. Now you mewl about everything. You're afraid of your own shadow." He whipped the big stallion around. "Are you coming or do I have to tie you over the nag's back?"

  Her lips twisted slightly. "I'm simply offering you a chance to stay upwind." Scowling, he kicked Mephisto into a gallop. In a moment, he cleared the wall.

  Catherine patted the gelding's neck. "We can make it, my bucko, if you do your part. Just keep moving after we touch ground, because I'll only be able to hang on. Then you must take me home. Come, sweet."

  Sean slowed to a trot. The wench would be forever coming around the barricade if she kept to her current pace. Then, distantly, he heard the gelding scratch into a hard gallop. She could not be fool enough to try to outrun him? Then he had a growing fear that she had no such intention. He twisted in the saddle, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. "Kit! No! That horse won't. . ."

  The gelding and rider seemed to float into the air, rising perfectly to hang impossibly suspended. Then the horse's hind hooves blended with the wall, and the illusion crumbled. As if smashed by a massive hand, Catherine hurtled forward and her foot caught in the sidesaddle stirrup. The gelding screamed on impact, rolled on the inert bundle that lay on the ground, then heaved its bulk upward and stumbled away, reins dragging.

  Sean cleared the distance to her in moments, sliding out of the saddle and running before his horse skidded to a halt. She lay face down, a hand outflung by her cheek. She might have been asleep, but for the odd angle of her foot. "Kit?" Icy with apprehension, he knelt and turned her over with infinite care. Her lashes flickered against her bloodied face. "Kit? Can you hear me?"

  Her eyes opened, confused and filled with pain. Her lips moved, and as he touched them, she whispered against his finger?, "Daggers . . . shining." She choked with an ominous, bubbling sound. "I . . . cannot breathe."

  A stain was spreading under her breast and he began to undo the jacket buttons. "Hush, baby, don't try to talk anymore."

  With an effort, she turned her head toward the wall and he heard a bewildered whisper. "There's . . . nothing there." Then she coughed blood. The pain crushed her and let her go.

  Sean dropped his ear to her heart and heard nothing. Fingers shaking, he tore open her clothing. Yards of tight bandage encased her chest and he paled, remembering flinging her against the desk. Praying she had not suffocated, he fumbled for his knife and slit the bandage. The linen peeled back, revealing a narrow, blue-white sliver of bone protruding through her side, a bubble of blood forming where it emerged. A scream rising in his brain, he groped for her wrist. He felt a dim, erratic throbbing and cradled her. Alive. Still alive. Dimly becoming aware he was not alone, he looked up to see Ellen. Two of the other riders were closing quickly.

  "How bad is it?" she asked gently. In the years she had known Sean, she had thought him incapable of fear; now, terror leaped from his eyes.

  "Kit's hurt." H
e touched the girl's face, trying gingerly to wipe away the blood, but his hands trembled so that the dirt smeared. Ellen quickly dismounted and gave him a handkerchief. He dabbed awkwardly at the pale face turned to his chest. "She's alive," he muttered distractedly. "I have to get her home."

  "Shall I fetch a wagon?" Ennery asked, sitting his horse a few feet away. His companion, feeling uneasily sick, pressed a gloved hand to her lips.

  "There's not time," Sean answered flatly. Carefully, he gathered Catherine in his arms and got to his feet. Her head lolled back over his arm and a blood-streaked hand dangled limply. He looked at them. "Go back to the house. Tell Flynn to be ready for surgery."

  "But he's—" Ennery began.

  "Find him!"

  "He'll be there," Ellen said quietly.

  Sean turned toward Shelan and started walking.

  "Take one breath at a time, little one, just as I'm taking one step at a time, and I'll get you home," Sean muttered. "Live, even if it's just to spit in my eye. Fight me . . . Mother of God, you've all the brawn of a feather. How is it I could never beat you down? You showed me, though, didn't you, girl? You'd have made it; only you were already broken and the horse was no damned good. Kit. . . oh, Kit. Rest and let me do your fighting for a while."

  A small, silent gathering waited on the terrace as Sean, with a fatigue that had not yet reached his mind, stumbled across the lawn. Ennery and Flynn went out with a blanket to meet him. "Let us give you a hand. Wrap her in this."

  Like a blind man, he continued past them. I need to hold you a little longer, just a little. Believing you're alive. I don't want to know. Death is forever. Stay warm and asleep in my arms. Don't leave me.

  "Sean. Sean!"

  He became aware of Flynn gripping his shoulder. "What do you want?"

  "We've made a place ready in the messroom."

  "Not there."

  "I can't use a bed. I have to have a firm surface for surgery, and from her color, I'd say it had better be fast. Don't argue!" Flynn snapped, his anger giving up.

  Sean laid his burden down on the appointed table and stood like a zombie while Flynn made a quick examination. When the older man looked up, his eyes were the color of steel. "What possessed you to put a girl with broken ribs on a horse, much less goad her to take a jump? I know you threatened her! She was in pain. She'd never have gone voluntarily."

  "Is she dead?" Sean asked hoarsely.

  "Not yet," Flynn said curtly, "but that punctured lung alone makes surgery pointless. With any luck, she'll never regain consciousness."

  "If anything can be done, you're going to do it, or so help me

  "You'll what? Blow out my brains? I should think you'd have had enough of threats for one day!" Flynn headed for the door.

  Sean lunged in front of him. "You took an oath, dammit!"

  A faint moan from the still form behind them abruptly altered Sean's insistence to desperate pleading. "Don't make me have to shoot her like a broken horse. Please!"

  Flynn looked for a long moment into the young man's tormented face. "Have a servant fetch boiling water; it's already on the fire. And more candles. It'll be dark before I finish. Then get back here; I'll need someone to hold her down. You might fetch Ennery, too." Sean spun on his heel and went to carry out the orders. But instead of Ennery, he asked Ellen.

  "Of course, if you think I'm strong enough to hold her."

  "Kit's too weak to put up much of a struggle. I wouldn't ask it, Ellen, but if she sees some man holding her down . . ."

  "I gather you courted your little neighbor rather forcefully," Ellen observed dryly.

  "I raped her," he said bluntly, "then gave her to my men."

  Duneden paled. "Oh, Sean, why? I never believed you could love any woman as you clearly do that girl."

  "She's the English spy who warned Camden of the rebellion. I couldn't ask you to help without knowing the truth."

  "It's you I'll be helping. She can escape pain in unconsciousness; you cannot."

  Sean stood ready to hold down Catherine's shoulders and arms, while Ellen took her ankles. Catherine fought for breath, lips moving in inaudible murmurs, while Flynn cut away her clothes. Sean's eyes had not left her face until Flynn muttered, "Just as I thought, she's well along."

  Looking up, Sean saw the distended belly. And fled. Flynn caught him at the door and spun him around. "Damn you! You were swaggering stud enough to put a child in her; you'd better be man enough to stand by her now." v

  "I didn't know. I didn't," Sean muttered. "But Kit did . . . down in that hole."

  Flynn shook him. "If it'll help you get through today, think of the child as Liam's. I've neither time nor inclination to play your confessor!" Summarily, he pushed Sean back to the makeshift operating table.

  Ellen had swaddled a blanket around the patient to ward off drafts. "That's a bright girl, Ellen. If she takes a chill, she has no chance at all. Let's begin." He began to tap Catherine's chest with a forefinger. "The left lung seems undamaged but the right one is filling. I'll make an incision here and try to stop the bleeding. Keep her completely still. She'll faint quickly enough; then, Ellen, hold the bowl near her head to receive the drainage. Quickly, we must begin. She's awake."

  Catherine's eyelids fluttered as Sean pressed down. "What. . ." Her whisper turned into a scream of agony as the scalpel went into her side. Her eyes went black with pain, widening in terror and shock as she tried frantically to escape Sean's tightening grip. "No . . . no, don't!" The pleading was cut off by another piercing cry and spasmodically she arched against his hands. "Please, merciful God, don't torture me, please!"

  "Kit, don't be afraid. It won't last much longer."

  She whimpered, then convulsed again. "Don't. . . hurt my baby. Please, don't take my baby! . . .Please. . ."Her pleas faded into silence and she lay still. Slowly, his cheekbones jutting under taut flesh, Sean released her and mutely waited, flinching once as Flynn set to work with needle and thread.

  At length, Catherine's struggle for breath seemed to ease. Flynn tapped her chest and listened. "Better. Much better. I want Ellen to stay here, but you leave, Sean. You're as pale as the patient. No, no, go on. You've done your part. I'll be hours yet. Tell someone to relieve Ellen in a bit."

  "That isn't necessary," she said.

  "It won't get any prettier."

  "I've become a veteran nurse of Dublin's hospitals in these past months, doctor. I've seen all there is to see."

  "Very well, then. Sean, for God's sake, get out! You'll not do the lass a favor by staying underfoot."

  It was nightfall by the time Flynn entered the study, wiping his hands with a stained towel, his shirt sleeves still rolled up. "I could use a whiskey, if you're not too drunk to pour me one."

  The young Irishman's tall frame was loosely propped against the mantel. A bottle hung slackly in one hand and a glass listed precariously in the other. He laughed hoarsely. "Drunk? I'm not nearly drunk enough, doctor. I'd have to drink myself to death to get that sodden." He twisted away and dully stared into the fire. "She's dead, isn't she?"

  "Not yet." Flynn looked around. "Have you got another glass?" Without looking at him, Sean held out the bottle. Flynn took it, drank, then sagged into a chair and swigged again. "Well, you were bent on breaking her, boyo, and now she's broken. Three ribs, collarbone, and left leg in two places. Those jagged ribs were like knives. One of Marie Antoinette's gowns couldn't have required more stitches." He dragged at the bottle. "She lost the baby on the table."

  "Then I've murdered her child as well," Sean whispered, "perhaps my own."

  Flynn looked speculative. "Has she had intercourse in the past six months?"

  "No."

  "Then she must have carried the child at least that long. Amazing. The boy that miscarried was an undersized but perfectly formed fetus of nearly four months. I should say it died of insufficient nourishment."

  "Jesus!"

  "Catherine carried a dead child for two months or more that should have mis
carried but didn't, perhaps because she was confined. Inevitably, her system would have been poisoned. Whether her nausea is due to foul prison fare or gradual poisoning, I don't know, but if she hadn't fallen off that horse this afternoon, she'd have died within the month."

  "Because she was afraid I'd take her child."

  "She was sure of it. Probably even thought you might destroy it in a fit of temper."

  Sean threw his glass into the fire. Hardly moving to evade the violent burst of flame from burning alcohol, in its glare he looked like a creature from hell. "Can she be moved?"

  "You mean to a bed? Absolutely not. She's held together by thread and bandages. But she could use a pillow and blankets. That room is freezing without a fire."

  Already on his way out of the room, Sean began to shout orders to the few servants.

  Fires were built in the former messroom's three massive stone fireplaces, the drapes pulled, and the surgical table moved closer to the central fire. Sean carefully swaddled his unconscious charge in blankets and tucked pillows under her head to assist her breathing. Then he sent the others away and began the long night. Hour after hour, he kept vigil alone, rising occasionally to feed the fires, then returning to his place to watch them beat high, weaving weird, staccato patterns on the walls as they undulated in restless, ominous cycles. Outside, the wind mourned in the crags and the servants whispered that the Bean Si, the harbinger of death, was near.

  When the sun's first rays needled through a torn drapery, Catherine yet lived. As the sun climbed and sank, Sean watched her face, retracing its features against the time when they would be shut from his gaze forever. For all his defiance, he believed she would die.

  Ellen came to say good-by, but seeing his haggard face, she smoothed his hair. "Eat something and sleep. You'll be ill."

  He shook his head. "I brought her here, from everything she loved. I cannot leave her alone now."

  "Why not let someone else—"

  "No."

  She went down beside his chair. "Sean, when your Kit awakens she'll need your strength without reserve. I'll call you if there's the slightest change. You can make a place here before the fire." She took his hand. "There'll be time enough later for penance." So, Ellen persuaded him to eat something and lie on a blanket to sleep. She covered him and took his place in the chair to sit gazing at the wasted features of the other woman's face.