TO CATCH A WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  She was speaking to Mrs. Gottschalk, her back to the ballroom doors, when the murmur of many voices swelled to the buzzing of a disturbed hive of bees. The music lurched to a halt. Cecily paused in her solemn speech and turned around.

  Niall Munroe stood in the doorway, mud-splattered and dressed as if he had arrived straight from the wilderness, which very likely he had. At his shoulder stood the red-haired creature Caitlin, as bedraggled as he.

  Cecily shrank in on herself as if she could hide from the gaze that raked the crowd. Voices lifted in question, but no one approached Niall. He exuded violence like a rabid dog.

  "Does he know?" someone whispered behind her.

  "Why would he be here if he did not? Look at his face!"

  "The poor man…"

  "He must have known she was mad."

  Oh, he knew; of that Cecily was certain. He had concealed Athena's lunacy behind a mask of propriety and dependence. And he also knew that she was missing. He had surely been to the house and spoken to the servants.

  Cecily tried to breathe and felt her corset tighten about her chest. She should be well prepared for this moment. She knew what she ought to do. She would appear all the more heroic if she placed herself at Niall's disposal before he came in search of her.

  But her feet would not carry her. Niall scanned each corner of the room, and at last his gaze fell upon her.

  He moved like a man bent upon murder. Cecily braced for attack.

  "You let her go," he snarled, oblivious of several hundred pairs of eyes. "Where is she?"

  Cecily drew upon her dignity and clasped her hands in an attitude of deep concern. "Mr. Munroe. I understand why you are upset. I am sure this has been quite a shock. If only I had been able to reach you." She would not ask him to find a more private place to talk. She wanted the safety of witnesses.

  "I trusted you to watch her!" he shouted. "You let her go… you always wanted her out of the way, didn't you?"

  A woman exclaimed in frightened tones. "He is as mad as she!" another cried.

  "Mr. Munroe," Mr. Osborn said, moving to Cecily's defense. "Please lower your voice. There are ladies present, and this is not the time or place to—"

  Niall struck out and sent the man staggering back. Caitlin caught his arm and hung on as fiercely as a bulldog. A wave of motion rippled outward from the disturbance as ladies and gentlemen scurried away.

  "It is not… it is not what you think," Cecily said. "She attacked me. She threatened me with serious harm. The servants took her part against me. I had no choice but to allow her to leave. Of course I contacted the police immediately, but… your sister is not well, Mr. Munroe. You must believe I would never have willingly let her go."

  "She attacked you? Athena?" He laughed. "You're lying."

  She flushed. "You are distraught. You know she is able to walk. Her strength is greater than it appears. She was determined to go after her lover—the murderer Morgan Holt."

  A fresh swell of exclamations followed, but Niall's wild glance imposed silence once more. He loomed over Cecily. "He has not come here?"

  "Here?" Cecily shuddered. "But I thought you—" She bit her lip. "I warned you about him. You said that you would deal with him yourself!"

  He seized her upper arms and shook her. "If anything has happened to my sister—"

  "But nothing has, Niall," a hoarse voice said from across the room. "Not in the way you mean."

  Chapter 23

  Cecily felt her knees begin to buckle. A figure draped in oversized trousers and shirt walked down the open path the crowd had made for Niall's entrance. Athena's approach was not nearly so violent, but every eye turned to her and the silence became even more profound.

  Athena's face was white, her hair a rat's nest, her breathing ragged. But she stood before her brother as if she were the taller and more powerful, capable of felling him with a single blow.

  "Athena!" Caitlin exclaimed.

  "Athena," Niall stammered. "You are… Where have you been?"

  His attempt to regain control of the situation failed miserably. Athena stared up at him, unblinking.

  "Did you kill my mother?"

  Niall's mouth fell open. She showed him no mercy. "I know you were responsible for her disappearance just after I was born. Did you kill her?"

  Cecily had never seen Niall turn white as he did now. "Athena, what are you doing?"

  "I am seeking the truth." She smiled, a look that sent a chill down Cecily's spine. "It's too late to worry about my reputation now, isn't it? I am sure that Cecily has told everyone what they didn't already know." The smile vanished. "Tell me."

  "Athena… you don't understand." He looked about as if for support and found only one gaze that would meet his. Caitlin Hughes stepped up beside him. It was a measure of how far he had fallen that he seemed to take comfort in her presence.

  "I did not kill her," he said in a firmer voice. "I drove her away. I had to. She was ruining our father's life, and she would have ruined yours. I tried to save you."

  "To save me," she whispered, "or yourself? Are you that afraid of me?"

  Niall's face darkened in fury. "Who told you about your mother?" he demanded. He swung on Caitlin. "Was it you?"

  "No." Athena glanced at Caitlin with a remote gentleness in her eyes. "Morgan told me. You thought he was dead, didn't you? You believed you'd killed him. But you didn't succeed, Niall. He deceived you. And I found him."

  The expression on Niall's face transformed from consternation to contempt in a handful of seconds. "You… you have been with him, haven't you? Turning against your own family, your own kind… Lying with him like any whore, just like your mother—"

  A blur of motion was all Cecily saw before Niall crashed onto his back on the ballroom floor. The blur resolved into another man, barefoot and wearing only a calf-length greatcoat. He stood over his fallen victim with teeth bared and eyes ablaze.

  Morgan Holt. Morgan Holt had come. Those terrible eyes turned from Niall, rested briefly on Athena, and fixed unerringly upon Cecily.

  With a mindless shriek, Cecily turned and fled.

  Athena watched her go, feeling nothing, just as she suffered no regret or embarrassment under the horrified and titillated stares of those she had once called friends. All the emotions that had driven her for the past hours—rage, confusion, terror—had deserted her; it was as if she stood at the eye of a tornado, hearing it howl about her while she remained untouched.

  It was a way of protecting herself from hurt, just as she had made a fortress of her lameness and the chair that restricted her freedom. From the chair she had watched the world go by, seeking to affect it while remaining unaffected, a serene goddess of mercy and charity who had forgotten what it was to be human.

  She had run to Denver to demand the truth of Niall, and all the while she had been running away from the truth of her heart. The truth she was still afraid to feel. Because of her weakness Niall lay sprawled on the polished floor, waiting for a mortal blow. As Morgan waited to give it.

  Morgan had followed her. She should have known he would. She should have known he'd endanger himself to protect her from her brother… and take his revenge.

  He had looked at Athena but once since she had entered the room—met her gaze like a stranger, as emotionless as she. The man she had loved was gone, replaced by a coldblooded killer. And only she could stop him.

  She, and Caitlin. The equestrienne knelt beside Niall at the same instant Athena placed herself between Morgan and her brother.

  "You cannot hurt him, Morgan," Athena said. "You know you can't."

  The stranger's merciless eyes hardly touched upon hers. "He will destroy you, as he destroyed your mother."

  "He did not kill my mother," she said. "He drove her away, but he says he didn't kill her. I believe him."

  Though she had not lifted her voice, Morgan flinched as if she had struck him. The frightening, alien mask dropped away, replaced by naked pain. Pain that cut through her own detachment
and left her raw and defenseless.

  "You believe him," Morgan said. He looked down at Niall and took a step back, his muscles loosening from their posture of threat. "You still trust him."

  "Yes, Athena. You must trust me." Niall got to his knees, his attention on Morgan. "I know the truth about this man. He is a convict and a murderer." He raised his voice to reach the farthest corners of the ballroom. "Morgan Holt killed his own father."

  A collective gasp rose from the onlookers. Several women appeared on the verge of swooning, and no few of the men looked about for possible weapons. Athena ignored them all. Morgan's anguished eyes had become her world.

  "It is true," he said, speaking only to her. "I killed my father. I served nine years in prison. And I would have murdered your brother to protect you." He held up his hands and turned them palm up, flexing his fingers into fists. "Maybe he speaks the truth. I am a killer at heart. You were right to leave me."

  Like a dam bursting under the weight of a raging spring flood, her heart gave way. Everything she had been holding inside, every doubt, every unbearable image was dislodged by the deluge until she was scoured clean and bright and new.

  "No," she said. "I was wrong. I said I would listen, and trust you, but I was deceiving myself." She glanced at Niall with profound sorrow. "I came after my brother because I couldn't face the one who mattered most. Niall was an enemy I could conquer. My feelings for you were not. I was afraid that Niall was right, and that I had loved a murderer. I would rather have lost you forever than find such a crippling flaw within myself."

  Morgan shook his head. "The only flaw is in me."

  Athena held out her hand. Morgan gazed at it, unmoving. She kept her hand in place, fingers extended, offering him the forgiveness he refused to permit himself.

  "I will tell you what I believe," she said. "I believe that whatever crime you committed was done only because you had no other choice. I believe that you paid in full for your mistakes. I believe that there is great good in you, Morgan Holt, and someone must make you see it."

  "You're the only one who can," Caitlin said, restraining Niall with a hand on his shoulder. She gave him an apologetic glance and lifted her voice to address the crowd. "Morgan has had two chances to kill Mr. Munroe, and he could easily have escaped. But it was Niall who left Morgan for dead in the mountains. Morgan chose to feign death rather than be forced to kill his enemy."

  "As he was forced to kill his father."

  Athena turned toward the cultured tenor voice, recognizing it at once. Very little had the power to shock her now, and all she felt was gratitude and heartfelt joy as Ulysses Marcus Aurelius Wakefield and Harry French walked into the ballroom.

  A distant part of her mind acknowledged how out of place they seemed in this glittering company—Harry in his loud waistcoat and red jacket, Ulysses a golden-haired mannequin of a Southern gentleman. But they were her family as these wealthy, distinguished people could never be. They were showmen, professional charlatans, and yet they were the most honest of all. She loved them only a little less than she loved Morgan. And they were here to save him.

  Ulysses paused in the center of the room, standing as tall as his stature permitted. He did not wear the protective robes and anonymity of the Little Professor. He was entirely exposed to the fascinated distaste of those who should have been his peers, and Athena knew how difficult it must have been for the gentle man who had been cast out of his own elite world.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "I see that Mr. French and I have arrived at a most propitious moment. We are members of French's Fantastic Family Circus, who have recently been in the employ of Miss Athena Munroe." He executed a bow in her direction. "I am Ulysses Marcus Aurelius Wakefield, and the gentleman beside me is Harold B. French. We have observed the events that have recently occurred involving Miss Munroe, Mr. Munroe, and Mr. Holt. It is now necessary to clarify statements that the latter two gentlemen have made with regard to Mr. Holt's more distant past."

  Morgan took a sharp step toward Ulysses. "No."

  Ulysses lowered his gaze. "I regret breaking a confidence, my dear friend, but it must be done."

  Turning her back on Niall, Athena went to stand beside Morgan. She took his hand in hers. The tendons below his knuckles stood out like steel cords. She held him all the more tightly.

  "It is true," Ulysses said, "that Morgan Holt committed patricide, a most heinous crime among civilized peoples. Mr. Holt was tried and convicted and spent many years in prison. If it had not been for a single witness in his favor, he would have been sentenced to death. He neither defended himself nor attempted to escape, though he had many opportunities to do so during his incarceration." He met Morgan's gaze again. "I made it my business to learn all I could of the circumstances of this affair. I know the truth behind the tragedy."

  The ballroom might as well have been empty in its absolute silence. Heads topped by gleaming tiaras and meticulously pomaded hair turned from Ulysses to Morgan.

  He stared at the floor and closed his eyes. His protest was so soft that Athena felt rather than heard it.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Ulysses said, "Morgan Holt's father left his wife, son, and daughter in California to seek a fortune in mining when Morgan was but a lad of thirteen. He promised to return but did not. His family was compelled to fend for itself with no source of income, until Morgan determined to go after his father and bring him home.

  "He was fourteen when he left his mother and sister. I will not relate all the tribulations that he was forced to overcome in his journey, or how his childhood was lost before he attained the age of fifteen years. But when he reached Colorado Territory and found his father at last, he had learned how to hate."

  "Morgan," Athena murmured, resting her forehead on his shoulder. "Oh, my love."

  "The claim his father had staked in the mountains was poor," Ulysses went on, "but Aaron Holt would not give it up. He refused to return to his family, no matter how his son tried to persuade him. His lust for wealth was greater than his love. And so he and his son quarreled bitterly, and Morgan departed with many harsh words and an even greater despair.

  "Many months later he returned and found his father again. But Aaron Holt had changed. He had fallen prey to men who make their living from cheating and theft, and they had left him—" Ulysses paused. "I beg your pardon, ladies, but what I am about to relate is not for delicate ears. You may wish to leave the room before I continue."

  No one stirred. Morgan heard the faint shuffle of slippered feet, the rush of breath from a hundred throats, the creaking of corsets as women shifted for a better view of him. He heard the steady beat of Athena's heart and felt her warmth along his side. But Ulysses's voice had become a drone, a meaningless jumble of words that had no power to describe what had happened on that terrible day in the Colorado mountains.

  It had been sunny, an unusually warm late spring afternoon. But Morgan scarcely felt the sun and balmy breezes, nor noticed the riot of wildflowers growing fat and lush on the hillsides and in the meadows.

  All he could see was Aaron Holt—not the hearty, stubborn man he had left in such anger, but a wasted, hollow-eyed invalid who was more of a stranger to Morgan now than he had ever been. He lay against a boulder at the heart of his claim, stinking in soiled clothes and lying in his own waste.

  Morgan knew that he was dying.

  "They tried to jump my claim," Aaron Holt said, his voice like a rusty hinge. "The thieving bastards. I fought 'em. Didn't…" He coughed, and the motion jarred his gangrenous leg.

  It was a miracle that he could speak at all. Morgan could smell the poison, the swift rotting of flesh. The smell of death—lingering, painful death.

  "They were scared enough not to come back," Aaron whispered. "But… they left me with a memento." He gestured at his seeping left leg, deep bronze and purple with infection, no longer recognizable as living tissue. The original wound had been lost in the swelling.

  Aaron was skeletal from lack of food, hal
f-delirious with fever. The first thing Morgan had done was bring him water and try to make him eat the jerky and day-old bread he'd brought, but his father had pushed it aside untouched.

  "I'll find a doctor," Morgan said, half-afraid that Aaron Holt would not be alive when he returned. But his father laughed, a sound more dreadful than weeping, until tears ran down his cheeks.

  "I'm dying," he said. "Can't eat, can't sleep. My leg is rotting. No doctor can save me now." He shook his head at Morgan's mute denial. "I wouldn't go to town… when there was some chance for me. Now all I can do is—" He stopped, and he looked at Morgan with such desperation that Morgan's eyes filled with tears. "I know I haven't… been much of a father to you, boy. I know you hate me. I reckon you don't owe me any favors. But now I've got to ask you one." He drew in a deep breath and let it out again with a rattling wheeze. "I hurt, boy. Can't take it no more. Don't have the strength to end it myself. You got to do it for me."

  Morgan heard the words, but it took him several minutes to understand. End it. His father wanted him to end his misery, and there was only one way to do that.

  "I've… got a gun, hidden under those rocks," Aaron said. "All it takes… is one bullet, boy."

  "No." Morgan stepped back, stumbled on a stone, caught his balance again. "I won't do it."

  "You got to. You got to, boy. I'll be dying another week, and I can't…" He coughed again and sank back against the boulder. "I'm beggin' you. Please—"

  After that Aaron Holt was quiet for a time, exhausted by his efforts to talk. Morgan tried to make him drink, but his father refused every attempt to help. That evening, Morgan made a fire and covered his father with all the blankets he could find. During the long night, Aaron dreamed. He wept and shouted and screamed in agony, and Morgan could smell the rot spread, inch by inch, eating Aaron's body from within.