Michael asked, "Am I specifically excluded?"
"Yes. You'll find out what I have to say soon enough."
Catherine stared at her coddled eggs. Surely the meeting was about the laird's choice of heir. The practical questions she had been avoiding would have to be answered, and soon.
Davin Penrose entered the breakfast parlor and greeted everyone, then helped himself to a cup of tea. Michael asked him, "What is on today's schedule?"
"That depends." The constable took a chair. "Do you know much about cannons, Captain Melbourne?"
"I've had some experience with horse artillery, but I'm no expert."
"You're bound to know more than anyone on Skoal. The island militia is quite efficient—the laird is the colonel, and I'm the captain. Besides muskets, we have two six-pound cannon that were sent to repel Napoleon if he should choose to invade us." Amusement gleamed in his eyes. "A good thing the emperor had other goals in mind, because the government didn't see fit to tell us how to use the blasted things."
Michael laughed. "That's His Majesty's army for you. I take it you want to fire them and need some lessons."
"Aye. Rocks are crumbling from an overhanging cliff in the harbor and endangering the boats moored below. I thought a few rounds of cannon shot might bring the weak bits down without hurting anyone. It would be much appreciated if you could show us how to shoot without killing ourselves."
"I know enough for that." Michael turned to Catherine. "Since you'll be busy, I'll go with Davin. It will take most of the day to condition the guns and train men to use them safely."
"Perhaps I'll come and watch later," she said. "One of the nice things about this island is that you can't go too far away."
He gave her an intimate smile, then left with Davin.
"Come to my study in an hour," the laird ordered. "Clive will be here then." Briskly he wheeled his chair from the room.
Alone in the breakfast parlor, Catherine frowned as she thought about the upcoming meeting. She had not yet decided what to do about Skoal. She no longer needed the inheritance; in fact, the responsibilities that went with the legacy would be burdensome after she and Michael married. Yet she had grown fond of the island and its inhabitants, and she wanted to see them well governed. Her cousin Haldoran seemed too self-absorbed and capricious to be a good laird.
She shrugged her shoulders philosophically. The choice was her grandfather's. If he had already decided in Clive's favor, the matter was out of her hands. But if he had chosen her, she would have to do some hard thinking.
* * *
When Catherine went to the laird's study, her grandfather was behind his desk talking to Haldoran. The men broke off speaking when she arrived. She gave her cousin a courteous smile. "Hello, Clive. I hope your journey to London went well."
He rose politely. His expression changed when he saw her, something hard and angry showing in his eyes. It was gone in an instant, replaced by practiced charm. "An excellent trip. I achieved exactly what I wished."
The laird said, "Sit down, both of you."
Catherine complied. "Grandfather, are you ever polite?"
He gave a bark of laughter. "Can't see the point. There's always a thousand things to do. Why waste time with words?" His humor vanished, replaced by steely command. "You both know why you're here. Clive, I've decided to make Catherine my heir. You're capable and you've known the island longer, but your interests lie elsewhere. I think Catherine and her husband will do better by Skoal."
A few days earlier, she would have been limp with relief to hear that. Now her feelings were more complex. She felt honored, and a little trapped. She gave a sidelong glance at her cousin. Haldoran's face was rigid, rather like the time Michael had proved himself to be a better shot. However, his voice was smooth when he said, "You're quite sure this is what you wish?"
"When have you known me to be indecisive? Yesterday my solicitor came from the mainland to change my will in Catherine's favor." The laird tapped a sheaf of papers. "I have a copy here. I want you both to read it so there will be no surprises when I'm gone."
"Your desire for clarity is admirable, Uncle. What a pity that your granddaughter doesn't share it."
His mocking tone made Catherine stiffen with foreboding. The laird snapped, "What the devil is that supposed to mean?"
"I am second to no one in admiration for my beautiful cousin." Haldoran's contemptuous gaze went to Catherine. "However, it is my sad duty to inform you that your only granddaughter is a liar and a whore, and she's been making a fool of you ever since she set foot on the island."
As Catherine froze with horror, her grandfather growled, "Damn you, Clive, you always were a filthy loser. That's one reason I don't want you to have Skoal. Don't think you can change my mind with a parcel of lies."
"It's true I don't like losing, but the lies are all Catherine's," Haldoran said icily. "The real Colin Melbourne died in France in April. Because your greedy little granddaughter feared losing her chance for a fortune, she talked one of her lovers into masquerading as her husband. While you've been debating her worthiness, she's been fornicating and laughing behind your back. Go ahead, ask her to deny it."
The laird's head swung toward Catherine, his face an alarming shade of red. "Is there any truth to what Clive says?"
Her shock and humiliation were tempered with relief that she would not have to lie anymore. Unevenly she said, "It's true that Colin is dead, killed by a Bonapartist. However, I don't have hordes of lovers." Stretching a point, she went on, "Michael is my fiancé. Soon, he will be my husband. I'm truly sorry for deceiving you, Grandfather. It seemed necessary at the time, but every day I've regretted it more."
"You sly little trollop!" Ignoring the latter part of her statement, her grandfather pushed himself to his feet, bracing his trembling hands on the desktop. His eyes burned with rage, and the pain of betrayal. "To think I was ready to trust Skoal to you! Well, you can think again, missy. You're no granddaughter of mine." He pressed one hand to his temple. "G... going to ch... change..."
Alarmed by his intemperance, she exclaimed, "Grandfather, please, calm down! If you want me to go away and never bother you again, fine, but don't make yourself ill over this."
Oblivious to her, he said thickly, "Ch—change my will..." He collapsed, falling forward onto his desk, then crashing heavily to the floor in a cascade of papers and quill pens.
"Dear God!" Catherine raced around the desk and dropped to her knees beside him. He was unconscious, and the left side of his face had gone flaccid. "He's having an apoplectic fit."
"Congratulations, cousin," Haldoran drawled. "Not only did you deceive him, but you've apparently killed him as well."
She shot him a look of furious dislike. "You're equally responsible, cousin. I was going to tell him the truth, but I would have chosen a less inflammatory way of doing it." Her probing fingers found a thready pulse in his throat. "Thank God he's still alive. Ring for a servant to go for help."
Haldoran did not move from the chair where he was lounging. "Why bother? There's no doctor on Skoal. It would take at least half a day to bring one from the mainland, and even then, it's doubtful that a physician could help him."
He was right, blast him. She must do what she could herself. Most of her nursing experience was with men who were wounded or diseased, but several times she had seen apoplectic patients in the field hospitals. She sat back on her heels and tried to remember what kind of treatment they had received. Ian Kinlock had said that bloodletting often helped apoplexy. And if it were done, it should be as soon as possible.
She stood and rummaged in the desk for a penknife. "I'm going to bleed him. Is there some kind of basin here?"
Looking martyred, Haldoran got to his feet and lifted a bowl of roses from a side table. After tossing the flowers into the fireplace, he brought her the bowl. "Here you are, but you're wasting your time. He had a similar attack last year. He came through that one, but I believe a second is usually fatal."
&nb
sp; "Not necessarily." Praying that she was doing the right thing, she knelt by the laird again and rolled his sleeve above the elbow. Then she made a careful nick in the vein. Her grandfather's blood splashed into the bowl as forcefully as if it were coming from an artery.
Clive opened a box on the desk and took out a cigar. "Do you mind if I smoke, cousin?"
"I don't care if you burn! How can you be so callous?"
He found a tinder box in the desk and lit the cigar. "There's nothing I can do, so why flap about like a guillotined chicken? Speaking of chickens, don't count yours before they're hatched. You think you've won because he's already changed his will." He drew on the cigar, then slowly released a mouthful of smoke. "You're wrong. I want the island, I want you, and I intend to have them both."
"You're talking utter rubbish," she said impatiently, her gaze on her grandfather and the slowing stream of blood. "Neither Skoal nor I are trophies to be won."
"Ah, but you are," he said calmly. "When Lord Michael returns, you will tell him to leave the island because you've decided to accept my most flattering offer of marriage. You and I will rule Skoal together, the last feudal monarchs in the British Isles."
She looked up from her grandfather, incredulous. "Send Michael away? You're mad."
"Not at all," he said with the same eerie calm. "You're going to do exactly what I tell you."
His assurance was beginning to unnerve her. "Why the devil should I pay any attention to your ridiculous orders?"
He gave a smile of mocking triumph. "Because I have your sweet little daughter, Amy."
Chapter 29
Catherine stared at her cousin, feeling as if he had struck her a physical blow. "I don't believe you."
"If you want the proof, we can go to Ragnarok. She is comfortably ensconced in one of my best guest rooms with a splendid view of the sea. She quite likes Skoal."
"You're lying," she said through stiff lips. "Amy is safe with friends."
"Not safe enough." Clive sat down and crossed one elegantly booted leg over the other. "Anne Mowbry was reluctant to let me take her without word from you, but the girl was keen to come, and of course I'm the gallant gentleman who conveyed the whole pack of brats to Antwerp last year. How could Anne doubt such a hero?" He pulled a cherry-colored ribbon from his pocket and tossed it at Catherine. It twisted in the air and fell to the carpet to lie like a trail of blood.
She had bought the ribbon for Amy's birthday. The bright shade was so vivid against her daughter's soft, dark hair... Her hands tightened on her grandfather's limp arm. "If you've hurt her, you're a dead man."
"Maternal devotion is such a touching sight." He tapped ash from the end of his cigar. "Don't worry, Amy is quite safe, and doesn't realize yet that she's a prisoner. She thinks I'm going to bring you to Ragnarok so you can be surprised."
She tried to make sense of what was happening. "You knew from the first that the man with me wasn't Colin."
"How could you think I wouldn't recognize someone as prominent as Lord Michael Kenyon merely because we were never introduced? I made it my business to learn about your friends, escorts, and dance partners." His eyes narrowed to slits. "The two of you weren't lovers when you came to the island, but you are now. I knew it the instant you came in that door."
That more than anything else made her realize what a formidable adversary Haldoran was. Like a spider, he had been spinning his web for a long time, watching and waiting. "Why didn't you expose my deception immediately?"
"It was a surprise to find you blandly presenting Lord Michael as your husband, but I was charmed at how well you carried it off. You and I are much alike, cousin. What were our privateer ancestors but legal pirates? Blood will tell."
She would rather be related to a scorpion. "If you want the island, I'll sign it over to you if the laird dies. That's only justice, since he doesn't want me to have it anyhow."
"The island is only half," he said gently. "I must have you as well. By marrying you, I will obtain both of my goals."
Clamping down on her fear, she forced herself to organize her thoughts. First, she must care for her grandfather. There was a pint or so of blood in the bowl and the flow had slowed to a normal rate, so she had better end the bleeding.
She used the penknife to cut strips from her petticoat and bandaged the laird's arm. His pulse seemed a bit steadier, but beyond that she had no idea of his condition. She got to her feet and retrieved the blanket that had fallen from the wheelchair, then spread it over her grandfather. Knowing that even a doctor could probably do no more for him, she stood and gave her cousin her full attention. "Michael will never allow you to get away with whatever mad scheme you've devised."
"Your lover is a capable man, but no match for me. Come over here. I've something to show you."
Wondering what new blow he had in store, she joined him at the window. He gestured at a carriage waiting in the courtyard. Two villainous-looking servants sat nearby, idly dicing. "I recruit my best employees from Newgate Prison, so they are even more dangerous than they appear. I have two more of similar stamp at Ragnarok. They've all committed murder, and will happily do so again if I wish. Four armed men, plus myself, are a rather small army, but it's large enough to rule Skoal. Your dashing former officer would have no chance."
Horror increased to nightmare proportions. "Are you saying you'll kill Michael if I don't send him away?"
"I've waited a long time for you, cousin. I don't intend to wait any longer." He cocked his head. "Did you really persuade Kenyon to marry you, or did you say that to mollify the laird?"
"No persuasion was required," she said stiffly.
"Quite a coup for someone whose birth and fortune are so inferior to his. A fine example of the power of beauty." He exhaled, the smoke wreathing diabolically around his head. "If you have any fondness for Kenyon, send him away. Having killed your husband, I will certainly not hesitate to kill your lover."
Stunned, Catherine swayed against the wall, on the verge of fainting. "It was you who murdered Colin?"
"Yes, though as a hunter I didn't take much pride in the kill. The average fox is harder to catch. He was too drunk to care when I shot him in the back." Haldoran smiled sardonically. "Surely you aren't going to claim you loved that fornicating oaf. You're a good liar, but not that good."
The horror was almost unbearable. Dear God, Colin, with his courage and brash good nature, was dead because of her. He had survived a decade of war only to be murdered by a madman. Haldoran was evil, evil!
And he held the lives of her loved ones in his hands. A lifetime spent with soldiers made her understand how five armed and ruthless men could terrorize a whole community, and she knew in her bones that if Haldoran and his killers began to run amok, they would not want to stop. Brutality bred further brutality.
She thought of the horrors she had seen in Spain, and closed her eyes, nauseated. For the sake of Michael and Amy and the islanders, she must go along with Haldoran, at least for now.
In the distance, a cannon blasted. Michael's artillery project. A second shot boomed across the island. The familiar battlefield sound made her thoughts go cold and clear. Haldoran had said that beauty was power. That gave her one frail weapon against him. That and her wits, which most men overlooked because they were dazzled by her face and form.
She opened her eyes, sweeping her lashes upward with provocative deliberation. "I underestimated you, Clive. I had thought you a bit of a dandy, all style with no substance. You are stronger and bolder than I thought."
For all his boasted cleverness, he was not immune to flattery. "You are coming to terms with the new order very quickly," he said, preening slightly. "Women are such practical creatures. In time, you'll be grateful for my taking charge of your life. I am richer and far more interesting than Kenyon."
"I'm already beginning to see the advantages," she agreed. "My grandfather keeps a brandy decanter here, doesn't he? Pour me some. It's time for plain speaking."
He bowed wi
th ironic respect, then turned to obey. She took advantage of the brief respite to sit down and order her near-hysterical thoughts. She must learn Clive's intentions; she must protect Amy and Michael; most of all, she must buy time. That meant she must become the liar Haldoran thought her. She had convinced the world she was an adoring wife for more than a decade, and she had successfully hidden her love from Michael. Her skill in dissimulation must be called on again.
Haldoran returned and gave her one of the two glasses he carried. She waved him to a seat. "You say you want both Skoal and me. Why? The island is remote and not rich, and while I am beautiful, there are other women of equal beauty."
"I am a collector of objects that are rare and matchless. Granted, Skoal is not valuable compared to the rest of my holdings, but its feudal nature is unique. On Skoal, the laird has more authority than King George himself. The prospect of holding such power is irresistible. As for you..." His gaze traveled over her, dark and covetous. "You underestimate your looks as much as you underestimate my cleverness. There is not a man in the world who will not envy me for possessing you. It was revolting to see you wasted on a boor like Melbourne."
She shrugged, and started the most cold-blooded lying of her life. "At the time my parents died, Colin was the best choice. I suppose I could have left him to become a rich man's mistress, but such positions are precarious. Marriage and reputation are a woman's best protections." She sipped her brandy, and prayed that he would accept her next condition. "Which is why I will not allow you into my bed until after we are wed."
His eyes darkened. "You slept with Kenyon."
"Not until he had offered for me." She pursed her lips. "Perhaps I should have waited, but I wanted to attach him more securely. He's the honorable sort, which means that he would never have broken a betrothal after promising marriage and lying with me. I wouldn't have done it if I had realized the extent of your interest, cousin. You should have spoken sooner."
A slow smile curved Haldoran's lips. "I always knew that under your saintly facade beats a heart of pure brass. We shall deal very well together"—he scanned her face with dangerous shrewdness—"as long as you don't think you can deceive me with the pretense of cooperation. Here on the island, my little army makes me invincible. If you betray me, it will be simple to dispose of you and make it look like an accident on the cliffs. I will do it in an instant if you make it necessary."
Shattered Rainbows: Book 5 in the Fallen Angels Series Page 27
