Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  “Thomas, well, I suppose I myself must see to his removal since Bernard doesn’t have the guts to. Perhaps I will let him go easily, an accident in his curricle, perhaps. That will do nicely. Yes, Bernard is a coward, when all is said and done.”

  Talk, she had to keep talking, slow down time itself. “What really happened to Marie?”

  “Ah, I forgot that you and Thomas were both there, witnesses to our little drama. It was I who had to string Marie up by her neck after that fool Bernard had killed her when she dished out too many insults on his head—not that he didn’t deserve all her rage—the lazy sod. No, he strangled her, then didn’t have the guts to hang her up. He cried and carried on the whole time. Then when I saw the carriage stop outside the inn, I hit him on the head and left him on the kitchen floor for you to find. Imagine, it was Thomas and his new bride who walked in the inn. I have smiled a bit over that.”

  “You decided to blame it on the Grakers.”

  “That is what Bernard wanted to do. I told him no one could be so stupid as to believe any of that nonsense, but he insisted, said the legends claimed the Grakers hanged their enemies. The next day he was evidently consumed by guilt and got himself blithering drunk, and spewed it all out, luckily only to that wretched stable boy, and he knew he had to escape, and so he did. He came here. I will remove Bernard when all this is done and over.”

  “What happened to the stable lad?”

  Lord Kipper shrugged. “Bernard strangled him and buried him behind the stable, at least that is what he told me. Now, enough, Meggie. It’s time for you to say farewell to this life. Your father is a vicar, a man of God. I assume he raised you in his beliefs. Do you believe in God, Meggie? Do you believe in a splendid afterlife for all those who are worthy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you will have some comfort. Now, I will shoot cleanly this time, and then it will be over.”

  “I don’t believe you. It was you who killed Marie, wasn’t it, not poor Bernard.”

  “No, she pushed him over the edge, finally. Now, you’re trying to distract me, and it is a paltry attempt. It’s over now, Meggie.”

  Meggie stared at that black ugly gun he was lifting in his hand. She couldn’t look away from it. She didn’t want to die, she didn’t. With all her strength, she lunged toward him, her hands out, clutching for that gun. She managed to grab his hand, twisted it upward as he pulled the trigger. It was an immense explosion in that small room. She heard a chunk of the wall explode.

  He slammed her back with his fist. He was cursing her, hitting her again, hard on the jaw, and Meggie knew she was moaning, knew that she was nearly unconscious, pain from her shoulder ripping through her. She was panting, panting, so afraid, and now she watched him through pain-blurred eyes as he walked out of the cottage. He was leaving? No, he was getting Bernard’s gun.

  She tried to rise, but couldn’t, she was just too weak. She lay there, wanting to cry because she’d failed, because all she’d done was just put off the inevitable.

  Too soon, too soon she watched him come back into the room, and in his hand he held not a gun, but some stout string. He was wrapping it around his hands, pulling on it, testing its strength. She didn’t want to be strangled, but now there wouldn’t be a choice.

  He came closer and closer. “Bernard always carries this stout string. He did kill Marie, this is what he likes to do, strangle women.”

  He dropped a knee onto the cot and leaned over her. “Now it’s over,” he said, and lifted her head. She tried to fight him, tried to twist out of the way. She felt the string, knots along its length close around her neck. She was so weak but still she had to try. She was trying desperately to pull the string loose from her neck, jerk his hands away, but it didn’t slow him at all. There was no more strength, none at all now. She felt his hands tightening the string, felt the knots digging into her flesh. Obscene sounds filled the room, gurgling sounds, and she was light-headed, the pain in her neck building and building.

  She couldn’t die, just couldn’t, but there was nothing left now, nothing she could do.

  Then, suddenly the knots weren’t digging so deeply, the string was becoming slack. Meggie opened her eyes to look up at him. His face was a mask of surprise and shock. He huffed out a breath and fell sideways, crashing to the floor.

  Jenny MacGraff stood over him, his empty gun held in her hand. He moaned and both women froze. Jenny very calmly went down on her knees and struck him hard against the temple. When she rose, she said to Meggie, “We’ve won. What a horrible man. Are you all right, my lady?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Her voice was a croak, and she was pulling frantically at the knotted string. She had to get it off her, had to. Her voice was raw, painful, but there was no hope for it. “We haven’t won yet. There is still Bernard. Quickly, Jenny, he’s outside.”

  Jenny nodded and crept toward the door. She opened it, saw Bernard was riding away.

  She turned. “He’s run again,” she said, then walked slowly over to where Lord Kipper lay. She raised her foot and kicked him hard in the ribs.

  “Is he dead?”

  Jenny shook her head. “No. But he should be. I hit him hard enough that second time.”

  “Don’t you end it, Jenny. Let him hang,” Meggie whispered since it hurt so badly. “Yes, let him hang.” Then she held out her hand to Jenny MacGraff. “I am so glad you will be my new sister. Thank you, Jenny. I am Meggie. I would have welcomed you to Pendragon, but that bastard took you first.”

  “How do you feel? Your voice sounds a little bit better, thank God.”

  “Yes, it’s not quite so bad now. Sit here beside me. Thomas will come soon.”

  When Thomas, William, Tysen, and Jeremy arrived a half hour later, bursting through the door into the cottage, they saw Jenny sitting on a narrow dirty cot holding Meggie’s hand. Lord Kipper lay unconscious on the floor, his wrists bound with the knotted string he’d used to strangle Meggie, his shirt ripped off him, the remnants tying his ankles together.

  Thomas walked to the cot, stood there over her, saying not a word until Jenny eased out of the way.

  Meggie smiled, a very big smile, and said, her voice not as raw now, “Jenny saved us. She hit him over the head when he was strangling me.”

  Strangling her. Oh God, he was trembling, he just couldn’t help it. He stood there like a palsied man, trembling, so weak with relief, with gratitude to Jenny MacGraff that he wanted to shout with it.

  Meggie smiled when her father shoved Thomas out of the way, came down to sit beside her on the cot, and held her close. He buried his face in her hair. “My dearest heart, you’re alive. This was too close, Meggie. Far too close. Your voice—that will probably take some time to heal. Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes,” Meggie said, “I’m just fine now,” and she looked toward her husband, who was staring down at her, and that look on his face was one of hunger, immense hunger. “Let me see my husband, Father,” and Tysen smiled, hugged her one last time and went to stand by William, who was holding Jenny tightly against his side, and there was Jeremy, smiling toward her, nodding, and there was gratitude and immense relief in his eyes.

  “Thomas,” she said, everything she felt in her voice, shining on her face. “Please come and hold me.”

  When his arms went around her, when she was pressed against his shoulder, breathing in his scent, when she felt him trembling, she knew everything was going to be all right. She realized in that instant that she felt whole and somehow new. Life was different now because she was different. She saw things in a way she never had before. She knew what was important now, knew it all the way to her soul. It was her husband. It was Thomas. She looked again at Jeremy, saw a man she would like and admire for the rest of her life, her children playing with his, this man, her almost dratted cousin, who cared enough about her to come with her father and Mary Rose to Pendragon.

  He was Jeremy now. He was exactly what he should be.

  She felt Thomas eas
ing her back in his arms, and she smiled up at him, touching her fingertips to his lips, seeing all of him now, seeing the endless love for her in his dark eyes, the fear that he’d almost lost her this one final time. He was hers now, and she wanted him with all her spirit and heart.

  She said, wishing she didn’t still sound so very much like a croaking toad, “My throat will be all right. I’m very sorry that you’ve been so scared for me.”

  He pressed his forehead against hers. “Don’t talk. I don’t want you in more pain.”

  “Believe me, it doesn’t hurt me to tell you how I feel. I have never been more pleased to see anyone in my whole life. When you came bursting through that door, I knew that our life would never be the same again. There would be no more doubts, no more suspicions, you would never again wonder about what your wife thought and felt. I saw you, Thomas, really saw you. I realized that I love you. With all my heart. I love you more than I could ever imagine loving anyone, ever.”

  He hurt her he hugged her so tightly against him, but Meggie didn’t mind. She closed her eyes, kissed his neck, and felt his heart beating, steady and strong, against hers. She looked over at William, who was still hugging Jenny tightly, whispering against her temple, kissing her hair. It made Meggie wonder if just perhaps there might be something worth saving in William after all. One thing she knew for sure, no one would ever know that he wasn’t the earl of Lancaster’s second son.

  Epilogue

  IT WAS A beautiful summer morning in late July. Just outside Kinsale, at the edge of Pendragon land, lay the freshly prepared Pendragon Racetrack, newly initiated this very day. The dowager countess of Lancaster, Madeleine Malcombe, was the mistress of ceremonies. Like Lady Dauntry of the famed McCaulty Racetrack, she stood on a dais, surrounded by at least one hundred people.

  Cats heaved and panted and tried to escape their trainers’ arms.

  She called out, loud enough to be heard all the way to Cork, “CATS READY!”

  Miss Crittenden of the Pendragon mews, who’d been meowing her head off, struggling to get free of Thomas, her secondary trainer, the only one strong enough to hold her steady, suddenly stiffened like a cannon, every muscle tensed. She was ready to run.

  “CATS SET!”

  There were twelve new racing cats, some confused, some eager for whatever was going to happen, some bored, some wishing there was food in their trainers’ hands, some wanting just to bathe themselves or sleep in a nice shady spot under a bush.

  None of the participants, none of the attendees, none of the trainers, particularly Meggie, had any idea at all of what was going to happen.

  Madeleine yelled, her hands cupping her mouth, “FREE THE CATS!”

  They were off, at least five of them were, Miss Crittenden among them, thank the good Lord else Meggie’s credibility would have been sorely in question. She was running behind Jubilee, a howling black beast with witch green eyes, from Jenny Malcombe’s new, exclusive training mews, who was running straight and fast.

  Meggie felt a moment of base envy. Jenny shouldn’t know success this quickly, it wouldn’t be fair, not after all Meggie’s work, all her dedication.

  Meggie yelled, “Run, Miss Crittenden! Get Jubilee, pull him down, chew his neck! Run!”

  The crowd, until this moment, not really knowing what to do, took up chants for the racing cat each of them was rooting for to win.

  The noise was deafening. This was both good and bad. The noise made Jubilee and Miss Crittenden run all the faster because Meggie had shared with Jenny that they must accustom the cats to cheering, and so they had until all the stable lads were hoarse.

  Two of the cats, calico sisters, nearly three years old and fast, suddenly stopped dead in their tracks, sat back on their haunches, stared a moment at all the ridiculous shouting and jumping people, and began licking each other, even though their ears were forward, taking in all the cheering. Meggie knew this was their way of coping with this unexpected chaos.

  Butch, a lean and hungry black-and-white spotted mouser from the Witcherly mews, suddenly rose straight in the air, his hair sticking up, an impressive distance up since he was a longhair, and fell flat onto his side, evidently insensible from all the excitement.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, came Brutus, Thomas’s dog. He burst onto the track, right behind Miss Crittenden and Jubilee. Both Jenny and Meggie were now standing at the finish line, frozen in horror as Brutus caught up with Miss Crittenden, grabbed her tail in his teeth, and hurled her a good six feet off the track.

  No one had thought to mention that a dog anywhere near a cat racetrack wasn’t to be allowed.

  Thomas shouted at the dog, but Brutus wasn’t about to stop this new sport.

  Thomas shook his head, looked toward his appalled wife, and said, “Oops.” He ran after Brutus.

  Jubilee, an intense, sober cat, saw the dog’s shadow, knew time was short, girded her loins, and leapt—at least six feet off the track to land on top of small Liam MacBail’s back. Brutus was blocked by Liam’s mother, who smacked him in the head. Jubilee jerked her claws out of Liam, ran back toward the track, then stopped, confused, until she heard Jenny’s voice yelling, “Come to me, Jubilee, you can do it, come to me, run, you little critter!”

  As for Miss Crittenden, she was flailing her tail about, thankfully still attached, back on the track now and running straight at Meggie, who appeared to be her only savior amid the chaos and the wildly barking dog she heard behind her.

  Meggie hated to admit it, but this was a new training technique to be carefully considered. A dog chasing a cat. It did add motivation. In this case Miss Crittenden had never run so fast in her life.

  Brutus was panting, his tongue lolling, hurtling down the track after her, shaking his head now, doubtless to clear it from the smack he’d gotten from Liam’s mother, Thomas right behind him.

  Miss Crittenden leapt the last four feet, sailed high in the air, and landed right into Meggie’s arms, nearly knocking her backward. Brutus barked loudly, and before Thomas could stop him, leapt at Meggie.

  Everyone went down in a welter of arms and legs, flying fur and yowls.

  Brutus was licking Meggie’s face, then barking, then licking some more, then eyeing Miss Crittenden and barking even more loudly, as he tried to get to her.

  Madeleine shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth to be heard, “Miss Crittenden is the winner!”

  Thomas managed to pull a very excited Brutus off Meggie, peel Miss Crittenden from beneath Meggie’s arm, and helped his laughing wife up, whose face was shiny from Brutus’s licking.

  Meggie looked around at all the loudly cheering crowd of neighbors and villagers. There were yells and shouts; some people were laughing so hard they were holding their sides.

  She hugged Thomas to her. She was grinning so wildly her face threatened to split. “Our first cat race. And there was an actual winner. Isn’t this splendid, Thomas? Our Miss Crittenden won, she really won. She beat Jubilee, and let me tell you, I was worried about that cat.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He lifted his wife and whirled her around him. Meggie suddenly yowled as loud as any racing cat. Miss Crittenden was climbing her skirt, fast.

  “No obstacle is too great,” Thomas said as he eased both his wife and Miss Crittenden down, “for a true racing cat to surmount.”

  Madeleine yelled out, “The soon-to-be legendary prize for the winner of the quarter-of-a-mile race, is a magnificent set of collars, handmade by none other than the other dowager countess of Lancaster.”

  More cheering.

  Libby bowed and walked sedately to where Meggie had finally gotten herself together and was holding a more composed Miss Crittenden in her arms.

  Jenny was standing beside her, holding Jubilee, who looked disgruntled, occasionally spitting toward Miss Crittenden, a very natural thing, Meggie assured her even as she was grinning like a fool. William was patting Jenny’s head in commiseration, in much the same way as he patted his new wife’s growing belly i
n pleasure.

  “Very easy for you to say since you’re the winner,” Jenny said. “That damned dog just about scared Jubilee out of her fur.”

  Brutus sat on his haunches, his tail a steady metronome, fluffing up dirt, Thomas holding him firmly. He was eyeing the cat collar as Meggie fastened it around Miss Crittenden’s neck. There were small emeralds sewn into the collar, as green as Ireland’s hills after a summer rain.

  It was a beautiful day on the coast of southwestern Ireland, the first day a cat race had ever been run there. It wouldn’t be the last.

  And luckily, there had actually been a winner.

  Dear Reader:

  Are you ever in for a reading treat—Jaclyn Reding’s The Pretender. You’ll meet Douglas MacKinnon, an earl on the Isle of Skye, the first of three Highland Lords you’ll read about in the Highland Heroes Trilogy.

  We’re back in 1746, after the Battle of Culloden. Douglas finds himself married to an English duke’s bluestocking daughter, Elizabeth, and the chances for peace and harmony in this mismatch, don’t look so good.

  You will really enjoy The Pretender. Write yourself a reminder so you don’t miss it when it comes out in March 2002.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Sherbrooke Twins

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2004 by Catherine Coulter

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.