As the Rover sped through the night, Patrick tried to quell his growing dread. His callused hand reached out to stroke Familiar as he pressed the accelerator even closer to the floor. One Robby's Lane. He knew the area, and the isolated locale made him even more anxious.
As if sensing Patrick's distress, Familiar put both front paws on the dash and stared into the night.
Half an hour later, Patrick stopped the Rover and slowly got out. Familiar moved beside him, black on black in the tunnel of the trees. They were just on Robby's Lane, not thirty yards from the main road. He had no idea who or what lived on Robby's Lane. He didn't mind a trek, as long as it didn't take too much time. The element of surprise was crucial, and Patrick intended to have it.
With Familiar by his side, Patrick eased down the road. In less than five minutes he saw the vague outline of a house. A single light was burning in the front window, partially hidden by lace curtains. Patrick knew Catherine was inside when he discovered Mauve's car.
"Easy, Familiar," he whispered as the cat darted ahead of him.
The cat was in too big a hurry to respond. He leapt onto the windowsill and banged into the glass.
"Hey!" A cry rose from within the house.
Patrick pressed back behind a shrub and watched as the front door opened and a young man looked into the yard. "Damn black cat," he said, bending down to pick up a rock. "I'll bet I can brain him."
"No!" Catherine cried out. "He's only a cat, leave him alone."
"Craig!" Allan rebuked his friend. "Leave the stupid cat alone."
Patrick felt his fingers clutch the leaves of the shrub, but he held back.
With a yowl of rage, Familiar leapt from the windowsill toward the man in the doorway. In two bounds he was digging into the man's chest, slapping at his face with both front paws.
"Get this damn animal away from me!" The man threw up his hands and fell backward off the stoop.
There was laughter inside the house, male laughter. Patrick didn't wait. He saw his moment and darted forward. He had only the tire tool he'd brought from the Rover, and he used it with a quick, clean snap of his wrist on the man's unprotected head. Craig twitched once and then settled, motionless.
"Thanks," Patrick whispered to the cat. He heard Familiar's low growl and darted to a hiding place beside the house just before the front door opened again.
"Hey, Craig!" Allan called out. "Don't tell me a single cat bagged you?" There was tension in Allan's voice. "Quit fooling around and help me in here."
"Meow!" Tail straight in the air, Familiar marched past Allan and into the house.
"Well, I'll be damned," Allan said. He stepped into the yard. "Craig? Hey, the game isn't funny anymore." He walked down the steps and turned right. In two strides he stumbled over his partner's legs. "Son of— "
Patrick's well-placed blow caught him at the back of the head. He fell forward like a sack of oats.
"G'night, and sweet dreams," Patrick said, never loosening his grip on the tire tool.
The front door was open and he could see Familiar pacing back and forth in front of a chair. He heard a soft footstep and faded back into the shadows by the door. He had no idea how many others might be inside the house. Well, he'd get them one by one if it took all night.
"Patrick?" Catherine's voice registered hope and fear. "Is that you? Mick's here. We're alone."
"It's me." He stepped forward so that the light from the window fell on his face.
"Thank goodness." Catherine didn't bother with a step at all, she simply let herself fall into his arms.
Patrick caught her, releasing the tire tool at last. He felt the urge to crush her to him, to hold her so tightly that she might forever become a part of him. And as his hands moved over the curves of her body, the urge to protect changed to a desire to possess.
Catherine felt Patrick's lips grow more demanding, and for one moment she yielded to his need and her own. For one tantalizing spiral of time, she acknowledged the tumultuous emotions that combined to make her want and love him.
"Patrick," she whispered, knowing that with his name she'd spoken her future.
"If anything had happened to you…"
"Meow!" Familiar said from the top step.
A shadow fell across the cat, lengthening as it moved closer and closer to the door.
"It's a fine and pretty pair you make, courting in the front yard like a pair of hounds. An old man might as well be taken off by the fairies."
Catherine and Patrick broke apart, both breathing heavily. Patrick recovered his composure first. "And well I knew that no one would have an ornery old carcass like yourself. Had I been worried over you, I would have come inside."
"We'd better tie those two up before they come to. I've got a bit of magic I intend to work on them with a rope," Mick said, rubbing his wrists. "They weren't too careful with my old bones, and I intend to return the favor."
Patrick's hands moved over Catherine's body slowly, savoring each curve. He kissed her forehead before he stepped away from her.
"I was wondering how long it would take the two of you to see what I saw from the beginning. You're mad for each other. But Patrick's family has always been cursed with a strange stubbornness. With horses they're blessed. Land and women are different matters." Mick moved slowly down the steps as Patrick began to drag Allan into the house.
Motioning Catherine aside, Mick touched her arm. "I want to thank you for coming after me."
"I only managed to get myself caught," Catherine said.
"Nonsense. You found me. But there's something else." He leaned in closer to whisper. "Patrick isn't a man to love lightly. Don't play with him, girl. If it's a game, let him go now. He's lost his family and his home. Don't take his heart."
Touched by the old man's concern for his friend, Catherine took Mick's hand. "I pledge to you," she said, squeezing his fingers, "that I have no intention of playing with Patrick. I'm afraid I love the man." She smiled, wondering at the ease of her own revelation.
"Good, then," Mick said, "let's tie these rascals with forty coils of rope and go and find us a racehorse."
"My thoughts exactly," Patrick said. "Now we only have to determine where the thief has hidden him. I've given it a lot of thought. Limerick has to be within a twenty mile radius of where we saw him on the Clifden road. No matter who is holding the horse, I believe that Kent is behind the whole thing. He's the one who'll benefit the most."
"The rider, Cuchulain, was a horseman." Patrick put his arm around Catherine's shoulder. "Kent has money enough to hire anyone he needs. I don't like Kent's methods, but I can't deny that he has the skills to pull off something like this. And as I said, there are people who'd do it for the pleasure of getting even with me. The bit about Cuchulain threw me for a while, but anyone can do a little playacting."
"Can we find Limerick?" Catherine realized she was asking for the impossible— a reassurance.
"We can and we will."
She felt Patrick's arm tighten, a measure of comfort and promise, and she knew that he might disappoint her in fact, but never in spirit.
"Let's hope we find him alive," Mick said from the doorway.
Chapter Seventeen
"Go on now," Mick said, handing Catherine the reins to the Connemara pony. "Familiar and I will get the van and meet you across the mountains."
Catherine mounted the Irish pony and looked up the rocks to where Patrick already sat astride his horse. Dawn was just breaking. In a miracle of speed, Mick had managed to find two surefooted ponies near Clifden for them to ride up into the mountains and bogs. Patrick was determined to track Limerick— without any further delay. The ponies, native to the western coast of Ireland, were as nimble as mountain goats and extremely rugged.
"Stay away from Allan and Craig. They're fine tied up, Patrick made sure of that." Catherine could tell Mick was up to something, and she didn't like it. He was far too eager to get her and Patrick off and gone.
"I'll take care. Me and
Familiar." Mick's face was stubbled with several days' growth of beard. "It's hard on an old man to admit he's wearin' thin, girl. Don't make it any harder."
Not for a minute did Catherine believe that line. Mick was definitely up to something.
"I'll join you beyond the bogs," Mick called to Patrick. "Don't worry. I'll find you." He waved them on.
Patrick locked gazes with Catherine. They were both worried, but they had little choice but to begin the search for Limerick. "Mick, go home and tend to yourself."
"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise." Mick nodded and stooped to pick up the cat. "Come along with me, you rascal. We'll catch them down the road."
"Catherine!" Patrick called her name as he turned his pony toward the rocky path.
Catherine followed him, looking toward the mountain that disappeared into the fog. It was pure stone mixed with patches of pasture, a hard and unforgiving land. She'd often heard of the Connemara terrain, but she'd never attempted to ride across it. In places the ground was so filled with moisture that it quivered beneath the weight of the horses. On either side might be the dangerous suction of bog, where water and rich earth combined to make a type of muddy quicksand. If anyone knew the way, it would be Patrick. She held firm to that thought as they started out.
Patrick put his pony into a gallop. They had to make time while they still had road. Once they were in the mountains, it would be up to the Connemara ponies, and Patrick, to pick a path.
They rode in silence, Patrick scanning the ground for Limerick's prints. It took an hour for them to finally find one. Looking over her shoulder, Catherine could see the Clifden road far below her. They were traveling higher and higher. Mountain sheep, dotted with pink-and-blue ink to mark ownership, grazed around them. The hazy morning was broken only by the bleating of lambs and the breathing of the ponies as they climbed.
When they hit a stretch of bog, Catherine almost halted. The little mare she was riding stepped from rock to rock, but the thick mud hid sharp edges and poor footing. Several times they slipped, and Catherine could only cling to her saddle, hoping not to make the mare's work any more difficult. The sound of the hooves sliding on the rocks was terrifying to a horseman.
Up ahead, Patrick gave his own pony free rein. "Stay behind me," he called out to her. "There's a path, and you have to stay on it."
Looking around her, Catherine saw nothing except rocks, grass and the black mud. If there was a path, only Patrick knew it.
Her mare slipped suddenly, plunging chest deep into the bog. "Patrick!" Beneath her the horse floundered, thrashing with its front legs to find rock. The thick mud churned, sucking at horse and rider. "Patrick!"
"Let her loose!" Patrick called back to her. His face was drawn with worry. "Give the mare her head, Catherine!"
Catherine loosened her hold on the reins, and the little mare lunged forward, catching rock with both front feet and hauling herself and Catherine to safety.
"Are you hurt?" Patrick asked.
Catherine looked down at her mud-covered legs. Beneath her, the horse quivered. "No, we're both shaken but not injured. Patrick, if they brought Limerick through this, he'll never race. He's not as tough as the ponies. His legs…the rocks…" She faltered. It was too awful to imagine what condition he'd be in after slipping around in the muck.
"He's tougher than you know, Catherine. He comes from Irish stock, animals who've learned to survive." Catherine's fears were the exact same ones he'd confronted and chosen not to voice. One slip, one misstep, and it could be the end of Limerick's career as a racehorse. And if he didn't race, he wouldn't develop the reputation necessary to serve as a stud.
Instead of thinking about potential disaster, Patrick focused his rage at Kent Ridgeway. Turning his gelding back to the path, he rode on. Ridgeway would pay for this. It was total disregard for Limerick, almost a desire to cripple him. There was a perversity in Ridgeway that Patrick intended to beat out of him, pound by bloody pound.
After two hours, Patrick reined his horse around and waited for Catherine to catch up. The ponies needed a rest, and Patrick needed time to pick up the trail. They'd left the bog behind, and were glad of it. Now the ground stretching before them was all rock, and he'd lost the notched hoofprint long ago.
"My God, it looks like the moon, or some forsaken biblical land." Catherine took in the bleak landscape. Rocks jutted everywhere, some forming smooth plateaus that rippled upon themselves, broken only by an occasional scattering of gorse or heather. There was a wild beauty to the land, a defiance that brought joy and fear for Limerick.
Patrick saw the fatigue and worry on her face as he led his horse over so that he could stand beside her. "I'm going to hunt for tracks." He handed her his gelding's reins. "See that rock over there?" He pointed west.
Catherine spied the strange outcropping, a square formation of rock. She nodded.
"I played in these mountains as a child. The little people make their homes here." He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to lean back against him so he could whisper in her ear. "That rock is a leprechaun chair."
Even as tired as she was, Catherine smiled. "So we've given up on hunting horses and taken to hunting leprechauns?"
"Not exactly." He tightened his grip and held her securely. "But while I'm looking for tracks, you keep an eye on that chair. If we could catch one of the little men, we'd get a wish, you know."
"Ah, a wish." Catherine gave herself the luxury of one minute leaning against Patrick. One fraction of time when she didn't have to face everything alone.
"We could wish Limerick home safe and sound."
"Thank you, Patrick." She turned her head up and kissed his jaw. "Thank you."
He squeezed her to him once more before he set off over the rocks. For a while Catherine could watch him, coursing houndlike, back and forth across the rocks. Dark hair tousled by the wind, he was almost primitive against the stark stones and sky. How well he was suited to the land. In many ways he was as rugged and unyielding. And as rich and life-giving. He took a long leap and disappeared from her view.
How could anyone find a clue on the hard stone? She watched the horizon, aware of how much she anticipated his return. When she did see him, he was waving her over a good distance to the north. Leading both horses across the treacherous rocks, she started toward him. As she drew closer she saw the excitement on his face.
"What?"
He held up a finger to his lips, then pointed toward a large outcropping of rock. Catherine felt the hope shoot through her. Had he found Limerick? Certainly, if he had, the horse was alive and well. She hurried forward.
He met her and took the reins. Pointing to the rock, he whispered. "Climb up and look east. It's Limerick. Be careful, he's watching."
"Who? Kent?"
"No, Limerick. If he sees you and recognizes you, he'll call out."
"Not to me," Catherine said. "He's your horse, Patrick. Not mine. I may hold the papers on him, but he's your horse." She turned away to climb the rocks before he could say anything else. She'd spoken the truth. Right or wrong, if they got Limerick back, she was going to return him to Patrick. If he was able to race, maybe they could work out arrangements where Patrick would race him and then allow her to stand him at stud. If he couldn't race…She couldn't think about that now.
Near the top of the rock she found a ledge to hide behind. Crouched down as far as possible, she peered over the top. Far below, in a small paddock, was a big gray horse. Nostrils flaring, he was sniffing the air. He tossed his head, mane flowing in an unkempt tangle.
Catherine's practiced eye ran over him. At such a distance she couldn't be certain, but his legs looked clean, his spirit undaunted. He pranced around the small enclosure, obviously aware of something. Catherine ducked lower.
As she inched back up for another look, the door of the small hut beside the paddock opened. She caught only a glimpse of broad shoulders, lean hips and long legs. The man called out, threw something at the horse and stepped bac
k into the shadow of the door.
"Patrick!" Catherine called his name as she hurried down. "There's someone in the hut. A man."
"Ridgeway?" Patrick looked hopeful.
"I couldn't be certain, but he's there. A big man, like you. Maybe heavier. I couldn't see his face, but it might be Kent. What are we going to do?"
"You're going to hold the ponies here." Patrick gave her the reins. "I'm going to go down there and kill whoever has Limerick."
He spoke so softly that Catherine thought at first that she'd misunderstood. "What?"
"He's a dead man. He just hasn't crawled properly into his coffin."
"Patrick!" But he was gone, striding off over the rocks without even a pebble for a weapon. As she watched his strong back disappear, she felt a moment's pity for the other man. Patrick could kill him. The question was, would he?
As soon as he was out of sight, she tethered the horses to a bit of gorse. The Connemaras were so calm, so absolutely sensible, that they stood without objection. Catherine hurried down the slope after Patrick, cursing softly to herself as she slipped among the rocks. She'd lost sight of Patrick, and she'd begun to feel that if she didn't catch up to him she might lose him completely, forever.
Working her way down as quickly as possible, Catherine concentrated on her footing. When she was close to the bottom, she looked up. Patrick was still not visible. But Limerick was watching her.
The stallion stood at the stone wall, dark eyes eagerly following each move she made. He didn't make a sound. Catherine ducked behind the largest rock she saw, hoping that whoever was in the cottage was less vigilant than the horse. The one thing she didn't want to do was alert the horsenappers that they had company.
She caught a glimpse of quick movement behind the small hut, and to her relief, Patrick ran from one rock to another. He was circling closer to Limerick, but on the off side. While she watched, Patrick disappeared behind the small lean-to that served as a barn. Sensing something, Limerick whirled and sniffed the air in Patrick's direction.
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