by Mimi Riser
EYES OF THE CAT
Part 1:
Unholy Wedlock
MIMI RISER
www.mimiriser.com
Eyes of the Cat is now released as a serial, which means it has been divided into separate parts that are offered individually. This is the first of four parts.
Serial Copyright © 2014 by Mimi Riser
All rights reserved.
[Note: Eyes of the Cat was originally published by a NY house, in mass-market paperback, under a different title. It has since been revised and re-edited. This is the new expanded edition and contains material not found in the paperback.]
Disclaimer: This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
A castle?
A Scottish castle.
A medieval Scottish castle in Texas?
Staring out the train’s dirt streaked window at endless arid plains, Tabitha Jeffries shook her head. She’d been chewing on the matter for days, but still found it difficult to swallow. It wasn’t the castle itself that disturbed her well-ordered proprieties so much—though that was part of it. A Highland castle ought to be in the Highlands of Scotland, oughtn’t it? It seemed not only peculiar, but also impractical to construct such a monstrous edifice out upon this scrubby terrain. Wherever did they find the stone for it?
Oh, right—it had been built from those mud bricks called adobe. That was some consolation, she supposed. Tabitha shook her head again without even realizing she did so. It was one of those irksome little habits her late aunt had never been able to quite cure her of. Another habit was the rapid jiggling of one knee or the other whenever she was agitated or engrossed in thought. At the moment, it was her right knee that bounced up and down.
What really bothered her was the reason for this journey. How could a family send a girl nearly halfway around the world to marry a man she’d never even seen? What kind of a man would accept an unknown bride? This was modern day 1883 America, not 1483 Scotland, for heaven’s sake. The whole idea was positively feudal. There was something almost indecent about such an arrangement.
Although she had to admit that Gabrina MacAllister—who was, after all, the girl affected by it—didn’t seem to think so. Tabitha had heard enough about family loyalties and honor and tradition these past days to last her until doomsday. She’d met only one of them so far, but was already sick of the entire MacAllister clan. And she was sick of tartan wool, too. It was hot and scratchy, not to mention inappropriate for a paid companion to wear her employer’s clothes.
“But me spare travelin’ gown fits you sae well, Tabby dear. And you look sae bonny in it,” the fluffy curled and fluffier brained Lady Gabrina had chattered cheerfully every morning of their tiring trek west. Her nickname, Gabby, suited her.
“You wouldna be sae cruel as tae deny a poor, lonely lass such a wee bit o’ comfort, would you? It makes me feel less homesick tae pretend I’ve a countrywoman alang side me. Why, with your fair hair and those green eyes, I could a’most swear you were a MacAllister. Leslie’s been sayin’ we could a’most be sisters.’Tis the reason I chose you. The other lasses your agency offered were all puddin’ faced hens, they were. I didna fancy bein’ cooped with any o’ them. But the moment I laid eyes on you, I said tae meself, now there be a Highland lass, whether she kens it or nay!”
Thank goodness this was only a temporary assignment. Their train would be rolling into Abilene Station any blessed moment now. Lady Gabby would be greeted and herded off by her Texas kinsmen, and her exhausted chaperone would have several well earned days all to herself before returning to Philadelphia and whatever needy damsel or matron the agency next assigned her to.
If it’s another Scotswoman, I’ll quit.
“This looks like the end of the line for us, ladies,” offered an attractive young man with a military bearing and British inflection, as the train screeched to a rocky stop. “Gad, you’d think someone would oil those wheels once in a while, wouldn’t you? If I ran my ships the way these lads run their locomotive, I’d be fish food on the bottom of the ocean by now.”
“Aye, Leslie, you’re a bonny, braw sailor, and Tabby and I both ken it. Dinna we, Tabby dear?”
“Well, you would have more personal knowledge of that than I, Lady Gabrina. Captain Lawrence is your family’s friend, after all. However, since he ferried you across the Atlantic without mishap, I believe I can safely assume that he’s a more than adequate seaman.” Tabitha rose from her seat in the private compartment to gather their hand luggage together.
Leslie Lawrence hurried to relieve her of the heavier pieces, and was rewarded with one of her rare smiles.
“And I know for a fact that he’s a most solicitous traveling companion.” She blushed at his returned grin. “I’m sure Lady Gabrina has already thanked you for it, Captain Lawrence, but I should like to add my own gratitude to hers. It was most chivalrous of you to take a leave of absence from your professional duties to see us safely out here.”
The handsome Englishman swept a small bow before her. “It was my extreme pleasure, Miss Jeffries, but not quite so altruistic as you seem to think, I’m afraid. You see, I was heading west, anyway. I…” He paused, suddenly blushing himself for no discernible reason. “Well, the truth of it is, I’ve resigned my naval commission and accepted the captainship of the merchant schooner True Love. She sails for the Orient out of San Francisco the end of this week. I’ve had to make special arrangements to get me there on time,” he finished in an awkward rush.
“Oh,” was all Tabitha could say. This was certainly a piece of news. Lawrence had had such a promising career it had seemed. Gabrina had confided that he would probably make admiral before he was forty. Whatever could have induced him to resign?
“Leslie! Why didna you tell me?”
With the lady’s faint, came the answer to Tabitha’s question.
Oh, dear Heaven, how awful. She rummaged through her purse for the smelling salts she always carried for her overly hysterical, or overly corseted clients. Why didn’t I guess this before? It was so obvious, now she considered it. And so pathetically ironic. Of course they’re in love!
Gabrina and Leslie had grown up in each other’s pockets, to hear them tell it. They’d probably been in love since childhood. But Leslie had been so ambitious, Gabrina must have thought he was married to his career. That was undoubtedly the real reason she’d agreed to this ridiculous marriage to her Texas cousin, Alan MacAllister—who must be one sorry specimen of a man to have agreed to such an impossibly medieval alliance, himself.
“I wish he were here right now. I’d give him a lesson in modern customs he’d never forget,” Tabitha muttered to herself while fanning some lavender water under Gabrina’s pert little nose. She hadn’t been able to find the spirits of ammonia, so the lavender would have to do. It smelled nicer, anyway.
“Dearest, I wanted to tell you before now, honestly I did,” Leslie began the moment the girl’s eyelids started to flutter.
He’d been kneeling beside her, chafing her wrists and staring at her with such an agony of love, Tabitha almost could have fainted, herself, just from the backlash of his emotion. Except she really wasn’t the fainting kind. The prim maiden aunt who had raised her never allowed such self-indulgent displays as fainting.
“I would have told you, darling, but I was afraid it wouldn’t make any difference. You seemed so determined on going through with this blood
y marriage— Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Jeffries.” He shot a sheepish glance at Tabitha.
“That’s quite all right, Captain Lawrence. I understand the provocation,” she assured him.
“But, Leslie dear”—Gabrina’s eyes filled with tears—“you didna give up your commission for me, did you?”
That was too much for the young captain. His British reserve broke and he swept her into his arms like a tidal wave swamping the shore.
“My commission? Dear God, what’s my commission worth without you? What’s anything worth without you?” he choked out. “Give up my commission for you? Gabby, you little fool, don’t you realize I’d willingly give up my life for you?”
“Oh, Leslie…”
Tabitha discreetly turned her back on them and stood staring out the compartment’s window at a row of wanted posters on a nearby wall. This was hardly a sort of behavior she approved of. But…well, she could understand the provocation. Or, rather, she thought she could imagine understanding the provocation. It wasn’t as though she had any actual personal experience in such things—or wanted any, for that matter. But surely, under these circumstances, it was… Wasn’t it?
Whew, it’s hot in here.
The little compartment felt like an oven. Tabitha realized she must be blushing all the way down to her toenails. Oh, I don’t know what I think! Except for the fact she was thoroughly disgusted with herself.
Behind her, Lady Gabrina had begun to sob.
Don’t tell me she’s one of those silly girls who cries when she’s happy. Now Tabitha felt a trifle disgusted with Gabrina, too. She need not have been concerned, however. Gabrina MacAllister was anything but happy.
“Oh Leslie, you foolish laddie, you should’ve told me sooner,” she wailed. “’Tis too late now!”
“Darling, of course it’s not too late. It’s perfect timing, if you ask me.” Leslie chuckled indulgently. “I’ve already hired a private coach here to take us to El Paso. From there we can catch a train straight to San Francisco, where we’ll have just enough time to be married before the True Love sails. Her owners are quite amenable to you sailing with me. They feel a wife on board makes for a more stable captain.”
Gabrina sobbed harder than ever. “But you dinna understand. I’m here now. My people are meetin’ this train, and they’ll hold me tae me pledge. They’ll ne’re let me go with you!”
“They will once I talk to them and explain the situation, gentleman to gentleman. This isn’t ancient Scotland.” Leslie chuckled again. “We’re a civilized world today, and I’m sure your cousin Alan is a very reasonable man, dearest.”
“Reasonable?” His dearest’s voice cracked on the word. “A MacAllister? Reasonable?”
She may actually have a point there.
From what Tabitha had heard so far of the Texas MacAllisters, logic did not seem to be one of their dominant characteristics. Long before any other white men had entered this territory, several score clansmen and women had arrived, fleeing the British persecutions that had plagued them in the decades following the Jacobite rebellion. They had built an adobe duplicate of their destroyed family fortress back in Scotland, and had lived cloistered in it ever since, a world unto themselves—as though they honestly believed they’d never left the Highlands. It was absurd, but a fact that might have to be reckoned with, nonetheless. What was it the Scots themselves said?
“What canna be cured, mun be endured,” she recited. The sound of her own voice surprised her and brought Gabrina’s weeping face up out of her hands.
“Why, Tabby”—she sniffled—“you sounded a’most like me.”
“Yes,” Tabitha said softly, “I know.” Very carefully, she turned from the window and confronted the couple. She had to move carefully because her heart had begun racing so fast she feared it might burst through her bodice if she made any too sudden gestures.
“Captain Lawrence?”
“Yes, Miss Jeffries?”
Tabitha glanced from him, to Gabrina, then back again. How could she put this to them? She could barely believe, herself, what she was about to propose. “I…I think that Lady Gabrina is probably correct. Her relatives here still operate on ancient Highland law. They’ll never allow you to simply walk away with her. The clan’s honor is at stake, and that kind of honor takes precedence over all else.”
Lawrence gazed down at her, a bemused expression in his hazel eyes. He was still obviously unconvinced of the gravity of the situation. “What do you suggest we do then, Miss Jef—” A wild, weird wailing suddenly filled the air. “Gad! Is someone slaughtering pigs out there?”
Gabrina giggled, in spite of herself. “You daft laddie. ’Tis auld Highland tradition. Bagpipes tae welcome the bride.” On the word bride, she choked, and Tabitha caught her hand.
“Never mind, Lady Gabrina. We’ll counter them with another old Highland tradition. Stealing the bride.” She gave the girl’s fingers a reassuring squeeze.
“How?” Leslie asked, his confidence apparently cracked by the wailing of the bagpipes. “It sounds like there’s a regiment out there.”
“Oh, nay. They’d ne’re send sae many,” Gabrina said quite seriously. “A dozen, perhaps, nay more.”
Leslie gave her a wry grin. “A dozen or a regiment, it makes no difference, darling. I can’t fight that many. And I doubt I could slip you past them in your tartan. They’ll be watching everyone who gets off the train.”
“True.” Tabitha straightened her bonnet and gave her borrowed skirt a quick shake to smooth the creases out of it. “But there are two of us here in tartan. And the MacAllisters will only be expecting one.”
Gabrina’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Tabby—you wouldna!”
“I most certainly would! It’s already been commented that we could almost be sisters. Of course, you’re a good deal prettier than I, but the MacAllisters have only your portrait to go by—they’ve never actually seen you.”
And a man who’d marry a girl he’s never seen can’t be that choosy, anyway. She pulled on her gloves and collected her large purse.
Disliking deceit in any form, Tabitha wasn’t overly enthralled by the prospect of the switch, herself. But it was a question of the lesser of two evils. Just like when her aunt’s tragic death a year ago had left her penniless, and she’d nearly lost a well paying position because the service agency refused to hire anyone under twenty-one. In that instance, it had been either tack a few years onto her age, or starve. In this one, the choice seemed as obvious: A few hours of embarrassment for herself, or a lifetime of misery for Gabrina and Leslie.
And having reached that decision, an earthquake wouldn’t have been able to jar her loose from it. That was another of Tabitha’s habits that her aunt had never been able to cure. Pigheaded stubbornness.
She paused a moment to listen. “It sounds as though they’re near the front platform. That is the one I shall use. You two will have to disembark at the rear, but give me a few moments lead before you do. I’ll need to draw them away.”
“No!” Leslie Lawrence blocked her exit from the compartment. “This is very noble of you, I’m sure, Miss Jeffries, but a gentleman can hardly allow a young lady to endanger herself on his behalf. You don’t know what they might do to you at that castle!”
“Really, Captain Lawrence, I have no intention of playing this charade that far. I shall never even see their horrid old castle. I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am quite capable of looking after myself.” She met his rigid gaze with iron in her own. “Now kindly move aside.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Absolutely not.”
“Leslie is right, dear. We canna let you do this.”
Tabitha resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Good heavens, Lady Gabrina, it’s not as though I intend to marry the man. I’m simply going to distract them long enough for you and Captain Lawrence to get safely away. Do you two want to elope, or don’t you? We’re running out of time!”
“Time? Why the time be ne
ar eight o’ the mornin’. Who asks?” a heavy voice brogued from the corridor just outside.
“’Tis too late!” Gabrina squeaked, and promptly fainted again.
Leslie tried to catch her, but was sent sprawling as the compartment’s door burst open, and a haystack in a short plaid skirt muscled its way into the small chamber.
Oh, not a skirt…a kilt, Tabitha corrected herself.
“C-cousin Alan?” she stammered.
The haystack glared fiercely down at her, glanced at Gabrina and Leslie slumped motionless together on the floor, then fixed his bushy browed gaze back on Tabitha. A big, beaming smile split open between beard and mustache.
“Gabby MacAllister! I’d ken you anywhere!” he roared. “Welcome tae your new home, lassie! The bonny bridegroom couldna come t’day. I’m your Uncle Angus!”
Thank heaven for small favors, Tabitha thought, as she fought for air in his rib-cracking hug. At least this wasn’t Alan.
Though, perhaps, Alan would be worse?
She shoved that idea straight out of her head. Right now, she had to get Uncle Angus off the train before the good captain and Lady Gabrina regained their senses (and herself along with them—in a different sort of way). Already Leslie had started to stir. She watched in horror out of the corner of her eye as his lids fluttered open and he groggily struggled to sit up.
“Uncle Angus, ’tis fair squeezin’ the breath oot o’ me, you be.” She giggled, neatly twisting out of his burly embrace and dropping her heavy traveling purse at the same instant. It landed on Lawrence’s head. “Ah, the poor laddie,” she said, as his eyes closed and he slumped forward once more. “’Tis exhausted he mun be.”
“Aye,” Angus agreed, glancing downward. “Who are they, Gabby dear?”
“I dinna ken for sure.” Tabitha batted guileless eyes at him. “They only boarded the stop afore this one, and we had such a wee time for speech.”
Angus’s eyes abruptly narrowed, drawing his brows together into one big fuzzy blond caterpillar creeping across his forehead. “The lassie wears MacAllister tartan!”
“Oh, aye.” Tabitha quickly laughed. “The poor dearie was splashed by a carriage just afore boardin’, and she hadna another gown, sae I made her take one o’ me own.”
“Ah, now there be a MacAllister for you, generous tae the core,” Angus boomed. “Come alang now, Gabby dear. Me lads be fair hoppin’ oota their kilts tae see you.”
“Aye, Uncle Angus.” Tabitha beamed up at him.
I must be completely mad, she thought, following his broad back off the train.
