Dark of the Moon (17 page)

The rush of air in her face cooled her temper somewhat as she approached the farm, but the sight of Fharannain's empty stall set it simmering again. Connor was not back yet, and it was well past midday. Making a face as she reined in Finnbarr, Caitlyn mentally replayed Mrs.

Congreve's mincing words of yesterday. The lady still feared the Dark Horseman, she had protested coyly as she had begged Connor's escort, which was hugely laughable if Caitlyn had been in the mood to laugh. The Dark Horseman wouldn't hurt a hair on that powdered head!

Of course, it was Connor's perfect right to have a lady friend. Rationally, she knew that at twenty-seven, he was overdue for marriage and children of his own. But Mrs. Congreve . . . !

Caitlyn shared his brothers' dislike of his choice. Or rather, Mrs. Congreve's choice of him. As an impoverished Irish Earl, Connor could not ordinarily look to the ladies of the Ascendancy for a bride. As Cormac had told her, they had originally suspected that Mrs. Congreve would be no more than their brother's mistress for a time, and they had found naught to object to in that.

But Mrs. Congreve, whom Caitlyn suspected was not of such high estate herself, had clearly decided to overlook the handicap of Connor's nationality and lack of funds in favor of his virile good looks. In short, the simpering vixen was on the catch for a husband for fun, having already married one for money with great success. Picturing Connor lean and dark in Mrs. Congreve's bed made Caitlyn's stomach chum with displeasure. The mere thought was sickening. There were many other lasses he could have favored, from the village schoolmaster's prim daughter to Sir Edward Dunne's own niece, who was dazzled enough by a handsome face and form to overlook the fact that Connor was native Irish, though it was doubtful her family would let her infatuation come to marriage. But Connor was a handsome man, and a charming one, and it was likely that if he decided to wed Miss Dunne she at least would not object. But picturing Connor with red-haired Sarah Dunne didn't satisfy Caitlyn either. She was not Connor's type any more than was Mrs. Congreve.

At least Connor's absence meant he wouldn't be home to see her returning from her ride unescorted, Caitlyn told herself as she slid from the saddle and turned to take care of Finnbarr.

After a pair of "accidental" encounters with Sir Edward Dunne, who was lavish in admiration of her beauty and had taken to riding about the grounds of Donoughmore at just the time when she normally took her daily ride, Connor had decreed that she was not to ride alone. And Connor's temper was short of late. Annoyed as she was at him, she would not care to provoke a confrontation when he was in his present bad humor.

Df course, it was getting near to the waning of the moon. That was when the Dark Horseman rode, and Connor had much on his mind. He had ridden out only four times since Rory had been shot, and she knew that he debated the wisdom of riding at all. For himself, he counted no risk. But for his brothers, she thought he was afraid.

Caitlyn knew that there were many who needed his assistance—poor widows with rent to pay, men who had been injured and could not feed their children, orphanages run by the priests.

They all hailed the Dark Horseman as if he were a saint, accepting his largesse with tears in their eyes and blessings on their lips when the distributions came through the mysterious channels that had been set up. Though he was far from being a wealthy man, the farm just making enough to support them all with little left over, Connor kept only what was needed from their hauls and gave away the rest to the poorest of the poor: the oppressed of Ireland.

That made him a hero throughout the length and breadth of the land. And it made him a hero to his brothers and Caitlyn, too.

More than anything she wished to ride with them. Connor had strictly forbidden it the one time she had dared to make the suggestion, even dressing down poor Cormac for confirming her suspicions to boot. But Cormac, out of Connor's hearing, thought the idea was a lark. He told her tales of the Dark Horseman's exploits, hinting broadly when they were to ride, so that the last time she h£d managed to hide herself in the stable and watch them go. The next time they took to the High Toby, she was determined to follow, to see for herself the Sassenach oppressors brought low. Cormac had agreed to tell her when it was to be. Caitlyn guessed it would be soon. Connor was seething with restiess energy, the landlords were growing more ruthless with their collection of the rents by the day, and the waning of the moon was at hand.

This time, she meant to see the Dark Horse- man's noble deeds for herself; the hero worship that Willie had never outgrown (how she wished she could tell him how close at hand his idol was!) now infected her as well.

She had it all planned: she would join the gang. Like the d'Arcys, she would lead a double life. She would be a beautiful, feminine young lady for three hundred and fifty-three days a year. On the other twelve, she would transform herself into a metdesome lad who rode at the Dark Horseman's side. It was her favorite daydream, and in preparation for the night when it became a reality at last, she had given up her breeches and male ways almost entirely. When the time came for her to be a lad again, none outside the family would have reason to suspect that the Dark Horseman's newest rider was a female.

"Where's Cormac?" Caitlyn had just swung the saddle off Finnbarr's back when the question made her jump. She had thought for a moment that the question, uttered in a disapproving voice, had come from Connor. Swinging around, she saw Rory and scowled at him. Really, it was disgusting how all the d'Arcys thought they had the right to boss her around!

"I decided to finish my ride without him. He was being most unpleasant," Caitlyn said huffily, walking toward the tack room with the saddle in her arms.

"Here, let me do that! It's too heavy for you." Rory overtook her and removed the saddle from her arms. Caitlyn scowled at his back as he carried the saddle into the tack room and hung it up for her. Turning back to Finnbarr, she was slipping the bridle from his head when Rory's hand closed over hers. "You know what Conn said about you riding alone. Cormac obviously is useless. From now on, I'll go with you."

"I don't want you! Or Cormac either! Or Liam! Or anybody!" She was impatient. Rory looked down at her with a superior frown, moving her hand aside and removing the bridle himself. Finnbarr stamped his foot and snorted when he was left with only his halter. Caitlyn felt a litde bit like stamping her foot and snorting herself. This was getting too absurd for words!

"You know you can't ride alone." Rory's tone was stern.

"And just who are you to tell me what to do?" Caitlyn grabbed Finnbarr's halter and marched him toward his stall. Sure enough, Rory came up and tried to do that, too. She elbowed him in the ribs, hard, and he grunted, rubbing his ribs as he let go.

"Connor said . . ."

"Bother Connor!" She put Finnbarr in his stall and closed the door with a snap, turning back to glare at Rory.

"Caitlyn . . . !" Cormac rode into the bam, eyes narrowed against the sudden darkness.

Spotting her as she stood with arms akimbo, glaring at Rory, he sighed with relief. Then he saw Rory standing in front of her, still rubbing his ribs, and his eyes narrowed again.

"I thought you were supposed to be helping Mickeen with the sheep!" Cormac's eyes accused his brother.

"Well, I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on Caitlyn!" Rory retorted, returning his brother's look with interest.

"I was!" Cormac slid from Kildare's back and started unsaddling the horse, glaring at his broiher all the while.

"Looked like it! She was all alone when she rode in here!"

"I was watching her all the time! She got mad. . . ." Cormac lugged the saddle and bridle to the tack room and then returned to put Kildare into his stall. Rory matched him step for step, hectoring him all the way.

"What did you do to her to make her mad?" There was a note in Rory's voice that Caitlyn didn't like.

"What did
you
do to her to make her mad? I see you're rubbing your side! She wouldn't hit you for nothing!" Cormac turned from putting Kildare up to scowl at Rory.

"She didn't hit me! She—"

"Stop it, the both of you!" Caitlyn had had enough. "You're both behaving like bairns! I don't need either one of you to look out for me! I can take care of myself!''

The brothers shifted their attention to Caitlyn as she flared at them. Although she didn't know it, she was a magnificent sight with her cheeks flushed pink with anger and a militant glitter in her blue eyes. Her fists rested on her hips, her skirt swayed about her slender body as she berated them, and her black hair tumbled in silken tendrils around her face. Much struck with her beauty, they both stared, their faces wearing identical expressions of bedazzlement.

"Oh, honestly!" At their mooning looks, she turned on her heel and flounced from the bam.

Immediately Cormac and Rory came after her.

"Caitlyn!"

"Caitlyn, don't be mad!" Rory caught hold of her sleeve. Caitlyn, whirling on him, jerked it from his hold so violently that it tore. Rory stood looking down in stupefied amazement at the scrap of blue linen he held. Cormac's face flushed with rage.

"Now look what you've done, you looby!" Caitlyn was inclined to laugh, her anger turned to amusement at the horrified expression on Rory's face.

"Caitlyn, I never meant ..."

"You tore her dress!" Cormac took a less sanguine view of the situation than did Caitlyn.

His fists balled, and a belligerent spark lit his eyes as he glared at his brother.

" 'Twas an accident—and none of your concern!" Rory's initial contrition turned to belligerence as he met Cormac's hostile glare.

"More mine that yours!"

" 'Tis not!"

"Would you stop?" Caitlyn aimost shrieked the words, stepping hastily between the two when it appeared they would come to blows. She felt like tearing out her hair with vexation—or tearing out theirs. Glares were exchanged over her head. Cormac tried to step around her, his fists balled and his jaw clenched. Caitlyn performed a litde dance step to stay in front of him, her hand resting on his shirt front. Behind her, Rory slipped to one side and shoved his brother's shoulder.

"Think you can take me, do you, little brother?"

That taunting question lit fires in Cormac's eyes. He again tried to get around Caitlyn, who had both hands on his chest now while she angrily told Rory to leave off. Neither seemed inclined to mind her, and she was on the verge of shrugging and permitting the thickheaded numbskulls to kill each other when Connor rode into the stableyard on Fharannain. Cormac, seeing his eldest brother, slowly unclenched his fists whde still favoring Rory with a sizzling look. Caitlyn, also seeing Connor— who dismounted, tied Fharannain to a post, and headed in their direction with narrowed eyes—stepped out from between the two of them and tried to look as if nothing at all was amiss. It was left for Rory, who clearly had no nodon that Connor was anywhere in the vicinity, to take advantage of his younger brother's disengagement and get off a roundhouse punch. Fortunately, Cormac ducked and the blow went whistling harmlessly over his head.

"What in the name of Patrick ails you?" A lean, powerful hand fastened inside the neck of Rory's shirt and dragged him back a few paces. Connor, still some two inches taller than Rory, who at twenty-one had attained his full growth, glared down into the face of his younger brother. Rory blinked. Then Connor looked over to where Caitlyn was standing next to Cormac. The expression in those devil's eyes made even Caitlyn, the innocent party in the fracas, feel about two inches tall.

Nobody said anything. Connor's eyes moved over the three of them, their aqua depths measuring. After a moment, he let Rory go.

"Never, for any reason, do I want to see such a thing again. D'Arcys don't lift their hands to one another. Is that clear?"

"Aye."

"Aye."

Both Cormac and Rory looked sullen, but they didn't argue with Connor's pronouncement.

It was left to Caitlyn to glare at him, which she did, with real venom. His eyes widened as they met her gaze.

"Now, how have I offended you, my wee lassie?" This was said with such amusement that Caitlyn's annoyance increased. He sounded as though he was humoring a child, which she was not.

"If you had half a brain in your head," she hissed, still glaring at him, "you'd see I'm no wee lassie!"

Then she turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving all three d'Arcys staring after her, their faces reflecting identical expressions of bewilderment.

Two days later, the time had come. Caitlyn was sure of it as day wore into evening. There was an edginess to Connor and an air of suppressed excitement about the others. Even the horses were stamping in their stalls. After supper, when Mrs. McFee had left, the d'Arcys retired immediately to bed instead of sitting around the parior swapping tales as was their wont.

Then Caitlyn was certain sure. She could barely contain her own excitement as she retired to her room in the attic, ostensibly to sleep but instead to dress herself in the clothes she had purioined a piece at a time from Mrs. McFee's basket of mending: Cormac's old breeches, which she had unhandily taken in so that they more or less fitted, a shirt of Rory's, Liam's jabot with the torn lace frill, and a rough gray frock coat that she suspected had once belonged to Mickeen. She wore her own riding boots, which were much like a man's, and twisted her hair into a loop at her nape so that it might be mistaken for a man's club. The hooded cloak and mask she had had to improvise, clumsily ripping up an outmoded dress of black silk which she had found in the attic along with other woman's things. (She suspected that the trunk had once belonged to the d'Arcys' mother.) Stitch- ery was another of the womanly arts at which she did not excel, but she had managed to fashion a serviceable hooded cloak and a mask for herself.

Dressed, she waited for more than an hour while the house grew quiet as a grave. Finally, she could contain herself no longer. Caitlyn bundled the coat and mask under her arm and stole down the stairs. A rolled quilt lay under the covers of her bed just in case one of them should take it into his head to check on her before they left. She could only hope that Cormac would not alert her to their going, as he had done once before. She did not think he would. He had been rather on his dignity with her since that afternoon when he and Rory had quarreled. But leaving the dummy in her bed was a chance she had to take. If she was to have any hope of riding along with the Dark Horseman, she had better be in place when the gang of them set out.