Dark of the Moon (9 page)

silence. Nothing at all.

Holding her breath, feeling as though her heart would pound right through the walls of her chest, Caitlyn continued to stare toward the place where the riders had disappeared. It was some time before she realized that they had literally vanished. They weren't coming back out, and they weren't inside the Castle either. They had faded into the air. Barely containing a scream of horror, she turned and scurried back up into her parapet, to huddle shivering against cold stone as she recited the Hail Mary over and over again. Ghosts were abroad this night, and she wanted nothing more to do with them. Better, far better, that she take her chances with the lightning and the rain.

After that sleep was impossible. She kept fearing to see another apparition, to hear more unearthly sounds. The rain kept on until just before dawn. Caitlyn was already making her way down the winding tower steps as the sky started to lighten. Not for anything would she spend another night in Donoughmore Castle. She was convinced that what she had seen last night were specters straight from Hell.

As she climbed over the piles of rubble on the side of the Castle facing away from the farm, she heard voices. For an awful moment she thought the ghoulies had risen up even in daylight to chase her. Then she recognized words and voices, and panic of a different sort assailed her.

"Search everywhere. The dungeons, towers, everywhere. If she's here, I want her found.

Though I doubt she is." Caitlyn shivered as she identified that voice: it belonged to Connor. He said the last more quiedy than the rest, as though to a speaker nearer to him.

"I tell you, she is here! She's probably been hiding here all along!" That was Cormac.

"I doubt it, Cormac. 'Twas probably a peasant seeking shelter from the storm. The little lass is long gone by now, though how she eluded us confounds me."

"She didn't elude us, don't you see? She hid, here in the Castle!"

"The men will search it thoroughly this time, don't worry. But I still think—"

"There she is!" That bellow from Cormac brought Caitlyn's head swinging around. There they were, rounding the comer of the wall, Connor on Fharannain and Cormac on a shiny bay mare. In that quick, horrified glimpse, Caitlyn saw that a small band of peasants was spreading out inside the Casde walls, obviously beginning a renewed search. Which was unnecessary now that the d'Arcys had seen . . .

As they spurred their horses toward her, Caitlyn started to run. Slipping and sliding on the rain-wet grass, knowing it was useless, that it would be impossible to outrun the horses, still she tried, fleeing like a fox before the hounds. Behind her, hooves thundered. She dared a quick look over her shoulder to find Fharannain almost upon her. It seemed as though Connor meant to run her down. Screaming, she veered to the left. The horse flashed by, brushing her. Then she was caught by a hard arm, lifted, and deposited facedown across the saddle in front of Connor. The shock of it kept her silent for a moment. But only for a moment.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, kicking and hitting out in a blind panic. Her toes thudded into Fharannain's sleek sides; her fists thumped his ribs. Whinnying in surprise at such treatment, the horse reared, hooves pawing the air. Caitlyn was almost thrown to the ground.

"Damnation!" Connor managed to control the beast, bringing it back to earth after a few moments' wild ride. Then he set the animal at a gallop toward the farm. Caitlyn had to wrap both arms around Connor's hard-muscled leg to keep from falling off, straight beneath Fharannain's hooves. The ride took only a few minutes. Then Connor was reining in, jumping down from the horse as he tossed the reins to Cormac, who had followed. Caitlyn found herself hauled from the saddle and slung over Connor's shoulder like a sack of grain. She shrieked a protest, beating his back with her fists. She would have kicked him, but he held her legs securely still.

"Let me go! Do you hear? Let me go!" He was striding through the back door with her.

Caitlyn screamed curses at all and sundry as he bore her through the kitchen, past Mrs. McFee in her apron and Mickeen, who was squatted by the great fireplace, apparendy stoking up the fire. They both turned to gawk. Caitlyn spat in their general direction as she was carried into the hall.

"Mickeen, bring hot water to fill the bath in my room. Mrs. McFee, we'll be needing some dry clothes. Female clothes. Whatever a female needs to be decent from the skin out!" With these instructions shouted over his shoulder as he moved out the kitchen door, Connor took the stairs two at a time. The gaping pair of servants followed their master as far as the hallway, watching wide-eyed as he disappeared with a shrieking, cursing Caitlyn around the bend in the stairs. Mrs. McFee's face reddened at the curses, and she and Mickeen exchanged a significant look before turning to fulfill their master's bidding. Caitlyn's protests rose to such a volume that they fair shook the rafters.

"You put me down!" Frantic with desperation, her blows seeming to bother him not at all, she pressed her face into Connor's lean-muscled back and bit him in the fleshy area over his ribs.

He was coadess, clad only in a shirt, breeches, and black riding boots. With so litde resistance, her teeth nearly met in his flesh before she let him go.

"Hellfire and damnation!" Even as he bellowed in rage and pain, Caitlyn went flying through the air. Instinctively she raised her arms to protect her head from the anticipated impact when she slammed into the hard wooden floor. Instead she landed bouncing on a soft feather bed. That knowledge was worse than hitting the floor would have been. She barely touched the mattress before she was scrambling to the other side of the bed and leaping from it.

"I'll kill you if you touch me!" Terror sent her heartbeat drumming in her ears as she stood poised to run. Connor, standing on the opposite side of the large four- poster, scowled and rubbed his wounded side.

"Bite me again and I'll flay the skin from your bones! As God is my witness, I will!"

They glared at each other. Caitlyn looked beyond Connor to the door, which was open behind him. Perhaps she could dash for freedom. But Connor was in the way, tall and strong and threatening. With that grim look on his face and those devil's eyes flaring at her, he in no way resembled the soft-faced Sassenach she had at first thought him. Without his coat, she could see the broad shoulders and hard muscles of his chest and arms, the narrow hips, the long, hard-muscled legs. He was a powerful man. Getting by him would not be easy.

"You son of the serpent!" Casting wild eyes behind her, she spied a silver brush and comb set on his dressing table. Reaching for the brush, she let it fly. He ducked, cursing, and the brush thudded into the wall behind his head. Before he had recovered, she threw the comb after it. He ducked that too, growling as he straightened. As she had hoped, he came around the bed toward her, fury emanating from his every pore. Quick as a cat, she scrambled across the bed and toward the door. Her feet touched the floor, and then a hand closed over her upper arm, yanking her back onto the bed. She sprawled on her back, her wet clothes making damp marks on the coverlet. He loomed over her, eyes snapping, mouth contorted into a snarl. Caitlyn screamed, fearing that she would be ravished there and then. As her scream blasted into his face he snatched her up in his arms.

Thrusting his long legs over the edge of the bed, he turned her over in midair and deposited her facedown across his knee. While she screamed and cursed and flailed, he administered a blistering spanking to the backside of her breeches. Her soft flesh burned and smarted with each blow. Her pride ached more.

"You can't do this to me! I'll kill you! You bastard!"

"I've had enough of your filthy mouth! And enough of your temper! You will behave yourself in this house, is that understood?"

A hard whack on her behind emphasized his words. Caitlyn screamed, kicked, and cursed.

"Is that understood?" The question was roared.

"No!"

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Understood?"

"No! Stop it! Bloody bastard!"

Whack! Whack!

"All right!" She was sobbing now, as much from humiliation as from pain. In all her life, Caitlyn O'Malley had never been forced to knuckle under. But she was knuckling now, to this devil-eyed son of Satan who would break her if she didn't. And she hated him for it. How she hated him!

"Very well." He let her slide off his lap. She crumpled to the floor, lying there for a moment, shamed to the core of her being by her surrender. Her bottom ached with a vengeance, but the humiliation she felt was the worst pain of all. Then temper reared its face-saving head, and a red- hot rage flooded her veins.

"You spawn of Satan!" Springing to her feet before he had any inkling of her intention, she slammed her doubled fist into his right eye with every ounce of her strength. The blow was so hard that it knocked him backward on the bed. He bellowed with fury and pain. Caitlyn darted for the door. Before she could make it he was upon her in a flying tackle. This time she did hit the hard wood planks of the floor. His great weight landed on top of her with a
whompf!

Stunned, she lay still for a moment while he lay on top of her, panting.

"Ah, do you need any help, Conn?"

Caitlyn looked up to see Liam, his boots planted just a few feet from her face, staring down at the two of them as they lay panting on the floor, half inside the bedroom and half in the hallway. Behind Liam was Rory, grinning widely, with Cormac, also grinning, behind him.

Mrs. McFee stood on the stairs, a bundle of clothes in her hand and a scandalized expression on her face. Mickeen was coming up, puffing as he carried two brimming buckets of water.

"Don't you have chores to do? The lot of you?" Connor growled in response as he got to his feet, dragging Caitlyn up with him. For the time being she was spent, but he dragged her arm behind her back and held it there for insurance, as he pulled her inside his bedroom.

"Aye." Liam hurriedly shooed his brothers back down the stairs, while Mickeen brushed by them to pour water into the tin bath concealed behind a screen in a comer of Connor's bedroom.

Mrs. McFee, muttering dire things punctuated with "Sinful!" and "Ungodly!", followed Mickeen into the room and placed the assortment of clothes on the bed. Turning around, she folded her hands in front of her and eyed Connor severely as he stood holding a gasping Caitlyn captive just inside the door.

"I'll have you know, your lordship, that I won't be a party to any shameful goings-on in this house! The idea, a lass dressing like that and carrying on in the company of men! And her cursing! It's sinful, it is, and full of sin she is! The ungodly thing should be sent straight back whence she came! Take care that she doesn't lead you down her hellhound path!"

"She's naught but a child, Mrs. McFee, with I doubt any more notion of sin than a babe.

And I believe I am still master here?" Connor's voice was soft, but even Caitlyn shivered at the tone of it. Mrs. McFee reddened, then bowed her head, leaving the room without another word.

"Do you need more water, your lordship? The tub's perhaps a quarter full."

"That should be enough, Mickeen. Thank you. You can get on about youi work now."

"Aye, your lordship." His disapproving expression as he eyed Caitlyn, standing limply now in Connor's hold, said volumes thathe didn't quite dare, after Mrs. McFee's setdown, to express in words. Connor merely jerked his head in the direction of the door. Mickeen left, closing it behind him. Connor dragged Caitlyn over to the door, turned the key in the lock, and slipped it into his pocket.

"I'm going to let you go, but I want no more of your temper, understand?"

Caitlyn nodded once, jerkily. Connor released her. Immediately she mo/ed to the center of the room and turned, eyeing him warily. He sighed.

"Suppose you bathe, then dress yourself in clothes befitting your sex. Then we can have that talk."

"I've already had a bath this week. I'll not be needing another."

Connor's eyes narrowed. "You're soaked to the bone and so cold you feel like a block of ice.

I doubt you've been dry since you came to Donoughmore. Now, I don't care to have your death from pneumonia on my conscience, so I am telling you to get in that bath. Or, lass or no, I'll put you there myself!"

"I'm no lass!"

"Hell and the devil confound it! I've had enough of your arguments! I've said you're to bathe, and you will do so! And if you want to do it in privacy, then you'll give me no more sass!'' He looked on the verge of an apoplexy. Caitlyn's eyes widened as the full import of his threat registered.

"All right." She conceded immediately, secretly elated that he meant to leave her alone for the task. It was almost inconceivable that he would be foolish enough to make the same mistake twice, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. While he was gone, she would climb out one of the two narrow-paned windows and escape again. It was all she could do to prvent a triumphant grin from curling her lips.

His eyes narrowed at her. She was glad to see that the flesh around the right one was beginning to swell where she had struck him. She hoped he had a black eye to remember her by.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes. If you're not decent by then ..." He left the threat hanging.

Caitlyn nodded in reply. With one more narrow-eyed look at her, he let himself out of the room.

Caitlyn heard the lock click shut behind him. For a long moment she stood clasping and unclasping her hands in front of her, afraid that he meant to stand outside and listen at the door.

He would likely hear her open the window. But then she heard his booted feet clomping down the hall. Holding her breath until she heard him on the stairs, she ran at once to the nearest window. It opened with difficulty, but using all her strength she managed to force a wide enough space for her body to fit through. Swinging one leg over the sill, she was frozen by a shrill whistle. Heart in mouth, she looked down to see Cormac grinning up at her.

"Ah-ah," he said, waggling a finger at her. Caitlyn cursed and spat at him. He laughed as he jumped back. Climbing back inside, she cursed again, knowing she was defeated. There was no escape this time. To relieve her feelings, she picked up the squat white pitcher that stood in the bowl for washing and huried it against the door. The ensuing crash of splintering glass was immensely satisfying. She had just picked up the bowl to send it the way of its fellow when she heard the key turn in the lock. As Connor burst through the door, eyes dashing, she hurled the bowl at his head.