Eyes of the Cat (14 page)

It was worse than horrible. It was ridiculous. It made no sense. She distrusted him, feared him, hated him even. Yet being held by Alan was like being held by a rock. It felt like coming home after fighting a war in some frightful, alien land. But
how
? How could it feel so right when she knew the whole thing was so utterly, awfully wrong?

She didn’t realize she’d been moaning aloud until she felt his lips grazing her brow and heard his low voice murmuring, “I’m sorry, dear, I’m trying not to hurt you.”

It was the final blow. It burst the dam of her control, and hot, salty tears flooded over her cheeks, stinging open cuts. “Damn you. Everything you
do
hurts me. Why can’t you just leave me alone? Let me
go
.”

He flinched, as though her words had been a knife thrust, and she felt his muscles tense.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, the tenderness of his previous tone gone. “’Tis not my intention to wound, but if that’s the way you feel, you’d best get used to it. There’s no escape, Tabitha—for either of us. You’re mine whether you like it or not. I’ll ride into hell before I’ll let you go.”

And I’m almost in hell now.

Tabitha struggled to choke back the sobs before they grew uncontrollable. None of her logical science training had prepared her for this turmoil. There was no logic here. She was out of her depth. And out of her mind. Alan’s declaration had sent chills down her spine—but not the icy kind. Nothing seemed to change her core reaction to him. Not anger, hurt, confusion… Despite it all, she was still beginning to feel that being in his arms was the only place in the world she was supposed to be.

Chapter 5

…Like placing one picture over a similar but not quite identical one, so the lines blurred together and it was difficult to tell where one image ended and the other began. That’s what the dream was like, Tabitha thought, as she lay between the sheets (sensible cotton ones, thank goodness), straining to remember it, her bruised eyes weighted shut with the effort.

Alan had brought her back to
their
room, as he called it, after Molly’s skillful doctoring of her injuries. She’d been too drained by then, and too dopey from the painkiller the herb woman had administered to care where she was. She had barely even noticed Alan unwrapping her improvised toga, slipping a nightgown over her head, and tucking her under the covers like she was a small child. Then he’d pulled off his shirt and boots and slid in with her, cradling her against him until deep sleep claimed her.

Which proved the worth of Molly’s potions. It was outrageous to think she ever could have slept in such a position otherwise, no matter how exhausted she was. Especially given the way Alan had spent the fuzzy interval before slumber rubbing her shoulders and stroking her back through the nightgown, and whispering soft words into her hair. Words Tabitha couldn’t remember now. And didn’t want to.

That tender side of Alan seemed the most devastating to her. It rattled her to the core, because it was so incongruous to the rest of him. And because she was so defenseless against it. His growling and bullying was something she could lean into, brace herself for, and at least try to resist. But how did you fight gentleness? It was like one of those snares that used your own weight against you. The harder you struggled to loosen it, the tighter it became. She could feel the whole frightening situation closing in on her like a noose around her neck. And that weird dream had only pulled the rope snugger.

Very
weird, more like a memory than a dream, really. But a memory of something that had never happened to Tabitha. She’d been someone else in the dream, a girl slightly older than herself, who’d been locked in the tower room as she had, but during some earlier time. Tabitha had realized that because the tree outside the window had been so much smaller. She’d been squeezed into the window, staring out over the branches and waiting for someone, her heart pounding with a desperate longing and terrified dread at the same time. Who, exactly, she had been waiting for in the dream, she wasn’t sure, but she’d known it was a man, and that he was coming to rescue her. Although from what, she couldn’t remember, nor anything more than that.

The rest of the dream was a blank. Except for the last part of it. In the final moment before waking, everything had been pitch black around her and heavy with the odors of smoke and blood. She had felt frozen, unable to move, and she hadn’t known where she was anymore. Then came the horrible noise of someone or something screaming in rage—almost like Alan’s cry when they’d pinned him in the yard—and she had awoken with a jolt, the agony of it still ringing in her ears…

“Tabitha? I can tell you’re awake by the way you keep jiggling your knee under the covers. Do you feel well enough to sit up and eat something?”

What…
A pair of bruised eyes popped open, saw who it was, and a sore face managed a half normal smile. “Oh, it’s you. Good morning, Monique.”

“It’s afternoon. And you can forget the Monique. I’m going back to plain old Mary for awhile.” She smiled back.

“I’m glad. I always liked the name Mary. What time is it, anyway?” Cautiously, Tabitha pulled herself upright in the bed.

So far, so good. My head hasn’t fallen off yet.

Mary rose from her chair in a rustle of calico and started fussing with some covered dishes on the nearby table. “It’s almost two. You missed Dunstan’s noontime flogging, but I enjoyed it enough for both of us. They gave him twenty lashes. His back looks like a freshly skinned buffalo carcass, and the rest of him is starting to look like a boiled lobster. He has to hang in his ropes in this blistering Texas sun until nightfall. Do you want scrambled eggs, porridge, or both?”

“Neither.” Tabitha pressed both hands to her suddenly churning stomach. “That…that’s barbaric! Poor Dunstan.”

“Poor Dunstan, nothing!” Mary stared at her in disbelief. “How can you say that after what he did? He’s getting off lightly. I’d have beaten him senseless and left him hanging for a week.”

“Oh, Mary, you don’t mean that. The poor fool was drunk. He didn’t realize what he was doing. And he’d been punished enough already, between the mauling and me cracking him with the bedpost.” Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Tabitha dropped to unsteady feet and staggered across the room to fumble her way into a lacy pink dressing gown she’d spotted draped over the top of the steamer trunk. There were matching slippers on the floor in front of it, and she half collapsed onto the trunk to slide them on.

“And just where do you think you’re going? Molly said you’re to stay in bed all day.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I’ve cut Dunstan down,” Tabitha said, having no idea how she was going to accomplish that feat, but wobbling toward the door to do it just the same. “It’s too cruel to leave him hanging in the heat. On top of his other wounds, it could even kill him! If he dies, I’ll feel guilty about it the rest of my life.”

Mary caught her before she was halfway out of the room. “Honey, that’s not going to happen. Dunstan’s a toad, but he’s an
iron
toad. You couldn’t dent him with a battle-axe. He’ll be fine. Unfortunately.” She put an arm around Tabitha and steered her toward the four-poster. “Now go back to bed. You’re still hurt, and you’re not thinking clearly. They’d never let you release him, anyway. The toad has to take his full punishment. It’s the MacAllister code. The only one who could possibly spare him at this point is Alan, because he’s the hereditary laird of the community. But I think Alan would cut his own throat before he’d cut lover-boy down early. He’s in the outer courtyard now, watching him with a look that makes my scalp feel loose. I can only imagine what it’s doing to Dunstan.”

How lovely. Not.

A view of Alan as Tabitha had first seen him—as the savage plains warrior—flashed before her eyes. She couldn’t help shivering as she was guided back under the covers.

“You see? You’re all weak and trembly from moving around.” Mary plumped up the pillows behind her.

Tabitha absently shook her head, making herself so dizzy for a moment that the bed felt like a raft riding over rapids. “No, it’s not that…” She clutched at the mattress to keep from falling off it. Drawing a few deep breaths, she waited for the white water to calm and for Mary’s three faces to merge back into one. “It…it’s…”

It’s this crazy business about Alan thinking he’s a Comanche
, she was going to say, but Mary cut her off.

“It’s your head injury. That and Uncle Angus’s annoying fixation on introducing new blood into his clan’s breeding stock,” Mary said almost too wryly. “His brazen matchmaking would fluster a dancehall girl, let alone a decent girl like you. Not that I’ve helped the situation any,” she added with a sigh. “I was trying to save you from Alan, and I got you assaulted by Toad Dunstan, instead. I’m truly sorry about that.”

Tabitha blinked up at the elegantly featured haze hovering above her. “You…you were trying to save me from… But you hardly know me.”

“What difference does that make? You looked like someone who valued her vir…let’s just say
virtue
, and I thought it might be amusing to help you hang on to it.” The haze shrugged. “The storm woke me last night, and I saw that two-bit sideshow on the ramparts. Then later I saw Alan come in here. I waited in the corridor a bit, but when I didn’t hear any screaming or shouts, I figured you were either lost in this maze or hiding, so I went looking for you, and that’s when we met in the alcove. Only I couldn’t do anything then, because I heard someone behind me in the passageway. Spying on us, presumably. Though I don’t know who it was for sure.”

“I think I do,” Tabitha mused, remembering the electric lantern. “It may have been Mr. Elliott. But I can’t imagine why he’d be spying.”

“I can,” Mary said, more to herself than her charge. “But never mind that now. My point is I was only acting odd then to
divert suspicion
, as they say in the dime novels. I thought it might be Alan watching us, and seeing as how he expects that sort of behavior from me, I rather hated to disappoint him. He thinks I’m quite daft, you know.”

He’s in no position to judge, Tabitha thought, as she watched Mary’s face coming back into focus.

“Then I devised that little tower act to draw him away from you. Not one of my better performances, I’m afraid, but the best I could do on short notice.” Mary studied her fingernails a moment. “I could have kept him there until dawn, too, if that wretched wall hadn’t given way”—she frowned—“almost as if it…dissolved.
Most
peculiar. I can’t figure it. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

As a matter of fact, yes.
But Tabitha couldn’t bring herself to say so. It was like one of Simon Elliott’s electric lamps had flashed on inside her aching skull.
I believe I know what he and Dr. Earnshaw are working on…

“Honey, what’s the matter? Are you sick again? You’re whiter than the pillowcase. Do you want me to fetch Molly?”

“Um, yes, that might be a good idea,” Tabitha half lied. Her head was throbbing, after all, but not just from her injuries. She’d been given too much to think about too quickly. She needed some time alone to sort through it.

“Thank you, Mary. I really am grateful for all your help,” she added sincerely as the redhead rustled to the door.

Mary paused a moment to look back, an unreadable expression on her classic face—or maybe it was just that Tabitha’s vision was still a little fuzzy around the edges. “Don’t mention it. I’d do the same for any girl who needed it. I know how…irritating unwanted advances can be.” Something in her tone made it sound as though she knew a little too well. “By the way, that’s one thing you needn’t worry about for a while,” she added more cheerfully. “Molly has given Alan very specific instructions to not do anything to
jostle
you for a few days, if you catch my meaning.” With a quick, catlike grin, she waltzed out of the room.

Tabitha gave her until the count of ten, then pushed back the covers and slid to her feet, hanging onto one of the bed’s three remaining posts for support while she shuffled back into the pink slippers. Along with everything else in her mind was the inescapable image of poor, foolish Dunstan crisp-frying in the blazing sun like a slab of bacon on a hot grill. That had been her other motivation for sending Mary away. She was still determined to set him free.

After that, she could ponder her own release. And what she thought Elliott and Earnshaw had created. And how she could use the latter to accomplish the first.

On her somewhat tipsy trek out of the keep, she kept glancing about, peering into corners and staring at shadows, half expecting to see the black cat, and half disappointed when he never materialized. But then, he was probably nocturnal, and spent the heat of the day curled up in some shady, secluded spot sleeping. The only times she had seen him, after all, it had been night.

The only times she had seen
anything
of the castle, it had been dusk or full night. This afternoon was her first view of the place in daylight. How curious. She’d been there for…what? Almost two days? And this was her first clear look at her prison. Or would be as soon as she was outside. The passing of time meant little in the large keep. Its walls were thick, its windows narrow and scarce. Here, there was no morning, afternoon or evening. Here, as far as she could determine, was only dim, dimmer, and dark.