Eyes of the Cat (36 page)

Jeremy Earnshaw?
One of the mind-control tricks he had learned from the Panther before blind jealousy twisted friendship into hate?

It might be. She thought she could feel his will prickling at the edges of her consciousness, just as she had felt it before during these past days. Was he trying to goad her back through the gate? Back through the dark? Back into the arms of death?

This had to be some hypnotic projection. It was too like those muddled memories and dreams she now realized he had been using to manipulate and confuse her. But it wouldn’t work, Tabitha told herself, setting her feet and her resolve to not tumble into it. She would deny this vision as she had the others.

She was still denying it even as several sets of heavy hands took hold and began dragging her toward the stake. It was an unusually tactile vision, apparently.

Too tactile?
A different memory suddenly elbowed its way through the jostling crowd of images in her head. A genuine memory, this time. A recent one, and her own, of these same hands hauling her up out of…

“Nice of her tae spare us the bother o’ fetchin’ her, ain’t it? I’d check the vats, though, if I were you, Geordie. No tellin’ what mischief she was makin’ on the way here.” One of the visions laughed. “She feels dry enoof, but witches can spoil beer with a look, sae I’ve heard.”

“Shut your face, you blatherin’ arse. If you make mock o’ this, some’ll suspect ’tain’t real.”

Real?
As an opiate soaked rag was stuffed into her mouth, their mock witch knew that it was. Digging in her heels, she began a furious and ultimately futile battle to break free, scarcely noticing in the hysteria when her bodice ripped and a slender piece of iron dropped out—not even certain she had seen the flash of black that retrieved it and streaked off, until she heard the cries:

“There be more proof of her sorceries! D’ye see?”

“See what?”

“The demon! Are y’blind?”

“Nay, but you mun be. ’Tis nothin’ there.”

“’Tis the demon, I tell you!”

“Aw, you’re daft.”

“Daft am I? ’Tis Satan desertin’ his own!”

“Run, Caliban!”

The last was from her, as a sickly sweet gag went flying before being snatched out of the air and roughly shoved back in place. Though where her furred emissary was going with the key…
Alan?
She wondered, and tossed hope aside with the thought.

Wherever he was, Alan wouldn’t know what the key meant or even that it was from her. Her father would recognize it, but she doubted he would relate it to a murderous replay of history like this. As far as she could figure, there was only one soul nearby who would be able to read that small metal message, as he had once before. But would the cat dare take it to him? He might, if he thought it was the only chance to spare her.

He’d be right, too, she realized wretchedly, as thick cords lashed her tightly to the stake. Jeremy Earnshaw in Wild Horse’s powerful body probably would be able to free her. And a slashed throat would be easier than a slow, agonizing burn.

“Clever girl, Elspeth. I’m coming!”

The words sounded clearly in her head at the same instant murky billows of smoke swirled up, choking and blinding her. The courtyard exploded in earsplitting pandemonium—

Dear God, what was happening? ’Twas beastly tae be hooded! Drat Stuart and his mercy. ’Twould be simpler for her, he’d said. Simpler her foot! He simply couldna abide the thought o’ lookin’ at her face when he set the torch tae the wood. This hood made it simpler for him, it did. But…

Twisting in her bonds, she felt for it again.

There ’twas! A nail or somethin’ in the stake.

A rewarding bit of a rip, and she had a small peephole. A big peep through it, and she wished she’d left well enough alone.

Saints forgive her for causin’ such a fury. And saints forgive him for nay trustin’ her, for mistakin’ friendship for love… Was he sorry for it now? ’Twas him there alangside the Panther, wasn’t it? God protect them both… If they got themselves killed for her, she’d ne’er— Sweet heaven! Was that his game? Tae use this battle as a shield for his own vengeance? But the Panther wouldna suspect that. He’d think Jeremy was tryin’ tae help and—

Screaming out a warning that split time itself, she watched in horror as two forms collided in a locking of limbs and minds that nearly tore her own skull apart with its force. Suffocating in the smoke, blinded by terror, she never knew when it was over or who had pushed to her side, until her sliced bonds dropped away, and she fell forward out of a nightmare into the sound of his voice calling her name…

“Tabitha!”

Chapter 13

“All right, if someone will oblige me with a drum roll,” Kathleen Kildare was saying, as the evening shadows deepened in the castle’s inner court, “I’ll attempt to repeat this tangled little epic and see if I’ve gotten all the threads sorted out.”

Tabitha humored her with a halfhearted thrumming of fingers against the side of the wooden bench they were stationed on. Tucked between a wall and the end of the keep’s entrance ramp it provided a welcome spot to enjoy the sunset breezes without being on public display. Neither female was much in the mood for company at the moment, beyond the company they could offer each other.

“First,” Kathy began after dramatically clearing her throat, smoothing her flounced skirt, and raising the forefinger of her right hand.

“First… And I hope you’ll forgive me for starting with the part that concerns myself.
First
”—she raised the forefinger higher—“Captain Simon Elliott of the Texas Rangers, better known as
Smoke
, because of his inscrutable and cryptic ways… Though if you ask me, it’s really more because being near him makes a person want to break out in fits of coughing. At least, that’s how he affects me… Anyway, he did
not
come here initially to spy on yours truly, much as it pains me to admit such a ruthless and undeserved slight to my professional ego. Nor did he come merely to aid Dr. Earnshaw. The insufferable Mr. Wizard
does
have a science background,
is
a former student of Dr. Earnshaw’s, and
has
been assisting him, but all that was actually just a convenient cover for his
true
purpose. His true purpose being to discreetly observe castle life from the inside.

“
Because
”—the forefinger shot skyward a melodramatic moment before plummeting breathless into her lap—“some overly zealous official at the state capital had received an anonymous letter claiming that Clan MacAllister has been taking too much upon itself, legally speaking, and advising that their special pact with Texas ought to be dissolved before they instigated a revolution. Or something equally embarrassing.

“We now know, of course, that provocative little warning was penned by Geordie. And the only thing that surprises me about that,” she inserted thoughtfully, “is the idea that imbecile knew
how
to write, in the first place.

“At any rate,” she continued with a brief shake of her head, “that is why our brewer, with a little help from some of his best customers, organized that lovely cookout for you last night. Taking advantage of the fact that most of the clan would be occupied far from the outer court with a trial-by-combat in the great hall, and having overheard enough of your shouting match with Uncle Angus to know that Captain Elliott would be arriving this morning with a marshal and deputies, he decided to give the authorities such a
hot
demonstration of clan tradition, that it would
scotch
the whole pact for good—if you’ll pardon the puns.

“Not because Geordie was anti-traditionalist, mind you, but because he was anti Alan and Angus. He’d been wanting to pull apart the entire MacAllister hierarchy since the day Heather jilted him for Alan—probably the only intelligent thing that poor girl ever did, too. Though if he’d known you had guessed the truth about him, he would have had an even better reason. I find that wonderfully ironic, by the way—the fact that he
didn’t
realize you’d already pegged him for Heather’s death, and was trying to dispose of you anyway.

“Which…” The hand flitted up again for an instant, this time with the second finger joining the first. “Which brings us to
Act Two
, subtitled
What Really Happened on the Prairie that Day
.

“Unfortunately, we’ll never be able to confront him with it, since he tripped into his own bonfire last night and went off like a Roman candle when one of his drunken cronies tried to put him out by dumping whiskey on him—very clumsy of them both, I must say—but it’s certain now that Geordie was the one who murdered Heather, having first shot Wild Horse, thinking he was Alan, and leaving him for dead a short ways off.

“Aside from the other evidence—such as motive and that asinine story of his—what makes it certain is Wild Horse calling for beer all those years when he hates beer. With his mind virtually destroyed by his wound, it was the only way he had of naming the true culprit. Instead of saying
Geordie the Brewer
, he just kept saying
beer
—an obvious clue, really. Alan probably would have caught it himself, if he hadn’t been so intent on suspecting his uncle—just as you did for a while, and for the same reasons.

“All that came out during the combat, naturally. It’s a pity you were so busy being burned at the stake and had to miss that. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Especially the look on Uncle Angus’s face when he realized it was Alan he’d been trying to skewer.

“Not that the battle lasted very long. Having been taught claymore fighting by Angus himself, Alan knew all the old bear’s tricks and had him disarmed within a dozen or so strokes. Then for an entertaining few moments, the accusations clashed louder than their claymores had—until Angus managed to convince Alan of his innocence by swearing it on the sacred honor of the clan.

“It was all so preposterous, I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. I mean, the idea of Angus being a murderer! If either of you had asked me, I could have assured you he wasn’t the type. He does have sort of a criminal nature, but it’s more my sort. Uncle Angus is a master manipulator. A con-artist.” She grinned. “He’ll grab any opportunity and twist it to his advantage if he can.

“That’s why you ended up here, even though you weren’t the bride he’d ordered. He needed Alan married to produce an heir to continue the MacAllister line. You presented yourself, so he grabbed you. And then—knowing his nephew very well—locked you in the tower, a rebellious captive, to clinch the deal. After all, what gallant knight in his right mind can resist falling in love with a beautiful and spirited damsel-in-distress? Although I imagine the damsel turned out to be a bit more spirited than either of them had anticipated. You
are
something of a wild card, you know, Tabitha.

“As for the combat…” She launched blithely back into the tale. “At least it cleared the air between Alan and Angus. And it ended well enough—except for that one hairy moment when Alan was nearly crushed. I honestly think Uncle Angus is more dangerous in a friendly, forgiving mood than he is when angry. The man’s hugs are lethal! For a second there, I expected Alan to pass out from lack of air. He’d gone gray as a ghost and was staring over Angus’s shoulder like he’d just seen one, too. Then, all of a sudden—and without a word to anyone, mind you—he shoved free, snatched up his claymore, and went tearing out of the hall like he’d just been shot from a cannon.

“The rest of us stood there with our mouths hanging open, not knowing what to make of it, until Angus grabbed up his claymore, too, and went charging after him, bellowing the MacAllister battle cry. Which, of course, mobilized the entire assembly.

“We were too late to do much, though. By the time Angus and the rest of us reached the outer court, Alan had already turned it upside down and was cutting you free from the stake. Geordie was hardly more than a grease spot by then, and Wild Horse lay where Alan had thrown him when the man had appeared out of nowhere and leapt onto his back. It appears he was the victim of a sudden heart attack. Molly said he was probably dead before he hit the ground.

“Which rolls us straight into
Act Three
, and the disturbing idea that Molly was more correct than she realized.” Kathy sighed, flickering three digits aloft.

“Wild Horse
was
dead before he hit the ground. Several days worth of
before
, in fact. Wild Horse—or what little was left of him by that time—had died not too long after you first arrived here. It was another who…who… Oh, I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this,” she groaned, “but, it was someone else in Wild Horse’s body, who died last night when that body suddenly gave out.

“Which proves Molly correct again—or half correct, anyway. Because somehow she knew the Panther had escaped death. But she thought he had managed it through Caliban. Now it appears as though he did send his mind and spirit outward right before they destroyed his physical form. But not into the cat. And he didn’t do it to save himself, either. He did it to save Elspeth.

“That’s the part of the story Molly never knew—how insanely jealous Jeremy Earnshaw was. His desire for Elspeth was so possessive, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of her even looking at another man. When she nursed the Panther all those weeks, and then helped him escape, Jeremy thought she had done it out of passion for the man—that she’d betrayed him with his own blood brother—and he vowed revenge.