Seacliff (51 page)

“I’ve killed two men, Father,” she whispered. “Many more have died, both theirs and ours. But he said it, you know. James said it himself. This house belongs to its conquerors. And this time I’m the victor. I hope I did it right.”

She waited, not really expecting an answer, then pushed away from the tree and leaned over the wall. The tide was turning, but the sea was still high from the storm’s all-night battering. A grin creased her soft features as she remembered with a chill and delight the harrowing leap from the boat now splintered at the bottom, the near-drowning she’d experienced, and the way the cliffs had called to her from the mouths of caves high up in the sea wall.

She would probably have nightmares, but she would have stories, too. And she supposed that, in the Welsh tradition, they would be embroidered and gilded and made heroic in their proportions.

She moved along the wall until she was above the path, and wondered how long it had taken those now forgotten Norsemen to chisel the steps out, how many of their dragon-headed longboats had landed on the beach. She supposed that was true heroism. And when the Romans came, did they hide in the caves until nightfall, waiting for their chance to escape? Or were they gone by first light? Which of those races reached this place first?

A call from the house sent her spinning around. It was Alice Courder, asking petulantly if she and her sister were expected to feed all these people.

“Who gave you that idea?” she called back, laughing. “Master Griffin!” the woman shouted.

Caitlin sobered, then laughed again. “Please, Alice, do as he asks. It’s little enough we can do for our friends.”

Alice, however, didn’t seem to think so. She scowled and vanished back inside, muttering to herself.

It was a fine moment, and one that should have lasted. Caitlin, however, was trying to decide if she should sit with Gwen for a while, before sleeping herself, when a dark voice whispered at the back of her mind. She stood like a statue facing the house for almost a full minute, fearing that the nightmare had another scene to play. Then, slowly, she turned to the wall and looked down.

Below were the ridges of rock that overhung the caves.

As if in a dream she climbed over the wall and lowered herself to the first step, noting almost absently that a year’s battering from the sea had weakened the thin posts lashed between the iron spikes. If anyone the night before had leaned too heavily against one it surely would have split and sent him plunging into the water.

She made her way down cautiously, leaning out as far as she dared to spot each of the cave mouths just beyond reach of the steps. It could have been done, she thought. He could have climbed down this far, then used the rocks and cracks to make his way over to one of the caves. It would have been extremely dangerous—one slip and he would have been gone— but not too dangerous for a man fleeing for his life.

She prayed she was wrong.

Flint, from what she’d heard from Orin, had injured his arm and his leg in the fall that had killed Bradford. It would have been agony for him to—

She stopped, one hand brushing impatiently at the spray that covered her like intermittent mist.

She stared, and her heart slowed as if it had taken one shock too many.

She spotted a small cave some thirty yards across the cliff wall. There was a movement. A flash of white, of dark, and a hand reached out around the edge to grip, to pull … and the head of James Flint appeared in the faint light. A wave broke against the stone and raced up the wall; when it cleared, dripping and sliding down and leaving blossoms of foam in its wake, he was in full view, and staring at her dumbly. He recovered swiftly enough, however, and nodded. With the wind coming down from the north his voice carried easily.

“Well, Caitlin, I assume it’s over.”

It took her some time to find her voice, and when she did she was startled by the cold hatred that filled it.

“It’s over, yes,” she said.

He shrugged. “Mr. Birwyn?”

“Dead. By my hand,” she added.

The scar distorted his lip hideously as he broke into a rueful grin. “From the beginning I underestimated you, my lady. Right from the beginning.”

“It seems you did.”

He looked down at the sea, then turned around and lowered his legs to an outcropping just below the cave. A grimace of pain crossed his face, but he was too busy searching for handholds, looking for places to plant his feet firmly, to give in to it. As she watched him move like a crab toward her, she was amazed that he had managed to do the same in pitch darkness.

“I guess,” he said, grunting, “we’ll not meet again.”

“Only if I join you in hell, James, only in hell.”

A man’s voice called to her from above, distantly, and Flint held his place, craning his neck to see if anyone had spotted him. Then, reminding her now of a spider stalking its prey, he moved again, slightly downward now, toward the nearest broad step.

Caitlin held her breath, and found she was unable to move. It would be simple, she told herself, so simple to climb below him and wait. And once he was near enough to reach, grab his ankle and cause him to fall. If he did not reach the water, he would be stunned long enough for her to scream for help, for Griffin to come and take him prisoner. Then she frowned at herself. It
was
simple, and she
should
be screaming now, but something checked her. Something impinged on the impulse to do what was necessary.

He climbed lower, and closer. His clothes were tom, and she could see dried blood caked on the side of his neck.

When she glanced up, she knew what it was. Over the edge of the wall hung the twisted, needled branch of her father’s pine. She knew instinctively it marked the place where Flint had fought with David Evans and had thrown him over the edge. When she returned her gaze to Flint, the midnight of her eyes had turned to obsidian.

He slipped once, and she held her breath.

He climbed, and slipped again, this time losing his hold and dropping to the steps. He landed on hands and knees, and his head was bowed as she came down to meet him. When he looked up, he was smiling.

“You would jail me?” he asked mockingly. “No,” she said. “I’m not strong enough for that.”

He rose unsteadily to his feet, wary puzzlement in his eyes when she stopped on the step above, within reach yet unafraid. The sea boiled fifty feet below them, the tide far enough out to expose jagged boulders lining the cliff’s base, yet not far enough out to uncover the beach.

He shook his head regretfully. “We could have been quite the couple, Caitlin, you and I. A fair traveling pair we could have been.”

“Never,” she said.

“A dream of mine, that’s all,” he answered, and before she could jump away he had closed the space between them and had his arms around her. His lips brushed her cheek as she struggled, and his familiar laugh filled her ears. When she kicked his shins, he slapped her hard and grabbed her again.

“I don’t lose,” he told her. “And if you won’t go with me now, I’ll just have to go alone, won’t I?”

Her hands had worked their way up to his chest, and her answer was a shove that broke the embrace and made him stagger backward. His buttocks struck the railing while his arms stretched out to balance him. But it was too late. The crack of splintering wood was musket-loud, and as he began to fall over the edge his eyes widened in utter amazement.

Then he fell, and Caitlin stepped close to the broken railing and watched his body plunge silently into the surf. She watched for nearly an hour, and when he did not surface again she turned and made her way back home.

T
he following day she was at the wall again. Gwen was doing well, and complaining, and Caitlin had ordered her to marry Davy without delay. Davy had laughed, but Gwen had bristled.

“So,” she’d said from her bed, “you’re taking over now, are you?”

Caitlin grinned at her. “I am that, yes.”

“And you think you can order me about like a simple maid?”

“A maid, no; simple, yes.”

“Cat!”

“I don’t envy you,” she said to Davy, who couldn’t stop grinning. “She’s going to be hell to live with.”

“Cat, dammit!”

“I can manage,” Davy said. “But if you don’t mind, mistress, I’d just as soon not have the vicar say the words.” Caitlin nodded her agreement. “You won’t have to worry, Davy. Randall found him hiding in his cellar, and he’s been allowed three days to leave Wales. There’ll be a replacement from Cardiff soon enough. I should think, by that time, Gwen will be much better.”

“Not if you’re going to speak to me like that,” Gwen said in a huff, and Caitlin left the cottage laughing, listening to the bantering filling the room behind her. She hurried to the kitchen to arrange deliveries for the Courders, then strode into the front room where she’d had all her father’s ledgers brought. She’d decided to waste no time in getting the estate running as smoothly as possible. It was almost time for dinner when Griffin entered the room.

She looked up, saw him, and rose. “You don’t knock?”

“I was asked,” he said, grinning as he approached her. But when he tried to embrace her, she held him at bay.

“Asked? By whom?”

“Gwen,” he said. “She said something about tit for tat, whatever that means.”

“Oh, dear,” Caitlin said, then broke into a laugh as she leaned against his chest, feeling his strength, feeling her own strength as well. When she told him what she’d told Gwen that morning, he stared at her askance.

“You’re not willing, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” she corrected. “But you must understand one thing. If we’re to be married, we must be equals. I’ll not have it the way it was with Oliver.”

He lifted her off the floor suddenly and kissed her solidly on the lips. When she squealed and wriggled, he only held her tighter. “Equals, you say.”

“Griff Radnor, put me down!”

“Equals.” He half closed his eyes, as if he were considering a rather dubious offer. “Equals.”

She yanked at his hair, and he put her down in a hurry, stepping back while she smoothed her blouse and skirts primly and fixed him with a stare. They held the pose for nearly a full minute before she put a hand to her mouth and smothered a quick laugh.

“Equals,” she insisted.

“All right,” he sighed in mock defeat. “If that’s the only way I’m to have you, then equals it will be.”

“And something else.”

Wary now, he stroked his chin. “Yes?” he said cautiously.

“No more adventures, Griffin. I won’t have you leaving me just because your boot itches.”

He crossed his heart and lifted his gaze toward the heavens. “I swear, Cat. No more adventures. I’ll stay by you, no matter what. This is my home now, too, and I won’t want to jeopardize it.”

But when he took her into his arms and she laid her head on his shoulder, he could not see the smile that parted her lips, the love that sparked her eyes, and the expression on her face that said Caitlin Evans, of Seacliff, was not a woman to be fooled.

After all, she thought as the smile broadened to a grin, it was not some false gentry but Griffin Radnor whom she loved. She must hope he wouldn’t mind when he discovered she’d never leave his side.