Keegan's Lady (53 page)

"Don't read that, Caitlin." Ace came down the steps behind her. "Unless I'm mistaken, John was writing that letter at the office yesterday morning when I stopped in to see him. If I hadn't interrupted him, I'm sure he would have posted it. Instead, he stuffed it in his desk 1 drawer. It was never meant to fall into Patrick's hands, John and Eden are engaged to be married, and I'm sure John's letters to her are of a private and romantic nature. Not the sort of thing intended for anyone else's eyes."

Patrick gave a loud snort. "And we should care about John Parrish's privacy? Think again, Keegan. You just I don't want Caitlin seeing what it says, because it'll damn you in her eyes."

"Please, Caitlin, don't read it," Ace said again. "Patrick's right. It probably will damn me. If you're going to learn the truth, then I want you to hear it from me."

The fact that he was admitting there was a truth he hadn't yet told her was a slap in the face. She glanced back down at the upturned portrait of Eden Paxton, undeniable evidence that Ace had been lying to her, if only by omission. A half-sister? Her father had raped his mother? She felt sick. So sick, it was all she could do to stay standing.

"He's used you!" Patrick cried. "Used you. Made a fool of you! Why didn't you listen to me? Instead, you stayed here with him, let him make a whore of you."

Ace touched Caitlin's arm, but she jerked away. She felt so horribly sick. Heaven? Hysterically, she found herself wondering if he hadn't given her a hell on earth ad.

A sense of unreality gripped her as she lowered her gaze back to the letter. She flicked a glance over the masculine script. Why Ace or your mother hasn't told you the truth, I'll never understand. You have a right to know who your real father was, after all. She skipped a few lines. I don't want to live here in No Name after all of this business is finished. How can I help ruin people's lives and then hope to live amongst them? I think we'll be happier n San Francisco. Don't you? Especially now that we know about your relationship to the O'Shannessys. Here, you would be bound to run into Caitlin frequently. The resemblance would be an awful reminder every time you saw her.

"I can explain everything, Caitlin," she heard Ace say. She ignored him. "I swear to God, I can explain everything."

Partner down the page, she read, I don't know what possessed Ace to marry the girl. I'm afraid for him, honey. It isn't enough to make them all think there will be a railroad spur built so he can swindle them out of their money. He's so consumed with hatred, he will stop at nothing to get even. I heard he raped the poor girl. I know it doesn't sound like him. But, then, does any of this? Maybe he actually did it. Maybe, in some twisted way, he sees her as the personification of Conor O'Shannessy. By hurting her, he feels as if he's getting at Conor. Reaching beyond the grave, so to speak.

Caitlin refolded the stationery and made a fist over it. She didn't need to read more. Woodenly, she turned to look at Ace, who stood on the step above her. His dark face. The lopsided curve of his mouth. His lying lips. In the beginning, before he'd convinced her to place her filth in him, she wouldn't have been surprised by such a betrayal. Now it hurt more than she could say.

"I'll pack my things, Patrick," she said hollowly. "Please don't leave without me."

As she started up the steps, Ace caught hold of her arm. She kept her gaze averted. It hurt too badly to look at him. Once, a man had raped her with brutal force. She'd believed then that nothing could shame her more. Now she knew differently. Ace Keegan had raped he with gentle, treacherous lies. Had he been silently laughing when she arched her body up against his mouth? Had he found it satisfying when she cried out in the throes of ecstasy?

Conor O'Shannessy's daughter, playing the whore for him. To her eternal mortification, Patrick had been right from the very beginning.

"Caitlin, you owe me at least five minutes to tell you my side," Ace said gently. "Please. Give me at least that much."

The plea in his voice brought her gaze up to his. She felt as if a giant fist had slammed into her stomach. “I think I've given you quite enough of my time, Ace. I hope you're satisfied, that your taste for revenge ha been appeased."

"Caitlin . . ." His hand tightened slightly to keep he from moving on up the steps. "You're my wife. Doesn’t that mean anything? Five minutes, please."

She stood there for a moment, gazing up at the face she'd come to love so very much—the face of her betrayer. Why was it that the two men she'd loved the most had broken her faith so utterly? "Your wife?" she whispered. "I think people will call me something quite different. Keegan's whore, possibly?"

She jerked her arm from his grasp and continued up the steps. As she reached to draw open the front door, his voice stopped her dead. "Keegan's lady," he corrected. "I'll kill any man who says differently. No matter what you're thinking right now, no matter what you believe I'm guilty of, you're a lady. You always have been, and you always will be."

Caitlin could scarcely see for the tears as she let herself back inside the house.

***

Five minutes later, she had nearly finished gathering her things. There were clean underclothes in a basket in the kitchen that she'd carried in from the line yesterday and never gotten around to folding. She still had to collect those. And then, of course, she had to find Lucky, who was evidently asleep somewhere.

Caitlin glanced around the room to be sure she hadn't forgotten anything. Memories. So many memories. She clamped a hand over her mouth and swallowed back a sob. Only a few short minutes ago, she'd been so happy. So incredibly happy.

The door crashed open. Caitlin whirled, half expecting to see Ace. Instead Joseph strode into the room, his bullet-straight blond hair lifting from his shoulders with every step. His eyes were fiery with anger, his usually tanned face a pasty white. He came to a stop in front of her.

"My brother is out there taking the beating of his life for you!" he said, grabbing a stack of clothing from her hands and throwing it on the floor. "Get out there, goddammit. Put a stop to it! If you don't, Patrick is going to kill him."

Caitlin backed up a step. She'd never seen Joseph angry, and she couldn't help but feel intimidated. Before she could retreat any further, he seized her by the arm and propelled her toward the door. There was no sense in trying to resist him. He was far too strong, for one thing, and too angry for another.

As she raced through the house, trying to keep up with his long strides, Caitlin went back over what he'd said. Patrick was going to kill Ace? It made no sense. None at all. If she had concerns for anyone, they would be for her brother. Ace was larger and stronger than Patrick, not to mention that he was stone-cold sober. In a physical confrontation, there would be no contest between the two men, and it was a foregone conclusion that Patrick would lose.

As Joseph dragged her out onto the front porch, Caitlin stared at her brother and husband, who faced each other in the yard. Joseph hadn't lied; Ace was taking a beating. Patrick was throwing punches that were knocking Ace nearly off his feet. As soon as Ace regained his balance, Patrick would hit him again.

Though she was seeing it with her own eyes, Caitlin couldn't quite believe it. There was so much blood streaming from Ace's nose and mouth, he was almost unrecognizable. Yet as far as she could tell, he was making no attempt to defend himself. She turned a horrified gaze on Joseph.

"Do something! Make Patrick stop, Joseph. You have to do something."

"You still don't understand, do you? I can't do anything. He forbade any of us to interfere." His lips drew back in a disgusted sneer. "He promised you, remember? That he'd never lift a hand to your brother. He broke that promise once. He's determined not to again. He'd rather let Patrick kill him!"

Caitlin whirled back around. Ace had fallen to his knees. She watched in frozen disbelief as Patrick drew back a boot and kicked her husband in the stomach. "Stop it! Patrick, for God's sake, stop it!"

Taking the steps in a flying leap, Caitlin raced out into the yard and threw herself at her brother. "Stop it, I said! Stop it!"

Patrick shoved her aside and started toward Ace again. Caitlin staggered to get her balance. Now that she I was standing at a closer proximity, she could see that Ace's face wasn't merely bleeding, but badly battered. There was a cut above his eyebrow. His lips were already swelling and streaming blood, as was the scar along his cheek. Dear God, it even looked to her as if his nose had been broken. Yet Patrick seemed bent on inflicting more damage.

She couldn't believe Ace was putting himself through this. Couldn't believe anyone would go to such lengths or endure so much, merely to keep a promise.

A few minutes ago, she'd been absolutely convinced of Ace's treachery. She'd seen the evidence of it with her own eyes. John Parrish's letter. The likeness of Eden Paxton. Patrick's accusations had to be true. What other explanation was there? And yet . . . there was her husband, on his knees in the dirt, taking the beating of his life, all because he refused to break his word to her.

She threw a frantic glance at Ace's brothers, all three of whom stood at a distance, their grim expressions stony with anger. Maybe they had been forbidden to interfere, but no such strictures had been placed upon her.

She whirled and ran toward the garden where a pile of scrap lumber lay. She grabbed up one of the shorter lengths of board, pivoted, and raced back to the center of the yard. Just as she got there, Patrick drew back to kick Ace again. It was a kick that never found its target. Caitlin swung the board with all her might, hitting her brother flatly across the chest. The impact of the blow sent him reeling. He landed on his back in the dirt, shaking his head, looking surprised.

"Caitlin?"

He rolled and came up on his knees. Caitlin drew back and clobbered him again, this time on the arm. "How dare you, Patrick? How dare you! I'm ashamed to even claim you as my kin!"

Patrick grabbed his arm, his expression one of stunned incredulity. "You'd take his side against me?"

"Without batting an eye," she retorted. Drawing the board back in a threatening manner, she said, "Get out of here! Do you hear me? Now, before I decide to knock some sense into that head of yours."

"Caitlin . . ." Patrick gained his feet, then staggered sideways to catch his balance. He was so drunk, he seemed unable even to focus properly on her.

Revulsion filled her. And disgust. This was her brother her own flesh and blood. He had to have realized Ace wasn't fighting back. He couldn't possibly be so drunk he hadn't been able to determine at least that much. Yet instead of turning and walking away, he'd pressed his advantage, pummeling an opponent who offered no resistance. What kind of man did such a thing? A month she might not have known the answer to that question. She did now. Her brother was no kind of man at all. Not when whiskey did his thinking for him.

“Go, Patrick. Go, and don't come back. You're no longer welcome here."

Patrick shot a look at the board she held. Caitlin tightened her grip. He seemed to realize, even in his state of drunkenness, that she meant business, for he turned and staggered toward his horse.

This time, Caitlin didn't gaze after him in tearful despair. The tears that sprang to her eyes were all for Ace. He knelt in the dirt, one arm hugging his middle, his dark head hanging. Patrick had beaten him almost senseless. If he was aware of anything that was happening around him, he gave no sign of it.

With a low sob, Caitlin tossed down the board and ran to her husband. As she sank to her knees beside him, she felt as if her heart might break. When Patrick had tossed those papers and Eden's portrait at her feet, she'd turned her back on him, refusing him even so much as a chance to explain.

In her mind, he'd been guilty. Now she was no longer certain. And even if he was, what did it matter? What he'd done in the past wasn't important. What counted was right now, this minute, and how he intended to go on from here. By keeping his word to her, at so great a cost to himself, he'd told her all she needed to know. She could count on him, no matter what.

And he loved her better than he loved himself. . .

"Ace? Oh, Ace, I'm so sorry. So awfully sorry." She caught his battered face between her hands. "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry."

"Cai'lin?" He mumbled her name through swollen, bleeding lips. One of his eyes was a mere slit. "I di'n't lif a hand."

"No. I know you didn't." Tears welled in Caitlin's eyes. In that moment, she realized just how much she had come to love him. So much she felt as though she might die from it. "Oh, Ace, can you ever forgive me?"

His response was to pitch forward. Caitlin caught him, but only just barely, and she wasn't any too sure how long she could support his weight. "Help me!" She threw Joseph a pleading glance. Her brother-in-law still stood on the porch, his expression unreadable. He was clearly beside himself, as angry with Ace as he was with her. "Hurry, for God's sake. He's unconscious."

As Joseph came down the steps and started across the yard, there was no mistaking the fact that he was still in a temper. With every other step, he sent dirt flying.

He's a damned fool, that's what. Taking a beating like that. He's crazy!" He shot Caitlin a scathing look. "All can say is, I hope you're worth it. If any woman did me like you just did him, I'd help her pack and say good riddance!"