Lady of Seduction (29 page)

“Because I don’t want Conlan to know about this tale, of course. Adair is his.”

“Yes, and even if the old tradition is true, it wouldn’t stand in a modern court.”

“Since when does my cousin care about modern English courts? He cares about Irish law, whether it is legal now or not. He
would search out more old records and tales, until he decided the land was not his by Irish rule.”

“And that is why you wanted
The Chronicle
before?” she said. “To prove that Adair should be yours according to the old ways?”

“Maybe once I had just such a wild thought. But now I hold on to it just to keep the secret. And now it’s your secret, too.
My cousin must never know of this.”

Caroline knelt beside him, and he could sense her astonishment. That he, who had once wanted nothing more than to snatch his
cousin’s lands and destroy him, held on to this secret astonished him as well. But he was surprised by her tears as she looked
up at him.

“You have changed, Grant,” she whispered. “You want to protect your family now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “And I must ask you to do the same.”

“Of course I will say nothing of this story,” she answered. “I would not want to hurt my sister.”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips for a kiss that felt like a binding vow between them. It was one more secret they
alone held. “Then I know it is safe in your hands, Caroline.” And it always would be—even if he was gone.

Y
ou should eat something,” Grant said, nudging a plate of fish and bread across the table to Caroline. The inn’s public room
was deserted that morning, so quiet and well swept that the previous night’s melee might never have happened. “We’ll have
to ride far if we’re to make the next town by evening.”

Caroline nodded and nibbled at a crust, but she wasn’t really hungry. She was still thinking over and over again about the
dragon of Adaislan, and the secret Grant had been keeping for so long—all to protect Conlan and his family. She had known
his time on Muirin Inish changed him, but this seemed to show just how very much. The question was—what was she to do with
this knowledge?

The morning sun slanted from the windows across Grant’s scarred, austere face. He seemed far too calm and quiet today. He
said nothing about the dragon and Adaislan, and she knew he would not. They had to be onto the next stage of their journey,
whatever that would be.

“Sir, your horses are ready,” the stable lad said from the door.

Grant nodded and said to Caroline, “Shall we, then?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered. She thought of the soreness from the saddle that awaited her and groaned. “I suppose we must.”

Grant laughed and said, “We’ll go slowly at first. If you want to hire a carriage…”

“No,” she said. “That will only slow us down. We need to get to Dublin soon, yes?”

“Yes, we do.”

But she didn’t find out just
how
fast they needed to get there until they made their way out to the stable yard. Three of the grooms were gathered in the
corner, huddled over a news sheet and muttering together. At the sight of Grant and Caroline, they quickly dispersed to their
tasks. So quickly one of them dropped the sheet, and before he could retrieve it, Grant caught it up. The groom scurried away.

As Grant read it, Caroline could see a frown crease his brow. His eyes darkened, and she peered over his shoulder to read
the sheet.

The words were smudged and blurry, as if hastily printed, but she could make out some of it. There was news from Dublin, a
tale of an explosion at a house in Patrick Street that had the Castle government out in full force. A rebel explosion?

“What does this mean?” she whispered.

Grant crumpled the paper and stuffed it in his coat pocket. “We need to be on our way now,” he said. “We can’t talk here.”
He lifted her into her saddle, and they didn’t speak again until they were well clear of anyone who could overhear.

“What’s the meaning of this news?” Caroline asked as
they left the outskirts of the town behind. “What’s really happening in Dublin?”

Were Anna and her family safe? Caroline felt a terrible fear for them, her sister and her darling niece and nephew. Conlan
was the best protector they could have in the city, but if there was another rebellion…

“I know only what you do, Caroline,” Grant said solemnly. “We should try to make it to Hakley Hall before evening. It’s the
nearest estate, and perhaps someone there has more news.”

Caroline knew the Hakleys; they had once been friends of her parents. Sir Thomas Hakley was a Member of Parliament when it
sat in Dublin before the Union. If they were at home, they might have news from Dublin.

And Caroline sensed Grant would tell her nothing more right now. His jaw was set in that hard line.

“I’ll race you to that hill on the horizon,” she said. “My equestrian skills seem to be growing by the hour.”

“And your confidence, too,” he answered. “Very well, last one there owes a shilling.”

Caroline laughed and urged her horse into a run. This mount was faster than the first one, and eager to run. She felt surer
in the saddle as well, and the wind against her face felt delicious and cool.

She felt the pounding of the horse’s hooves on the ground as they galloped up the hill. She could hear Grant close behind
her, gaining on her, and she urged the horse even faster. It was as if they could outrun their troubles and be free.

Yet that glorious freedom was over much too quickly. They reached the top of the hill, and Caroline reined her horse in, with
Grant barely inches behind her.

“A close-run race!” she cried. “But I think you owe me a shilling.”

Grant laughed, his head thrown back. The sun gleamed on his hair, turning it to the bronze of an ancient metal. “Best coin
I ever spent.”

Caroline had to catch her breath, both from the fast run and from the glorious sight of Grant actually laughing. She shielded
her eyes with her hand and studied the landscape around them. It was wondrously beautiful, with rolling hills of velvety-dark
green, empty except for a few stray sheep and a crooked pattern of gray stone walls. The sky arching overhead was the palest
of blues, dotted with puffs of white clouds so low they cast shadows on the ground.

The scene was everything she loved about Ireland, the vivid, rugged beauty of the land, so green and peaceful. It seemed to
whisper to her of all it had seen, the brave people who lived their lives there, who loved and laughed and died—and who cherished
the land as she did now.

There were violent battles here once, in the days of the Irish kings and their vassals, but all was quiet now. The land was
healed over, silent. But for how long?

Caroline brushed her hand over her eyes to hide the sudden prickle of tears. On the crest of the next hill, she glimpsed the
stony ruins of an old watchtower above the tops of a thick forest in the valley. Its blank, empty windows seemed to stare
back at her in silent, resigned observation.

“Where do we go from here, Grant?” she said.

“The next town is Ballylynan,” he answered. “We could be there by nightfall if you don’t wish to stop at Hakley Hall.”

“No, I don’t mean where on this journey. I mean…”
But what
did
she mean? She wasn’t even sure herself. Where did they go once they were in Dublin and no longer had to stay together? Where
did they go if there was a battle?

She smiled at him. Those were questions for another day, a day when they could no longer be avoided. “I’ll race you to that
tower. That will give you a chance to win back your shilling.”

He grinned at her, and she suddenly wished every moment could be just like this. The two of them together, laughing under
the endless Irish sky. “I’ll take that wager,” he said, and they were off again.

In the valley between the two hills was a thick stand of trees, silvery ash and stout oaks that seemed to tower over the horses
as if they had been growing there for decades. Their thick branches blotted out the sky and cast wavering black shadows on
the carpet of grass.

Caroline’s horse leaped over a small stream and pounded along the path. The wind rustled in the leaves over her head, and
it felt like she was caught in a fairy-tale wood. Maybe there were fairies and wood sylphs peering out at her as she dashed
past.

Grant was right at her side as they burst from the trees and into the sunlight again. The tower cast its shadows above them,
like the looming past. Caroline spurred her horse to get ahead of him.

Suddenly there was a sharp cracking noise, and she smelled the metallic tang of gunpowder in the air. Someone was shooting
at them from the trees!

Her horse reared up in alarm, and she held tightly to the reins to keep from tumbling to the ground. All around her was a
blur of confusion, the sky reeling over
her head, the scream of horses. There was one more shot then—nothing.

Caroline struggled to get her horse to stand steady on the ground. She urged it to a measure of cover behind a wall and patted
gently at its neck, murmuring soft, incoherent words until it was still. But she could feel it shaking just as she was.

She sat up tense and alert in the saddle, listening for any hint of more shots or any movement at all. She couldn’t hear anything.
Even the birds had fallen silent.

She twisted around to find Grant. Her blood rushed so loudly in her ears that she could hear nothing else. “Grant, I think…”
she said.

But his saddle was empty.

Icy fear crept over her skin, and the bright day suddenly took on the hazy tinge of a dream. Numb, she slid down from her
horse and glanced around frantically. She didn’t even think about the shooter or if he was still there. She could only think
about Grant. He lay on the ground beside his trembling, neighing horse, facedown in the grass.

“Grant,” she said. She thought she screamed, a wail of anguish, but it came out a strangled whisper.

She ran to him and fell down on her knees beside him. She could
not
lose him. She had only just found him.

Shaking, she managed to strip off her gloves and reach out to touch him. His shoulders suddenly heaved on a breath, and she
could have cried with utter relief.

“Grant,” she said with a sob. “Grant, say something.”

He rolled over onto his back and glared up at her. “You damn fool woman, run!”

Caroline choked with terrified laughter. He was alive and cursing. Surely that was a good sign. “I couldn’t
leave you,” she said. “Besides, I think whoever it was is gone now.”

Then she saw the blood on his shoulder. His coat was torn and stained crimson. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Of course it’s not
nothing
, you stubborn man! You’ve been shot.”

“It’s just a graze, Caro. And I am not going to sit here and be shot at again. I’m certainly not letting
you
stay, no matter what your own foolish notions. Help me up.”

“I’m not sure you should move,” Caroline protested. He pushed himself to a sitting position, his face white and taut with
the effort. She quickly slid her arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. He actually leaned on her, a sure sign it
was more than a “graze.”

She peered over his shoulder and could see no blood on his back. “Is the bullet still in you?” she asked. She remembered the
night during the Rebellion when Eliza and their mother had to dig a bullet out of Will. The thought made her stomach lurch,
but surely she could do the same if she had to.

“It never went in,” he growled. “See, it’s there on the ground.”

Caroline looked down and caught a gleam among the flattened grass. Yet the shoulder still oozed blood. “It doesn’t look good.
It should be cleaned. Maybe if we went back to the stream…”

“And run right back into the shooter’s arms? It’s bad enough we’re standing here.”

Caroline bit her lip. “Of course not. Yet surely they’re gone or they would have tried again?”

“Maybe they think they’ve accomplished their goal of
getting us out of the way—or scaring us. We can go on to Hakley Hall. It’s less than an hour’s ride.”

“You shouldn’t be riding like this,” she said. He started to struggle out of his coat, and she quickly helped him slide it
down his arms. He grimaced as she concocted a sling and bound his arm up with it. Then he wasted not a moment in seizing the
dragging reins of his horse and pulling himself up into the saddle.

He gave her a tight smile. “We don’t have a choice, Caro my dear. Now are you going to ride your own horse, or do I have to
drag you off across my saddle? I personally would vote for the saddle…”

“Stubborn man!” Caroline cried. He never would listen to her. But at least he was alive to infuriate her. For that one terrible
moment, she had been so sure she had lost him.

And it frightened her how terrible that prospect had seemed—the bleak vista of years with no Grant in them.

She retrieved her own horse from behind the boulder and clambered into the saddle. He spurred his horse into a gallop, even
though he cradled his arm tightly against him. Her wonderfully strong, delightfully stubborn,
alive
man. But could he stay alive to reach Dublin?