Shattered Rainbows (34 page)

"It's not necessary," Davin replied. "Only one man has ever fallen, and he was drunk. Islanders know to be careful here."

She glanced at the rocks below doubtfully. If she became the Lady, railings would go up soon.

The constable added, "By the way, that islet there is Seal Rock, where legend says the selkie was slain."

Sure enough, one of the barren rocks in the distance was draped with the bodies of sunning seals. Catherine had a mental image of a seal emerging onto land under the silvery light of the full moon and turning into a man. If he were tall and lithe and strong, like Michael, and with equally mesmerizing eyes, it was understandable how a girl would forget honor and wisdom…

With a sigh, she resumed her passage across the Neck. Her problem was not adultery, for she no longer had a husband. The insoluble dilemma lay within her.

Ragnarok was only a few minutes' ride beyond the Neck. It stood near the edge of the cliffs. Though the name was ancient, the house itself was relatively new. Its calm Palladian lines seemed almost incongruous in this wild, windswept setting.

Davin did not dismount when they reached the head of the driveway. "If you don't mind, I'll leave you here. I've work to do. Can you find your way back to the castle?"

"Don't worry," Michael said as he helped Catherine from her sidesaddle. "Skoal isn't large enough to get seriously lost."

The constable touched his hat brim, then trotted down the driveway again. Catherine watched him go. "I get the feeling he would rather not be Lord Haldoran's guest."

Before Michael could respond, a broad, muscular man with a scarred face emerged from the house. "I'm Doyle," he said laconically. "I'll take your horses to the stables."

Catherine studied Doyle curiously as she handed over her reins. He looked familiar. She guessed that she had seen him in Brussels, when he had been one of the brawny servants who had helped Haldoran convey Amy and the Mowbrys to Antwerp. Doyle's London accent marked him as a non-Skoalan, and his battered face made him seem like a ruffian. Like the house itself, he was an odd sight in this remote place.

They ascended the steps and were admitted to a gleaming marble foyer by the butler, another tough-looking Londoner. Apparently Haldoran liked servants who could double as guards.

Haldoran himself was descending the stairs. "Hello, Cousin Catherine, Captain Melbourne. What do you think of our island?"

"Unique and very beautiful." Catherine gave her hat and riding crop to the butler. "Not rich, perhaps, but well cared for. I saw no signs of want among the people."

"Everyone has a roof over his head, food in his belly, and shoes on his feet. That's more than can be said about most places on the mainland." He took her hand, holding it a moment longer than she liked, then ushered them into the morning room.

Conversation over tea and cakes was as bland as talk could be, with Haldoran encouraging Catherine to discuss what she had seen. Michael spoke little. Strange, she thought, how he could dominate a room without saying a word.

When they had finished eating, her cousin said, "Would you like a tour of Ragnarok? The views are exceptional."

Deciding she really should use his name, she said, "I'd love to see it, Clive."

Haldoran took them through the ground floor, talking amusingly about the house's history. Catherine enjoyed it more than she expected. Her cousin had excellent taste and a passion for collecting beautiful objects. The result was a treasure trove of polished furniture, Oriental carpeting, and fine art.

The tour ended upstairs in the back corner of the house.

As Haldoran swung the last door open, he said, "I think you'll find this interesting, Captain."

Inside was a gallery with wide windows overlooking the sea. Catherine thought it merely another handsome chamber until she realized it was a weapons room. The walls were covered with elaborate displays of ancient swords, halberds, and dirks, with glass-fronted cabinets for favored items.

Her mouth tightened as she looked around. Growing up with the army had given her no fondness for weapons. Quite the contrary. There was a strange dissonance between the brilliant sunshine washing through the windows and the metallic gleam of death on all sides.

"I've never seen such a collection outside a Highland castle," Michael remarked. "You have weapons unlike any I've ever seen."

Haldoran opened a cabinet and took out an unusual long pistol. There was sensuality in the way he stroked the brass barrel. "This has six chambers and is one of the first multishot guns ever made, almost two hundred years ago. Hard to load, terribly inaccurate, and prone to misfire, but interesting."

Michael examined the pistol with professional thoroughness and made appropriate comments before handing it back.

Haldoran returned the pistol to its cabinet. "I also have several superb swords. Are you familiar with Damascus steel?"

"If I recall rightly, it's beaten and folded on itself many times, like French pastry," Michael replied. "They say that Damascene blades take a sharper edge than any European weapon."

"They do." Haldoran pulled out a tinder box and lit a candle that stood on a cabinet. "Watch this."

He removed an elegant curved sword from a case of similar weapons. Grasping the handle with both hands, he snapped his wrists and the blade sliced through the candle with wicked speed.

Catherine gasped as the blade cut the wax so cleanly that the two pieces of the candle stayed together. The flame continued burning with scarcely a flicker. "That's incredible. I didn't know a sword could be so sharp."

"I'm glad I never had to face a Frenchman with a blade like that," Michael added. "I wouldn't like to see what it would do to flesh and bone."

"It's not a pretty sight." Haldoran set the scimitar back in its cabinet, then took an unusual object from another case. "Have you ever seen an Indian thrusting knife, Captain? Setting the handle at right angles to the blade gives it phenomenal stabbing power. It's said to be deadly in close fighting."

As the men began discussing exotic daggers, Catherine drifted over to a window. There was something obscene about Clive's passion for weapons. She wondered if he would be so bloodthirsty if he'd ever fought in a real battle. War usually destroyed romantic-notions about violence.

Since the house stood on a cliff, the gallery had a stunning view of the sea. Far below, water smashed relentlessly into the rocks. During her morning tour, she had seen several gentle beaches, but most of the island's perimeter was uncompromising stone. In the distance she could see the dark shape of Bone. Skull and Bone. Was this where she was to spend the rest of her life?

Behind her, Haldoran said, "What did you think of our noble constable, Catherine?"

She turned and leaned back against the windowsill. "Davin? He seems to know everything about the island worth knowing, and the tenants like and respect him. I think my grandfather is fortunate to have such an employee."

"I grant you he's competent, but that's not what I meant. Did you have no stronger feelings? No sense of kinship?"

Annoyed, she asked, "What are you trying to say? I like Davin, but I hardly know the man. Why should I feel kinship?"

Clive smiled maliciously. "Because good, sober Davin is your nearest relation—your only first cousin."

"I thought my mother was an only child."

"She was. Davin is on your father's side—Harald's bastard by an island girl."

Catherine stared at him. "You mean he's the laird's grandson? If that's true, does my grandfather know?"

"Oh, he knows. Everyone on the island knows. When Harald turned twenty-one, he announced that he wanted to marry his island sweetheart, from the peasant branch of the Penroses. The laird promptly packed him off on a Grand Tour, but it was too late—the chit was already pregnant. She managed to conceal the fact from everyone, even her family, almost to the end. Then she died in childbirth, calling for her lover. The infant was left for her parents to raise." Haldoran's eyes sparkled, as if he found the tale amusing. "Harald never really forgave his father when he returned and learned what had happened. He took an interest in Davin, and saw that he was properly educated, but of course the boy was still a bastard."

Catherine's hand clenched on the windowsill behind her. No wonder Glynis and Alice Matthews had exchanged uneasy glances when discussing her relatives the night before. "In other words, if Davin were legitimate, he would be the next Laird of Skoal."

"Yes, but one could hardly expect the laird to publicly acknowledge his son's bastard." Haldoran smiled with spurious kindness. "I thought you should know, since everyone else does."

Michael, who had been listening quietly, said, "Do you think Davin resents my wife for being a possible heir?"

"A little, perhaps, but he's too stolid to cause trouble. If you keep him as constable, he'll serve you well." Dropping the subject as abruptly as he had raised it, Haldoran went to a gun rack and removed a long rifle. "This is an American Kentucky rifle. It looks plain, but it's the most accurate gun I've ever used. Watch."

He loaded the gun, then opened a window, admitting moist air and the sharp cries of wheeling gulls. His eyes narrowed with concentration as he aimed. When he fired, the discharge was deafening in the enclosed gallery. Catherine flinched as a distant seagull screamed, then dropped lifeless into the sea. The other gulls darted away, shrieking frantically.

"Good shooting," Michael said coolly, "but I thought it was illegal to kill gulls on Skoal."

"One more or less won't be missed." Haldoran turned, challenge in his eyes. "Of course, since you're a soldier, surely you are a better marksman than I."

"Not necessarily. The job of an officer is to lead, not kill the enemy himself."

"You are too modest. Go on, try this rifle. Skoal can spare another gull." Haldoran rammed another patch and ball down the barrel, then offered it to his guest.

Michael hesitated a moment. Then his expression hardened and he accepted the gun. After surveying the scene outside the window, he said, "Not being an islander, I don't feel free to break the law. I'll take the shrub on that headland as a target. The top branch."

Catherine squinted, barely able to see the shrub. "Surely it's impossible to be accurate at this distance."

The shrub was swaying in the wind, making the shot even more difficult. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Haldoran smile.

Making it look easy, Michael sighted along the barrel of the Kentucky rifle and squeezed the trigger. Far out on the headland, the top branch of the shrub spun away and tumbled down the cliff into the sea.

Haldoran's expression froze. "Well done," he said tightly. "That was superb marksmanship."

"It's a good weapon," Michael said noncommittally as he handed it back.

"Are you as good at fencing as shooting, Captain?" Haldoran said with an edge to his voice.

Michael shrugged. "I know how to use a sword to defend myself, but I'm no expert."

Catherine watched uneasily. There was some kind of unspoken competition going on between the men, with Haldoran trying to engage and Michael resisting. What the devil was her cousin trying to prove? Not liking it, she said, "We should be leaving now. Thank you so much for inviting us, Clive."

"You mustn't rush off, Catherine." He went to another cabinet and removed two matching cavalry sabers. "I want to see another example of your husband's skill." He took one saber by the blade and tossed it hilt first to Michael, who pulled it deftly from the air.

Haldoran raised the other saber in a mocking salute. "
En garde
, Captain." With no further warning, he lunged forward in a lethal attack.