Shattered Rainbows (43 page)

The threat was unmistakable, and more horrifying than everything that had come before. Choking back a desire to physically assault him, she said, "You will find a woman far more satisfying than a child." She made herself give a seductive smile. "As you observed, women are practical creatures. We are attracted to the most powerful males. If you deal fairly with me, I shall return the courtesy."

He laughed out loud. "Catherine, you are wonderful. I should have done this months ago."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was busy." His gaze went over her again, lingering on her breasts. "I wanted to be able to give you my full attention when the time came."

She tried not to think of what it would be like to be bedded by a man she loathed. It would make her marriage to Colin seem like paradise. "That's all well and good, but before anything else, we must see how my grandfather fares."

"True. We can hardly allow him to expire on the floor. People would talk. I assume you intend to nurse him, so I'll leave one of my men to help. I will also move into the castle myself, to be on hand should my support be required." He tapped the edge of the brandy glass against his teeth thoughtfully. "Since you'll be busy, I think it best for Amy to stay at Ragnarok until the laird dies. That won't be long. You needn't worry about Amy—someone will be with her at all times."

In other words, she and Amy would be constantly guarded. But for the time being, safe. Now to ensure Michael's life. "I'll order Lord Michael's things to be packed. Will you arrange for a boat to take him to the mainland?"

Haldoran nodded. "The sooner Kenyon is gone, the better. When he returns from his artillery shoot, speak to him in the laird's sitting room. I shall be listening from the bedchamber." His expression became feral. "And if you feel a sudden temptation to tell him how I persuaded you to accept me—resist it." He let his coat fall away to expose the butt of a pocket pistol. The message was blindingly clear.

"Do you take me for a fool, cousin? There is no advantage for me in trouble." She stood. "Now that we have settled the essentials, ring for the servants. We must put my grandfather to bed and send for a physician, even though nothing can be done."

He rose and went to the bell pull while Catherine knelt beside the laird. His breathing was shallow but steady, and his eyelids flickered a little when she whispered, "Please don't die on me, Grandfather. I need you alive." But he did not wake.

As she tucked the blanket closer around the old man, she thought about what she should say to Michael. He would never believe such an abrupt change of mind if she simply told him to go. What could she do to make him leave without asking awkward questions that would get him killed?

The answer came, quick and ugly. She must be like the bitch who had betrayed him. She must trigger his hidden core of doubts by using her knowledge of him to weave a
web
of lies so potent that he would believe she was a selfish, callous slut.

The prospect was agonizing. He had forgiven her first set
of
lies and shown her the greatest kindness she had ever known. Now she must pervert the honesty and trust that
had grown between them to send him away. In the process she would wound him horribly. Given his past, she might forever destroy his ability to trust another woman. But if she did not persuade him to leave, he would be murdered out of hand.

The cannon boomed again, the sound of war echoing in a place of peace. She drew a shaking breath. Amazing how the threat of death hardened one's resolve.

Michael returned to the castle in midafternoon feeling vastly content. Artillery practice involved fire, filthy smudges of black powder, and ear-numbing amounts of racket. In other words, it satisfied all the guilty pleasures of boyhood. The islanders he had trained had been apt pupils. By the end of the afternoon they had blasted away the most dangerous overhangs in the harbor. A pity Catherine hadn't joined them, but she was probably not fond of the noise. Most women weren't.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he rode into the stableyard and saw the head groom's face. "What has happened?"

"The laird had a fit of apoplexy," the groom said tersely. "They've sent for a doctor, but it… it don't look good."

"Damnation!" Michael swung from his horse. "Is my wife with him?"

"They say she's nursing him with her own hands."

"If anyone can save the laird, Catherine can."

He entered the castle and went up to the laird's rooms two steps at a time. He slowed when he entered the sitting room. One of Haldoran's burly servants—Doyle?—was gazing out a window and looking bored. However, when Michael entered, Doyle moved quickly across the room to block the bedroom door. "The lady says no one is to go in," he said gruffly.

Suppressing his irritation with the man's officiousness, Michael said, "Tell my wife I'm here."

Doyle went into the sickroom. A minute later Catherine came out, her face pale. Michael went to embrace her, but she stopped him with an upheld hand.

Bracing himself for bad news, Michael said, "I heard the laird had a stroke. How bad is it?"

"He's in a coma. I don't expect him to survive."

So she was going to lose her grandfather so soon after finding him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "What can I do?"

She bent her head and pressed her hands to her temples for a moment. Then she looked up, her expression hard. "There's no easy way to say this. It's time for you to go, Michael. Yesterday my grandfather changed his will in my favor, so I have achieved my goal. Thank you for your help. It was essential."

"I don't want to leave you even for a little while." He moved to take her into his arms. "I've been wounded so often that I know my way around a sickroom. I won't get in the way."

She pulled away before he could touch her. "I didn't make myself clear. You must leave permanently. Our affair is over."

He stared, sure he had not heard correctly. "Affair? I had assumed we would marry."

Her brows arched. "Oh? You talked vaguely about the possibility, but you never got around to proposing."

Remembering how much strain she was under, he reined in his temper. "Perhaps I should have been more explicit, but the situation was clear. You're not the sort of woman who has affairs, nor am I a man who seduces respectable women for sport."

Her eyes narrowed. "You don't really know me very well, Michael. Most of my life has been governed by expedience. For the first time I have choices, and they don't include marriage."

He felt blood beating in his temples. "I thought that I might have changed your mind," he said carefully. "Or if I hadn't yet, I soon would."

She shook her head. "Accept that it's over, Michael. I'm fond of you, but I don't want you for a husband."

" 'Fond,' " he repeated numbly. "Is that what you feel?"

She shrugged. "I never said I loved you."

It was true: she hadn't. He had assumed it from her actions, just as he had assumed that of course they would marry. "Forgive me if I'm having trouble understanding," he said tightly. "You seem to have become another woman in the hours since I left this morning."

"Keep your voice down—the laird needs quiet." She glanced anxiously at the bedroom door.

Concern for her grandfather must have scrambled her wits. Desperate to bring this nightmare to an end, he
crossed the room in three swift steps and pulled her into his embrace. Passion had healed her fears before, and it could again.

She was warm and familiar, and for an instant she was the woman he knew. Then she jerked away, her expression savage. "Damn you, Michael, you don't own me! I saved your life, and by coming to Skoal, you've paid your debt. The scales are even. Now leave me alone and
go!"

Before he could respond, the bedroom door swung open and Haldoran stepped out, his expression menacing. "If you don't stop harassing my fiancee, Kenyon, I shall be forced to take steps to improve your manners."

Stunned, Michael looked from Haldoran to Catherine. "You're going to marry him?"

"Yes." She edged toward her cousin. "Give is of island blood, he has known Skoal all his life. He is also discreet. He recognized you immediately, but kept the knowledge to himself. Today he and I have discovered how much we have in common."

Haldoran smiled with gloating satisfaction. "And in the process, she realized that I am the better man."

"Rubbish." Michael was about to add that she didn't even like her cousin.

Catherine cut him off, her aqua eyes ruthless. "I tried to let you down gently, but since you're forcing me to be blunt, I'll spell it out—Clive is wealthier, he's a peer, not a younger son, and he's far more worldly. He and I have agreed that marriage need not restrict either of us unduly. After I've given him an heir, I'll be free to sample some of the choices that I mentioned earlier. When I was desperate I was willing to overlook your deficiencies of birth and fortune, but not now. Nor do I want to tie myself to a possessive man who would want me to spend the rest of my life in one bed."

Her words were sledgehammer blows. He stared at her, his lungs so constricted he could scarcely breathe. He didn't know Catherine any more than he had known Caroline. Again he had made an utter fool of himself over a woman. Christ, would he never learn? "You're right—I have some rather old-fashioned notions about monogamy. I have no desire to marry a trollop."

Her face paled. "I never belonged on that pedestal you built for me, Michael. I wish we could part friends, but I suppose that's impossible."

"Friends," he said incredulously. "Not bloody likely, Catherine."

Her eyes narrowed to feline slits. "Since I didn't think you would want to linger, I had your belongings packed and loaded in a cart. A boat is waiting to take you to Pen ward."

If he didn't leave this room instantly, he would do something he would regret. Not sure whether it would be tears or murder, Michael spun on his heel and left.

Halfway down the stairs, he had to catch at the banister while he fought for breath. Slowly in and out. Think only of the air moving into his lungs.

When he could breathe again, he let go of the banister and continued down to the courtyard. He had survived Caroline and Waterloo, and he supposed he would survive this.

But he wished to God Catherine had let him die in Belgium.

Knees shaking, Catherine folded into a chair as soon as the door closed.

"Well done, my darling, but 1 didn't like what you said about wanting to spread your legs for the multitudes," Haldoran drawled. "My wife must be mine alone. You will be very sorry if you forget that."

She swallowed. "I said what I did to give Lord Michael a disgust of me. You needn't worry about my fidelity when we are wed. Monogamy with you will suit me very well."

Haldoran smiled complacently as he crossed the room to the door. "I'll go make sure that Kenyon really leaves."

"He will. He won't ever want to see me again." After her cousin left, Catherine leaned back in the chair, her heart hammering so violently that she wondered if she was on the verge of an apoplexy like her grandfather's.

If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the expression on Michael's face when he left.

She closed her eyes. Twice on the Peninsula she had killed men who were dying in such excruciating pain that they had begged her for the coup de grace. It had been hard, terribly hard, to go against her healing instincts, but she had done it.

She drew a shuddering breath. Someday, when the opportunity came, she would kill Haldoran. And that would not be hard at all.