The idea sent a chill through her. Hounds baying at their heels... "Is there any way to turn the tables on him?"
"Perhaps. I want to study the lay of the land. There might be a spot for an ambush, though it won't be easy to bring down two armed men." He gazed toward the sea, his eyes narrowed. "As a last resort, it might be possible to swim to Skoal."
She stared at him. "Are you serious? The channel between the islands is notoriously dangerous. I can swim a little, but I'd never make it that far in rough seas."
"I might be able to do it. If I succeed, I could send help back to you." He frowned. "But I'd rather not leave you alone."
The idea appalled her. Not only would Michael be braving cold water, rocks, and vicious currents, but he would probably have to attempt the crossing at night to avoid being seen. The odds of him surviving were not good. "Swimming is definitely a last resort."
He shrugged. "Drowning while trying to escape would be better than being shot like a deer."
Stealthily he withdrew from the shrubbery. Catherine followed him down the slope. At the bottom was a tiny brook. He pressed his palms into the muddy bank, then wiped smudges on her tan breeches with impersonal hands. "You'll be harder to see if dark patches break up the lightness. Wipe some on your face, too. If we find any light-colored clay, I'll use it to splotch up this dark outfit of mine."
"You seem to know a great deal about being hunted."
He grimaced. "Once as a very new officer in Spain, I became separated from my men during a scouting patrol. Not my finest hour. The French learned a British officer was lost behind their lines and organized a manhunt. Though I eluded them for three days, eventually I was captured. I managed to escape, but the other officers in my company teased me unmercifully for being so inept. It was a very chastening experience."
She smiled a little, though her mood was somber. She had brought so much trouble on Michael, as she had on everyone close to her. Colin had died because of her, Michael might die as well, and Amy was a prisoner who faced an unspeakable future. Rationally Catherine knew she was not responsible for Haldoran's wickedness—yet even so, crushing guilt weighed on her.
She studied Michael, who was washing the mud from his hands. He would do his best to get her out of this alive. For honor's sake, he would probably sacrifice his life if it might save hers. But he would not want her in his life after all that had happened. She had placed her darts well when she sent him away, and the fragile trust that had been growing in him had been crushed, probably beyond repair.
But one thing must be done while there was still time. "I'm sorry for all of the horrible things I said when I asked you to leave Skoal. Perhaps there might have been another way, but I couldn't think of it." She shivered as the anguish of that scene returned vividly to her mind. "Colin died because of me," she said starkly. "I could not have endured being the cause of your death as well."
He gestured her to start walking. "Don't blame yourself for Colin's death. It was Haldoran who pulled the trigger."
Her mouth twisted as she fell in beside Michael. Though intellectually she knew he was right, it didn't make her feel any better. "The fact remains that if Colin had not been married to me, he would not be dead."
"No?" Michael held back a branch of shrubbery so she could pass. "He said himself that he and Charles would have died at Waterloo if I hadn't lent him my horse. The loan was a direct result of the fact that you generously allowed me to share your billet. For that reason, I didn't want to see your husband do something fatally stupid. Because of you, Charles is alive, and Colin gained almost a year of extra life."
Her brows knit together. "I'm not sure that makes sense."
He shrugged. "It makes as much sense as crucifying yourself for what you could not have changed. I didn't know Colin well, but I don't think he would have wanted you to spend the rest of your life crippled by guilt."
Michael was right; Colin did not have that kind of pettiness. She gave her companion a slanting glance. "Thank you for everything," she said softly. "For being clever enough to see trouble, and brave enough to face the dragon."
"Let's hope my dragonslaying skills are good enough," Michael said sardonically.
From his expression, she guessed that she had said the wrong thing. Waiting to erase the bleakness in his eyes, she said, "I managed to bring along a tinderbox and a pocket-knife." She reached under the neck of her heavy jersey and removed the small pouch that she had made from a scarf and suspended between her breasts. "I'm sorry I didn't have a better weapon available."
Michael stopped walking, his bleakness replaced by interest. "The odds for our survival have just improved. I had a knife and a pistol, but Haldoran's men found them when they searched me in Skoal." He opened the pocketknife and tested the blades. "Later I'll find a stone and do some sharpening, but this will do well enough to slit a man's throat."
"I'm glad you approve. I'm sure you know more about slitting throats than I do."
He folded the knife and slipped it into his pocket. "One other bit of luck—I wasn't sure what I would find when I came to the island, so I tried to come prepared. Doyle found my pistol and knife, but not the rope I have wrapped around my waist. I brought it because I thought it might be useful for scaling a cliff or breaking into the castle." He gave a faint smile. "Though I didn't need the rope for that, at least it gave me some protection from Haldoran's kicks."
He did look heavier than could be accounted for by the thickness of his jersey. Feeling for weapons, Doyle had missed the layers of rope. "Good. You've taken enough punishment."
"There will be more before this is over," he said dryly. "It's time to explore. According to the guidebook I read on the way to Skoal, Bone has some features that could prove useful."
"What are they?"
"Sea caves. I don't want to get trapped in a place with only one entrance, but we'll need shelter if the storm is as bad as I think it will be. A cave might be our only choice."
Catherine's brows drew together. "My grandfather once mentioned a cave at the west end of Bone. It's the largest in the islands and can only be reached at low tide. He said we must be sure to visit before we went back to the mainland. But my cousin must know it, so it wouldn't be safe."
"True, but there should be others. There may also be buildings left from the days when Bone was inhabited. The more we know about the island, the better." He pocketed the tinderbox. "Shall we see what we can find?"
They set off in the opposite direction from that which the hunters had taken. Michael was a master at moving unobtrusively cross-country, taking advantage of whatever cover the terrain provided. Though his long strides were relaxed, his sharp eyes never stopped scanning for danger. He had been telling the truth when he had baited Haldoran on Skoal: Michael was a professional who had learned his skills in the most dangerous game of all. Surely Haldoran was no match for him.
* * *
Haldoran frowned at the surrounding hills, his hunter's instinct nagging at him. He asked his companion, "If you were trying to hide on this island, where would you go?"
Doyle blinked, his scarred face puzzled. "These hills. The rest of this bloody rock is too exposed."
Haldoran uttered a mental oath; any answer that Doyle could come up with was too obvious to be right. "Kenyon went the other way. I should have guessed that."
"The west end of the island is dead bare," Doyle said doubtfully. "Didn't see hide nor hair of 'em that way."
"There are places for a clever man to take cover," Haldoran snapped, furious with himself for not having tried sooner to get into his quarry's mind. He whirled and began striding back the other way. "Come on. We've lost precious time."
Chapter 34
Several hours of exploration confirmed Bone's barrenness. Catherine and Michael cut across the island and followed part of the coastline, but apart from several long-ruined farmsteads, they found no traces of humankind. The soil was thin, supporting mostly tough grasses and occasional patches of wildflowers. T
he only dense vegetation was in small hollows protected from the wind.
The prettiest of the hollows contained a delightful "fairy wood," with gnarled trees and a stunning carpet of bluebells. As Catherine gazed at the flowers, she could not help thinking that it would be a splendid place to picnic and make love. But they had no food, and they were no longer lovers. It had been such a brief spell of happiness, over almost before it began.
Michael gave her a quick glance. "Sit down for a while. You must be exhausted."
Gratefully she lay down among the bluebells. "Not exhausted, precisely, but certainly tired."
Instead of sprawling like Catherine, Michael sat against a tree trunk, every sense alert. Again she thought of medieval knights and slaying dragons, though she was too old and bedraggled to be a proper damsel.
After fifteen silent minutes, he rose and offered his hand to help her to her feet. She felt as tired as when she had sat down. "Would this be a good place to stay?"
He shook his head. "The trees offer a false sense of security, and the place is too distinctive. There's a good chance Haldoran will look for us here."
"But we can't walk forever. What would be the ideal place for us to go to ground?"
"One where we can see in all directions without being seen," he said without hesitation. "There would also be several lines of retreat, so we could withdraw safely if necessary. Plus, a good fire and a nice dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding."
She groaned, though his wry humor heartened her. "Did you have to put that last in? I was too worried to eat much the last few days, and I've had nothing since yesterday noon."
"Sorry. If the storm drives Haldoran off the island, we'll have time to find food."
They were nearing the edge of the hollow. He crouched and signaled for her to wait while he moved stealthily forward. After scanning in all directions, he beckoned her to join him.
"We'll need to be more careful," he said quietly. "Haldoran may have realized by now that we're not in the hills. He could be at this end of the island already. We're safe as long as we avoid notice, but if he once catches sight of us, it will be very hard to shake him again."
Anxiety returned with a vengeance. "At least that storm you predicted is well on its way."
"That's to our advantage. Storms favor the hunted." He glanced up at the sky, where dark clouds were thickening. In the time they had spent in the fairy wood, the wind had picked up. A few dead leaves from the previous autumn blew past. "Let's hope your cousin decides to return to Skoal before the storm hits."
And after the storm, Haldoran might return with dogs to track them. She shrugged the thought off. They must survive today before tomorrow could become a problem.
They continued their zigzag survey of the island. Catherine suspected that Michael was now on a first-name basis with every tree, every boulder, and every irregularity in the surface of the area they had covered. They came to a ridge and circled around the flank; Michael was adamant about never becoming silhouetted against the horizon.
On the other side of the hill they discovered a small valley with a ruined village on its floor. "Civilization," Catherine said ironically.
"As civilized as it gets on Bone. There are other, older signs of habitation here as well." Michael gestured toward the left end of the valley. On top of the ridge was an ancient Druid circle, the irregular stones looming dramatically against the clouded sky. More prosaically, a small herd of the shaggy cows were grazing among the standing stones and on the hill below.
More interested in practical matters, Catherine said, "Though it's been a long time since the village was abandoned, there could be vegetables that have gone wild in the old gardens. Also, that looks like an orchard over there. There might be early apples in a protected spot like this."
He studied the circle of hills warily. "It's worth a try, but let's not linger. It would be easy to be trapped down here."
They walked down the slope to the village. Several dozen houses were scattered along the single street. All were plain stone ovals roofed with turf. The roofs had long since collapsed, and many of the walls as well. Weeds and flowers grew within the confines of what were once homes. Catherine tried to imagine what it would have been like to live here. "The houses are very primitive-looking."
"They're similar to the blackhouses in the Scottish Hebrides. I visited one once. A peat fire was built in the center of the house, with the smoke wandering out a hole in the middle of the roof. A layer of smoke that would choke a horse hung three or four feet above the floor." He made a face. "Not a good place for an asthmatic."
Something moved on the right. Michael spun to confront it, the open pocketknife appearing in his hand as if by magic.
A sheep trotted out from between two collapsed houses, its jaw moving placidly. Michael relaxed and put the knife away. "That beast is lucky we haven't time to build a fire. Roast mutton would taste very good now."
"Will you settle for apples? The orchard is in good shape. The Skoalans who tend the sheep must also prune the apple trees."
"Mutton roasted with apples," Michael murmured. "Rabbit stewed with apples. Fish baked with apples."
Ignoring his whimsy, she led the way to the orchard. Even a humble apple would taste like ambrosia now.
* * *
Fuming inwardly, Haldoran made his way westward across Bone. Doyle walked stolidly on a parallel course two hundred yards away. The convict was city-bred, not a real hunter, but he was fast at reloading his master's guns, and he was a good shot if by some chance a second gun would be needed.
Haldoran's gaze roved back and forth across the island. Though intuition confirmed that he had been right to abandon the hill region, he had yet to find signs of his prey. He should have brought hounds. He would later, if necessary.
Though he didn't doubt the ultimate result, the island was large enough that the hunt could take a long time. The damned resilient grass made it almost impossible to follow tracks. And on top of that, it looked as if a storm was coming.
His temper was not improved by the knowledge that he'd been a fool to let himself be baited into agreeing to this hunt. With the laird critically ill and Catherine vanished, it wouldn't do for the laird's closest male relative to be gone from Skoal for too long. He had left a note at the castle saying that his cousin had disappeared and he'd gone to search for her, but that excuse wouldn't hold up indefinitely.
Yet even though this hunt was unwise, he couldn't really regret doing it. He had always wanted a chance to track human game, and Kenyon was a wily quarry. As for Catherine—she would have to die, of course, but with luck he would have time to enjoy her lavish charms first. Doyle would also appreciate the chance to ravish a lady after his master was finished. The thought was almost as appealing as the prospect of killing Kenyon.
He found the first clear traces of the fugitives in the fairy wood. Crushed bluebells showed that two people had halted for a time. Knowing that they couldn't be far away, he pressed forward eagerly.
The old village was ahead. If they were there, it would be easy to corner them in the little valley. Anyone attempting to flee would be exposed on the bare, grassy flanks of the hills. And with a specially designed rifle like his, the entire valley was within effective shooting range.
He motioned for Doyle to join him. Together they breasted the hill. He made no attempt to hide their approach; he liked the idea of his quarry running in terror.
He paused at the top and studied the valley floor. Then he gave a sigh of voluptuous pleasure. "Eureka."
Barely visible among the orchard trees, the fugitives were eating apples. Fools. He could kill them both from where he stood. But that would be too easy. Too quick.
Raising his rifle, he cocked the hammer and took aim. "Let's watch them run before I finish them off."
Smiling, he squeezed the trigger.
* * *
The apples were good. Even better was watching Catherine's unabashed enjoyment as she finished her second app
le. Michael felt an ache of protective tenderness when she licked a drop of apple juice from her lips. She was the gamest woman he had ever known, doing what had to be done without complaint and never reproaching him for having precipitated this disaster by returning to Skoal.
She swallowed her last bite. "Since it might not be wise to come back here, let's take some apples with us."
"A good idea." He stepped away from Catherine. As he stretched up for more fruit, a shot rang out. The rifle ball slammed into the tree trunk between them.
"Damnation!" Cursing himself viciously for watching Catherine instead of the hills, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the middle of the orchard. The foliage would shield them from the view of anyone above. "They'll probably come down after us, so we'll have to retreat through the village."
There was fear in her eyes, but her voice was steady when she asked, "Won't they see us if we try to leave the valley? The hills offer no cover at all."
"You're right. Though it's risky, I think the best plan is to hide in one of the collapsed houses. I noticed a likely spot earlier. With luck they'll think we managed to get out of the valley without them seeing."
Moving like shadows, they slipped through the orchard toward the village. When they reached the edge of the trees, Michael motioned for Catherine to stay while he moved forward and scanned the hillside from which the shot had come. If the hunters had separated and one waited above with a rifle, Michael would be an easy target. But both men were descending into the valley. He caught a quick glimpse just before they disappeared behind the trees. The fugitives had at most four or five minutes before the hunters finished searching the orchard and came after them.
He beckoned for Catherine to follow him. The building he had noted earlier was in the middle of the village. One wall had collapsed, leaving the other ends of the rafters supported by the back wall. Vines grew profusely over the beams to create a natural curtain.