Shattered Rainbows

  Catherine regarded the tentlike shape doubtfully, clearly thinking that it was an obvious hiding place. He indicated the opposite side of the wall. There was a mat of vines there also, but it was so close to the ground that there didn't appear to be space to hide below. Earlier, however, he had noticed that the earth under the vines was depressed, perhaps from the collapse of an old root cellar. There should be enough room for them.

  He raised the vines to reveal the little hollow below. Catherine crouched and started to crawl into the hole backward. A small creature exploded from the hole and raced away, scaring the devil out of both of them. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Then she continued backing into the space and flattened down on her stomach. He did the same, arranging the grass and vines to look undisturbed.

  The hollow was damp and earth-scented and tendrils snagged his clothing and hair, but there was, barely, enough space for two people to lie side by side. He settled against Catherine and put an arm over her shoulders. Not only did that save space, but he welcomed the opportunity to hold her. Though the earth was chilly against his belly, she was warm. Tiny gaps in the vines allowed them to see out a little. By this time they were both so earth-colored that they should be invisible from outside.

  After ten interminable minutes, the hunters came down the street. The first the fugitives knew was when Doyle growled, "Where could the bastards have gone?"

  "They haven't left the valley or we would have seen," Haldoran said coolly. "And they aren't in the orchard, because we just searched there. Ergo, they must be hiding here in the old village." He raised his voice. "I know you can hear me, Catherine. Come out now and I'll spare you and release Amy."

  Catherine's shoulders tensed under Michael's arm. For an instant, he thought she was going to stand up and accept her cousin's offer. He couldn't blame her if she did; if Haldoran could be trusted, she would be better off surrendering than staying in this wicked hunt.

  If Haldoran could be trusted. Michael would put more faith in a rabid dog.

  But Catherine did not try to rise. He turned his head a fraction and saw that her face was rigid with fury. If she had a gun, Haldoran would be a dead man.

  The hunters approached with soft, rustling steps. Through the gaps in the vines, Michael glimpsed boots coming to a halt. "You just don't learn, do you, darling cousin?" Haldoran drawled. "Doyle, shoot in there. It's one of the few places large enough to hide two people."

  A rifle discharged and the ball smashed into the other side of the stone wall, mere inches away. Debris spattered down on the fugitives.

  If both hunters had fired, Michael would have risked an assault in the hope that he could bring them both down in the moments before they could reload. But Haldoran was too canny. Only one gun was discharged, and from the sounds, it was immediately reloaded. Then a rifle barrel prodded the vines on the other side of the wall, the metal scraping against the stone.

  Within the circle of his arm, Catherine was trembling. He tightened his hold. Moving with absolute silence, she turned her head a little and rested her forehead against his jaw. He felt the quick beat of her pulse under cool, smooth skin. He closed his eyes, aching for what they had so briefly shared, and for what might have been. It was hard to imagine a future.

  They stayed immobile as the hunters searched the village. Twice more there were gunshots, and once an indignant sheep fled, bawling furiously. Eventually the hunters came back along the street. Doyle grumbled, "They must have escaped from the valley when we were searching the orchard, my lord."

  "I suppose you're right, though it's hard to believe they could run that fast," Haldoran replied testily. "Let's climb the ridge. The terrain is flat around the valley, so we should be able to see them. If not, we'll come back and search more thoroughly."

  The sound of footsteps faded. Michael released his breath, almost light-headed with relief. Catherine said in the faintest of voices, "What next? If they come back, we might not be so lucky again."

  "Yes, but if we leave the valley, they'll see us instantly. We're caught between the proverbial rock and hard place."

  "I have an idea," she said hesitantly. "Do you think we might be able to conceal ourselves among the cattle that were grazing around the standing stones? The ones we encountered earlier were placid beasts that didn't mind when we came close."

  His heart jumped with hope. "That's brilliant! We'll give Haldoran a little longer to get away, then try the cattle."

  It was a tense wait. Too long and Haldoran might be back, too short and the fugitives might be spotted from above. Since there was no way of knowing the best time to move, he relied on soldier's instinct.

  When the time felt right, he crawled from under the vines, looking in all directions as he went. Nothing.

  He motioned to Catherine. They moved down the street warily, darting from the shelter of one house to the next. There was no sign of the hunters in the village or on the hills.

  About a dozen russet cows were grazing on the hillside below the Druid circle, with more at the top. After a last scan for danger, Michael gave the signal to advance. Keeping low, they sprinted up the hill, slowing only when they neared the cows. One edged away skittishly, but the others merely gave a glance of mild bovine curiosity before returning to their grass.

  These cattle were as docile as the ones they'd seen earlier, for which Michael was grateful. Even so, he kept a wary distance from the long horns. The shaggy beasts were similar to the cattle of the Scottish Highlands, which were famous for their ability to thrive in difficult conditions.

  They made it safely to the top of the hill, where several dozen cattle browsed around raised stones that were higher than a tall man's head. They were about to enter the densest section of the herd when a shot rang out, quickly followed by another. Chips flew from the nearest Druid monolith. Michael yelled, "Get behind a stone!"

  They dived in opposite directions and took refuge behind adjacent monoliths. Keeping low, Michael peered around the edge.

  The hunters were racing around the rim of the valley toward the stone circle, their forms silhouetted starkly against the sky. They paused long enough for the taller figure of Haldoran to fire his rifle. Then he traded weapons with Doyle and fired again as his servant reloaded. After trading guns again, they resumed the chase, Doyle reloading the second rifle on the run.

  One of the bullets grazed a cow. After it bellowed with indignation, the nervous herd started moving away from the hunters. The next bullets would start a full-fledged stampede.

  Michael glanced across to Catherine. "If I helped you onto the back of a cow, could you stay there as it ran?"

  She blinked before saying succinctly, "Yes."

  "Then let's go with the herd and see if we can catch some mounts." Keeping low and using the standing stones as a shield, the two of them darted among the cattle, keeping a wary eye on the horns. The animals were moving faster. Soon they would be impossible to catch.

  Michael gestured at the cow nearest Catherine. "That one?"

  She nodded and moved closer to the animal, running flat out to keep up. Michael stayed with her, a step away. When she leaped upward, he caught her waist and boosted her as smoothly as if they had rehearsed. She landed on the beast's back and threw one leg over. Then she leaned forward and locked her hands on the horns.

  Bellowing with surprise, her mount threw its head up, trying to shake its burden. Catherine clung to its back like a limpet. The animal took off at full gallop, easily outpacing Michael, who watched admiringly for a moment longer. Who would have guessed that a woman who looked so delicately beautiful in a ball gown could also be so strong and so brave?

  Time to find a mount of his own. Most of the herd had passed, but a leggy young steer was overtaking him. He fell in beside the beast, barely able to match its speed. Then he sprang onto its back and flattened along its spine, grasping the horns as Catherine had done.

  This steer was more temperamental than the other, and it twisted and bucked as
furiously as a horse. Michael clung tenaciously, knowing that failure would probably be fatal. After a brief, violent battle, the steer decided it was more important to stay with the herd than to dislodge its unwanted burden. It settled down and charged after its fellows.

  So far, so good. But now that they had been seen, it would be very hard to shake their pursuers. As he kicked his mount to greater speed, Michael wondered what the devil to do next.

  * * *

  Dumbfounded, Doyle said, "They're riding the bloody cows!"

  "Ingenious." Haldoran glared after the stampeding herd. Already his quarry was beyond effective rifle range. Within a matter of moments it became impossible to see which beasts had riders. "Kenyon is the most challenging game I've ever pursued, and Cousin Catherine has unexpected tenacity. But the cattle will soon come to the cliffs. When they do, they'll swerve, probably to the west, since that will be a wider angle. If we cut straight across to the end of the island, we'll be waiting there when the animals tire."

  Smiling wolfishly, he began jogging toward the sea. The end of the hunt was at hand. He would not have missed this for anything.

  Chapter 35

  Catherine found that she could control her mount a little by pulling on its horns. She tugged the head back so that the animal's jaw lifted. It bellowed and slowed down, falling farther back in the herd. Dragging at the left horn caused the cow to angle left, moving her within shouting distance of Michael. She called over the sound of pounding hooves, "We're going to reach the coast soon. Should we stay with them when they turn, or dismount?"

  "We should get off," he yelled back. "We walked this section of shore earlier. The bluffs aren't too steep and there are a series of beaches below. We can climb down to the water level. With luck, Haldoran will follow the herd and not know where we got off."

  She nodded, then returned her concentration to the rough ride. The cow's thick, shaggy coat provided some cushion, but its bony spine was still miserably uncomfortable. Her arms and legs were strained from the effort of staying on. If years of campaigning hadn't made her an expert rider, she wouldn't have lasted for five seconds.

  The coast was approaching rapidly, the sound of the surf audible over the drumming of hooves. The leading cattle sheared off to the left, running parallel to the bluffs. They were tiring fast. Some had already slowed to trotting speed.

  She and Michael worked their mounts over to the right, the side nearest the bluff. When she was in position, she pulled the cow's head back as hard as she could. The beast complained, but slowed enough for Catherine to slide off its back. She lost her footing when she landed and fell into a patch of brilliant yellow gorse. Luckily the ground was soft and none of the cattle were directly behind her, so she was unhurt.

  A moment later Michael joined her. As he helped her up, he said, "We have to go over the edge immediately. Haldoran and Doyle are cutting across to the shore. They're not more than a couple of hundred yards away."

  She nodded and dashed the dozen steps to the edge of the bluff, wanting to be out of sight before they lost the screen of cattle. Then she saw the steepness of the incline. Her blood congealed with fear. "I can't go down that!"

  "You can, and you will!" Michael snapped. "It's not much worse than the hill we climbed when we got here. Turn and go down with your face to the bluff. There are plenty of foot and handholds. I'll go first, so if you slip I can catch you."

  She stared at Michael. His chestnut hair was disheveled and his face smudged, but he had never looked more like an officer. And like the best officers, he made her feel she could do the impossible. Or perhaps it was that she would rather risk a fall than his wrath. She swallowed and nodded.

  He turned and lowered himself over the edge. "Come along," he ordered. "It won't be as bad as you think."

  She took a deep breath, then followed. Looking straight into the bluff rather than at the long drop did make it easier. Small bushes and tough clumps of grass offered adequate support.

  They were halfway down when a foothold disintegrated under her. The grass clump she was holding tore out and she began sliding out of control. For a horrified instant she thought she would strike Michael and knock them both to their deaths.

  Instead, Michael braced himself and caught her. An arm locked around her waist, stopping her descent. She grabbed for new holds, shaking convulsively.

  They stayed like that for a moment, plastered to the bluff like flies, Michael's arm around her. Then he murmured in her ear, "To think I was afraid life would be dull after the army."

  She almost laughed, though she was closer to hysteria than amusement. "I wouldn't mind a little tedium just now."

  "With luck, it will be nicely dull on the beach below us. That overhang to the right should protect us from being seen. Are you ready to go on?"

  She took a deep breath. "I'll make it."

  He released her and resumed his descent, and she followed a moment later. Explore with one foot to find a hold. Transfer weight gradually. Don't release the other holds until you know the new one is secure. Then again. And again. And again.

  Finally one extended foot struck the rounded stones of the shingle beach. Intensely relieved to be on firm ground again, she followed Michael under the overhang. Once there, she sank down and leaned against the bluff, her limbs trembling with strain. "Did I ever mention that I'm not very fond of heights?"

  "No, but I guessed." He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Well done."

  She glanced up, absurdly pleased at his approval. His hard eyes radiated confidence. He was in his element now, using his physical mastery to defeat impossible odds. A warrior. While she was merely a cowardly female who brought disaster on everyone around her. "How long do you think it will take for them to deduce that we came down here?"

  "Half an hour at most, perhaps less. We'll need to move on in a few minutes." He squatted beside her, his gaze sweeping the bluffs above. "That cave the laird told you about—did he say if it was entirely underwater at high tide? Or is some of it above the water line?"

  Catherine tried to remember her grandfather's words. "He warned against getting trapped inside, so part of it must be above water."

  "The next question is, where is the cave, and can we get there from here?" He frowned at the darkening sky. "We're going to need a refuge from the storm tonight."

  Catherine agreed. Even though it was almost summer, the sea air was chilly. A night of exposure to a storm would be hard on both of them, especially her. Michael, she suspected, had the resilience of old leather.

  They sat for a few minutes, gathering strength, as Michael continued his vigil. Suddenly he muttered an oath. "Damnation, he figured it out already. They're starting down the cliff, not far from where we came down. We'll have to get out of here fast and hope they're too busy climbing to see us."

  Lips a thin line, she got to her feet. It was midafternoon, and she felt as if they had been running forever. With the hunters approaching on the right, she turned to the left, keeping to the cliff face and moving as fast as possible on the rounded stones. Michael followed, again taking the position of greatest danger. Gallantry was so much a part of his nature that he would not understand if she thanked him for it.

  The beach curved to a stony headland that thrust out into the sea. It was possible to scramble over the slanted surface, but the rocks were slippery with seaweed and waves smashed menacingly only a few feet below. With all her concentration on her footing, the roar of a rifle almost sent her skidding into the water. Again Michael steadied her with a hard hand on her back. The man had the balance of a mountain goat.

  She resumed her precarious trek, not wasting time to look back. Another bullet, this one striking so close to her hand that stone chips struck her fingers. Frantically she slithered around the corner out of range. After wedging herself securely behind a boulder, she glanced back, inhaling sharply when she saw a bloody hole in the upper arm of Michael's jersey.

  "Strictly a scratch," he said in answer to her u
nspoken alarm. "I was hit by the ricochet, I think. No harm done."

  She hoped to heaven he was right, because little could be done if the wound was serious. Breathing ragged, she continued around the headland.

  She turned the final corner, then halted, stunned by the shrieks of thousands of gulls. They had found a seabird colony. Every ledge in the cliff seemed to hold a nest and the sky above was full of wheeling, screaming birds. Swallow-tailed terns and crested shags and dagger-billed gannets nested in the rock, and comical puffins in the grassier slope on the far side, along with half a dozen other species she couldn't name.

  Behind her, Michael said pragmatically, "Thank heaven there's a sliver of beach here, though it won't last much longer the way the tide is coming in."

  He dropped to the coarse sand, then reached up to help her down. The beach was smooth enough for them to run, but slimy white droppings were everywhere and the stench was unbelievable.

  They were three-quarters of the way around the cove when another blast of the rifle announced Haldoran's arrival.

  "He'll regret that," Michael panted.

  The roar of the gun drove the bird colony berserk. Whirling wings were everywhere and the shrieks numbed the ears. Catherine gave a quick glance back and saw that seabirds were darting about so thickly that the hunters were invisible. Hoping the pursuers got their eyes pecked out, she continued on, one arm raised above her face to protect her from possible attack.

  The headland at the far end of the cove plunged straight into the water, utterly impassable. However, centuries of pounding waves had scoured an irregular hole through the stone. Since light was visible, she scrambled up to the opening and crawled through the short tunnel, bruising her knees unmercifully.

  She halted at the other end to survey the next stretch of shore. This bay was larger than the last and surrounded by sheer, impassable cliffs. A narrow sandy beach was littered with boulders. On the opposite side the dark mouth of an opening showed in the cliff face. When Michael joined her, she said, "I think that might be our cave."