Eyes of the Cat Page 17

  Under heavy fire from the outlaws, Alan had slid down until he was almost under the horse’s belly. How could he hang on in that position, let alone handle a rifle? It made her head spin just trying to imagine what it was like to gallop full tilt upside down. And sent hot flames curling up her spine to realize the incredible raw power of the man. It was like trying to look at the sun. He almost burned her eyes.

  He certainly burned the Garcias’ murderers, metaphorically speaking.

  There had been about twenty of them originally. Tabitha knew she had wounded one. (She was still feeling a little nauseous about it, even though he’d deserved it.) Esmeralda had dispatched at least one other. (She was still nauseous over that, too, albeit for different reasons.) And Servando had taken care of a third. (Oddly enough, that one didn’t bother her a bit.) How many Kathy and Simon had dealt with, she didn’t know, but she didn’t think there had been more than thirteen or fourteen standing when she’d first spotted the dust clouds. By the time Alan’s small cavalry was just short of the main yard, only six of those were still mobile, and they had, apparently, decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

  Unfortunately for them, Tabitha had come to the opposite conclusion. She was smaller than all of them, and burdened by Rosa, but she was also a good deal closer to the corrals. Before they even suspected she was there, the corral gates were swinging wide—and so were all the horses, stampeded by her remaining five shots.

  It proved to be a multifaceted maneuver. First, it more than doubled the general pandemonium. Second, it kept the desperate desperadoes from escaping before Alan and his Comanche warriors could reach th—

  Wait a minute…Comanche warriors? Tabitha wondered distractedly.

  The distraction was from the third and last accomplishment of her little joke. Third, it brought No Nose after her and Rosa. And he did not look like he had the least intention of laughing. He looked, in fact, like he had a major chip on his shoulder regarding the whole thing. Some people have no sense of humor. He seemed to be one of them—all the time.

  So was Tabitha—at that particular moment. She wouldn’t have been able to laugh then even if she’d wanted to. She needed every last scrap of her nearly depleted energy for a mad, skidding and sliding dash in and around the corrals…under flying hooves…past down-and-dirty tussles in the dust…with Rosa in her arms and No Nose on her tail. There was barely breath enough to stay ahead, let alone any to spare for laughing, crying, or calling out.

  Little Rosa, on the other hand, appeared to have been born with an extra set of lungs. She had been making a surprisingly mature effort to contain herself since being hushed earlier, but the instant the horses were stampeded, she became a baby again and shrieked like a band of banshees. How could such a small mouth generate such a piercing level of noise? It cut above the shouts, the horses’ screams, the gunshots… It temporarily deafened Tabitha, who had it right in her ear. But it also landed two stocky Comanche on her pursuer’s broad back.

  He shrugged them off, like a dog scratching off fleas, and swiveled, presumably to knock their heads together. He could have shot them, but he must have run out of ammo during the cavalry charge.

  Alan had not.

  Although, as far as Tabitha was concerned, those amber eyes were far more dangerously loaded than the rifle he held on No Nose while the Comanche chained him to the others they had rounded up. Seeing the two men together, she marveled that she could have mistaken one for the other, even briefly. Despite the rather striking similarities in height, build, and coloring, they were not the same. It wasn’t just the facial differences, but their manner and attitudes—their auras—almost like the contrast between light and dark, life and death.

  The thought sent a creeping chill through her. So did the stares firing between the two men. Neither spoke a word, but there seemed to be some sort of a battle waging. She could almost see the sparks flying. Standing several paces off, working to get her breathing and pulse under control after that frenzied race, Tabitha lowered her gaze. She was having enough trouble with her own inner war to worry about theirs.

  What a mess. To be rescued by the very person you’d been trying to escape. It boggled description. She had been so relieved to see him at first, but now she wondered if she’d simply leapt from one fire into another. At the very best, she was out of the fire only to be back in the frying pan… Oh hell, she was too tired to care. Much.

  One step at a time, she reminded herself. There was always the possibility he wouldn’t recognize her—he hadn’t yet—and she could continue on to Abilene as intended. But if she did that, she might never find out how Kathy was… And she had Rosa to consider now, too. The toddler had finally stopped crying but still clung to Tabitha with a stranglehold. It was good she was such a strong little thing, though.

  She’ll need strength to survive this experience. Tabitha cradled the small form closer and rested her cheek against the dark curls. So will I, heaven help me. I’m going to have to risk a return to the castle—a return to Alan—at least for a while. I need to make sure Kathy is all right, and that Rosa will be safe without me.

  What on earth made her think she would be even half safe, herself?

  Nothing.

  She was walking straight back into the lion’s den—but for some reason with a tiny lessening of that deathly sense of peril. Why? Was it seeing the difference between him and a genuine cold-blooded murderer? There was nothing safe about Alan. But there was nothing cold about him either.

  As for his wife’s death… Well, there could be more to that than she’d previously considered. It suddenly occurred to her that he had never specifically said he killed Heather, just that he was responsible for her death. There was a difference between the two things. A difference that meant she could return to the lion without fearing he’d tear her to bloody bits?

  Marvelous. Because what he would try to do to her might be far more devastating.

  Tabitha felt his shadow almost like a tangible weight as it fell across her and Rosa. Staring at his dusty moccasins, she stifled a slightly hysterical laugh when he questioned her in Spanish. Just her luck he’d be fluent in the language. She had spent enough time with the Mexican cook Aunt Matilda had once hired to understand maybe a third of what he said.

  He was asking if she and the niña were all right, and telling her that she was a brave boy for opening the corrals and making his job of catching these wicked hombres easier. He was very sorry for what had happened here, but would do whatever he could to help. Did the muchacho and his little sister have any other family or friends in the area to whom his compadres could escort them, Alan wanted to know.

  Good heavens, he evidently hadn’t seen the burned wagon yet; he thought she was one of the Garcia boys. It made what she had to do that much harder, because it would have been so easy right then to just give him a simple gracias and accept a fast ride to Abilene. But what would she do with Rosa when she got there? And how would she get word to Kathy—or even know if Kathy was capable of receiving word?

  “No, señor, no amigos,” Tabitha choked out, her emotions and the dust in her throat making her voice unrecognizable even to herself. Drawing a deep breath to steady it, she raised baleful green eyes to his, and managed in a slightly clearer tone, “No family… Just the MacAllisters.”

  Alan went chalk white under his tan.

  “Tabitha?”

  The awareness was instant and almost agonizing in its force. All in a few seconds, his expression went from shock that it was her, to anger that she was here, to horror at what could have happened to her…and finally, a near heart stopping relief that none of it had. With a low groan, he stepped forward and pulled her tightly against him.

  “Don’t say a word. I don’t want to know anything about it,” he said hoarsely. “So long as you’re unharmed, nothing else matters. You’re safe now.”

  The hell I am.

  Hot tears stung her eyes. Crawling through the dust with bullets whizzing over her h
ead had been a cakewalk compared to dealing with the warm, sensual, utterly maddening feel of Alan’s arms around her. This was going to be even worse than she had feared.

  Trapped between them, Rosa began squirming and squawking up a storm.

  “My feelings exactly,” Tabitha mumbled into the toddler’s curls.

  Chapter 9

  The return trip proved uneventful, except for one moment of surprise at the end—the surprise being that the end arrived so soon. Guided only by two silent and curiously light-eyed Comanche, because Alan had stayed to supervise the mop-up at the Garcias’, Tabitha found herself back behind the adobe battlements before the sun was scarcely past its infancy.

  The Garcias had merely been leasing, it had turned out; their spread was on MacAllister land. Although she and Kathy had ridden a long, winding trail to get there, the ranch actually lay just beyond sight of the castle. What a brilliant hiding place it would have been if it had worked. Whoever would have considered looking for them so close?

  It was no wonder Simon appeared a tad out of sorts when she met him on the ride back. It must have been less than amusing for him following endless tracks that ultimately led to almost where he’d started from. That, coupled with all the rest of it, of course. He was on a fresh mount, but nothing else about him was very fresh. He looked and sounded like he’d been through a small war. Probably because he had.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t young Pedro. I was just riding out to check on you, muchacho, but since you’re obviously intact, I can continue on to Abilene with a clear conscience. If you’ll forgive my hasty departure earlier, I’ll return the favor by forgiving you for helping to steal my mare,” he drawled, reining in along side her.

  “And while we’re on the subject of crimes, mí amigo, you might care to inform Laird Alan that I’ll be back with help by tomorrow. Warn him that, as impressive as his display was this morning, he’s to do nothing else beyond keeping those vermin confined until we get here. Any signs of Claymore Justice, and he could find himself confined—or worse. The MacAllisters are under enough suspicion as it is.”

  “Spare me the lectures,” Tabitha said tersely, her head too stuffed and throbbing with her own concerns to have registered a word he’d said. “Just tell me how she is.”

  “She? Are you referring to the desperado in black? The one with the hearing problem?” Simon deadpanned. “That little lunatic is in better shape than I am right now. All she got is a slight flesh wound where a bullet grazed her shoulder—hardly more than a scratch. But it nearly gave me a coronary. She was so still and cold, I thought I’d lost her. I didn’t realize she’d simply fainted at the sight of her own blood! Thank God you had the sense to stay clear. Where were you hiding, anyway?”

  “You’re the wizard, you tell me,” Tabitha deadpanned in return. “I’ll give you a hint, however.” She nodded toward Rosa in front of her in the saddle. “Where do you think she came from?”

  Simon stared at the toddler, as though he had only just noticed her and was trying to figure out what she was. Then realization struck home, and he went pale green under his coating of grime. “Good God… You’re a lunatic, too.”

  * * *

  He was probably right about that, Tabitha thought, seated in the burgundy armchair and staring morbidly over Rosa’s damp curls at the big four-poster bed across the room. Her own short curls were damp as well, and blond once more, after the long bath she and the babe had shared. She hadn’t been sure the ink would wash out, but it had, along with the boot stain.

  As for Rosa…the tiny girl had been almost too accepting, offering surprisingly little fuss since they’d left the ranch. It had made it easier to wash, dress, and feed her, of course, but it was heartrending. The cries for Mama, which Tabitha kept expecting, never materialized, and she was afraid she knew why. Rosa had seen enough to realize that Mama couldn’t come.

  The thought sent sickening chills coursing through her, but there was nothing she could do about it except hold the toddler, rock her, and tell her in broken Spanish that everything would be all right. Those assurances were the most difficult part, naturally. She wondered, even while murmuring the words, whom she was trying to convince. Rosa, or herself?

  “How’s the wee lassie?”

  Tabitha glanced up with a start, then relaxed at the sight of the slight figure in the open doorway. “She’s almost asleep, I think. How is your patient?”

  “Wide awake and madder’n a wet hen. Angus has been tae see her.” Molly grinned.

  “Oh, dear. He’s not going to press charges, is he?”

  “Charges? For what, lass?”

  “For pretending to be a relative and trying to run a con game on him.” That was obvious, wasn’t it? And Tabitha thought it was pretty darn unchivalrous of Simon Elliott to have told the MacAllisters who Kathy really was, without giving her the chance to confess on her own. Now they would be even harder on her.

  “Oh, Angus dinna care for that,” Molly said, stepping lightly into the room. “He came tae tell her that since the lads canna decide amongst themselves, they’ll be tossin’ the caber in three days time. The winner will be her bridegroom.”

  “What? He still wants her to marry one of his sons?”

  “Aye. ’Tis most fond of her he’s become, whether she be Mary MacAllister or Kathleen Kildare. He says she’s a bonny, braw lass, and since ’twas MacAllister gold she was after, ’tis MacAllister gold she’ll get. But she’ll hafta take one of his lads alang with it.”

  Why doesn’t that surprise me?

  “I’ll come see her as soon as I can.” Tabitha sighed. “In the meantime, tell her I said welcome to the club. And to stay away from the ramparts.”

  Molly’s white brows quirked up. “What club be that, dear?”

  “Never mind, she’ll know what I mean.”

  “Aye, dear, whatever y’say. I only came tae make sure there was nothin’ you needed for the bairn. Such a bonny wee thing…”

  Molly turned back toward the door after a long, covetous look at Rosa. “I’ve more wounds tae be tendin’ now. Word has just come that me grandson’s returned, draggin some sorry lookin’ brigands behind him. They’ll be loadin’ them into the dungeons, I expect. ’Tis a lang time since those cells’ve seen such business. Not since I was a lass. Not since Elspeth’s day… Now there’s one who had a dab hand with battle wounds. For sure she had practice enoof. I mun tell you aboot her sometime. You’d find her interestin’, I’ll wager.” She glanced over her shoulder at Tabitha. “Now that be queer”—her brow furrowed—“I dinna notice afore, but you put me in mind of Elspeth a wee bit. ’Tis somethin’ in the eyes.”

  Something in the eyes…

  Such a simple, off-the-cuff comment, but it choked Tabitha like a cuff to the throat.

  Something in the eyes?

  It was more like something deep in her consciousness, buried just beyond reach. It was dreams that seemed like memories—memories that couldn’t possibly be her own. It was the feeling that part of her wasn’t herself anymore, that she was turning into someone else, someone she didn’t know and couldn’t control. It was almost like some sort of possession. But not by the spirit of a girl who had lived here decades before. These odd sensations and almost-memories had to be some bizarre side effect of her mind being invaded—perhaps a mental suggestion to make her feel more like she belonged here, when she knew damn well she didn’t.

  Someone was trying to possess her, but it wasn’t some long-gone girl. It was someone who was, apparently, willing to use any means at his disposal to bring her under his control.

  Physical force…emotional intimidation… Hypnosis?

  Was such a thing possible? Could one mind dominate another to that extent?

  She had helped her aunt once with a research project involving hypnosis. Their findings had rattled both of them. They’d set out to disprove the concept, but had ended up reasonably convinced that hypnosis—within certain parameters, at least—was a valid phenomenon. Although
how far it could be taken was another question. Tabitha was beginning to suspect it might be a bigger force than either she or her aunt had reckoned.

  It is something in the eyes, she thought. Not her eyes, though. It was a pair of mesmerizing amber orbs that seemed to sizzle clear through to the bottom of her soul every time he looked at her.

  If only she could remember all the data from the hypnosis study. There might be something there she could use for defense. Perhaps Dr. Earnshaw could help. He was the one person besides herself with whom Aunt Matilda used to discuss all her research. He might be able to fill in any gaps in her own recollection. She would try to see him after Rosa had a good nap. If she moved now, she’d awaken the tot.

  Unfortunately, her unconscious knee jiggling had already done almost that. And after it had taken so long to lull her into a sound slumber, too. Gently shifting the little bundle into a more comfortable position, she hushed and rocked her back to sleep.

  “Tabitha, you are such a nitwit,” she scolded herself.

  “Aye. But a bonny one.”

  Automatically catching her breath, then forcing herself to let it out slowly so she wouldn’t disturb Rosa again, Tabitha shot a wary glance at the dusty, bare-chested figure lounging against the doorframe, careful to avoid those dangerous amber eyes.

  “How long have you been standing there?” she whispered, like it was some kind of accusation. In her mind, it was.

  “Long enough to see that you’ll make a good mother for our children.”

  Tabitha pressed her lips shut. It was better to ignore comments like that. Anger would only weaken her position. Wasn’t that one of the findings from the hypnosis research, that a heightened emotional state sometimes made a subject more susceptible to outside influence? The trick to this game was maintaining a cool detachment.

  Think icicles, she ordered herself as Alan slouched motionless in the doorway.

  “How I ever could have mistaken you for a lad… It boggles the mind,” he murmured, staring at her. “Chalk it up to the stress of the moment. I must have been temporarily daft.”