Stormfire Page 11

  "And the ballroom windows." He looked thoughtful. "Then there's a matter of nagging. For an indefinite number of Sundays you'll clean stables, take over milking duties, and empty chamber pots in the morning tide with Moora as company. Somehow, I don't think she'll give you another chance to brain her."

  "May I go now?" she asked with unexpected quietness. "Or is there more?"

  Culhane scrutinized her. Gone was the mischief, the insouciant impudence. In their place was dread of the dulling defeat of long hours of slavish work. "Not quite," he returned with equal quietness. Scooping a linen shirt from the chest, he ripped it into strips, then hunkered down beside her and wrapped the strips around the iron to thickly pad her chafed ankle. He stood, and threading a strip between her throat and the collar, bound it as well while Catherine stood silently. When his eyes met hers, he found them wistfully startled, just as that night when she had first gazed up at him as if she were a nymph from some dark forest pool. The shadowed depths of those lovely, haunting eyes lured him, and only Peg's presence prevented his kissing the soft mouth only a breath from his own. "I'll be away for several days," he murmured. "Will that please you?"

  Catherine's eyes went dark, unfathomable as an inky sea under the heavy lashes. "I. . . don't. . ." Then it occurred to her. The fourteenth. Today was the twelfth of February. Her eyes flared as if lightning had struck across them, then she accused, "You're going to England, aren't you? To Holden Woods!"

  "So you found that map too!" His voice turned flat and cold. "Not a bad bit of deduction, Countess."

  "What do you mean to do?"

  "I mean to burn it," he returned bluntly.

  "That forest is maintained by harmless woodsmen and filled with wildlife," she said with a soft note of pleading that startled him. "Many may die if you set it ablaze. Don't massacre innocents in your war. They're all that makes peace gentle."

  "Do you number yourself among the innocents in my Herodian path?" he asked roughly.

  "I'm no longer innocent," she murmured bleakly, her words only for him. "You've stripped every dignity from me save one, which even now you crave, only to tread it into the dirt." Her chin lifted imperceptibly. "I ask no quarter. Will you burn the wood?"

  Culhane's eyes held hers. "I will." She turned away from him and left the room. "Find her warm shoes, Peg," he said quietly.

  "Well, with her small feet, twill be no easy task." Peg rubbed her nose. " 'Course, there's trunks in the attic . . ."

  "Just shoes, Peg."

  She played with her keys. "There's been somethin' I've been wantin' to ask."

  "What is it?" Sean asked impatiently. His ship, the Mary D., was moored offshore and he would have to leave within the hour to catch the flood.

  "Do ye intend sendin' the girl back alive?"

  "The devil!" He flung a clean shirt to the bed. "What makes you ask that?"

  "After ye left yesterday mornin', I found her on the balcony, starin' down at the stone flaggin'."

  His irritation instantly faded. "I'll have Moora stay with her."

  "Ye can't have her watched every minute. That's part of the trouble. The girl hasn't a moment to call her own, nor a stitch of warm clothes. The work ye give her . . . some it's well enough, but she's not as strong as those women in the laundry. And cleanin' stalls is man's work."

  "She ran away, Peg. She must learn never to run again."

  "Ye'd not tolerate a cage; ye'd run till ye died. Break her spirit and ye'll lose her."

  Culhane's voice was cutting. "She's nothing to me but a spoiled Englishwoman! She's next to worthless as a mistress."

  "Aye, the black looks ye give the lass tell me that. I wouldn't wonder if she is cold. What did ye do to the poor girl that night they carted her in to ye like a lamb to slaughter, batter her maidenhead with a stave? The sheets was bloody as a choppin' block and she nearly fainted on the stair!"

  Yanking on his breeches under his robe, Sean cut across her tirade. "Stay, out of it, Peg. Is that clear?"

  "Aye, clear enough. And as ye've also made it clear the lass is naught to ye, why not let her go, or give her to Liam? She'd bloom in the arms of a lovin' man. Why not admit ye haven't the knaek of givin' a woman what she needs?"

  "Damn it, Peg, that's enough!"

  "Aye, that's enough, alright," said the housekeeper unperturbedly. "Ye'll kill her; sooner or later, it'll come to that." She calmly jangled her keys as she walked out the door.

  Late that afternoon, Catherine was up to her wrists in flopping fish. Having fished for trout at Windemere, she lacked the usual female horror of anything not already buried under parsley on a plate. Cleaning fish, though smelly and unpleasant, was preferable to laundry. Some of the fish jwent fresh to the house, some was salted for winter, while the rest went to market in inland villages and towns.

  Moora, disinclined to talk to Catherine, periodically retired to vomit over the cliff. She passionately despised fish of any kind, and Culhane, as usual, had hit on the perfect punishment for her negligence with his prisoner. The other women sullenly eyed the English girl but for the most part ignored her, though Maude's sidelong glances were particularly venomous.

  As she trudged back to the house with the other workers, Catherine felt like a rabbit watched by ferrets: some of those ferrets, she suspected, occupied the towers cornering the mansion. The men who had surrounded her on the moors must have been patrols; they could not have all come from Shelan. Their efficiency suggested a signal system; certainly the towers were natural signal points. Either the lookouts had missed her in the moonlit stable- yard by sheer chance or had mistaken her for a man; the latter possibility presented opportunities. But one thing was certain. If she was caught trying to escape again, Culhane would certainly send her to the barracks.

  Her gloomy thoughts were unrelieved by supper, where she was served stewed fish. In her room awaited a hand loom and a pile of yarn; in sum, her requested shawl. And for all her scrubbing in the bath bucket, a finny odor clung to her hands. Culhane had certainly achieved his aim, Catherine though sourly. She would never make snide remarks about anyone compelled to fish for a living again. She toppled into bed and, thrusting her hands over the pallet edge as far away from her nose as she could get them, fell asleep.

  The next day was spent in the laundry yard under a slow, gray drizzle. As usual in damp weather, the lines of wash were hung before the kitchen hearths where the sagging lines hampered the cooks and put everyone in a foul humor. Catherine was hanging a shirt when Maude accidently backed into dripping woolen underwear and dropped a tray of stuffed quail. As the birds hit the floor, she flew into a rage. "Ye did this, ye foul English slut! Satan's spawn! Come to finish where yer da left off, have ye? Whorin' with the masters while honest folk be doin' the work. I'll teach ye to bedevil yer betters!" She snatched a carving knife and lunged at the startled girl.

  Deftly sidestepping under a line and grabbing a pot of hot stew, Catherine pitched it into the Irishwoman's face. Maude screamed and scraped at her eyes. By the time she cleared them, her prey, armed with a broom, was across the room. The scullery lad, Danny, had disappeared.

  Maude laughed disjointedly, gravy still streaking her heavy face. "Aye, slut! Pick up a toy! That's all I had to defend me family. Let's be seein' how well ye do!" She charged, slashing viciously. Blocking the woman on the backstroke, Catherine quickly ducked under the blade and rammed the butt of the broom into her belly, just below the breastbone. Maude doubled in agony, breath exploding in a convulsive whoosh.

  With Danny at her heels, Peg, brandishing a pistol, rushed into the room as Maude, groaning, sat heavily on the floor with her arms locked about her belly. "What the devil's goin' on here? Lord preserve us, girl, have ye kilt the woman?"

  "No, but I should have." Catherine wiped hair out of her face. Eyes narrowed, she bluntly warned her attacker, "Hear me, madam. If you ever address me in so rude a fashion again, or wave anything more threatening than a parasol, I'll ram this staff through the roof of your unflatter
ing mouth. Indicate that you hear me or I'll clear your ears in the same manner!" Maude moaned and rocked. Catherine slowly lowered the broom then stared grimly at Peg and the ruined wash behind her.

  "What happened?" demanded Peg, equally grim.

  Briefly, Catherine told her.

  Peg reached behind her and pulled Danny forward. "Is that the truth, lad?"

  "Aye, 'tis, ma'am," asserted the boy, trying to ignore the ominous looks of his countrymen.

  God bless you, boy, thought Catherine fervently.

  "Maude, get up and stop blitherin'! Ye got what ye deserved and be damned to ye for yer foul temper!" Peg turned on the rest. "Well, stop gapin' and be about yer work! Annie, Kathleen, gather up that dirtied linen and take it to the shed. Maude'll be havin' a turn at it bright and early tomorrow." She waggled a finger at Catherine. "Come along, girl, ye've things to do."

  Dejectedly certain the quarrel with Maude had cost her more work, Catherine wandered with lagging feet after Peg, who stopped at her cell door.

  "Come in, lass. I'm goin' to give ye a lesson in weavin'. No need to look so glum. 'Tis easier than landin' Maude Corrigan on her backside." Peg picked up the loom, planted her wide bottom on Catherine's pallet, and swatted the place beside her. "Sit." Catherine reluctantly obeyed. "Now, a shawl goes quick. The wool's already carded and spun, so ye'll have no trouble." She smiled faintly. "If Sean had his way, ye'd have to shear the sheep, but he wasn't specific, so we'll slip by."

  Catherine listened warily, knowing Peg would have put up a terrierlike resistance to any criticism of Culhane by another. Now she not only implied disapproval of his behavior but seemed prepared to bypass his orders and offer a suggestion of alliance. Catherine decided not to bite. "Peg, why did that woman attack me? I've done nothing to aggravate her."

  Peg began to thread the loom. "Watch as I talk, lass. I've yet some dinner duties." Her fingers worked deftly as she spoke. "Maude's family was killed by colonial Protestants, Orangemen, last year in Armagh. To her, colonials is English. She had naught but a broom to fight them off. They bayoneted her, and when she came about, her four-year-old twin boys and twelve-year-old daughter were dead; boys had been bashed against the walls, the girl raped and strangled. The house was burnin' about her ears. She crawled out into the yard and found her husband dead in his own water trough. She an't been right since."

  Catherine had gone pale. "Oh, Peg, the poor woman. If I had known . . ."

  "What would ye have done? Given her a light tap? She'd have slit yer gizzard." Peg patted Catherine's hand. "Now watch . . ."

  That night Catherine dreamed of being chained with dead children in a burning ruin. High above the flames pealed Sean Culhane's laughter and, strangely, her mother's.

  Peg shook her awake in the late, morning. Catherine blinked at the light, shielded her eyes, then panicked. "I overslept! I'm supposed to be in the laundry . . ."

  Peg gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. "Not today, ye an't. This mernin' ye've an appointment with Flannery." At the girl's bleak look, she hastened to add gently, "No, lews, not for another iron frippery." She stood back to watch Catherine dress, admiring her slim grace. "When ye've done with him, ye'll work at yer shawl. Maude's takin' yer duties today."

  Catherine lit up like a spring morning and Peg's mouth puckered at the corners. "Ye've a glory of a smile, girl. I'm glad ye haven't forgot how to use it." When her charge was done dressing, Peg led the way past the stableyard to the foundry, where Flannery, bare-chested in a leather apron, streamed with sweat as he pounded on a glowing horseshoe.

  "Good mornin' to ye, Mr. Flannery," Peg said cheerfully. "I've brought the lass for her lesson."

  Flannery nodded at Catherine, then glowered playfully at the housekeeper. "What's this Mr. Flannery, me girl? I was pinchin' yer bottom before Rafferty wed ye, devil take his oily tongue."

  Peg patted Catherine's arm. "Don't mind him. The old goat's more bleat than butt these days." She headed back to the kitchen, her skirts lifted to avoid the stableyard mire.

  Flannery stuck his head out of the door and yelled, "Ye'd better lift those fine legs and run, wench! I'm about to chase ye to Tipperary!"

  "Pooh, ye old fart!" was the fading reply.

  Catherine giggled, then hastily put a hand over her mouth to feign a cough.

  Flannery turned with a smile. "Now, don't be doin' that, lass. Laughter's the sweetest song in the ears of God."

  The remark was so unexpected she was unprepared to respond. Faintly embarrassed, she lowered her hands. "I fear I've laughed little of late."

  "Aye, 'tis sorry I am about my part in yer troubles. I've never put me hand to anythin' that shamed the makin' til those irons. The leg-iron is comin' off for a bit." He picked up the hammer, knelt, and knocked the bolt loose. Ignoring her astonishment, he rose and tapped the collar padding with a forefinger. "Sean's?" She nodded and his eyebrows rose slightly. "That's a rare concession. I wouldn't depend on another."

  Her smile reappeared faintly. "I gather Mr. Culhane is unaware my punishment has eased in his absence."

  "Oh, he'll know soon enough. There'll be waggin' tongues aplenty to disabuse him on his return."

  "Isn't your place ordinarily with him?"

  Flannery returned her intent look without a blink. "Ordinarily. I had other things to do." He whisked off his apron, then pulled on a shirt from a nearby peg. "Like givin' ye a bit of schoolin' on how to deal with the likes of Maude Corrigan." He picked up a wide-bladed knife with a cupped rapier guard. "Mind, I'll not be givin' ye this, if for no other reason than stickin' it in Sean might prove too great a temptation. Which brings us to another point. Don't go callin' a man's hand unless ye've got a good idea of what he's got to show. In fifty years of soldierin', I've only seen two men who could match Sean with knife, rapier, or pistol; both were cold-blooded killers for hire. Culhane only hires out to his personal devil, but he's a true killer. Don't go rattlin' his civilized cage, lass; it an't never locked." With that bit of advice, the Irishman took her into the foundry's rear courtyard and began a blunt, brutal lesson in wielding a knife.

  Liam was in the stableyard loading sketch pads into saddlebags when he noticed Catherine skirting the paddock wall after her lesson. "Good day, Lady Catherine!"

  She waved gaily. "Good day to yourself, Liam Culhane! Are you going to paint along the cliffs this afternoon?"

  "No, I was thinking of going down to the bay. I've been working on the terns that gather near Quoin Rock . . ." His voice dwindled as he was seized by an'Urge to sketch her. Flushed from the bout with Flannery, her skin had a rosy glow even to the swell of her breasts where the neckline had slipped low. Abruptly aware of where his eyes had fallen, he hastily looked up to find Catherine openly amused.

  ''La, sir," she teased, "have you never seen a fishermaid before?"

  Liam flamed. He occasionally eased his celibacy in the surrounding, villages, and the earthy memory of what lay beneath the garments of the local girls did his composure no good turn. "I. . . was startled to see you alone and unguarded. Have you just come from the foundry?"

  Imagining his shock if he knew the real reason for her visit to his blacksmith, Catherine lifted her skirts and gave her foot a shake to rattle the chain. "Mr. Flannery had adjustments to make in my costume." The young lord studiously observed the additional view he had just been afforded, but to his disappointment, the skirt was lowered again. "Besides, escape seems impossible with this chain and so many armed men about," she ventured innocently.

  "It would be impossible with no one about," he replied grimly. "The moors surrounding Shelan are a maze of bogs and winding drumlin mounds; if you didn't stumble into a quagmire, you'd be lost in no time. Besides, Sean has rearranged the pickets so no one can go a mile without being seen night or day. His signal system of lanterns and mirrors can relay messages as far as England in a matter of hours."

  Seeing her smile fade, he hastened to change the subjects "Would you care to see some of my sketches?"

 
; She tried to summon a show of interest. "I've often watched you ride out across the hills and wondered what impressions you gather." She came nearer while Liam dug in his bag. He pulled out a sketchbook and he slowly began to turn the leaves. She was silent so long he began to feel she disliked the sketches. He desperately wanted her to approve his work. Eager to impress her, he had snatched up the first book in the bag; now, too late, he thought of others she might prefer. Page after page of cloud studies slipped by, delicately spun and seemingly artless, yet still painfully difficult after years of practice. He had captured the moving sky in all its moods, in every season, in every light.

  As they came to the last, she said thoughtfully, "Your sketches are wonderful! Have you ever shown them?"

  Feeling a foolish grin start to slide across his lips, he firmly controlled it. "In Rome, where I studied, I was beginning to show in a few galleries. I had received a commission from Prince Borghese for his collection when I was forced to return home."

  "What a pity! Did your father recall you?"

  "Ah, not exactly . . ." said Liam. "It was over a young lady."

  "Oh," Catherine said sympathetically, "twice a pity."

  She cannot have been a pretty child, he thought, distracted by her unusual facial structure, which was particularly striking in outdoor light. Without their maturing balance, her features would have warred with one another, possibly even have been ugly. Her straight, fine nose stopped a hairsbreadth before becoming too long a line; the nostrils flared a shade wide. The delicate line of her jaw softened a hint of obstinacy, giving the whole an underlying strength which kept her from being merely pretty. Her eyes were unforgettable, inundating the viewer in fathomless mystery. Suddenly, her lips twitched as if restraining open mirth. "Your perusal is so keen, I begin to fear I've improperly cleaned my teeth, or perhaps"—she screwed a finger into her forehead—"developed a Cyclopean eye. Farewell, sir! I must hie back to my dank cavern, there to gnaw the bones of the unfortunate unwary. Have a pleasant day a-terning, Liam Culhane!"