Dark of the Moon (18 page)

Cormac had told her that Connor set the devil's own pace, and she believed it. She had seen him ride.

The night was so black that she could just make out the shape of the stable. If she hadn't known where it was, she might have missed it in the dark. A stiff wind blew from the east.

Except for the rustling of the moor grasses and the leaves overhead as the wind passed through them, all was silent. Even the sheep seemed to have sensed something was afoot, for she heard none of their plaintive bleats.

The d'Arcys were still in the house, windows darkened as though they slept. Caitlyn prayed that they would stay where they were until she was safely out of sight. She thought that they would not leave for an hour or so yet, but she couldn't be sure.

It had occurred to her that it would be impossible for her to follow them through the tunnel without their knowledge; the door to the passage was open only long enough to permit the five of them to pass through. If by chance she should manage to sneak inside the tunnel, she would doubdess be trapped there by the door closing at the other end. So she had decided that her best course would be to take Finnbarr to the Castle and await the emergence of the Dark Horseman from the tunnel there. Then she would follow, keeping behind a goodly way so that she could watch without being seen. They would not be expecting a sixth rider and, with luck, would not become aware of her presence—or if they did, at least not until it was too late to send her back.

Finnbarr nickered once as she quickly saddled him, but she shushed him with an apple she had saved for just that purpose. As he munched contentedly, she got him ready and then led him through the stableyard, her hand on his nose to prevent any other sounds from him. But Finnbarr was as good as could be. When they were well away from the farmhouse and she had climbed on his back, she rewarded him with a pat on the neck. She had grown to love the roan gelding dearly. He was a beautiful animal, sleek and intelligent and fast as the wind. Although Connor would never confirm it, Caitlyn knew that Finnbarr must have cost him a dear price.

She was touched to the heart that Connor would bestow so magnificent a gift on her, who, despite the fact that he protected her by claiming her as cousin, was not the slightest degree of kin. Like his brothers, he treated her as family. The grace of God had been with her the day she had tried to pick his pocket. She felt as if her true life had started from that day.

The Castle was as eerie as ever, ghostly and full of whispery sounds on this darkest of nights, but Caitlyn felt no more than a single shiver crawl up her spine as she dismounted and led Finnbarr inside the bawn. Like the living members of the d'Arcy family, she had taken their ghosts as her own. Now when she pictured the Castle haunts, she imagined them as a legion of specters riding at her back instead of threatening her.

She had chosen the stone arches of the covered walkway along the far wall as the best place to wait. The tunnel opening was, she had guessed, in the dungeons that lay beneath the Casde, but the dungeon was one place she preferred not to go, especially alone at night, unless she was forced to. In any event, she had seen her ghost riders disappear through the Castle itself. It was probable that they would emerge the same way.

They did! The muffled thudding of hooves on stone that she had once thought was the beating of a ghostly drum was die only warning she had before the riders burst through the door of the Castle, pounded through the keep, and disappeared over the wall, Fharannain in the lead.

Prepared as she was, Caitlyn was so fascinated by what she saw that she almost forgot to go after them. The silent emergence and thunderous swift passing of the black- cloaked figures reminded her of stories she had heard of what had happened once upon the opening of the gates of Hell. . . .

Finnbarr called after his mates, sidestepping nervously. It was enough to bring Caitlyn back to her purpose. Clapping her heels to his side—she rode astride—she sent Finnbarr sailing after the rest, her heart pounding with excitement in rhythm with his hoofbeats as he cleared the tumbledown wall and galloped over the moors in the wake of the will-o'-the-wisps ahead.

She rode at breakneck pace for nearly three-quarters of an hour, careful not to get too close or so far away that she should lose them altogether, relying as much on intuition as on her sense of sight to tell her where to go. The moors were treacherous riding with their hidden bogs and holes, but Finnbarr was sure of foot and did not stumble. The blackness of the windblown night was her protection as they and she forded the Boyne at a low spot where the water, for all its icy swift current, came no higher than Finnbarr's knees. When the riders surged out of the river to disappear into a copse of trees, she was upon the copse before she realized that they had pulled up.

"Stand and deliver!" The hoarse command shouted some little way ahead was followed by the blasting of a thunderbuss. For a dreadful instant Caitlyn thought that they had mistaken her for a stranger and were firing at her. Then she burst through the trees, her head low over Finnbarr's neck as she tried to slow him down. Sensing the nearness of his stablemates, he fought for his head.

"Sweet Mother Mary, what's that?"

Caitlyn managed to pull Finnbarr up just as the litde party on the Great Road below became aware of her presence. To a man, the masked faces, and the unmasked ones too, swung in her direction.

"Jesus, don't shoot! It's—" Rory bit off the words before he blurted out her name.

A lantern-lit coach was stopped in the road, its gilt work and the coat of arms on its door bearing testimony to its nchness as a prize. Two elaborately gowned ladies clinging nervously to the arm of a single spluttering gentleman stood by the coach's side. Its roof was loaded down with luggage; the group was obviously bound on a journey of some length. Liam, still mounted, kept his pistol trained on them. One of the ladies was weeping; the other looked on the verge of it. The gentleman seemed equally terrified. They would pose no problems. The driver had thrown down his weapon; it lay on the road by the lead horse. I he guard had not; he took advantage of the distraction caused by Caitlyn's advent to swing his rifle up . . .

"No!" she screamed. A rifle boomed. For a dreadful instant Caitlyn waited with heart in mouth for one of her lamily to crumple and fall. Instead, the guard moaned and toppled from his seat to lie facedown in the road. She watched, horrified, as at a gesture from Connor Rory got down to check the condition of the fallen man.

"He's dead," he reported briefly, nudging the corpse with his booted foot.

Caitlyn stared at the sprawled body and felt sick. But ilicre was no time to think. Connor, cloak swirling, face masked so that even she who knew him well identified luin primarily by Fharannain, rode up to the side of the coach. The silver Cross of Ireland glinted briefly against llic night blackness of his cloak. As he approached, the terrified driver shrank away from him.

"Throw down the bags."

"Aye. Aye, your worship," the driver responded nervously, clearly not eager to share the fate of his fellow. Keeping a wary eye on Connor, he stood up and began pitching the luggage into the road. When they were all down, Mickeen dismounted and began forcing them open, nlling though them. The items he deemed worth keeping were crammed into a quartet of leather bags around his neck. Liam assisted him in his search, filling his own leather bags in short order. When the last piece of baggage 11ad been thoroughly rifled, the leather bags were bulging. Mickeen took Liam's as well as his own and slung them over Aristedes' whithers.

"Please don't hurt us!" The whimper focused Caitlyn's attention on one of the women, who was stripping off her jewelry and holding it out with shaking hands. As he took it from her, Cormac laughed, the sound chilling as it emerged from beneath the black mask. It was as if, with the donning of their disguises, he and the others had taken on different personas. They were highwaymen, dangerous and desperate, certain to pay with their lives if they were caught.

Caitlyn realized with a sudden chill that what Connor did as the Dark Horseman was no game.

"Mount and let's away!"

Cormac, the only one still unhorsed, swung back up on Kildare. At a nod from Connor, Mickeen and Liam rode over to the pair of horses that drew the coach and cut their harnesses so that they were freed. The horses were driven off and the coach was left helpless in a matter of moments, with neither the driver nor the passengers daring so much as a word of protest. The fate of the man sprawled in the road was too gruesomely plain.

"You." Connor was suddenly beside her, his whisper grim, his eyes glinting like icy lights through the slits of his mask. "Stay by me!"

The time had come to pay the piper. Caitlyn wet her lips. The last time he had sounded like that was just before he had turned her over his knee all those months ago. Of course, he wouldn't dare to do such a thing to her now that she was grown, but . . .

"Let's go!"

They were off, Liam in the lead as Connor paced Fharannain to stay at her side in the middle of the pack. Nervous as she was of what would come when they were safe at home, Caitlyn was glad to have him there. Angry or not, he was the most important person in her life, and she had seen too little of him of late. Gradually, as Finnbarr raced beside Fharannain over the treacherous moors, she forgot Connor's anger and its probable consequences. Adrenaline began to flow like wine through her veins. Soon she had forgotten everything but the wonder of racing along at Connor's side through the wind-tossed night.

She urged Finnbarr to greater speed, galloping past Liam and Rory and the others.

Finnbarr's hooves barely seemed to skim the ground. He took a low wall effortlessly with Fharannain still beside him. Laughing, Caitlyn looked over at Connor to see if he shared her intoxication. His mask obscured most of his face, but there was no mistaking the grim set to his mouth.

"Pull up!"

Even as he was mouthing the words he was leaning over, his hand grasping her reins just behind Finnbarr's tender mouth. Indignant, Caitlyn fought his hold on her mount, but Finnbarr shuddered to a halt, as did Fharannain.

"You little fool, you missed the spot." Connor was speaking through his teeth as he released her rein to turn Fharannain about. Caitlyn, shivering, looked over her shoulder to find that she and Connor were, as far as she could see, alone on the moor. The others had simply disappeared. Following Connor, she was amazed to see him ride straight at what appeared to be a solid rock cliff. At the last minute she saw the narrow black fissure into which he disappeared.

Holding her breath, she followed him into a lantern-lit cave. Mickeen, on the ground just inside, rolled a huge rock into place, blocking the fissure as she passed. The others were already ahead, the sound of hoof- beats and the vague glow of lantern light in the distance telling her that they were riding down into the earth. She followed Connor on Fharannain, the pace in here on slippery wet stone far slower than it had been on the moors. Mickeen, with the last lantern, brought up the rear.

The cave turned into a passageway obviously built by man. Its stone walls ran with water as it twisted ever downward, and a curious rushing noise sounded con- standy overhead. Caitlyn realized with a litde shiver of fright that they must be passing beneath the Boyne. But it was obvious that Connor and the others felt no anxiety, that they had passed this way many times.

She swallowed her fear, keeping her eyes fixed on the broad, black- cloaked back ahead of her for comfort. No real harm could befall her with Connor so near. . . .

Finally the passageway started turning up again, and at last leveled out. They passed through another entry way, which Mickeen closed by the simple expedient of pulling a chain on the wall, though the huge stone slab shrieked in protest as it rumbled into place behind them.

Caitlyn realized that they were in the dungeons of the Castle, and the shrieks of the passage opening and closing were the ghostly cries she had heard that night when she had first seen the Dark Horseman ride. Then they were riding through yet another entryway into another tunnel with Mickeen closing yet another protesting door behind them. Moments later, die passage turned steeply up, and they burst through to the lantern-lit stable.

"Get down!"

Connor reached up and caught her under the armpits, dragging her from Finnbarr's back.

He had torn off his mask even before he had dismounted. His face was white with rage, his aqua eyes ablaze. Faced with that sizzling anger, feeling the strength of his grip on her because she did not dismount fast enough to suit him, Caitlyn felt the exhilaration she had experienced on the ride dissipate under a cloud of real fear. Connor looked furious—and Connor in a black temper was formidable indeed.

She was standing in front of him now, her head tilted back as she met that inimical glare.

Although she had grown, he was a tall man and she came up only to his chin. His scowl deepened as he glared at her. Then his hand came up to yank her hood down and strip off her mask, which he threw on the ground. Her hair tumbled from its confinement to tangle about her face in a silky black cloud. She brushed it back with an unsteady hand. Caitlyn was slightly unnerved by the suppressed violence of his movements, which told as no words could have done just how extremely enraged he was.

"Connor, I—" She started to explain that she had just wanted to watch, but the sound of her voice seemed to madden him further. His mouth twisted, his eyes shot fire like twin volcanoes, and he reached out to catch her by her upper arms as if he meant to shake her. He didn't, but his grip hurt.

"I ought to take a whip to you," he growled. "And I may! Have you any notion what a bloody stupid thing you did? You could have been killed! You could have gotten one of us killed! What the bloody hell did you think you were about?"

Then he did shake her, a little hard shake that whipped her head back once. Caitlyn's hands came up involuntarily to grasp his wrists. Her eyes were wide as she met his furious gaze. As she met those flaming devil's eyes, anger and something else took root inside her: a queer kind of tension to which she could not put a name.