Dark of the Moon (52 page)

Sir Edward's face paled as he realized that there was no help at hand. He faced death, and he knew it.

Then, slowly, his spine stiffened and his shoulders squared. He turned to face Connor, who was regarding him with steely intent.

"Very well, I'll fight you, d'Arcy. And kill you too, just as I killed your father before you.

Do you know what he whispered before I pushed him over the edge of that window? He wept,

'Have mercy!' like the coward he was. As will you, just before I sink my sword into your heart."

"You lie, you whoreson bastard!" Cormac's head came up, and so did the hand holding the pistol. For a moment Caitlyn thought that Sir Edward would be shot out of hand.

"No!" Connor said sharply, holding up his hand to stop his brother before he could fire. "

'Tis a long time I've waited for this, Cormac. Do not cheat me of it."

"He lies, Conn!"

"Aye, like the lying worm he is. 'Twas said to enrage me merely. Pay no heed to it."

"Conn!" Connor looked around to where Liam had dismounted and untied one of the bundles from the pack horse they led. He was holding out a sword with a jeweled hilt to his brother. Connor crossed to him, taking Caitlyn with him, and accepted the sword.

"Watch her, brother," he said briefly to Liam and let go of her hand. Liam moved to stand beside her as Connor tested the blade by flexing it.

"Sir Edward!" Connor tossed Sir Edward's sword to him. He caught it, flexed it. Then he looked at Connor, his eyes filled with hate.

"Do I win, your brothers will kill me out of hand. Not quite a fair fight, after all, is it?" he sneered.

"You'll not win," Connor said with confidence and laid his sword aside to take off his coat.

Sir Edward, scowling, followed suit. That done, they picked up their weapons and faced each other.

"To the death," said Connor, his aqua eyes glinting as coldly bright as his sword.

"To your death," Sir Edward amended, his face just as intent. The swords came together, rang in salute. Caitlyn drew in her breath. She was sore afraid. Liam put his arm around her, his hand tight on her shoulder.

"Do nothing to distract him," he warned in an undertone. Caitlyn could feel the tension in Liam, and this frightened her as nothing else could. If Liam was afraid for Connor, then she had every reason to be. Liam knew his brother's ability with a sword—and Sir Edward's.

The onlookers held their collective breath, their attention all on the two men as the fight was joined in earnest. It was silent except for the deadly clash of steel on steel, and the grunts as each combatant fought for breath and advantage. The men feinted, parried, lunged. Sir Edward was a master swordsman, Caitlyn discovered to her horror, light on his feet with superb moves.

Connor, while not quite his technical equal and hampered by his lame leg, brought a strength and stamina to the fight that, as they moved over the uneven terrain without either gaining the advantage, gradually began to tell. Sweat popped out on Sir Edward's face, ran down his brow.

Connor, seeing that telltale sign, smiled. Sir Edward rallied, lunged. His sword flashed along Connor's arm before Connor could jump back out of the way. Caitlyn saw a long line of red slowly appear through the tear in the white shirt, and gasped. Liam's hand tightened on her shoulder again, reminding her to keep still. She saw that Rory and Mickeen were pale and intent on the fight, while Cormac kept fingering his pistol. Caitlyn guessed that only the thought of Connor's wrath should he be cheated of his long-sought prize stayed Cormac's hand.

The wound merely seemed to increase Connor's ferocity. Disregarding the blood that dripped from his arm, he pressed his attack, driving Sir Edward slowly backward. Finally Sir Edward was gasping, his eyes desperate as he fought to turn away the savage parries that were beating him to his knees. A flick of the sword, a lunge, and Sir Edward's sword went flying through the air. A collective sigh of relief went up from the watchers. Connor paid them no heed. He advanced on Sir Edward, held his sword to the man's throat. To Sir Edward's credit, he never flinched.

"Do it and be damned to you, d'Arcy," he snapped.

Connor slowly shook his head. "I want you to tell me how you killed my father. Every little detail of how you murdered a brave man."

Sir Edward swallowed. The point of the sword pricked his throat, drawing a bead of blood.

Then, his nerve breaking, Sir Edward began to talk, describing the events of that long-ago night. When it was over, with himself branded the old Earl's murderer, Liam, Cormac, and Rory all looked ripe for murder. Connor, his sword withdrawn just a little from Sir Edward's throat, was pale but calm.

"Now I believe you owe my wife an apology."

Sir Edward looked toward Caitlyn. She could see hope gleaming in his eyes. She herself could not believe that Connor would let him live, no matter how much talking he did. But Connor had ever been a strangely moral man. . . .

"I apologize, Caitlyn." Sir Edward's voice was little more than a croak. Caitlyn, from where she stood some short distance away, could almost smell his fear. Yet she felt no pity for him.

His crimes against her, against those she loved, were too great. Were she holding the sword, Sir Edward would have stood not a chance.

"I mislike your addressing my wife so familiarly. She is Lady Iveagh, to you." Connor's voice was as cold as the steel he held.

"I apologize, Lady Iveagh."

"Mount up, Liam, and take Caitlyn up the road a way."

"No!" Caitlyn shook off Liam's arm.

"Think of the child," Connor said without looking at her. Sir Edward, realizing that his end was near, began to pant. His breathing sounded obscene in the sudden silence. Liam took her arm, and this time Caitlyn did not fight him. She mounted Meg docilely enough. To argue with Connor would be useless, and would only slow him down. But before they had gone fifty paces up the road, she turned the mare around.

"You heard what Conn said."Liam came back beside her, trying to catch Meg's reins.

"Think of the babe."

"Oh, pshaw!" Caitlyn snorted, snatching the reins out Of his reach. "I want to watch. Don't be a dolt, Liam. Neither the babe nor I will come to harm from just watching. Don't forget, I almost killed the bastard myself. This time I want to make sure he is dead."

Silenced, Liam watched as Connor put the point of the sword to Sir Edward's throat.

"If you know aught of prayers, now is the time to say them." Connor's voice was barely audible at that distance.

Sir Edward began to babble. Connor smiled into his eyes and thrust the point of the sword clear through his throat, so that a foot of steel showed on the other side. Blood gushed forth, stained the ground. Connor withdrew the sword with a quick pull. Sir Edward fell forward and died.

The following dawn found them at Inver, a small fishing village just west of Donegal.

The six of them had dismounted on a promontory overlooking the Eany River, resting their horses and themselves before they rode down into the village where a curragh was waiting to take them across Inver Bay. At the farthermost sliver of land, a ship bound for the Colonies would stop that morn to pick them up and carry them across the sea to a new life. The Colonies had recently won their independence from bloody England. It seemed a fitting destination.

Father Patrick had made the arrangements, knowing that there would never again be safety for any of them in strife-torn Ireland. Across the land, rioting still raged. Talk had it that troops were being called up from Connaught to quell the fighting. Caitlyn did not doubt they would succeed. Of the Dark Horseman, much was said. His legend had already grown bigger by far than the man who had given birth to it. Or maybe not.

The gentleman in question was, at that moment, wrapping his one good arm around his wife and resting his lips against her hair. His other arm was too sore to move and was secured by a sling. Her back was turned to him, but at his caress she smiled and reached up to lay her hands on the forearm that encircled her shoulders.

" 'Twill be a long journey. Are you sure you're up to it? We could mayhap go to France instead."

Caitlyn shook her head. "Don't worry so, Connor. I'm with child, not afflicted with a fatal illness. America is the place for us. Why, I'll hardly be showing by the time we get there. I'll take no harm from the crossing, nor will the babe."

"I hope not." Connor still sounded worried, so Caitlyn turned in his hold to plant a kiss on his lips. Casting a quick eye over to his brothers and Mickeen, who had taken advantage of the stop to stretch out on the ground and catch a little sleep, he bent his head and kissed her so thoroughly that her knees went weak. When at last he lifted his head, she stared, dazzled, into his eyes. They gleamed down at her as brightly as the morning sun.

"I love you," she said.

"And I love you, my own. Forever." His words were as solemn as a vow. She smiled at him, then looked down at the topaz ring that was back on her finger, where it would stay forever.

"You'll miss this," she said. "Ireland, and your land. Your family's land, for generations back."

Connor shook his head. "Believe me, my own, I can survive nicely without Donoughmore, or even Ireland. What I cannot survive without is you."

Her eyes moved over him, touched on the black waves of his hair, the lean, hard features, the firm mouth, the aqua eyes. This was her Connor, her wonderful, handsome Connor. Her husband, the father of the child she carried. Her heart swelled, and she knew exactly what he meant. As long as she had Connor, the rest of the world faded into shadow.

She smiled up at him and lifted her head for his kiss.

• Karen Robards
  
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