Eyes of the Cat (24 page)

“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.”

Temporarily?

She fought to hang on to her composure. Ducking her head over Rosa didn’t help. Even when she couldn’t see that muscular form, she could still feel his gaze flowing over her like molten lava. Her carefully envisioned icicles began to melt. Fast.

“Your cropped hair poses a problem for me, you know. It makes you look so much younger. I’ll be feeling a bit like a dirty old man till those lovely locks grow out.” With a weary sigh, he hauled himself away from the doorframe. “Speaking of which… Is that water still hot, do you think?”

What? Hers and Rosa’s bath water?

She glanced up to see where he was heading, relieved that it was toward the brass tub and not toward her. “It may still be a little warm, but—”

“Close enough.” He kicked free from his moccasins and began peeling down his leggings.

Good God, he wasn’t going to bathe right in front of her, was he?

“Alan, you can’t use that water—it’s filthy!” She quickly ducked her face again as his hands moved to his breechclout.

“So am I. Anything will be an improvement. I haven’t the energy to wait for fresh.” With a deep groan of contentment, he collapsed into the tub.

And Tabitha spent a few breathless moments replacing her steamed icicles with the image of a massive glacier. By the time she dared look up, he was hidden, except for his handsome head and granite shoulders—which were distracting enough—but at least his eyes were closed. His head rested back against the curved brass rim, and she realized with a surge of sympathy that quite surprised her, he was knockdown, dragged-out exhausted. Though why that should bother her, she couldn’t imagine.

“How long has it been since you’ve had any sleep?” she asked with a grudging concern.

“Hmm…sleep? What’s that?”

Good heavens, he must have been trailing those pirates since he left here. What was that? Nearly forty-eight hours ago?

“Oh, honestly, this is absurd. You need sleep now more than you need a bath. Get out of that tub and go to bed before you sink from exhaustion and drown,” she ordered, scarcely thinking what she said.

His eyelids flickered up, and she immediately regretted having even opened her mouth.

“Spoken just like a wife.” He grinned. “Your worry over me is touching.”

“It’s not worry. It’s simply commonsense advice. And I am no—”

“
Shh
, you’ll wake that wee lassie on your lap.”

“I am no one’s wife!” she whispered furiously. Somewhere at the North or South Pole a glacier must have just broken up.

“Tabitha dear, for the final time, our marriage is valid,” Alan whispered back, his half-closed eyes looking disturbingly feline and predatory.

“Maybe it would be in old Scotland, but we happen to be in modern Texas!” she hissed.

“For all intents and purposes, MacAllister land
is
old Scotland.”

“Of course it is. And I’m Joan of Arc, and you’re the war chief Cochise.”

Alan heaved a long sigh, creating a slight splash as he slid lower in the tub. “No. Cochise was Apache. I’m Comanche, remember? My name is Eyes-of-the-Cat.”

“Eyes… Eyes-of-the…” Tabitha didn’t need a reminder to keep her voice low. A scratchy rasp was all she could grate out. Her gaze darted furtively to the door.

“Aye, that’s a rough translation, anyway,” Alan said tiredly. “And if you move one inch away from that chair, I’ll be out of this tub so fast—”

“You wouldn’t
dare
touch me while I’m holding this child.”

Eyes-of-the-Cat proved the worth of his name as a glittering gold glare riveted her where she sat. “Don’t tell me what I’d dare or not, lassie.”

“And don’t you threaten me.” Something inside her went rigid, giving her the strength to hold firm under that glare. Or maybe it was the other scenes still so fresh in her mind’s eye that stiffened her resolve. “I’ve had enough of this! I won’t tolerate anymore,” she whispered tensely. “This morning I’ve seen the bloodiest that humanity has to offer. Unless you’re prepared to top it, there is nothing you can do to frighten me.”

It was a good boast, but she had forgotten in the anger of the moment, that his power to dominate had little to do with pain. It was the opposite, rather. His main force lay in the raw heat of his physical presence—and the sensual pleasure it promised. Too late she was reminded of that as he rose up out of the tub, like a bronzed Neptune striding forth from the sea.

“I thought there was nothing I could do to frighten you,” he said, trailing water across the floor as he moved toward her.

Tabitha doubled over the sleeping bundle in her lap. “I’m not frightened. I…I was worried about Rosa,” she improvised, her tightly shut eyes burning with the imprint of Alan’s hard muscled, glistening form. “You can’t walk around here like that. There’s a baby girl present!”

“Two of them, apparently.” He angled away from her to close the door to the room. It pulled to with a deadly decisive click. “Rosa’s not the one who’s bothered, though.” He turned back to Tabitha. “She’s sound asleep. I doubt an earthquake could wake her at this point. Lay her on the bed. She’ll be safe there, and I want to talk to you without any distractions.”

“Get dressed, and I’ll consider it.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Alan sighed and retraced his steps to the dresser by the door.

Talk about distracting.
Tabitha silently smoldered.
What did he think he was, poised there wearing nothing but his arrogance?

She kept her face hidden over Rosa until he had dragged on a formfitting pair of fawn colored trousers. Then she carefully arose from the chair and carried the sleeping toddler to the bed. There was one good thing about this. With Rosa nestled in the center of the four-poster, Alan wouldn’t be able to use it for anything else.

Leaving the tiny girl surrounded by pillows, so she couldn’t accidentally roll off the mattress, Tabitha turned around—and froze at the sight of Alan relaxed in the armchair she had just vacated.
This
was his idea of getting dressed? He had gotten no further than the fawn trousers and his boots, and appeared to find that quite adequate.

The man had a definite grudge against shirts.

She sighed, feeling somewhat underdressed herself. She hadn’t been able to determine, after the bath, which of Gabrina’s detested frocks to inflict upon herself, and had gone with the temporary compromise of a sea green silk dressing gown over her underthings until deciding. But when Rosa had started to fall asleep on her lap, she hadn’t wanted to disturb her, and then…

“Come here,” Alan ordered, his voice a low, sensuous purr and his eyes pulling at her like magnets.

Suddenly her feet didn’t belong to her anymore. Gliding over the smooth wood floor, Tabitha couldn’t resist the draw of that gaze until her knees bumped his. Then, like a sleepwalker snapping awake, she dug in her heels and stopped short, feeling like a bird that’s narrowly missed being snared. That had gone a little beyond hypnosis, as she understood the phenomenon.

She jerked back a pace, almost as if she’d been burnt. In a way, she had—by the scorching blaze of two amber magnets.

They never blinked. “Come here,” he repeated.

Tabitha set her jaw, planted her feet, and tried to imagine a wall of ice looming in front of her.

“I have come here,” she said, frost gleaming on every word.

“I meant
all
the way here.”

The ice wall sizzled into hot vapors as Alan reached through it, pulling her onto his lap. The dressing gown popped open with one deliberate tug, and his hands slid around the corseted waist beneath it, locking her against his naked chest before she could wrestle free.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she strained out as his lips hovered above hers for a few wild breaths.

“Well…
communicate
, anyway. See if you can understand what I’m saying.”

And his mouth went to work.

The kiss was sheer, unbridled eloquence, satin smooth and hotter than jalapenos. It spoke volumes to her body, but nothing Tabitha could translate into actual words. It was raw power, unthinking passion, hungry desire… Her own, amazingly, as well as his.