To Catch a Wolf (40 page)

Brinkley. "Get out.”

The butler looked at Athena. She nodded. "This is between Miss Hockensmith and me. I

will not be requiring your services tonight. You may tell Fran that she may also retire.”

"You need only call, Miss Munroe." He left without a backward glance at Cecily.

The moment the door was closed, Cecily advanced on Athena. Her fists were clenched,

and for all her fine garments and meticulous coiffure, she looked like nothing so much

as a fishwife.

"Make no mistake," she hissed, "I will stop you." She reached for Athena's arm. Athena

batted her hand away. Cecily gasped and fell back a step.

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"Good Lord," she said. "You are brazen! I will advise your brother to send you to a

madhouse!”

"In that case, let me give you a good reason for the recommendation." Athena smiled,

and the wolf crouched on its haunches and prepared to spring. Cecily struck again, bent

upon knocking her off balance. Athena twisted to the side, allowing Cecily to strike the

wall, and pulled the older woman's arm behind her back.

Cecily shrieked. Athena kept her grip with surprising ease, reaching deep within for the

strength of the wolf, the strength she had known and embraced before the accident.

"You might as well give up," she said. "You cannot hurt me, but I might hurt you if you

struggle.”

All the fight went out of Cecily, and Athena began to relax. She saw the flash of light on

metal an instant before the hairpin plunged toward her shoulder.

Deftly she spun Cecily about and dodged the makeshift weapon. The silver hairpin

scraped across the door and fell to the carpet. Athena growled.

She growled, just as Morgan did, teeth bared. Cecily forgot to cry out in pain and shrank

away from her in horror.

"I warned you," Athena said. "You had better leave this house at once." She released

Cecily, who stumbled away, clutching her wrist.

"What are you?" she whispered.

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"You may pray that you never find out." She stepped aside, leaving the doorway clear.

Cecily did not need further encouragement. She rushed past Athena and scurried into

the hall, her dark hair falling loose about her shoulders.

The front door slammed. Athena leaned against the door and felt her body's reaction to

what she had done. Her legs no longer cramped and trembled, but they would not hold

her up much longer. She was living on energy borrowed from the very wolf she had only

begun to acknowledge.

She knew she had to act before that energy gave out. There was no leisure to

contemplate how dramatically she had changed, or how close she had come to real

violence. No time for regrets or second thoughts. By the time the sun rose, she would

be well on her way toward the mountains. And Morgan.

Bracing herself against any surface within reach, she made her way out of the library,

into the hall, and back to the sitting room. Brinkley came to her before she had the

chance to call.

"Miss Hockensmith has left us," she said, finding a seat on the nearest chair. "I don't

believe she will be back. I would appreciate your help, if you still feel able to give it.”

"I do, Miss Munroe. And so do the others. Your maid is prepared to resign with the rest

of us, if necessary.”

Athena closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair. "Thank you,

but I think I am capable of doing this alone.”

"Shall I ask Romero to prepare a carriage. Miss Munroe?”

Would Brinkley be so cooperative if he knew she intended to ride rather than take a

carriage? "I will speak to him later. For the moment, I would like to go up to my room.”

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Brinkley offered his assistance, and she permitted herself the luxury of riding up in the

elevator rather than taking the stairs. Once in her room, she shut the door and leaned

against it, well aware that her plans were pitifully tenuous.

The boy's trousers and oversized flannel shirt were still in the chest where she had

packed them away years ago. The trousers were too large, but with the help of a pair of

her brother's suspenders they fit well enough. She had Brinkley retrieve her shearling

jacket from the storage closet and asked Monsieur Savard to pack a meal to carry with

her on the road.

At dawn she crept out of the house and to the stable without alerting Brinkley, dodged

Romero, who had fallen asleep in the carriage house waiting for her, and selected the

sturdiest riding horse. Her legs had received enough rest that they held her up with

relatively little pain as she saddled and bridled her mount. After several tries, she made

it into the saddle.

It felt strange to hold the reins again, to feel the power of a horse at her command. Her

legs were by no means back to normal, but they seemed more capable with every

passing hour, and she had little fear that they would betray her when she needed them

most.

They, like the servants, like the circus folk, could be trusted. As she knew she could

trust her own heart.

Before sunrise she left the house and all her doubts behind. For the first time in her life,

she wondered if she would ever return.

I am coming, Morgan. You will not face my brother alone. And when we meet again, the

whole truth will finally be spoken.

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Niall pushed his exhausted horse a few more paces and then reined it in, looking down

on tree and meadow from the rocky escarpment that bordered the southern end of the

park.

The weather had been clear all during his journey into the mountains. Driven by rage

and little else, he had made it halfway to the ranch before he realized that he and his

mount needed a few hours of rest and sleep.

Even so, it had taken him only a few hours longer than usual to cover the distance from

Denver, and it was just midday. His anger had been muted by weariness, but the sight

of the ranch sprawled out below, and the numerous figures scurrying among the

buildings, rekindled his determination.

Before the sun set, he'd have it out with Morgan Holt once and for all.

He clucked to the horse and guided it down the steep pack trail into the valley, a much

more difficult and direct route than the road through the pass. Oddly enough, it was not

thoughts of Morgan that accompanied him. The face he saw in his mind's eye belonged

to someone else entirely—mocking and impish and topped by a tangle of curling red

hair.

Caitlin. She was down there, as unsuspecting as the rest that he was on his way. What

would she think if she knew he was coming? Would she mock him and spit in his eye

the way she had done when she'd defended Morgan and Athena? Or would she

might she possibly

His mouth curled in disgust. She had deceived him just as much as the others. She'd

led him to think that she risked permanent crippling if she didn't have proper rest and

quiet.

The doctor said as much, he reminded himself. You had no reason not to believe him.

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Yet that same doctor had predicted that Athena would never walk again. So much for

the opinions of doctors. Caitlin was strong enough to stand between him and something

he wanted. His sister had turned from an obedient, well-bred, and quiet young lady to a

willful, defiant hussy. It was no coincidence that she had become so only after close

association with the circus.

And with the former convict Morgan Holt.

Niall gritted his teeth and felt the horse let out a great breath as it reached level ground.

Little eddies of snow whirled about its hooves. No one else had come this way in some

time

nothing human, at any rate. The air was brisk and cold, with a stillness that

suggested bad weather to come.

Sensing food and refuge very near, the horse picked up its pace and set off across the

park at a trot. Niall didn't mind the jarring. Physical discomfort drove the image of Caitlin

from his mind. A man couldn't think of a woman when his legs ached and his fingers

were numb.

Unless he began to picture a fire, a tumbler of whiskey, and a warm bed already

occupied by a supple, naked, and very female body

The horse snorted as he jerked on the reins. Damn it. He'd see the witch soon enough,

and the reality would abolish these ridiculous fancies. Lust for one such as Caitlin

Hughes? It embarrassed him. Yet when he tried to imagine Cecily Hockensmith sharing

his bed, he shuddered with something far worse than embarrassment.

He kicked his horse into a brief but satisfying canter that carried him to the farthest

outbuilding. Smoke rose in dark plumes from several chimneys, and he noted that there

was considerably more activity among the circus people than he had seen before.

People and animals moved to and fro. Wagons stood in the half shelter of buildings, and

men were loading the vehicles in preparation for a journey.

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Niall could not mistake what he saw. The circus was getting ready to leave the ranch,

livestock, tents, and all. Was Harry French mad, or simply an idiot?

Or had he guessed that the troupers wouldn't be welcome at Long Park after the display

in Athena's bedroom? In that, at least, he wasn't wrong. Niall had been too angry at

Cecily's revelation to consider what he would tell French when he arrived. He might

have decided to let the circus stay—except for Morgan Holt.

But if they had already chosen to run, well

His horse attempted to head for the barn, and Niall pulled it about toward the main

house. He dismounted at the steps to the wide, snow-blanketed veranda. A ranch hand

conveniently appeared to take the animal to a stall, and Niall ran up the stairs and

through the front door with hardly a pause to kick the snow from his boots.

After the noise and bustle outside, the house was very quiet. Niall paused in the parlor

to consider his course of action. Morgan might be here, or he might already be gone.

Harry French wasn't likely to reveal the truth either way.

Nor was Caitlin. Yet his feet inevitably carried him down the hall as if she had lifted her

voice in a siren's call, summoning him to destruction.

He opened the door to her room as silently as he could. She was there, in her bed. He

had half expected to find her on her feet, no longer compelled to keep up the pretense

of serious injury. But she was quite alone, plucking at the edge of her blanket with

nimble, nervous fingers. Worried, he thought. Worried about my sister—and Holt.

He slammed the door shut. Caitlin jerked and turned to stare at him, and he noticed for

the thousandth time the way her freckles only added to her allure instead of decreasing

it. The way her hair seemed to blaze in any kind of light, as if illuminated from within.

The way her eyes

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"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Where is Athena?”

He laughed. It was no better a welcome than he had expected.

"Athena is safely at home," he said, walking toward the bed. "Where she will remain. I

am

grateful to see you looking so well, Miss Hughes.”

"You do not look well at all," she said, studying him with a frown. "You must have left

Denver almost as soon as you got back. Did you ride all night?”

Was that worry in her voice? "Aren't you interested in the reason I returned so quickly?”

She settled back on her mounded pillows with a false air of nonchalance. "I do not even

try to guess what may be passing through your mind, Niall Munroe.”

"And you are a liar." He found a chair and pulled it alongside the bed. "But I'll tell you

anyway. Where is Morgan Holt?”

She showed no surprise at his question, and he wondered how much she really knew. "I

have no idea. We haven't seen him since you left. You should be glad that he's gone—"

She narrowed her eyes. "Or aren't you?”

"It depends upon whether or not I wish to see a killer run loose.”

That caught her attention. She straightened, holding his gaze with eyes as frank and

fearless as a child's. But this was no child

far, far from it. "Are you calling Morgan a

killer, even though he had the chance to hurt you and didn't?”

"I'm calling him what he is," Niall snapped. "I'm surprised you are so sanguine about

having such a creature in your midst, you and French

and yet you defended him.

Encouraged him—”

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