Taming the Beast (27 page)

Elizabeth shrieked again and Leo began to cry in earnest. Another thicker, heavier wave washed into the cave with a strange glug, and then Roderick was tumbled onto the floor. Michaela gasped when she saw his leg, ending in nothing below his knee, where his pants had been sewn short.

He had come for them on his own, as he was.

And he was big and strong and powerful and beautiful.

He looked at her for only an instant before Harliss was upon him, swinging her blade in a downward arc toward his back, her deranged squeal ricocheting off the slick cave walls.

But Roderick threw off her attack with a long, thick arm, knocking Harliss back into the wall with a cry of rage. He rose to his right knee, wielding a blade in his right hand, and Michaela recognized Hugh Gilbert's jeweled dagger. His eyes widened as he looked at the gray old woman.

“Where did you get that gown?” he choked.

“You like it? You know it was Dorian's—you remember it, do you not?” Harliss showed her gray teeth. “Of course you do. We found you in her bed afterward, didn't we? It was the last thing you saw her wear.”

“Where did you get it?” Roderick shouted.

“Why, I took it off of her,” Harliss simpered, and looked down to admire her bony frame. “Such a beautiful dressing gown, I couldn't abide it being ruined by seawater. I wore it often, in the privacy of my own chamber, and your father's. He never noticed it was hers, you know. He paid so little mind to her when she was alive.”

Roderick screamed in rage and Michaela saw his face transform with his fury, his agony. And she remembered the words Harliss had spoken to her on the wooded Cherbon road:
When you think to cross me again, remember this: cold water does not trouble me, and my arms are very, very strong.

“You killed her,” Michaela whispered. “You killed Dorian Cherbon.”

“Well, I can't claim all the glory,” Harliss said with a girlish tilt of her head. “She walked into the water of her own accord, determined at first. But I'm afraid her nerves got the better of her and I had to…
help her
see the thing through to the end. It was what she wanted, you must believe. She was
weak
! Too weak for Magnus, too weak for Cherbon. She knew it.”

Roderick sprang at the woman, who sidestepped deftly, splashing through the water that was now more than two feet deep and rising quickly. Harliss flashed her blade against Michaela's throat.

“Stay back,” Harliss screamed. The water was flowing in as if it were being washed over a mill wheel. “You'll get what you deserve at last, now!
You ungrateful whelp!
All your father would have given you, and you spat on it! You mocked him, went against him at every turn, clinging to weak, fragile Dorian. He needed a son and you failed him! That's why he placed the condition on your inheritance—so that mayhap your weak blood would be strengthened through your heir. He would rather have given Cherbon away than to see it fall to your uselessness.”

“Magnus failed
me
, Harliss,” Roderick countered. “He made my life a nightmare with his demands and cruelty, the way he treated my mother. I could have never pleased him, then or now.”

“Because you are weak!” Harliss screeched, her blade biting into the thin skin over the bone behind Michaela's ear. “I could have helped you,” she said then, her voice going keening. “I loved your father—he was a great and powerful man. And I tried to love you, too, Roderick. I wanted you to be my son, and you called me…
Heartless
,” she gasped.

“You tortured me!”

“I was trying to help you, can't you see? Dorian
wanted
to die! She left you! But I never did! Not when you railed at me, cursed me. When you abandoned your father for the crusade, and came back a cripple!” She looked down at his half leg. “I held him when he died, I listened to his death rattle, his wept requests: ‘Roderick, my son. Where is Roderick?' he said. It was humiliating what he was reduced to in his last moments—weakness. With no one strong enough to stand with him, save me. Even when he was gone, I stayed at Cherbon, when
everyone
else fled. I kept your home for you, and you sent me away! I devoted my entire life to Cherbon!”

“You only wanted to take my mother's place—to be lady,” Roderick accused.

“Is that so very bad?” Harliss demanded. “To want to marry the man you love? Bear his children? I'd hoped after Dorian…”

“Magnus never married you though, and he never would have. You were beneath him. Good enough for a lonely bed and to mind the chores, but not to give his name to. You were common.”

“No! He didn't marry me because of her and then because of you—because you hated me!”

“I hated you, yes. But you delude yourself if you think Magnus would deprive himself of anything he wanted because of me, or anyone else, for that matter. He used you, Harliss, just as he used everyone.”

“No!” she shouted again, and the dagger in her hand splashed into the water. Michaela felt it land against her hip. Harliss had not seemed to notice that she was no longer armed as she held out her empty palm to Roderick.

Michaela fished her hand down by her side. She grabbed the blade and felt the edge cut into her fingers, but she did not loose it. The water was to her breasts now, up to Leo's and Elizabeth's shoulders. Their lips were blue, their wet hair plastered to their skulls, their eyes wide and frozen as they pressed their cheeks together. They were no longer trembling and Michaela knew they were both running out of time. She brought the dagger to the ropes, now underwater, and began to saw clumsily.

“I only want what is due me,” Harliss keened. “I have cared so well for Cherbon and I only want to return.” She began to slog through the water toward Roderick. “It's my home,” she whispered. “I want to care for your son. Perhaps he might learn to call me Grandmamma….”

“Never,” Roderick choked. The water lapped around his neck where he was braced against the cave wall for balance.

The ropes floated away and Michaela pulled up on Elizabeth and Leo, helping them raise their lolling heads out of the icy, salty water, pouring in now in great washes and crashes, creeping higher and higher up Michaela's body. In moments, the cave would be filled, dark with sea and death.

“Please, Roderick,” Harliss begged, coming ever closer to him.

Michaela saw his eyes flick to the tunnel and she understood. She pulled the children through the water, behind Harliss, the sloshing waves masking their escape.

“I'll kill us all, then,” she threatened. “Then we will be together for eternity—together always….”

“Never,” Roderick whispered again. And then he shouted, “Michaela, go!”

Harliss threw her head back and let loose an ear-piercing scream and then swung the lit torch at Roderick's head. Michaela lifted Elizabeth, Leo still clinging to the girl, in the same moment that the water rushed in. She held them both near the cave's ceiling where mayhap a foot of air remained. The mouth of the tunnel had disappeared beneath the water, but they could not see it any matter. The torch was drowned in that instant, the cave now pitch, and roaring with sea.

“Hold your breath, hold your breath! Pull yourselves along the rocks and then swim as hard as you can! Someone is waiting for you,” Michaela said into where she could still feel their warm breaths, and she prayed silently that someone
would
be waiting to pull the children from the water, before they were washed out to the endless sea. “I am coming right behind you!” And then she pushed them toward the tunnel, pushed them as far up it as her arms could reach.

Michaela turned, her neck crooked and her face pressed against the ceiling. She could not see and dare not go any farther lest she become disoriented in the crashing darkness and never find the tunnel again.

“Roderick!” she croaked, and her voice crashed against her own eardrums.

There was no answer, only the water, and the darkness. And then Michaela felt a clawed hand grab at her thigh, talons puncturing the skin, and she knew Harliss was upon her. Michaela kicked as hard as she could, and her foot found soft, sick purchase before the hand turned her loose.

I must see that Leo is safe
, Michaela sobbed in her own mind.
I must protect Roderick's son. I must protect Elizabeth.

She found the sides of the tunnel with her hands, and kicked from the floor as the water glugged in a final time, deafening her as it pressed against her ears and filled the cave to its capacity and more, the backwash helping to suck Michaela up, up, up and out into the vastness of the open ocean.

And then someone had a grip on her hair, pulling her up, her breath bursting free of her lungs and the rain stinging her face. Michaela reached desperate hands up to her scalp, clawing for him who held her, and Hugh Gilbert's slender, strong fingers seized her wrist.

“Where is Rick?” Hugh shouted, even as he hauled her up, gasping, onto the ledge above the cave. “Michaela, Rick!”

“I couldn't find him!” she choked, seawater and sobs, her busted mouth and the dreadful cold halting her words. “He fought with Harliss, and then the cave flooded—
it's flooded, Hugh!
And Roderick is still—”

Michaela screamed as a rogue wave crashed her against the rock and nearly took her feet from beneath her, but Hugh kept his footing and steadied her. He looked into her eyes for only a moment, and she saw desperation, determination. Reckless and fearless resolve more solid than the cliff they stood upon.

And then Hugh stepped from the ledge, dropping into the water like a pylon, and was gone beneath the black sea.

 

He was going to die.

Rolling beneath the cold heavy water, his one leg worth little to kick and move himself upward, water rushing in upon water to push him back down the tunnel. His fingers slipped from the slimy rocks, cutting his palms and tearing away his nails.

His lungs would burst soon, and then he would take in great gulps of the icy, salty sea, sink back into the cave to bob and twirl with Harliss, who was likely already dead. He'd lost his grip on her and she'd found him no more beneath the black water.

He tried again. As the suck of water drew him forward, he kicked, scrabbled in his boot in the slow-motion action forced upon him by the heavy waves, and his numb fingers sought purchase. But then just as quickly, the ebb turned to flow once more, and he was pushed down, down, down…

Roderick let go, and he felt the pressure of the bubble of air leave his body with his scream. His arms stretched out before him, floating as he drifted backward.

Good-bye, Michaela. Good-bye, Leo. Hugh, Hugh…good-bye.

Something latched on to his ear. And for a moment he thought it was Harliss, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts were fading, fading, now, and he was growing warmer, at last.

Then his jaw was scraped, then loosed. His hair, then his neck was seized, then his shirt. Strong fingers dug into his armpits and with a whoosh of water, he was pulled up. A foot kicked into his stomach, treading water. And again. The rocks on the side of the tunnel bashed him, bit him, cut him.

But Roderick didn't care, couldn't feel it. He became one with the black.

She left the children huddled together in the wet, sobbing, as she helped Alan fish Hugh and Roderick from the icy clutches of the sea. Roderick was limp, lifeless—his green eyes hidden behind purple lids, his mouth blue in his white-gray face.

How they carried him up the cliff, Michaela would have no recollection. But when they lay him on the frozen, dead grass, when Hugh collapsed at his side, weeping violently and wheezing and coughing and beating upon Roderick's chest, Michaela could only stare.

“Papa!” She heard Leo's weak cry behind her, and Elizabeth's shushing, shuddering answer of, “No, love. No, Leo, stay here with me now. There's a good boy.”

Roderick was dead.

“Rick!” Hugh strangled, and shoved the great mass of him onto his side. Roderick's arm flopped lifelessly onto the ground, and Hugh pounded his back mercilessly. “Get it out, you stubborn son of a bitch!
Rick!
”

Alan was staring down, helpless. He turned his head slowly to Michaela. “His leg…” he choked. “I…I had no idea.”

Michaela just shook her head quickly, pressed her knuckles into her bruised lips and rocked on her knees. She crawled to Roderick's side, laid her palm along his cold, stiff cheek. The muscles of his jaw felt seized, locking his teeth together. Hugh was weeping openly, his harsh sobs bursting from him with each blow to Roderick's back.

Michaela placed the heel of her hand on the front of Roderick's chin and pushed. His mouth opened.

“Yes,” Hugh gasped. “Yes, stick in your finger—gag him!”

She did, and in seconds, a great wash of slimy, warmed water poured forth from Roderick. Gallons and gallons it seemed, and his chest heaved, his stomach lurched and bucked as his lungs fought for a chance to draw breath between the surges.

And then he was choking, gasping, coughing. His body jerked and twitched and he seemed to fight for a half hour to draw one whole breath.

But at last he did. He breathed. And both Michaela and Hugh fell over him, Hugh pulling Roderick up to lean back against him, one arm crooked around his neck, the other across his chest. Hugh's eyes were closed and he laid the side of his face against Roderick's, tears streaming from his eyes. Hugh kissed Roderick's cheek, the wet hair over his temple, his ear, shaking with his sobs.

Michaela grasped Roderick's corpse-cold hands in her own and peered into his face. “Roderick, can you hear me, my love? Open your eyes, Roderick—look at me! You've done it—you've saved us! Me and Leo and Elizabeth, we're all safe.”

But he only lay against Hugh limply, his chest rattling a memory of seawater.

A blur streaked past Michaela and Leo threw himself against Roderick and Hugh, crying, “Papa! Papa! You all wite? Papa!” The small white hands grasped Roderick's face, smashing and pinching the long, lean cheeks. “Papa, wake up! It's Ee-oh!”

Roderick's eyelids fluttered open, and his gaze was dull and gray in the night. His lips parted on a gasp.

“Papa loves you, Leo,” he croaked.

Michaela at last let the sob in her throat find its wretched, relieved voice and her head dropped into her hands as Roderick raised an arm limply and pulled Leo into his chest, Hugh opening his arm to encompass both the man and the boy.

“Ee-oh love him papa!” the boy wailed into Roderick's soaked tunic.

Michaela felt Alan come to her side, and she looked up to see him with his uninjured arm around Elizabeth, the girl's face hidden in his side, hands tucked away, her narrow shoulders shaking.

“I'll go back to Cherbon, and fetch a cart for the lord,” Alan said solemnly. “I should take the children with me, don't you think?”

“No go!” Leo cried and clutched Roderick tighter. His hysterical sobs turned into a wracking cough.

“It's all right, Leo,” Roderick wheezed. “Go with Lord Alan to the keep. I'll be right behind you.”

“No, Papa! Ee-oh stay—”

Roderick held the boy away from him slightly and looked into his face. “
I promise, Leo
. Go get a change and a biscuit, and you may sleep with Lady Michaela and me tonight.”

Leo coughed and sniffed. “Both?”

Roderick nodded weakly and tried to smile.

Leo drew a deep, wheezing breath. “All wite, Papa.” He backed off Roderick's lap and stood, then threw his arms about Michaela. “Aid-ee Mike-lah come, too?”

“Yes, Leo. Of course I will.”

The boy grew very still, and his whisper sounded directly into Michaela's ear. “Ee-oh call you him mama now. All wite?”

Michaela thought her heart would burst. “I would love that very, very much,” she choked, and squeezed the little boy tight to her.

Leo kissed her cheek. “All wite, Mama.” Then he stood and held his arms up to Alan, the gesture one of complete trust. “Ee-oh weddy now.”

Elizabeth let her father go and Alan scooped up Leo awkwardly but without hesitation.

“My thanks, Tornfield,” Roderick rasped.

Alan looked down at Roderick, and his chin gave the slightest flinch. He bent a knee and sank to the ground in homage, his hand keeping tight to Leo's slender back. “It is my deepest honor, my lord.”

Elizabeth held out a hand to Michaela and she took it. The two exchanged smiles.

“I shall see you at Cherbon,” the girl said, and her whispering voice held a note of maturity that Michaela had never heard before.

Michaela nodded, and squeezed her fingers before letting her go, and she watched until the man and children disappeared into the night.

A hand seized her arm and Michaela was turned around, into Roderick's chest, and in an instant, she was weeping once more.

“I love you, Michaela,” Roderick whispered. “So very much. Please, please forgive the fool I have been!”

Michaela shook her head and then raised her mouth to kiss Roderick's lips, the thin line of scar so familiar to her now, and precious. She leaned back. “I have loved you since the moment I first saw your beautiful face.”

He kissed her again, not with the heat of lovemaking, but with a passion that transcended it. One that had no need of spoken promises or vows of forever. In that kiss, their hearts spoke to each other wordlessly, and eternity was understood and accepted humbly.

When Roderick pulled away from her, it was to turn to Hugh, and Michaela let him go willingly. They both owed Hugh Gilbert so much….

“Well, you've done it again,” Roderick said.

Hugh swallowed noisily, and tried to revive his devil-may-care grin. It fell largely short. “What now, Rick?”

“Saved my life. That's twice, Hugh.”

“Seems to be an annoying habit of mine, does it not?” Hugh reached out and gripped Roderick's arm, but Roderick pulled the man into his embrace.

“You are the truest friend I have ever known, Hugh,” Roderick said. “I have greater love for you than I would a brother.”

Over Roderick's shoulder, Michaela saw Hugh's eyes squeeze shut, tears coming from beneath them, but camouflaged in the rain that was now little more than drizzle. His mouth was held tight, pulled wide.

“As I do you,” Hugh managed to bite off. “Never forget that,” he whispered.

Then the two men drew apart and Hugh rose. “I should go,” he said. “Tornfield may need assistance, and…” He let the sentence trail away. “Will you be all right here, Rick?” He turned to Michaela. “Miss Fortune?”

“Go, Hugh. Get dry, have a drink or twelve. We'll be right along after,” Roderick said, and Michaela nodded, her stomach in a knot of worry.

Hugh stepped to Michaela and took both her hands. “All right, I'm going then,” he said, a trifle loudly, Michaela thought, but when she looked into his eyes, she knew.

“Don't, Hugh,” she whispered. The agony on Hugh's face was nearly too much for her. She had not thought she could possibly have any tears left, but there they were again, hot and painful in her eyes.

“Take care of them both, Miss Fortune,” he said in a low voice. “I leave them in your care—the two people I love best in this world. They are everything to me.”

“Hugh, please—what will I tell him?”

“Tell him naught. I would rather he hate me for thinking I simply abandoned Cherbon for the trouble of them both, than scorn me for the truth.” Hugh brought up a slender forefinger to brush at Michaela's lips where Roderick had kissed her, and as he looked at her mouth, his brows drew together in a frown.

Then slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to Michaela's, and she kissed him back, held her palms to either side of his whiskered face.

“What's the meaning of this, I ask?” Roderick demanded in mock outrage. The pair pulled apart slowly, and Hugh had a sad smile on his face. “I should think you have enough skirt chasing you without molesting my intended, Hugh.”

“Right you are, Rick,” Hugh said, hanging a smile on his face and turning. “But you know I could not help myself. Perhaps Miss Fortune would run away with me.”

Roderick laughed. “Ah, yes—a lovely title: Miss Fortune, Lady of Nothing.”

They all laughed for an awkward moment.

“Well, then.” Hugh began to walk backward, as if he could not take his eyes from Roderick—wanted to look at him as long as possible. He gave a carefree wave. “I'm off. Take care, the pair of you. In coming back to the keep, and all.”

Roderick returned his wave. “See you in the hall, Hugh.”

Hugh gave Michaela a smile—genuine and heartbreakingly handsome. Her fingertips were at her mouth, so she simply turned them outward at him.

“Farewell, Hugh,” she whispered, too low for anyone but God to hear.

And then he was gone into the black night, and Roderick's voice called to Michaela. “Come here, woman, and keep me warm—I fear my teeth are to rattle from my very head.”

She turned to him with a smile and sank at his side, wrapping her arms about him. They had sat like that for what seemed a very long time when Michaela opened her mouth to inquire of his injuries, but the sound of pounding hoofbeats stopped her.

Roderick looked up into her face, his own frown mirroring Michaela's. “Tornfield would not have sent riders, surely…?”

“I…I don't know,” Michaela began.

But the hoofbeats sounded like no gentle manor beasts, roaring instead like the wild poundings of stallions and mighty war steeds. And there seemed to be thousands of them, shaking the very ground beneath their seats.

Then the howling rushed down upon them on the wings of the sea wind, a hundred hounds' voices, hungry and seeking, as if they ran from Michaela's nightmares into reality.

“No,” Michaela breathed, as the culmination of her life prepared to come crashing down around her and Roderick both.

It was Yule's Eve.

And the Hunt had returned for Michaela, at last.