Текст книги "Tiger Prince "

It's my fault.

"I have to go," he muttered hoarsely. "I have to leave . . ."

He was barely aware of Pickering's concerned voice calling his name as he turned and stalked out of the club.

Jane's hands clenched nervously on the arms of the chair when she heard Ruel enter the bungalow. She had told herself she wanted this confrontation over, but now she would have done anything to avoid it. Perhaps he would go directly into the bedroom to see Ian and—

"Jane," Ruel called softly.

He didn't sound angry. Perhaps Pickering hadn't told him, she thought hopefully. Dear God, she had prayed Pickering wouldn't say anything. "On the veranda. Was there a problem with Colonel Pickering?"

He appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the lamplight streaming from the living room.

"Why should there be a problem?" he asked.

She tensed as she realized a strange note underlay the softness of his tone, like a coiled spring stretched taut. "Because you've been gone for hours. It's after ten o'clock."

"Was caring for Ian such a burden for you?"

"No, I just wondered if—" She stopped and then said, "I've already given Ian his dinner and laudanum. He should sleep through the night."

"Even with the laudanum he seldom does that. At first he woke up screaming from the pain, now he only lies there and weeps." His tone harshened. "Do you know what that does to a man? It fills him with shame. I have to pretend I'm asleep or he begs me for pardon for being so weak. God, weak!"

He did know. She got up from the chair. "I believe I'll go to bed. Good night, Ruel."

"Not yet. There's something I want to ask you."

It was coming. She braced herself. "What?"

"About the rails."

She had thought she was ready but still went rigid.

"What a violent reaction. Does the thought disturb you?"

"Ruel, I—"

"It disturbed me so much that after I left the Officers' Club I took a long walk." He paused. "To Lanpur Gorge."

She moistened her lips. "Why?"

"I wanted to see the rails for myself. I looked at those shattered rails and I remembered Ian. ..." He lifted his head and gazed directly into her eyes. She inhaled sharply as she saw the torment and rage burning in him, consuming him, reaching out to consume her as well. "And I decided I'd kill Patrick Reilly."

"No!" The rejection burst instinctively from her lips.

"Why not? No one deserves it more." He paused. "Unless it's you."

She was silent, staring helplessly at him.

"Why don't you say something?" The violence she had sensed was suddenly unleashed. "Goddammit, don't just stand there. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me Pickering is wrong."

"What did he say?"

"He said you were responsible for ordering the supplies. Is that true?"

"Yes," she whispered. "It's true."

He looked as if she had struck him. "Did you mean it when you said the wreck was your fault?"

She flinched. "I meant it."

"Damn you!" He took a step forward, his hands closing on her throat. "And all to make things safe and tidy for your Patrick." His eyes scorched her. "For God's sake, why didn't you lie to me. I didn't want to believe it. I would have done anything not to believe it." His grasp tightened on her throat with bruising force. "I don't want to do—"

She struggled desperately to force air into her starved lungs as his hands tightened even more. She was going to die. Her hands flew to her throat, trying to loosen his grip, staring helplessly up into his strained face. "Please . . ." It came out as a croak and she didn't think he heard her. His expression was blind, tortured, twisted.

A shudder racked his body. His hands loosened, tightened fiercely, then slowly released their grip on her throat. "Why can't I do it?" he muttered. "You deserve it. No one could deserve it more than—" He whirled away from her and strode toward Ian's bedroom. "If you want to live, stay out of my sight." She expected him to slam the door, but the very restraint with which he closed it was chilling.

Her shaking hand went to her bruised throat; it was already starting to ache. She had never been closer to death. Would she have been able to keep her promise and remain silent about Patrick's guilt if Ruel hadn't changed his mind at the last minute?

Clever Patrick. Ruel would not have stopped if his hands had been around Patrick's neck. It could be Patrick had realized whatever punishment Ruel inflicted on her, he would not take her life.

And God knows, she also deserved punishment, she thought wearily. Her willful blindness was as much to blame as Patrick's wicked self-indulgence. Perhaps she deserved to lose any chance for happiness with Ruel.

She turned and moved slowly, heavily, toward her bedroom.

She must stop loving him, she thought dully. Now he would use that weapon or any other to hurt her. She must look on him as the enemy and protect herself. Yes, she must stop loving him.

She didn't expect to sleep but must have dozed, for she woke in the middle of the night to see Ruel standing a few feet from her bed. She went rigid, scrambling back against the headboard.

"Rather like the death scene from Othello, isn't it? With one difference, there's nothing innocent about you." The light from the oil lamp he carried cast a halo about him and revealed the bitterness of his smile. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. I've gotten past that point now." He paused. "Perhaps it's better that I find myself incapable of murdering you. Death is too final a revenge. Then you'd be out of this vale of tears while Ian prays every night to follow you."

At that moment she would not have quarreled with death. Life was too painful. Every word he spoke flayed her.

He sat down on the bed and put the lamp on the bedside table. "You're trembling." He leisurely unbuttoned her nightgown. "Are you afraid I'm going to rape you? I could, you know. It doesn't seem to make any difference if I hate you or not. I only have to look at you to turn hard. I'm not sure I'll ever stop wanting you." He pushed aside the cotton fabric and a warm hand cupped her breast.

She inhaled sharply, her breasts lifting and falling under his touch. "Please." She moistened her lips. "You don't want to do this."

"But I do." He took her hand and put it on his arousal. "See?" His thumb moved back and forth across her nipple until it became engorged, pointed, and excruciatingly sensitive. "And you're beginning to want it too. I wouldn't even have to rape you. I could take you on this bed. I could drive in and out of you and make you scream with pleasure."

His eyes were glittering wildly in the lamplight, a reckless smile curving his lips. His beauty burned more brightly than it had that first night she had seen him at Zabrie's. The very room seemed to throb with the emotion he emitted.

Dear God, he was right. She did want him. She wanted to soothe his torment and her own in the only way left open to her. What madness made her not care how tortured and degrading it would be to couple with him? Her body wasn't concerned how he felt about her, it just wanted to assuage the need he was arousing. He might never touch her again after tonight. She wanted this time, this touch.

"But I don't want to give you pleasure," he said softly. "Not even to satisfy myself." His hand left her breast and he jerked her nightgown closed. "So I have to find another way."

He had probably never meant to take her. It had just been a way to make her acknowledge her own weakness and his power over her. She swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat. "You have to know how deeply I regret what happened to Ian."

"That's not good enough. I want you to hurt as much as Ian is hurting." His voice suddenly exploded with harshness. "I'm not going to let you walk away free, Jane."

"I didn't expect you to."

He laughed mirthlessly. "The hell you didn't. You thought if you threw open your home to Ian and smiled sweetly at me, that would be enough compensation. Oh no, I'm going to make sure you feel just as much a prisoner as Ian is going to be. I can't be there at Glenclaren with him, but you will. You'll tend to his needs and listen to his cries in the night and know it's your fault he's suffering."

Her eyes widened. "You want me to go with him to Glenclaren?"

"You're going to pay your debt and, if you don't, I'm going to make sure your Patrick suffers more than Ian before I kill him."

"You don't have to threaten me," she said quietly. "I'm perfectly willing to go to Glenclaren. You had only to ask me."

"I have no intention of asking you. I'm telling you what your first payment is going to be."

"First payment?"

"Did you think a few years of servitude was going to be your only punishment? Given the opportunity to consider the possibilities, I'm not so lacking in imagination I won't find a better way to hurt you."

She was tempted to tell him she was already hurting, but she knew he wouldn't believe her. She had never seen such bitterness as she was now confronting. "You'll have to do as you see fit. I'll do everything I can to help Ian." She reached up and rubbed her aching temple. The whole world seemed full of pain tonight. "But Li Sung and Kartauk must come with me. It's dangerous for them to stay here."

"By all means, take your little covey. Ian will need all the help he can get."

"And Patrick." The words came out of nowhere, startling her. She had thought she was done with Patrick, but the habit of years would not be broken in spite of her disgust and revulsion. She could not leave him to face Ruel's deadly wrath.

His gaze narrowed on her face. "I was thinking of taking dear Patrick with me to Cinnidar to assure your continued support."

"He'd be in your way," she said quickly.

"You think I might kill him." He was silent a moment. "Maybe you're right. If I started thinking about Ian, I couldn't promise not to lose my temper and push the bastard into the canyon. Besides, I don't need a hostage. I'll be in touch with Maggie and I'll know if you're keeping your word."

"I'll keep my word." She added wearily, "And perhaps you'll change your mind in time."

"I won't change my mind." He turned and moved toward the door. "I told you I have a long memory."

The Bonnie Lady sailed out of Narinth harbor three weeks later with Jane, Ian, Li Sung, Patrick, and Kartauk on board.

Li Sung glanced back at Ruel standing alone on the dock. "He's staring at you."

"Is he?" She knew very well Ruel was staring at her but did not look back. She had made the mistake of meeting his gaze a moment before as the ship had left the dock and had felt bound, enchained. It was exactly how he meant her to feel. He wanted to remind her this parting was only temporary and that she would never be able to escape him.

"He behaves very strangely with you now. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me why he's—"

"No, I would not." While hiding in the inn in Narinth, he and Kartauk had not heard of the inquiry and she had no intention of enlightening him. He was already overprotective of her and she knew very well how he would react to her shouldering Patrick's blame.

Why didn't Ruel look away? She could feel his eyes on her. She straightened away from the rail. "Well, I can't stay here any longer. I have to get back to Ian."

Li Sung shook his head. "Kartauk is with him. He seems to be able to amuse him."

She had noticed that herself and had blessed Kartauk during the two days they had spent at the inn prior to their departure. Heaven knows, no one else had been able to raise lan's spirits. "Where's Patrick?"

"Where he usually is, trying to crawl into his whiskey bottle. He's gotten worse since the wreck."

"Yes."

"I notice you do not try to defend him any longer."

She could not seem to stop protecting Patrick, but she would no longer lie to either herself or anyone else regarding his flaws. "No."

"Why not?"

"He has to shoulder his own burdens. I have enough to worry about."

"Yet you're taking him to Glenclaren."

"He's not going to Glenclaren."

A flicker of surprise crossed Li Sung's face. "He told me he was going with us."

"I'll settle him at a lodging house in Edinburgh. There was a little money left in the cash fund, enough to keep him for a year or so. After that he'll have to find work."

"With no help from you?"

"With no help from me."

He smiled faintly. "Unusual. I wonder what he did to open your eyes?"

Ruel was still looking at her. Why wouldn't he turn and walk away? she wondered desperately. The pain was too great. She had to be free of him.

"You're not going to tell me that either?"

"What?" She would not stand there, pinned by Ruel's stare like a sacrificial goat for the tiger. She turned and started down the deck. "You should be happy, Li Sung. You were always telling me how foolish I was."

He fell into step with her. "I'm not happy Patrick hurt you. It was what I always feared, but I never wanted it."

"I'll get over it." And she would also break free of Ruel in spite of his determination to make her aware of his power over her. If she had not wanted to go to Glenclaren, no coercion would have forced her to go. It had been her decision to try to right the wrong she had done Ian.

"You're walking too fast. Since you refuse to honor me with your confidence regarding MacClaren and Patrick, may I at least ask where we're running in such a hurry?"

"Sorry." She slowed to accommodate Li Sung's limping gait. She had been running from Ruel, she realized suddenly, away from that implacable will that had jerked Ian back from the gates of death and was now focused on her. "I thought I'd go down to the cargo hold and see how Sam and Bedelia are doing."

"Everyone is going to be so happy to see you." Jane reached out and took Ian's cold hand. "Your Glenclaren is beautiful. I can see why you love it."

Ian didn't take his gaze from the towers in the distance. "Yes, it is beautiful."

She pulled the blanket higher around him. The jarring trip had not been good for him, she thought anxiously. If possible, he looked paler than when they had lifted his stretcher onto the back of this wagon at the docks in Edinburgh two days earlier. "Truly. Everything is going to be fine."

"I can almost believe it," he whispered, still looking at the castle. "Perhaps there really was a reason . . ."

Ten minutes later the wagon rumbled over the wooden drawbridge and into the flagstoned courtyard.

A chipped and stained cistern occupied the center of the courtyard, and scraggly blades of grass grew between the flagstones. Wherever she looked Jane could see signs of age and disrepair.

"It's not always like this," Ian said. "I've been away a long time and places this old need care and nurturing."

"Or tearing down," Kartauk murmured.

Jane gave him a withering glance. "It won't take us long to do a few repairs, Ian." How strange to realize Ruel had grown up in this castle. It was difficult to even connect Ruel with this weathered, ancient place.

"Where is he?" The brass-bracketed front door flew open and a young woman marched down the stairs. "Good God, Ian, have they not got you sitting up yet?"

"Margaret?" Ian said in disbelief. He lifted himself on one elbow to look over the side of the wagon. "What are you doing here?"

"Where else would I be?" She strode toward the wagon. "When I received Ruel's letter I moved Father and myself to Glenclaren. Until you're over this infirmity, it was clearly the most practical thing to do."

Jane felt a ripple of surprise at her first sight of Margaret MacDonald. Soft hands, lace, and a fashionable bustle . . . She could see why Ian had laughed when she had described how she had envisioned his Margaret. She could not see the woman's hands, but her high-collared dark blue gown was faded and shabby with long use, and she moved with a bold economical grace. She was tall and slim, her wheat-colored hair worn in a smooth bun. Her square chin and large, mobile mouth were too strong to be considered beautiful, but she possessed wideset gray eyes that were startlingly lovely.

Margaret climbed into the wagon and knelt beside Ian. "You look terrible," she told him bluntly. "I can see it's time you came home." She gave him a quick kiss and continued briskly. "But no matter, I'll set everything straight."

"Margaret . . ." Ian's finger reached out and touched her cheek. "Bonnie Margaret."

"Your illness must have affected your eyesight as well as your limbs," she said tartly. "For bonnie I certainly am not." She turned to Jane and demanded, "Who are you?"

"Jane Barnaby." She gestured to the two men on the front seat of the wagon. "Li Sung and John Kartauk."

"And why are you here?"

"Ruel sent—"

"Never mind, that explains everything," Margaret interrupted. "Ruel was ever cavorting around with the most peculiar people." Her gaze raked appraisingly over Li Sung before dismissing him and fastening on Kartauk. "How strong are you?"

Kartauk blinked. "Strong as a bull. Mighty as Hercules."

"One can usually discount three quarters of what braggarts say, but that may still be sufficient." She turned and called, "Jock!"

A small, burly man with a shock of red hair hurried down the steps.

She ordered Kartauk, "Get down from that seat and help Jock carry Ian up to his chamber." She scooted out of the wagon. "Jock, put him to bed while I go to the scullery and see what I can find for him to eat." She turned to Jane. "Come with me to the scullery and make yourself useful. We have only three servants to run this vast place, and now with four more mouths to feed I don't—"

Jane interjected quickly, "We won't be a burden to you."

"Speak for yourself," Kartauk said as he and Jock carefully eased Ian's stretcher from the wagon. "An artist is always the most precious of burdens, and it is the privilege of all to nurture and care for them."

"You dabble in paints?" Margaret asked.

Kartauk looked pained. "I do not dabble. I create for the ages. I'm a great goldsmith."

"Just so you're a strong goldsmith. I won't have you dropping Ian on the stairs." She turned to Li Sung. "Take the wagon to the stable and unharness those horses. Then come back to the scullery and I'll find something else for you to do."

"You're treating them like servants," Ian protested. "These are our guests, Margaret."

"Glenclaren can afford no guests who will not work for their bread." The gentleness with which she smoothed back his hair belied the harshness of her words. "Now hush, and let me have my way in this. I'll be up as soon as Jock gets you to bed and you've had a short rest." She turned and strode across the courtyard, demanding over her shoulder of Jane, "Coming?"

Jane hurried after her. "Coming."

"Wait." Margaret's gaze fastened on Sam, who was gamboling at Jane's heels. "The dog is yours?"

"Sam will be no trouble."

Margaret's stare shifted to Bedelia, who was following the wagon into the stable. "And the horse?"

"I couldn't leave her in Kasanpore."

"You'll have to get rid of both. We can't afford them," Margaret said flatly.

Jane drew a deep breath and said clearly, "No."

Margaret blinked. "No?"

"They stay. They belong to me and I'll take care of them."

"I see." Grudging respect flickered briefly across Margaret's face before she turned and entered the castle. "See that you do."

The scullery to which Margaret led her was drafty, as crumbling as the courtyard, and could have used a thorough cleaning.

Margaret intercepted Jane's critical glance and said, "I arrived only two days ago and cannot do everything. If it doesn't please you, clean it yourself."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Of course you did. Be honest with me. I have no time for polite mouthings."

Jane found herself smiling. "Then I'll give you none. Since you gave me no quarrel about Sam and Bedelia, I decided to hold my tongue, but the place is a pigsty. Li Sung and I will set to cleaning it as soon as he gets back from the stable."

"That's better." Margaret indicated a small gray-haired woman seated by a huge open fireplace peeling potatoes. "This is Mary Rhodes. Mary, this is Jane Barnaby. She came with Ian."

"Another mouth to feed," the woman said sourly. "It's not as if you didn't have enough to worry about."

"She'll earn her keep." Margaret strolled across the kitchen toward the fire. "And I'm not worried. It's foolish to worry about things you cannot help. Is the stew done?"

"After I add these potatoes."

"I'll finish here. You go and ready three more chambers."

"Three?"

"Three," Margaret repeated firmly. "And no grumbling. The Lord will provide."

"It's usually you who does the providing," Mary muttered as she handed Margaret her bowl of potatoes and knife and rose to her feet. "I've noticed he leaves you pretty much on your own." She moved toward the door. "Since I'll be nearby, I'll look in on your father too."

"You needn't bother." A sudden smile lit Margaret's face. "But thank you, Mary." Her smile faded as she turned back to Jane. "Dear God, Ian looked ill," she whispered. "Ruel wrote me, but I didn't expect . . ." She sat down in the chair Mary had vacated and quickly started peeling potatoes. "Is there no hope he will walk again?"

"The doctor thought not," Jane said gently.

"A doctor can be as much a fool as any other man. We will ignore him and do our best." She shifted her shoulders as if throwing off a burden, her gaze raking over Jane. "Why do you wear trousers? You look most strange."

Jane stiffened warily. No soft hands or fashionable bustle, but perhaps Margaret was not as different from those other women as Jane had thought. "These are the only clothes I possess. I'm sorry you don't find them appropriate."

Margaret scowled. "A woman should look like a woman. Men think too well of themselves as it is without our flattering them by trying to imitate them."

Jane gazed at her, stunned, then started to laugh. "I had no thought of imitating them. I worked beside men on the railroad and I found it practical to wear these clothes."

"Indeed? Perhaps you do have reason for those outlandish garments, but you should have sought a compromise." Sudden interest flared in Margaret's expression. "Railroad? I approve of women who do things. How did you come to work on a rail—" She stopped and shook her head. "You can tell me later. I must concentrate on what is important now. How long do you plan on staying here?"

"I promised Ruel I'd stay as long as Ian needs me."

Margaret's expression clouded. "And God knows how long that will be. He seems to need a great deal of help, and Glenclaren can use all the hands it can muster."

"That's what Ruel said."

"Really? I find that surprising. Glenclaren could crumble into dust for all Ruel cares."

"I understand most people care something for the place where they grew up."

Margaret looked at her in astonishment. "But he didn't grow up here. Annie had a small cottage on the other side of the glen."

"Annie?"

"Annie Cameron, Ruel's mother. Didn't you know Ruel was born on the wrong side of the blanket?"

Jane's eyes widened. "But his name is MacClaren."

"Ruel refused to go by any other name even though his father refused to acknowledge him. He wanted nothing to do with Glenclaren, but he ever loved to stir up trouble and knew it annoyed the laird."

"But Ian always spoke as if . . ." Jane shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Ian never tells anyone about Annie. I've tried to tell him he bears no guilt for the way the laird treated Ruel, but he won't listen to me. Ruel was his brother and he feels it was partly his fault his father refused to marry the woman and denied Ruel was his son."

"Why did he do that?"

"Glenclaren. The laird already had a son and didn't need another and Annie was not a virtuous woman." She added dryly, "Though that fact didn't seem to make a difference to him until he grew tired of her. At first he was quite mad about her. From what I've heard she was as comely then as Ruel is now. Everyone thought she had cast a spell over the laird."