"With professional help," Michael gasped when he had regained his breath. "I commanded a number of convicts like your men, and I have a certain respect for them. It takes strength and cunning to survive prison. For you, Haldoran, I have nothing but contempt. You're a bully who preys on women and children. You don't dare face a man who might be your match."

"Bastard!" Haldoran snarled. "I could defeat you in any fair contest, but you're not worth the effort."

"Poor devil." Michael shook his head with exaggerated sorrow. "Not only a bully and a braggart, but a coward. I'm surprised you can face yourself in the mirror."

Haldoran kicked him again, this time in the ribs. Michael rolled across the floor and into the sofa. Catherine shuddered, unable to understand why he was inviting such brutality.

Again it took Michael several moments to recover his breath, but he did not back down. "Everything you do confirms that I'm right," he panted. "If you weren't such a coward, I'd give you a challenge that would truly test you. But you would never accept it. You're afraid of me, and well you should be."

Eye glittering, Haldoran snapped, "What kind of challenge?"

"A hunt, since you're such a great huntsman." Michael's eyes narrowed, becoming feral. "You and me on the Isle of Bone. Give me five minutes' head start and you'll never catch me. Give me a day and you're a dead man, even if you're armed and I'm not."

Catherine caught her breath, understanding. He was trying to buy time, and a chance of survival.

Haldoran hesitated, his gaze going to Catherine.

"There's a kind of medieval grandeur to the idea," Michael continued. "You and I meet in single combat, and the winner gets the lady. Catherine won't give you any trouble if you manage to kill me. She didn't want me here.

When I came in, she told me to leave, that I would ruin everything."

Haldoran's anger flared again. "Liar. She was ready to go out the window with you."

His lips whitened as he looked from Michael to Catherine and back. Then they curved in a cruel, triumphant smile. "I don't have to prove anything to you, Kenyon. Single combat belongs to the Middle Ages. I prefer the pleasures of the chase. We'll go to Bone, but it will be me and Doyle tracking you and my deceitful cousin with only the sheep and gulls to see."

Michael's face paled, revealing underlying pain.

"That worries you, doesn't it?" Haldoran said, his voice almost crooning. "Alone, you might be able to elude me for some time, but not with Catherine to slow you down. You'll have to choose between abandoning her to preserve your own skin a few hours longer, or staying and dying together. Either way, you'll die, and I'll have the pleasure of hunting the ultimate game."

"You're a fool to kill a woman as beautiful as Catherine," Michael retorted. "A wife like her is. the ultimate trophy. You'll be the envy of every man you meet if you marry her."

Haldoran gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "True, but I can't help suspecting her good faith. She's the sort who could go meekly for years while she waits for the right moment to slip a stiletto between my ribs. Her daughter will be more malleable."

Voice lanced with anguish, Catherine said, "I'll swear any oath of obedience you want if you promise not to touch Amy."

"But I want to touch her. The thought of molding a virgin to my will is rather appealing." Haldoran smiled again, and this time it came from the depths of his black soul. "The knowledge that my saintly cousin Catherine died cursing me will add spice."

She glanced at Michael. His green eyes were fierce. She could almost hear him saying not to give up hope.

A measure of calm came to her. Michael had almost defeated three men single-handedly, and she was less helpless than her cousin thought. Certainly she would not go tamely to the slaughter. "A pity you didn't join the army,Clive. An officer like my father or Michael might have made a man of you."

Virulent dislike on his face, he waved his gun toward the door. "Move, both of you. We must leave Skoal before dawn. Don't try to call for help. My men and I can easily handle a parcel of unarmed servants, but I'd rather not have to kill them. My little kingdom needs all of its subjects."

Wincing, Michael got to his feet. "I realize that fairness isn't part of your nature, but you really should allow Catherine to change her clothing, it's going to be a damp, cold hunt."

Haldoran shrugged. "She can wear breeches if she likes. In fact, I'd rather enjoy seeing her in them. But I'll only allow her ten minutes in her room to change. If she isn't ready, she'll have to run in her shift."

Catherine's mind raced as her cousin escorted her to her room. In fact, she had brought to Skoal the breeches she had worn on the Peninsula when conditions were particularly harsh. They would make it easier for her to run for her life. With luck, she would also be able to conceal a few small items about her person.

What a pity that her room did not contain a gun.

Chapter 33

It was a beautiful dawn for sailing, with indigo clouds edged in crimson and salmon pink. But the swirling currents and lethal rocks lived up to the channel's perilous reputation. Catherine would have found the trip alarming if greater danger weren't imminent.

Haldoran's island background had made him a good sailor. As the sun inched above the horizon, he steered his boat capably between the reefs and barked orders at Doyle and another of his men, a ferret-faced fellow called Spiner. The convict with the broken jaw was nursing his injury at Ragnarok.

Catherine felt very alone and afraid. Haldoran had made a point of tethering her and Michael in positions where they could not see each other. She was within her cousin's view, though. She schooled her face to impassivity whenever his avid gaze went over her breeches-clad legs. If he caught her alive, he would surely rape her before she died.

But her masculine attire would be useful later. Besides riding boots and tan breeches, she had followed Michael's lead and donned a knitted jersey that had been the gift of an elderly island woman. The garment was made from un-dyed wool in colors ranging from cream to dark brown, which should help her blend into the landscape.

All too soon they reached Bone. The boat glided into a small bay surrounded by steep hills. It was a desolate place, the only sound the splash of waves on the shingle beach and the harsh cries of gulls. Haldoran docked the boat neatly at a crude jetty. Then Doyle cut the prisoners' bonds and roughly shoved them from the boat. Spiner stayed inside, under orders to guard the vessel while his master hunted.

Catherine's position in the boat had been cramped, and her strained muscles caused her to stumble as she climbed onto the jetty. Michael caught her before she could fall, then wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to the shingle beach. "Get your body flexible so you can run when the time comes," he ordered.

Blood had dried in his hair and his face was dark with soot and bruises, but he looked magnificent and dangerous, like an ancient warrior king. His shrewd gaze was scanning the hills, assessing conditions. The sight of him gave Catherine a glimmer of hope. She began bending and stretching her limbs.

After Haldoran collected his expensive sporting rifle and ammunition pouch, he followed them to the shingle beach. "You said you could escape me with a five-minute start, but I'll be generous and give you ten minutes. It will take at least that long for you to get out of sight."

Michael regarded him coolly. "Since you know the island and we don't, there's a chance you might win. But you'll find no satisfaction in it. For the rest of your life, you'll have to live with the knowledge that I was the better man. The only way you could defeat me was by stacking the deck in your favor."

"It sounds like you've resigned yourself to losing and are preparing your excuses," Haldoran said scornfully. "Try to give me a good run, Kenyon. It's been damned boring on the island lately." He pulled a watch from his pocket. "You have ten minutes starting now."

So soon? Catherine stared at him. Despite her cousin's stated intentions, she had not truly grasped the brutal fact that in the space of a heartbeat she could be transformed from an ordinary, civilized woman to prey.

More experienced with savagery, Michael had no such problem. "Time to be off, my dear." He caught her hand and tugged her forward. "We'll take that path to the left."

Her paralysis broken, she set off beside Michael at a fast jog, the best pace possible on the rounded stones of the beach. Once they reached the surrounding grassland, her speed increased. Michael loped beside her, matching her pace effortlessly.

It took about two minutes to reach the foot of the animal track that zigzagged up the steep, clifflike hill. She quailed at the sight of the narrow path. She would never be able to reach the top in the time allotted.

"You first," Michael said. "Don't set a pace so fast that you'll exhaust yourself halfway up."

She balked. "You go ahead. I'll slow you down."

"We stand or fall together, Catherine." He gave her a slap on the backside, as if she were a nervous pony. "Move."

She began to climb. Years of campaign life had hardened her physically, and in peacetime she had stayed active with walking and riding. Yet though she was strong for a woman, she could never keep up with a man like Michael. Haldoran had been right-if Michael stayed with her, it might well cost him his life. Yet for honor's sake, he would never abandon her. Knowing his survival depended on her performance increased her determination.