"You've made that quite plain. And as for you, Mr. MacDonough, considering your past, I can see much more clearly why the attractions of Miss Delaney were irresistible to you. It would be enough for many men that she is lovely, spirited, a promising filly to tame. Add to that the fact that she is an heiress—"
"I don't give a damn about her money!"
"Of course you don't," Redmayne said slyly. "You wish to marry her no matter what the cost. It is merely a happy chance that the two of you will be able to live on her fortune. Yes, a most romantic epic."
Rage flared, but Ciaran wrenched it under control. The captain was up to something. Closing for the kill. Ciaran could all but feel the wolf's breath at his throat. But how? How would Redmayne attempt to bring him down?
"Mr. MacDonough, that is a nasty gash on your forehead. How did you come by it?"
"His horse stumbled," Fallon leapt in. "He fell."
Ciaran cast her a glare. "I was in such haste to get to my beloved." Could that tender word sound more like an epithet? But Fallon latched on to his arm, forcing a smile.
"You've mentioned his clumsiness on horseback," she said. "Surely such an accident couldn't come as much of a surprise?"
"Not the most dashing of entrances in such a romantic tale." Redmayne steepled long white fingers, tapping them against his chin. "We must make certain there are no more such blunders along the path to true love. And I would guess that the most dangerous obstacle is even now in his study at Misthaven House working on his ledgers. A great man for detail, your brother is, madam. If I were to guess, I would say that it will be difficult indeed for you to avoid the censuring hand of Hugh Delaney. Quite a weighty problem."
"I'm certain Hugh will come to agree once he understands that Ciaran is the love of my life. That I would die without him."
It was a damned uncomfortable thought that if she kept these lies up much longer she'd be more likely to diewithhim, on the gallows.
A chuckle erupted from Redmayne, his eyes narrowing. "We cannot run the risk of such a tragedy." The captain purred. "Miss Delaney, what would you say if I confessed to you that I have a tender spot in my heart for young lovers?"
"I'd say you were a liar," Ciaran began then stopped as those shrewd eyes flashed to his.
Redmayne sketched him an infinitesimal bow. "A rather ungenerous label to apply to your benefactor, Mr. MacDonough. You see, I've devised the perfect way to be of service to both of you. Your child will carry its papa's name before this night has flown."
"Impossible—" Ciaran began, but Redmayne cut him off with a feral smile.
Redmayne crossed to the door, opened it. "Crimmins, Dalton."
Two soldiers, one hard and hairy as a blacksmith's hand, the other proudly sprouting his first whiskers, entered and came to attention. Ciaran could see that there was a wariness about the men, as if they weren't yet certain what to make of their new commander.
"Aye, Captain, sir," Crimmins saluted. "The battering rams you requested are almost finished. Sturdy as we can make them, sir. They'll be ready before two weeks are out, just as you ordered."
"Good. They'll be put to hard use in the next few months. The castle on the cliff is only the beginning. One needs sturdy equipment to sweep the whole of a county clean of this ancient stone refuse."
Even distressed as she was, Ciaran could see Fallon flinch at Redmayne's talk of destruction. Two weeks. He was to begin his campaign of demolition in two weeks. But how could the infernal woman be so worried about a heap of crumbling stone when both their lives hung in the balance?
"However, at the moment I have another mission for you, gentlemen. Sergeant Crimmins, you will ride to the bishop's and secure a special license for a marriage between Miss Fallon Delaney and Mr. Ciaran MacDonough. And Dalton, you will fetch a clergyman."
Ciaran felt as if the man had snatched the earth from under his feet. His head reeled, nails digging deep into his palms. "What?"
"You are both perishing to wed. Such devotion should be rewarded. No chance must be taken that your babe will be born a bastard, Mr. MacDonough."
"But I don't... There is no..." Ciaran glanced wildly from Fallon to the soldiers to Redmayne, and the protests died on his lips.
"There is no what, Mr. MacDonough?"
Ciaran swore under his breath. Mother of God, the man was diabolical in his genius. While Ciaran had been watching, bracing for attack from other, more obvious quarters, Redmayne had slipped up behind him and thrown a noose around his neck. They were trapped. Damn Fallon for her tangle of lies. They'd only bumbled into an even worse disaster than before.
Marriage? It was unthinkable! For all he knew, he already had a wife somewhere, waiting for him. Yet the infernal captain had manipulated it all so neatly. What were Ciaran's choices? Marry Fallon, or confess the truth? He glanced down at Fallon, saw her eyes saucer-wide, her lips parted in a gasp. Could Redmayne and his soldiers possibly misinterpret shock as joy?
He half expected Fallon to cry off her tale, to say "never mind" and make a dash for the door. "This isn't necessary, Captain Redmayne," she stammered. "I would not want to place you or your men in the middle of a family argument. It wouldn't be fair."
"For two lovers all but dying to pledge their vows, you are both astonishingly patient. Why this cooling of your ardor? Or perhaps it never burned as hotly as you wish me to believe?"
"Yes!" Fallon stammered. "I mean, no! Please send your soldiers on their way... to the bishop and—"
