So far, so good. But now that they had been seen, it would be very hard to shake their pursuers. As he kicked his mount to greater speed, Michael wondered what the devil to do next.
Dumbfounded, Doyle said, "They're riding the bloody cows!"
"Ingenious." Haldoran glared after the stampeding herd. Already his quarry was beyond effective rifle range. Within a matter of moments it became impossible to see which beasts had riders. "Kenyon is the most challenging game I've ever pursued, and Cousin Catherine has unexpected tenacity. But the cattle will soon come to the cliffs. When they do, they'll swerve, probably to the west, since that will be a wider angle. If we cut straight across to the end of the island, we'll be waiting there when the animals tire."
Smiling wolfishly, he began jogging toward the sea. The end of the hunt was at hand. He would not have missed this for anything.
Chapter 35
Catherine found that she could control her mount a little by pulling on its horns. She tugged the head back so that the animal's jaw lifted. It bellowed and slowed down, falling farther back in the herd. Dragging at the left horn caused the cow to angle left, moving her within shouting distance of Michael. She called over the sound of pounding hooves, "We're going to reach the coast soon. Should we stay with them when they turn, or dismount?"
"We should get off," he yelled back. "We walked this section of shore earlier. The bluffs aren't too steep and there are a series of beaches below. We can climb down to the water level. With luck, Haldoran will follow the herd and not know where we got off."
She nodded, then returned her concentration to the rough ride. The cow's thick, shaggy coat provided some cushion, but its bony spine was still miserably uncomfortable. Her arms and legs were strained from the effort of staying on. If years of campaigning hadn't made her an expert rider, she wouldn't have lasted for five seconds.
The coast was approaching rapidly, the sound of the surf audible over the drumming of hooves. The leading cattle sheared off to the left, running parallel to the bluffs. They were tiring fast. Some had already slowed to trotting speed.
She and Michael worked their mounts over to the right, the side nearest the bluff. When she was in position, she pulled the cow's head back as hard as she could. The beast complained, but slowed enough for Catherine to slide off its back. She lost her footing when she landed and fell into a patch of brilliant yellow gorse. Luckily the ground was soft and none of the cattle were directly behind her, so she was unhurt.
A moment later Michael joined her. As he helped her up, he said, "We have to go over the edge immediately.Haldoran and Doyle are cutting across to the shore. They're not more than a couple of hundred yards away."
She nodded and dashed the dozen steps to the edge of the bluff, wanting to be out of sight before they lost the screen of cattle. Then she saw the steepness of the incline. Her blood congealed with fear. "I can't go down that!"
"You can, and you willl" Michael snapped. "It's not much worse than the hill we climbed when we got here. Turn and go down with your face to the bluff. There are plenty of foot- and handholds. I'll go first, so if you slip I can catch you."
She stared at Michael. His chestnut hair was disheveled and his face smudged, but he had never looked more like an officer. And like the best officers, he made her feel she could do the impossible. Or perhaps it was that she would rather risk a fall than his wrath. She swallowed and nodded.
He turned and lowered himself over the edge. "Come along," he ordered. "It won't be as bad as you think."
She took a deep breath, then followed. Looking straight into the bluff rather than at the long drop did make it easier. Small bushes and tough clumps of grass offered adequate support.
They were halfway down when a foothold disintegrated under her. The grass clump she was holding tore out and she began sliding out of control. For a horrified instant she thought she would strike Michael and knock them both to their deaths.
Instead, Michael braced himself and caught her. An arm locked around her waist, stopping her descent. She grabbed for new holds, shaking convulsively.
They stayed like that for a moment, plastered to the bluff like flies, Michael's arm around her. Then he murmured in her ear, "To think I was afraid life would be dull after the army."
She almost laughed, though she was closer to hysteria than amusement. "I wouldn't mind a little tedium just now."
"With luck, it will be nicely dull on the beach below us. That overhang to the right should protect us from being seen. Are you ready to go on?"
She took a deep breath. "I'll make it."
He released her and resumed his descent, and she followed a moment later. Explore with one foot to find a hold.
Transfer weight gradually. Don't release the other holds until you know the new one is secure. Then again. And again. And again.
Finally one extended foot struck the rounded stones of the shingle beach. Intensely relieved to be on firm ground again, she followed Michael under the overhang. Once there, she sank down and leaned against the bluff, her limbs trembling with strain. "Did I ever mention that I'm not very fond of heights?"
"No, but I guessed." He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Well done."
She glanced up, absurdly pleased at his approval. His hard eyes radiated confidence. He was in his element now, using his physical mastery to defeat impossible odds. A warrior. While she was merely a cowardly female who brought disaster on everyone around her. "How long do you think it will take for them to deduce that we came down here?"
"Half an hour at most, perhaps less. We'll need to move on in a few minutes." He squatted beside her, his gaze sweeping the bluffs above. "That cave the laird told you about-did he say if it was entirely underwater at high tide? Or is some of it above the water line?"
Catherine tried to remember her grandfather's words. "He warned against getting trapped inside, so part of it must be above water."
"The next question is, where is the cave, and can we get there from here?" He frowned at the darkening sky. "We're going to need a refuge from the storm tonight."
Catherine agreed. Even though it was almost summer, the sea air was chilly. A night of exposure to a storm would be hard on both of them, especially her. Michael, she suspected, had the resilience of old leather.
They sat for a few minutes, gathering strength, as Michael continued his vigil. Suddenly he muttered an oath. "Damnation, he figured it out already. They're starting down the cliff, not far from where we came down. We'll have to get out of here fast and hope they're too busy climbing to see us."
Lips a thin line, she got to her feet. It was midafternoon, and she felt as if they had been running forever. With the hunters approaching on the right, she turned to the left, keeping to the cliff face and moving as fast as possible on the rounded stones. Michael followed, again taking the position of greatest danger. Gallantry was so much a part of his nature that he would not understand if she thanked him for it.
The beach curved to a stony headland that thrust out into the sea. It was possible to scramble over the slanted surface, but the rocks were slippery with seaweed and waves smashed menacingly only a few feet below. With all her concentration on her footing, the roar of a rifle almost sent her skidding into the water. Again Michael steadied her with a hard hand on her back. The man had the balance of a mountain goat.
She resumed her precarious trek, not wasting time to look back. Another bullet, this one striking so close to her hand that stone chips struck her fingers. Frantically she slithered around the corner out of range. After wedging herself securely behind a boulder, she glanced back, inhaling sharply when she saw a bloody hole in the upper arm of Michael's jersey.