Eyes of the Cat Read Free Page A

twelfth attempt, however, just in case it wasn’t actually locked, but merely stuck, and a really solid pull would jar it loose. A fancy born of desperation, of course, because she knew well and good that the horrid door to this horrid tower prison was horridly locked. She had very clearly heard its horrid latch scraping horridly into place when they had thrown her in there barely thirty horrid minutes before.
    It took two of them to do it, though.
    Tabitha studied the blood under her fingernails—none of it her own. That was some satisfaction, at least. The tartan gown was rather the worse for the tussle, her long hair had tumbled loose and probably looked like a banshee’s at the moment, but other than that—and a few definite dents in her pride—she was basically intact.
    So far.
    Which was more than anyone would be able to say for Duncan and Douglas. Or had it been Donald and Dunstan who had imprisoned her up here? Douglas and Donald, perhaps?
    She shook her disheveled head. Angus’s four sons all looked so alike, how could anyone be expected to tell them apart? Probably it made no difference. They were four peas in a pod—all insane, like their father. Some kind of congenital defect, no doubt. Only insane people could be thinking what they were.
    After all, they knew the truth now. She had admitted who she was long before they’d come in sight of this adobe monstrosity. She’d had to hold off a while, naturally, to insure Captain Lawrence and Lady Gabrina an adequate headstart, but she hadn’t waited a moment longer than necessary. Scarcely three hours out of Abilene Station, she had told all. It had been right as they were passing that other wagon, the one with the pleasant looking Mexican family. It had seemed such a providential time because, once the MacAllisters realized she wasn’t Gabrina, they certainly wouldn’t want her anymore, and she should have been able to hitch a return ride to Abilene with the Mexicans.
    Except…
    “Ah well”—Angus had shrugged after listening silently to the confession—“what canna be cured, mun be endured.”
    “Thank you so much for your understanding, Mr. MacAllister.” Tabitha had twisted around on the wagon seat, straining to see if the Mexican family was still in earshot. The explanation had taken longer than she’d intended. “I must say, you’re being very gracious about this.”
    Where was that other wagon? That couldn’t be it, could it? That pinprick on the horizon?
    “Oh, dear.” She had turned back toward Angus. “I’m terribly sorry about this, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to drive me back to Abilene.”
    “Why?” He had flashed her a big toothy grin. “Gabby or Tabby, ’tis such a wee dif’rence. Dinna you fear, lassie. Alan’ll still wed you.”
    A high-button shoe stomped onto a filthy wood floor.
    But I’ve no intention of wedding Alan! I don’t care if he’s Prince Charming, himself, I don’t even want to meet the man.
    The truth of the matter was, she had no intention of wedding anyone. Ever. Her Aunt Matilda had always preached that wedlock was a lock , indeed, little better than slavery for women. Tabitha wasn’t sure if that was entirely correct; she had known some girls who seemed content in their chains. But they were generally the type of Lady Gabrina, girls who hadn’t much stored in their attics, so to speak. She agreed with Matilda Jeffries that she, herself, was not especially well suited for marriage.
    “You are too intelligent and far too independent to tolerate such a union,” she could almost hear her aunt saying. “For you, Tabitha, marriage would feel like being nibbled to death by ducks. A slow torture. Leave it for the girls who can think of nothing else to do with their lives. You will be far better satisfied if you forge your own way in the world, as I have.”
    Right,” Tabitha answered aloud, stalking away from the locked door. “But the only way I’m interested in now, is