A band of horsemen rode into Donoughmore eariy the next day. Connor had stayed close to home, ostensibly to supervise the slaughter of sheep. In reality, Caitlyn suspected he wanted to keep an eye on Rory, who was a trifle weak and more than a trifle testy, but surviving. Mrs. McFee had been told merely that Rory had come down with Caitlyn's chill, and she seemed to think no more about his being confined to bed. As for Caitlyn herself, the excitement of the night before had an unexpected benefit: she was completely restored to health by the morning and thus was able to go about her business as usual.
When the half-dozen riders appeared in the lee of the Casde, Cormac's hail brought Connor out of the sheep bam with his shirtsleeves still pushed above his elbows to stand watching their approach. Caitlyn, covertly eyeing the pair of them from the trough where she had been dispatched to scrub the wool pelts, could see the tension in Cormac's face. Connor looked impassive as the riders clattered down into the bamyard. TTiey were disheveled, their horses splattered with mud as though they had ridden long and hard. Caitlyn recognized only one: Sir Edward Dunne.
"What business brings you to Donoughmore, Sir Edward?" Connor asked brusquely as Sir Edward nudged his horse away from the milling pack and approached him.
"We're tracking some damned highwaymen," Sir Edward said, excitement lending a glitter to his gray eyes and a coarse edge to his patrician accent. "We followed their trail onto your property but lost them on the far side of the Castle. Did you or your people hear anything out of the ordinary last night? Or see anything?"
"I heard nothing at all, nor has anything untoward been reported to me." Connor, barely civil, cocked a head at Cormac, who shook his head. "How come you to be chasing highwaymen, Sir Edward? Has fox hunting begun to pall?"
The sneer was such that Sir Edward could hardly miss it. Apparently he chose to ignore Connor's gibe, because his voice was even enough as he replied: "Lord Alvinley was the victim. As you know, he's my uncle. He came to my house afterward, and we immediately set out in pursuit of the bandits, who made off with considerable booty. My uncle had the rents on him, you see, and his wife's jewel case too, as he was bound for Dublin to join her. His bailiff had just finished collecting from his tenants, so it was a goodly sum. And the jewelry was very fine."
"Obviously someone was well aware of Lord Alvinley's plans. Your uncle would do well to look amongst the people close to him for the rogue."
"My uncle swears the villain was none other than the one the peasants call the Dark Horseman. He said the gang was dressed all in black, and the leader wore the Cross of Ireland on his clothes. IVe always thought that the Dark Horseman was nothing more than a tale made up by the peasants to frighten their landlords, but Lord Alvinley is convinced that the man exists and that he was robbed by him. In any case, he had a piece of luck: one of my uncle's outriders winged one of the bandits. There were drops of blood along the trail we followed." There was a brief pause, and then with a barely veiled taunt Sir Edward added, "You might consider joining the search, d'Arcy. There's considerable bounty at stake if our quarry truly turns out to be the Dark Horseman. My uncle has doubled the price on the man's head. And sheep farming cannot provide a very lucrative living."
"Unlike you, I don't care for blood sports. And sheep farming provides sufficient for my needs."
The sudden glint in Connor's eyes would have cowed a braver man than Sir Edward, who backtracked to a safer topic immediately. "Yes, well… Are all your tenants sound this morning?"
"All that I've seen. Would you care to search amongst them for the rogue?" This was uttered in such a blighting tone that Sir Edward's hands tightened on his horse's reins, causing the beast to back nervously.
In the moment it took for Sir Edward to quiet his horse, Cormac seemed to hold his breath. But Sir Edward clearly had decided no good would come of further antagonizing the master of Donoughmore. His tone was conciliatory as he said, "No, that won't be necessary. You will send word if anyone is laid low or is not working as he should?"
"You may be sure of it."
"We'll be off, then. I have this feeling that they are near at hand, perhaps holed up somewhere to care for their wounded. Good day to you, d'Arcy." He noddeed at Connor and Cormac, tipped his hat to Caitlyn, who was staring at him, sheep pelts forgotten, then wheeled his horse and headed out of the barnyard toward the road, the others following.
Caitlyn looked after them, eyes wide. Absentmindedly she brushed stray stands of hair back toward the kerchief covering her head, completely forgetting her wet hands, which dripped water on her face. With a muttered imprecation she dried her hands on her yellow-striped skirt and lifted the hem of it to wipe the droplets from her face. Then she turned to stare at Connor and Cormac, who were moving back toward the bam. They had been out last night, cloaked and masked. Connor had spoken of a good night's work. Rory had been shot. And in Rory's room last night, a silver medallion in the shape of a cross had gleamed around Connor's neck. She had never seen it before or since. Enlightenment dawned in a blinding flash.
Abandoning the skin she had been scrubbing to float in the muddy water, Caitlyn followed the d'Arcys into the bam. Connor and Cormac stood together just inside the door, watching from the safety of its shadows the riders crest the hill. Two pairs of eyes glanced at her as she entered, then narrowed. Her eyes were enormous, her expression a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and knowledge.
"What ails you, lass?" Connor asked, his eyes moving over her face with disquieting swiftness.
" 'Tis you, isn't it?" she demanded, speaking scarcely above a whisper as her eyes fixed Connor and Connor alone. "You're the one they call the Dark Horseman!"
Connor returned her look for look, his devil's eyes taking on a warning glint. "You've been out amongst the sheep too long," he said tightiy. Then as she continued to stare at him a litde muscle beside his mouth jerked and he strode from the bam. Caitlyn watched him walk away, her eyes taking in every bit of him from the curling black hair confined by a black ribbon to the broad shoulders straining against the white linen of his shirt to the lean hips and long, powerful legs in their buif breeches and black riding boots. Connor d'Arcy, Earl of Iveagh, lip- service Protestant to protect his land, expert swordsman, kind paterfamilias, Irishman, gentleman, was the Dark Horseman. She felt she should have known it, should have guessed. He was everything she and Willie and the others had always imagined the Dark Horseman would be. But she had never dreamed…
Her eyes swung to Cormac, who was watching her rather as one would a coiled snake.
"Your brother is the Dark Horseman," she said with certainty. Cormac opened his mouth to reply, then, meeting the conviction in her eyes, closed it again.
"Aye," he said slowly, then with a burst of pride added: "Aye, he is."