The Reluctant Lark Page 3

  Under her uncle’s direction, her career as a folksinger had taken off at a meteoric pace, and it wasn’t long before he was forced to sell his coffeehouse and devote himself full time to his duties as her manager.

  At first she received a certain amount of relief out of singing “Rory’s Song.” But as time passed and caused a healing scab to form on her initial pain, she found that singing the ballad opened the wound anew each time she sang it. She was always left as shaken and pain-racked as the morning Rory died.

  This night was no exception. As the last, husky, pain-filled notes left her throat, there were silent tears running freely down her cheeks, and her dark eyes were as desolate and lost as those of a small child crying out in the night. She sat unmoving on her stool as the silence was broken by the sudden storm of applause that rolled in waves from the audience.

  She felt numb with agony as she slowly rose to her feet and walked off the stage like an old, old woman.

  Donal O’Shea was waiting in the wings, and she headed blindly for him like a sleepwalker. But suddenly he wasn’t there before her any longer. O’Shea’s square, sturdy figure was pushed roughly aside, and she was enfolded in strong, steely arms that cradled her with fierce possessiveness. Her head was pushed into a powerful, muscular chest, and she was hazily aware of a familiar heady scent. Challon, she thought confusedly, as she clung to the blessed security of his rock-hard body. What was he doing here?

  Evidently several other people were wondering the same thing, for she heard a babble of outraged voices over the strong, muffled beat of Challon’s heart. He apparently was paying little attention to their protests, for his arms didn’t slacken, and his hand on her hair began to stroke her with the tenderness of a mother soothing a hurt child.

  It must have been a full two minutes before he pushed her gently away, his amber gaze searching her face keenly. “Okay?” he murmured.

  She nodded hesitantly, curiously unwilling to give up that blissful feeling of security, which was the greatest she had ever known.

  “Good,” he said briskly, and instead of releasing her, he pulled her into the curve of his arm as he turned to face a bristling Donal O’Shea and an equally annoyed Sean Reilly.

  O’Shea stepped forward belligerently and placed a proprietary hand on Sheena’s arm. “Come along, lass,” he said, frowning. “You’re so upset you don’t know what you’re about.”

  “Don’t touch her, O’Shea.” Challon’s voice was as deadly as a laser ray. Sheena looked up in startled amazement at the change that had taken place in Challon. The amber gold eyes were no longer concerned and gentle but lit with the predatory hunger of a jungle animal as they glared at her uncle. “You let her go out there and tear herself to pieces!” he said fiercely. “I’m tempted to break every bone in your body very, very slowly.”

  O’Shea’s face reddened with anger, and he muttered a curse beneath his breath. He growled, “Let’s see you try it, me lad.”

  Reilly stepped forward, and there was a warning note in his voice as he said hastily, “Donal, I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Challon. Rand Challon?”

  “I don’t care who the hell he is!” O’Shea shouted. “He can’t talk—” He broke off, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Rand Challon?”

  “None other,” Challon said coldly. “But don’t let that stop you, O’Shea.”

  Sheena could see her uncle mentally grappling for control, and to some degree he succeeded. He forced himself to smile ingratiatingly. “I’m afraid there’s a bit of a misunderstanding here, Mr. Challon. You seem to think my niece is some kind of victim. She’ll tell you herself that she understands the necessity of certain unpleasant nuances of her work and that she’s perfectly willing.”

  “She’s willing because you’ve brainwashed her until she’s nothing but a mindless pawn, O’Shea,” Challon said in a grim tone. “It made me sick to my stomach to see her out there tonight. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you manipulate her any longer!”

  “You’ll forgive me if I fail to see how my niece’s career is any of your concern, Mr. Challon,” O’Shea said. “I believe that my assistant mentioned that you’d just met Sheena last evening. I’d be foolish to offend such an important person as yourself, but I must insist that you refrain from interfering.”

  “The hell I will.” Challon’s arm tightened about Sheena’s slim waist. “She’s never going to go through what she did tonight ever again.”

  O’Shea’s eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. “You have a rather notorious reputation with women, Mr. Challon, but surely even you can see that Sheena isn’t the type of companion you’re accustomed to. Why don’t you leave the lass alone? Sheena is quite content with her life. She doesn’t want or need your assistance.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Challon asked arrogantly. “I realize that it’s not your custom, but it is her life!”

  “Why not?” O’Shea turned to Sheena and smiled lovingly. “Sheena?” He held out his hand in silent invitation.

  Sheena shook her head dazedly. They were demanding that she choose between them, but surely there was only one choice she could make? What did she know of Challon other than the fact that he possessed a physical attraction that was well nigh irresistible? She didn’t even know why he had been following her or what he really wanted of her.

  She made a motion to free herself from Challon’s iron hold, and she heard her uncle give a low, triumphant laugh.

  Challon swore and turned her so that he could look down into her face. His fierce scowl gradually faded as he read the confused, unhappy expression on her thin, tear-streaked face.

  “Poor little dove,” he said gently. “It’s all come too soon, hasn’t it?” He released her reluctantly. “Fly away, little bird, but it’s for the last time.”

  Her uncle grasped her arm firmly as Sheena moved slowly away from Challon. “Now that the matter is resolved, perhaps you’d better leave, Mr. Challon,” he said briskly. “Sheena has had enough of an upset for one evening.”

  Challon nodded absently, his pensive gaze on Sheena’s face. “Yes, I’ll leave. You’ve won this round, O’Shea.” His amber eyes lit with a burning ferocity. “But it’s the last one I’ll let you take.”

  “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we, Mr. Challon?” O’Shea said genially. His possessive arm drew Sheena closer.

  Challon’s narrowed eyes noted the gesture before shrugging casually and turning away. “Enjoy your victory,” he said coolly. He turned back suddenly and spoke to Sheena. “I’m afraid this puts an end to my good intentions, sweetheart. I’m not the most patient man in the world at my best, and I’m mad as hell at the moment. It’s only fair to warn you that from now on the gloves are off.”

  She frowned in bewilderment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His smile was filled with loving sweetness. “I know you don’t, little dove. But you will soon.” He turned and strode down the hallway toward the stage door.

  Sheena drew a deep breath of relief as she shut the door of the dressing room behind her and leaned on it for a brief instant. This final concert in New York had been as enthusiastically received as all the others, but she was glad it was over. Now the only items on her schedule in the next few weeks before the benefit were a number of personal appearances. Perhaps she’d finally get that rest that her uncle had been promising her.

  But first there was O’Daniels’s party to get through. Her uncle had been very insistent that she attend, so she thought, she’d better shower and be on her way. She stripped off her black silk dress and underthings and stuffed her hair into a shower cap. As she stepped into the small shower cubicle adjoining the dressing room, she wondered if she dared return to the hotel and call her uncle at O’Daniels’s penthouse and plead weariness.

  She shook her head resignedly as she realized the effect of this action. This was the first time since Challon’s appearance at the concert five days earlier that she hadn’t had either a solicitous Se
an Reilly or Uncle Donal himself at her side constantly. She’d been practically smothered by their loving attention. The only reason she’d been allowed to make her own way to the party tonight was that her uncle and Sean were in a meeting O’Daniels had called just before the party.

  She turned off the water reluctantly after a quick shower and drifted off hurriedly. Her uncle had hung the gown he wished her to wear on the door, and she reached for it with a vague feeling of displeasure. It was not black like her stage costume but a soft Quaker gray. She did get so tired of these eternal grays, blacks, and whites. Just once she would like to take on the brilliant plumage of a cardinal or a bluebird, she thought as she dressed.

  She felt an odd twinge of pain as she remembered Challon’s remark about transforming her from a dove to a lark. She hadn’t seen Rand Challon since that night, despite that last cryptic warning he had uttered. She should be grateful of the fact, she assured herself staunchly. His presence had caused her nothing but problems.

  Uncle Donal and Sean had been extremely wary and watchful after Challon’s foreboding exit, she reflected. For the first time since Rory’s death, her uncle had been positively sharp with her; he had insisted on her not seeing Challon again.

  Challon had appeared on her horizon like a bolt of lightning and disappeared just as quickly. Perhaps it had amused the great man to challenge and bewilder the little Irish entertainer, she thought with an odd hurt. Well, evidently he had lost interest in his game, and she was well rid of him. Her life was once again on an even keel, and she could devote herself to her career with no disturbing, golden-eyed playboy to upset her.

  She quickly brushed her dark tangle of curls and added a touch of makeup before pulling her black velvet cloak carelessly about her shoulders. She cast one last glance at the somber woman in the mirror, then flipped the light switch and closed the door.

  The theater was deserted now, and her footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden floor as she walked quickly to the stage door. The attendant on duty was a young, sandy-haired man in his early twenties, who looked up with a friendly grin as she approached.

  “Your taxi is waiting outside in the alley, Miss Reardon,” he said. “Mr. O’Shea asked me to arrange for it the minute you came offstage.”

  Sheena smiled gravely. “Thank you. That was very considerate of you.”

  “My pleasure,” he said breezily, as he opened the stage door for her. “Let me help you down those steps. The outside light is burned out, and I haven’t gotten around to changing it.”

  Sheena was grateful for the firm hand beneath her elbow as she negotiated the short flight of steps. The alley was almost pitch dark with only the headlights of an occasional passing car from the traffic on the far cross street. There was a yellow cab waiting only a few yards from the stage door with a shadowy driver barely discernible behind the wheel.

  “I’ll be fine now,” Sheena told her escort as they stopped before the rear door of the taxi. “Thank you for your help.”

  The young man opened the car door. “Good night, Miss Reardon, have a pleasant evening.” His hand beneath her elbow suddenly propelled her forward so strongly that she almost fell into the backseat of the taxi.

  “Damn it, not so rough! You know what he said he’d do to us if we hurt her!” The masculine voice was harsh, but the grasp of the man occupying the backseat of the taxi was gentle as he pulled her the rest of the way into the taxi.

  Sheena’s heart seemed to freeze in her breast as she struggled instinctively to free herself.

  “Quiet down now,” her shadowy captor said soothingly. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

  “Let me go!” she gasped, as she wriggled frantically to avoid the large masculine form holding her immobile. “You can’t do this!”

  “Want to bet, honey?” came the breezy voice of the stage door attendant as he jumped into the taxi. “Get going, Peter,” he ordered the driver.

  The taxi took off with a screech of tires. Sheena’s resistance increased as stark terror gave her additional strength. This couldn’t be happening, she thought frantically. Kidnapping happened to other people, not to her. It was not as if she were a fabulously wealthy superstar. What could they hope to gain by this terrifying crime? Her breath was coming in little gasps as she twisted and kicked out at her captor.

  “Damn it, pass me the towel,” he growled. “We’ll have to use it. I can’t hold her without bruising her. She’s putting up too much of a fight.”

  “If you’re willing to accept the responsiblity. I’m not going to put my head on the block,” the sandy-haired man said tersely, as he put the folded cloth into his cohort’s hands.

  “Thanks a lot,” her captor said caustically. “Hold her for a minute.” As the transfer was made, he put his hand under Sheena’s chin and said, “Sorry, lady. I tried to make it easy on you.”

  Sheena opened her mouth to scream as her nose and mouth were covered by the towel. Were they going to suffocate her? The towel smelled sickeningly sweet, and she couldn’t seem to get her breath as the cloth was pressed down more firmly. Then she knew nothing but the whirling darkness.

  Three

  The unremitting droning sound was a constant irritant to the nagging ache in her temples, and Sheena gave a little whimper of distress as she buried her face in the pillow to try to escape the noise.

  “Easy, little dove, everything is going to be fine. You’re safe now.” The deep, masculine voice was almost crooning, and she felt vaguely comforted as she slowly opened her heavy lids.

  Rand Challon was bending over her, a worried frown creasing his forehead, his golden eyes intent on her face. For some reason the sight of that hard, ruthless face filled her with an odd serenity despite the woozy disorientation she was experiencing.

  “How are you?” Challon asked quietly, his hand tenderly pushing a silky curl away from her forehead.

  “I’m sick,” she answered solemnly, turning her cheek to rub it against his hand. He was so warm and strong, she thought hazily. Just touching his hard, firm flesh seemed to ease the shakiness and fear she felt. Fear? Why should she be afraid? she wondered dizzily.

  “I know you are,” Challon said grimly. “Damn it, I told them not to use chloroform. I damn near killed the idiots when they carried you on board the plane. You’ll be all right in a few minutes. They didn’t use enough to put you out for very long.”

  Chloroform? What was he talking about? What plane had she been carried aboard? “I don’t understand,” she muttered. As she looked dazedly at her surroundings, she felt a growing sense of panic. She was on a plane—and a very luxurious one at that. She was lying on a sumptuous cream velvet couch, and the other pieces in the room were done in shades of cream and gold that contrasted beautifully with the richness of the walnut paneling. The cabin was lit by one lamp on the table at the end of the couch, and the resulting dimness created a tranquil intimacy. There was a mirrored bar in the rear of the plane, and the effect was more of a luxurious lounge than the interior of a jet.

  “Where am I?” she whispered, levering herself up to a sitting position. She flinched as the movement sent a rush of pain to her head. She really did feel dreadful.

  “At the moment we’re about two hundred miles north of Montreal, Canada,” he said casually, as he stood up and moved leisurely toward the mirrored bar at the rear of the cabin. “Sit still. I’ll get you a cup of coffee and something to settle your stomach.”

  She only heard the first sentence. Her eyes widened with shock. “Canada!” Her hand went to her hair distractedly as she tried to pierce the haze that was clouding her thinking process. Then she sat bolt upright. “You kidnapped me!” she accused incredulously.

  “Right,” Challon replied tersely, as he strolled back to her and handed her two white pills and a cup of black coffee. “These ought to make you feel a bit better.”

  “What are they?” she asked suspiciously, staring down at the pills.

  “Nothing very lethal,” Challon answered li
ghtly. “Though I can’t blame you for being cautious. I told you that the chloroform was a mistake that won’t be repeated. I want you very alert and wide awake, little dove.”

  Sheena swallowed the pills and washed them down with a sip of coffee. “Stop calling me that,” she said tersely. She leaned back against the arm of the couch and eyed him with disfavor. He was dressed in faded jeans that hugged the strong line of his thighs with loving detail and a red flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow to reveal the powerful muscles of his forearms. The casual outfit suited him much better than the cosmopolitan suits he had worn before, but gave him an aura of electric, virile earthiness that she did not want to acknowledge at this moment.

  “Would it be too much to ask why you’ve carried your little practical joke to these outlandish lengths, Mr. Challon?” Her nausea was beginning to subside, and she found that anger was replacing it.

  “It’s no joke,” he said, as he sat down on the couch and leaned back lazily. “I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to pry you away from O’Shea and Reilly by more civilized means. They had much too strong a hold on you. I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer to act after the concert that night.” His face darkened with the memory. “So I arranged to ‘liberate’ you.”

  “Liberate!” she sputtered, her dark eyes flashing indignantly. “You kidnapped me! Well, you can’t get away with it. Uncle Donal will have the police on your trail by now. Kidnapping is a very serious crime, you know.”

  “I love that little brogue you develop when you get excited,” he said. Then he grinned and stretched his jean-clad legs before him. “I’m sorry to disillusion you, love, but I can get away with it. I could spirit you away and keep you indefinitely if I wished. It just takes a bit of manipulating for a man in my position. I admit that since you’re in the public spotlight, it would be more expensive, but it could definitely be done.”