He silenced her with his mouth, his kiss hot, hungry, and cruel. She understood he was punishing her with his body, not making love to her, but she couldn’t resist his tongue and couldn’t prevent herself from breathlessly kissing him back.
Hawk dropped his head and grazed her neck with his teeth, then teased her hardened nipples through her gown. Adrienne was so lost in pleasure that she didn’t realize what he was doing until it was too late.
She felt the rasp of a rope against her wrists as he yanked her arms down and spun her around, securing her hands at the base of her back.
“You son of a bitch!” she hissed.
“Son of a bitch,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Now you don’t like my mother?”
“I don’t like you when you’re like this! Hawk! Why are you doing this? What have I done?”
“Silence, lass,” he commanded softly, and she learned then that when his voice was soft and supple as oiled leather was when she was in the most extreme danger. It was the first of many lessons he would teach her. When the silken hood slid down over her face she screamed her fury and lashed out against him with her feet. Struggling, kicking, raging in his arms, she cursed raggedly.
“Wife,” he said right against her ear through the silk hood, “you belong to me. Soon you will not remember that there was ever a time when you didn’t.”
Adam stood amidst the shadow of the rowans and watched as the Hawk stalked through the night, the hooded woman fighting his grasp. So he thought he could escape Adam Black, did he? Hawk thought he could take her away? Clever. Adam hadn’t negotiated that point. Hawk had obviously decided to play cutting-edge close to the letter of their law.
The man was becoming downright infuriating.
No, this was not what Adam had expected at all when he’d staged his scene in the gardens.
So, the man was more brute than he had thought. He had vastly underestimated his opponent. He’d thought the Hawk was too decent and too nice to know when a man had to be as hard and unforgiving as steel with a woman. He’d counted on the noble Hawk being so wounded by seeing her with the smithy that he’d curse her and swear her off, maybe divorce her—any of which, according to his plan, would send her scurrying to his blazing forge at the rowans. He’d thought, quite mistakenly it seemed, that the Hawk had at least one or two weaknesses of character.
“Silence, wife!” The Hawk’s baritone resonated in the darkness. Adam shuddered. No mortal should have such a voice.
Well, this just wouldn’t do. He’d have to seriously intervene, because if such a man carried off a woman and kept her for a time, the woman would surely belong to him when he was through.
And Adam never lost at anything. Certainly not this.
He stepped forward from the shadows, prepared to confront the Hawk, when he heard a harsh whisper behind him.
“Fool!”
“What now?” Adam snarled, turning to face King Finnbheara.
“The Queen demands your presence.”
“Now?”
“Right now. She’s on to us. I think it’s that snoopy little Aine again. You’ll have to leave this game at least long enough to allay the Queen’s suspicions. Come.”
“I can’t come now.”
“You have no choice. She will come for you herself if you don’t. And then we’ll have no chance left at all.”
Adam stood still a long moment, allowing his rage to burn through him and leave cinders of resolve in its wake. He had to be very careful where his Queen was concerned. It would do him no good to bar her whim or will in any manner.
He allowed himself one long look over his shoulder at the retreating figure on horseback. “Very well, my liege. Through this rotten hell, bar my will, pledged to none but the fairest queen, lead on.”
CHAPTER 25
SHE STOPPED SCREAMING ONLY WHEN HER VOICE GAVE OUT. Stupid, she told herself. What did that accomplish? Not a thing. You’re trussed up like a chicken about to be plucked and now you can’t even peep a protest.
“Just take the hood off, Hawk,” she begged in a gravelly whisper. “Please?”
“Rule number nine. My name from this moment forward is Sidheach. Sidheach, not Hawk. When you use it, you will be rewarded. When you don’t, I will permit no quarter.”
“Why do you want me to use that name?”
“So I know you understand who I really am. Not the legendary Hawk. The man. Sidheach James Lyon Douglas. Your husband.”
“Who first called you Hawk?” she asked hoarsely.
He stifled a swift oath and she felt his fingers at her throat. “Who first called me Hawk doesn’t make the difference. Everyone did. But ’twas all the king ever called me,” he gritted. He didn’t add that in all his life he had never given a lass leave to call him Sidheach. Not one.
He untied the hood and lifted it from her face, then poured cool water into her mouth, relieving some of the burning that made her voice so rough. “Try not to scream anymore tonight, lass. Your throat will bleed.”
“King James used only that name?” she asked swiftly.
Another sigh. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She could feel his body tense behind her. “Because he said I was his own captive hawk, and it was true. He controlled me for fifteen years as surely as a falconer controls his bird.”
“My God, what did he do to you?” she whispered, horrified at the icy depths in his voice when he spoke of his service. The Hawk controlled by another? Incomprehensible. But if the threat of destruction of Dalkeith, his mother, and his siblings had been held over his head? The threat of killing the hundreds of his clanspeople? What would the noble Hawk have done to prevent that?
The answer came easily. Her strong, wise, ethical husband would have done whatever he had to do. Any other man the Hawk would have simply killed. But one couldn’t kill the King of Scotland. Not without having his clan’s existence completely eradicated by the king’s army. Same result, no choice. A sentence of fifteen years, all because of a scorned and spoiled king.
“Can’t you just accept me as I am now, lass? It’s over. I’m free.” His voice was so low and resonant with anguish that she froze. His words threw her off balance; it was something she might have said herself if confronted with her past by someone she cared for. Her husband understood pain, and perhaps shame and, oh so surely, regret. What right had she to judge and condemn a person for a dark past? If she were honest with herself, she would even point out that her past had been the result of her own naive mistakes, where his painful ordeal had been one he’d been forced to endure to keep safe his clan and his family.
She wanted to touch and heal the man who sat so stiffly away from her now, yet she was not quite sure how to begin. This much was clear—he hadn’t been the king’s whore, whatever that was, because he’d wanted to; that fact went a long way toward easing her mind. More than anything, she wanted to understand this fierce, proud man. To brush away the shadows in his beautiful dark eyes. She jerked swiftly when she felt silk graze her jaw.
“No! Don’t put the hood back on me. Please.”
Hawk ignored her protests, and she sighed as he retied the cords.
“Will you just tell me why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you ‘seeling’ me now?” What had she done to provoke his anger?
“I stepped back, lass. I gave you what no other man would have given you. I allowed you the time to choose me of your own will. But it seems your will is wildly foolish and needs persuading. Choose me, you will. And when you do, there will be no other man’s name on your lips, no other man’s shaft between your thighs, no other man’s face in your mind’s eye.”
“But—” She wanted to know why her time had so suddenly run out. What had made him snap?
“No buts. No more words, lass, unless you would have me bind your mouth as well. From this time forward you see without the benefit of those beautiful, lying eyes. Perhaps I’m not a complete fool. Perhaps you might see true with you
r inner vision. Then again, perhaps not. But your first lesson is that what I look like has nothing to do with who I am. Who I might have had to be in the past has nothing to do with who I am. When you finally see me clearly, then and only then will you see with your eyes again.”
They arrived in Uster shortly after dawn. Pushing his horse hard through the night, Hawk turned a two-day journey into less than one.
He guided her into the laird’s residence, past the gawking staff, up the stairs and to the bedroom. Without a word, he cut the bonds on her wrists with a dagger, pushed her to the bed, locking the door behind him as he left.
The instant Adrienne’s hands were free she ripped off the silken hood. She’d been prepared to shred it into tiny silken tatters but realized he’d probably just use something else if she destroyed it. Besides, she mused, she had no intention of fighting him. She had enough of a battle on her hands trying to face her own emotions; let him do what he felt he needed to do. It granted her more time to grow familiar with the new feelings inside her. Dear heaven, but he was angry with her. Just what he was angry about she wasn’t certain, but her resolve was still true. In the face of his fury, her soldiers had not changed their minds. They all stood proudly on the Hawk’s side, and she was with them to a man.
He planned to seduce her callously? To open her inner vision to him?
He didn’t need to know that it had already been opened, and that she shamelessly anticipated every moment of the seducing.
The Hawk walked slowly through the streets of Uster. It was nearly deserted at this late hour, only those of courage, abject stupidity, or evil intent walked the streets late at night when a heavy fog was roiling in. He wondered into which category he fell.
Much had been begun this day, yet even more remained unfinished. He’d spent most of his morning going over the miller’s books and talking with angry villagers who accused the man of substituting their grain. There was only one miller, so positioned by the king’s men before Hawk had been released from his pledge of service. Being the only one, he had been able to exert absolute control over the villager’s grain and had, in collusion with the local bailiff, indeed been cheating on weights, substituting moldy meal for better grains, and turning a tidy profit three towns northerly.
Hawk sighed. That had been only the first of a dozen problems demanding his attention. He would have to hold the courts for a fortnight to catch up on all that had gone wrong under his benign neglect while he had been off in service to James.
But he had time to remedy the villagers’ many ills, and remedy them he would. His people had been well pleased to have him back and once again taking an interest in their needs. As of this day, three men in Uster now held miller’s tools and miller’s rights. The Hawk smiled. Competition would be good for his people.
Tansy and mint swirled out the door of an open establishment as he passed by. A woman beckoned from the doorway, clad only in a filmy bit of stained and tattered silk. The Hawk cocked an amused brow and smiled, but declined as he continued down the street. His eyes turned dark and bitter. He had more than he could handle waiting for him at home.
Adrienne sat up with a start when she heard the Hawk throw open the door to her chamber. She had been imagining the sweet seduction he had in store for her and had to use all her composure to hide her excitement at his return.
“Oh, you’re back,” she drawled, hoping she had succeeded in masking her delight.
He crossed the room in two awesome strides, took her in his arms, and frowned darkly down at her. He lowered his head inexorably toward her lips, and she turned her face away. Undeterred, he grazed her neck with his teeth until he reached the base where her traitorous pulse beat raggedly. Her breath caught in her throat as he nipped her and ran his tongue up the column of her neck. If his very nearness made her shiver, his kisses would be her complete undoing. His rough shadow beard chafed her skin when he tugged her head back and gently nipped the lobe of her ear. Adrienne sighed her pleasure, then added a little squeal of protest just to be convincing.
“You will forget the smithy, lass,” he promised. A swift yank of her hair forced her to meet his gaze.
“I had no intention of remembering him anyway. He’s nothing more than a pushy, overbearing, liberty-taking scoundrel.”
“Nice try, wife,” Hawk said dryly.
“What do you mean, nice try? Why are you so obsessed with the smithy?”
“Me? You’re the one who’s obsessed with the smithy!” He raised the hood toward her head.
“You are so thickheaded you don’t even see the truth when it’s right in front of you.”
“Oh, but that’s just the point, lass. I saw the truth clearly with my own eyes that day in the garden. Aye, too clearly, and the memory of it seethes in my mind, mocking me. I had just been wounded saving your fickle life, but you had no care for that. Nay, you had other sweet plans in the making. And my absence only made it easier for you. Gone from your side for all of a few hours and so quickly you lay beneath him on the fountain. My fountain. My wife.”
So that was it, she mused. He’d returned and seen the smithy when he’d been doing those foggy frightening things to her, when she’d been fighting him. He’d been standing there watching the smithy practically rape her and, in his mind, believed she was willing. He hadn’t even thought to help her.
“Perhaps I’m not the only one who can’t see so clearly,” she said scathingly. “Perhaps there are two in this room who could benefit from a little inner vision.”
“What say you, lass?” Hawk said softly.
She would not dignify his stupidity with a response. A man had practically raped her, and in his jealousy her husband had simply watched. The more she protested her innocence, the guiltier she would look. And the more she thought about it, the angrier it made her. “I merely suggest you find that inner eye yourself, husband,” she said, just as softly.
Her quiet dignity gave him pause. No mewling or lying or groveling. No justifications. Could it be he had misunderstood what he had seen on the fountain? Perhaps. But he would erase her memories of the smithy, that he vowed. He smiled darkly and seeled her with the silken hood again. Yes, by the time he was finished she would forget Adam Black even existed.
That he knew he could do. He’d been trained for it. First by the Gypsies and then by the Duchess of Courtland. “Sex is not merely a momentary pleasure,” she’d instructed him. “It is an art to be practiced with studied hand and discriminating taste. I am going to school you in this, the finest of forays into human scandal. You will be the best lover the land has ever known by the time I am done. Easily, for there is no question that you are the most beautiful.”
And the lessons had begun. She’d been right—there had indeed been much he hadn’t known. And she showed him, this spot here, that curve there, this way of moving, a thousand positions, the subtle ways to use his body to bring many different kinds of pleasure, and finally, all the mind games that went with it.
He learned well, committing this art to memory. And in time, his eager boyish hunger was lost adrift a meaningless sea of conquests and mistresses.
Oh, he was the best, no question about it. He left the lasses begging for his attention. The legend of the Hawk grew. Then one day, a woman whom Hawk had spurned repeatedly—Olivia Dumont—petitioned King James for his favors as if he were a piece of property to be granted.
And like royal property, James had granted him, wielding the same threat of harm to Dalkeith should he disobey.
How James had loved that—especially when he realized how much the Hawk had been humiliated by it. And so the king had said, you will be whoever We want you to be, even if it’s a thing so trivial as Our whore, to please Our favored ladies. Other men were sent to battle. The Hawk was sent to bed with Olivia. Doubly humiliating.
Many men had envied the Hawk—the lover of so many beautiful women. Still more men had hated the Hawk for his prowess and virility, and for the legends the ladies wove about him.
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Eventually, James had grown tired of hearing the legends. Sick of his ladies clamoring about the beautiful man, James had sent the Hawk abroad on absurd and risky missions. To steal a crown jewel from Persia. To beguile a priceless objet d’art from an old heiress in Rome. Whatever odd treasure the greedy James had heard of, the Hawk was sent to acquire by fair means or foul. The king’s whore had been simply that: a man who did the king’s “dirty work,” whatsoever his fickle liege wished at the time.
Now his eyes returned to the lass standing in silence before him.
She was so different from any he’d ever known. From the first day he’d seen her, he’d recognized that she was truly without artifice or coy subterfuge. Although she might have hidden depths, they were neither malicious nor self-serving but had been born of suffering and loneliness, not of deceit. He’d recognized that she had a pure heart, as pure and real and full of possibility as his Gypsy fields had been, and that it had already been given to a man who was undeserving! To the epitome of deceit and strange artifice. To Adam Black.
By hook or crook or whatever fashion was necessary, he would woo and win her. He would make her see the error of her ways—that she’d given her heart to the wrong man.
She was seeled both from him and to him, until she learned to see again with that pure heart which had recoiled into hiding. He would wake it, shake it up, and force it to come out and face the world again. And when she’d learned to see him for what he really was, then she could see him with her eyes again.
Adrienne stood stock-still and uncertain. It was strange, knowing he was in the room but not knowing where or what he was doing. He could be standing in front of her even now, his body nude and glistening in the oil lights. She imagined him lit by the soft glow of candles. She loved the fires and torchères of this century. What kind of romance could live and breathe beneath fluorescent lights of her own time?
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