Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7

by Lois Greiman

  Her eyes were the first things he noticed. They were dark pools of emotion, the pupils so wide and deep that he felt he might drown in their mystery.

  “I am…” He tried to clear his head, to find his wits. “My apologies.”

  Her lips moved. He could not help but notice, for they looked as ripe and succulent as forbidden fruit. “Apologies?” she breathed.

  “Aye.” His gaze slipped lower, down the velvet skin of her throat, over the soft, sweet swellings of her breasts. She was mesmerizing, enchanting, bewitching. All soft and firm and warm and cool. A thousand diametrical elements swirled together to make this magic. He reached out to touch her, to feel her against him. But thirty years of discipline stopped him. He swore in silence and snapped to his feet. She cried out and tumbled sideways.

  There was nothing he could do but save her, catch her, bring her safely to her feet. Then she was naked and silent in his arms as she stared into his eyes. Her hips were pressed intimately to his and her thighs, long and cool as river water, cradled one of his own.

  He closed his eyes for a moment as he grappled for control. But Catriona and control were not good bedmates. Desire roared through him like a pitch fire.

  “Catriona,” he whispered, meaning to tell her he must go, but finding that her name came out with the reverence of a prayer.

  “Aye?” Her voice was as soft as the whisper of butterflies.

  “I am…” Weak! God, so damnably weak! He could not resist her. After a hundred battles and a thousand hard-learned lessons, still, he could not resist this one burning temptation. But there were exemplary reasons that he must.

  He was the king’s captain of the guard. He could not afford to be distracted by her magic.

  He had promised James he would guard her, not seduce her.

  He could not bear to hurt her. And yet… She was not Marcele. She was neither small nor frail, but strong and vibrant. And though it could not be possible, she seemed attracted to him. So perhaps—

  From the floor, de la Faire moaned, breaking Haydan’s introspection.

  “You are what?” Catriona whispered.

  Haydan snapped his gaze frantically back to her. “I am sorry. I must go,” he rasped, and tearing himself from her, strode across the room to yank the Frenchman from the floor.

  He had one fleeting impression of Cat’s stunned expression before he slammed the door shut behind him.

  “I am sorry. I must go,” he had said.

  The words grated in Haydan’s mind. Good saints, he had made it sound as if he were apologizing for leaving, instead of apologizing for having put her in such a position.

  What the hell had he been thinking? She was an enchantress. Young, gifted, alluring beyond imagination. What would make him think she would be interested in a jaded old warrior with a broken nose and a limp?

  The rain pummeled him harder. Good, he thought, leaning lower over his mount’s withers as he urged the steed into the slanting rain. Maybe it would wash the insanity from his brain.

  He had begun riding before dawn, visiting every garrison of soldiers that guarded Blackburn. He could not be too careful. Every road must be watched, every defense seen to.

  He had to keep her safe.

  Him! Haydan corrected angrily. He must keep the king safe.

  But James’s face was barely imaginable in his mind, for every bit of his concentration was swallowed up by Catriona. She was there, like a dream dreamed so many times it was now part of his very soul.

  He must keep her safe. But she did not need him. Nay, though she sometimes seemed soft and vulnerable, she was clever and strong.

  Still, he wanted nothing more than to hold her again. Maybe it was her very strength that made him wish to protect her. Certainly it was her softness that made him hard.

  Damnit all—he still ached for her! Even now, after ten hours in the saddle. It wasn’t a healthy condition. Certainly not at his age; he was supposed to know better. But when he had seen her threatened…

  For one fateful moment, he had had every intention of killing de la Faire. Indeed, if she had been hurt, if he had found the merest scratch on her, he might have.

  But there had been nothing marring the perfection of her skin. It was flawless, feather soft, and—

  He was doing it again! Daydreaming over her like a lovesick lad who had yet to know his first woman; when it had been more than twenty years since he’d given up his virginity. And there had been countless women since.

  Well, perhaps not countless. A score maybe. A dozen for certain. Well, at least five.

  He winced. How long had it been since he’d been with a woman?

  It wasn’t as if there weren’t women who were interested or who interested him.

  There was Lorna. She was bonny and bright and had made it more than clear that she did not find him repulsive. But she was young and healthy and deserved marriage to a man who would see to her needs today and three decades from now. His loyalty was to the king, and ‘twas a dangerous position he was in. He might not live to see the morrow. ‘Twould not be fair to such a lass.

  Lady Aileen, on the other hand, was widowed and knew the ways of men. Indeed, she was wealthy enough to support herself and had never seemed to find either his occupation or his size a problem. He could visit Aileen now, but her manor house was nearly an hour’s ride from Blackburn. Dusk was fast approaching and ‘twas his job to make certain all was safe for the night. Indeed, Catriona might very well need…

  He sighed at his own loss of will. Apparently, neither the ride nor the weather had washed her from his mind. And apparently there was no hope that either would.

  Turning his steed away from the hard angle of the rain, Haydan gave himself over to fate and the rapid rush of desire that smothered him at the thought of her.

  It had been raining all day. Catriona turned her gaze away from the window and back to the audience that surrounded her. With so many folk confined to the great hall, the day had been filled with tales and games and ballads. She had contributed her own stories, and they had been well received by all, especially the king, whose eyes lit with her tales of adventure. With the Hawk no longer hovering overhead, she had been certain to make her life of freedom seem wondrous and exciting. It was good that he was gone, and yet…

  She lifted her gaze to the arched double doors. Where was he? She hadn’t seen him since he had left her room on the previous night. Nor had she seen Lord de la Faire. But while she was thrilled with the cocky lord’s absence, the hall seemed strangely empty without the Hawk’s protective presence.

  From a dark, gargantuan beam, Calum and Caleb hopped about to survey the crowd below them. Unwilling to venture out the window and into the rain, the birds had set to bickering, and so Catriona had allowed them to follow her down to the hall. James had been thrilled.

  “Tell us another, Lady Cat,” he said now.

  She forced a smile. “Surely there are others here with more intriguing tales than my own.”

  “But none so charmingly told,” said the black-robed priest. He seemed a good man, but there was something familiar about him. Something that she could not quite place. Something that niggled at the edges of her consciousness and made her slightly nervous.

  “Indeed,” said a man whose name she could not recall. “You cannot refuse the lad.”

  “Nay,” agreed James. “I am the king.”

  The audience laughed. Catriona glanced at her grandmother. She sat beside Rory on a cushioned spot near the wall and nodded at her granddaughter’s unspoken question. Catriona would spin her tales and Marta would “feel,” hoping to find the source of the evil that had taken Lachlan.

  “Very well then,” Cat began. “I shall tell you a tale of Durril.”

  “Who is Durril?” someone asked.

  “He is the greatest entertainer of all time,” James said, and Cat smiled.

  “Indeed, but he was more.”

  The hall went quiet.

  ” ‘Tis said he could commun
icate with the beasts of the field and the birds of the air.”

  “And ‘tis said that ale can cure insanity,” Lord Hogshead said, raising a goblet so quickly that ale slopped over the brim. “I’ve seen no evidence as of yet. But I am still testing the theory.”

  All around him gentry glanced his way and chuckled.

  Some yards away, Lady Fayette settled onto the seat next to Rory. Her gown was ivory in hue, flattering in design. She tilted her head toward his, and he laughed, his eyes already brightened by the thought of a possible conquest.

  Something tightened in the pit of Cat’s stomach. Surely not jealousy, she thought. But who could say for certain? Logic had no place in matters of the heart. For many years she had thought of Rory as her betrothed.

  “I do not believe any man could communicate with the beasties,” Lord Spectacles said.

  Catriona drew her attention back to the business at hand. If Lady Fayette had abandoned the anonymous Matthew for Rory, she had nothing to say in the matter. “You are most probably right, Your Grace,” Catriona agreed. “Even though Durril killed the leader of the wolves with no weapon, ‘tis no reason to believe he was then granted the power to—”

  “He killed a wolf without so much as a dirk to aid him?”

  “Aye,” said James, his tone sharp with the edge of impatient excitement. ” ‘Twas in the dead of winter when he saved the young prince, Endorai, from certain death. Continue, Lady Cat. What happened after he killed the wolf?”

  ” ‘Tis said that because he fought so valiantly and so selflessly, the beasties gave him the power to speak with them.” She raised one eyebrow and glanced skeptically at the nearby spectacled duke. “But truly, I do not believe a word of it. I think ‘twas naught but good fortune that brought the next wild beast to him when he was in such dire need.”

  “Ho,” said a nearby fellow. “Might you be kin to one called Roderic the Rogue?”

  “Nay indeed,” she said and grinned as she remembered meeting the man Haydan thought of as a father. “I have heard that the Rogue’s tales are wild beyond belief.”

  The company laughed.

  “Go on,” urged more than a few.

  “If you are certain. I’ve no wish to—”

  “Continue,” commanded James.

  “Very well, then. As you know, Durril had a wee daughter. She was a bonny lass, hearty and happy, with her mother’s entrancing eyes and her father’s sense of wit. Even as a babe she performed, for she had the gifts granted her by her heritage. ‘Twas when she was no more than five years of age that Prince Endorai first saw her perform. Graceful, she was, like a willow in the wind, with hands of magic and laughter like silver bells. But ‘twas more than that which enchanted young Endorai. ‘Twas her wisdom. Aye, even as a wee lass, she was clever far beyond her tender age. And somehow, in those early years, a bond was forged between the two.

  “Though some thought the prince haughty and unfeeling, wee Martuska saw beyond his shortcomings to the depth beneath, and she loved him for it. As for the prince, he adored young Martuska and treated her not as a villein, but as an equal.

  “Together, they would spend many of their days. Martuska showed him the freedom of her people, for she could ride as well as any man. Indeed, on her sixth birthday Prince Endorai gifted her with a small but spirited white palfrey that was faithful only to her.

  ” ‘Twas a bonny autumn day that they rode down to a babbling burn. There they stopped by the water for the nooning, and there they played. With Martuska, Endorai could be anything—a pirate or a saint or a bold invincible warrior. There were no boundaries. But they had played hard all that day and wee Martuska was tired. And so, weary and at peace, she lay upon the grass to sleep while the young prince explored the rushes.

  “His guards, of course, were watching him. After all, ‘twas their duty to do so. But they were not commissioned to protect the wee lass whom he adored. Thus they did not see the evil that approached her through the grasses.”

  Catriona paused, her expression somber as she eyed her silent audience.

  “A wolf?” someone murmured.

  “Nay,” said another. “A wolf would not be so bold.”

  “Unless ‘twas fevered or—”

  “His soldiers would surely see a wolf,” said one of James’s own guards. Glancing up, Catriona saw that it was the redheaded youth, the one called Galloway. He blushed now, but continued. “It must have been something small such as a—”

  “For God’s sake, let the lass tell the tale,” Lord Spectacles insisted.

  Cat delayed not a moment longer. ” ‘Twas a snake,” she said. “Longer than His Majesty is tall, with a head that dove and weaved as he wended his way through the grasses. His evil yellow eyes were unblinking, his forked tongue hissing of death.”

  “Surely the guards see it,” said Galloway, his tone agitated. “Who would not?”

  “Maybe they were distracted because they had just lost their commission in a game of tables,” suggested Cockerel. He grinned as he eyed Galloway and jiggled the pouch of coins that hung from his belt.

  “They did not see it,” Cat said. “None saw it. None but Durril.”

  “The lassie’s father.” ‘Twas MacKinnon who spoke the words, his tone solemn in the stillness.

  “Aye, Durril had come to take his wee daughter home, for he cherished her so and could not bear to be parted from her a moment longer.

  “As he drew near, he saw a movement in the grass. At first he thought ‘twas naught but the wind ruffling the autumn blades. But then he saw it. The adder! Only inches away it was and prepared to strike.”

  “Surely the guards come now.” ‘Twas a woman’s voice.

  Catriona glanced toward Lady Fayette, but it was not she who had spoken, though her eyes looked uncommonly bright and her expression as solemn as MacKinnon’s.

  ” ‘Tis the prince that saves her,” someone argued.

  “Have you not been listening? She has a bond with the palfrey young Endorai gave her. ‘Tis the beast that comes to her rescue.”

  “Nay, none of them saw, so none of them could save her,” Cat corrected softly. “Durril knew that. Indeed, in his mind he saw the death of his beloved parents, and he knew in his heart that his wee lassie was about to die.”

  Lord MacKinnon scowled as if dunking of his own daughters, and Drummond turned his sleepy gaze from the pale Roberta to Cat.

  “Broken and terrified, he screamed to the heavens. Ahhh!” Catriona’s anguished wail echoed in the rafters.

  Disturbed from his preening, Calum launched from his perch to circle near the ceiling.

  “And then it came,” Catriona said, her voice low with drama.

  Not a sound broke the quiet.

  “The great harrier.”

  There was a collective hiss of surprise and hope.

  “It swooped out of nowhere.” She opened her arms wide as if feeling the wind roar through her own feathers, as if tasting the rush of freedom on her face. “Like a loosed arrow it fell from the sky, its talons curved, its eyes glaring.”

  From far above, Calum saw her movement and dropped through the air to land as light as morning on her arm.

  “But the adder was so near,” Catriona continued, her voice quick and staccato. “Its head was drawn back, its fangs bared, its evil eyes steady. ‘Twas only a moment to spare, only a heartbeat of time. And in that instant, the harrier attacked. It grasped the coiled body. The serpent writhed wildly. But the harrier launched from the ground and bore the poisonous adder away.”

  Reaching out absently, Catriona stroked the little greenfinch.

  “Durril gazed up in wonder, wanting, nay, needing to thank the hawk. But in that instant…”

  Lifting the wee bird from her arm, she hid it carefully between her cupped palms.

  “It was gone,” she said and spread her hands wide.

  Calum was nowhere to be seen. Disappeared. There were gasps of surprise, nervous murmurs.

  “Where did it go?�
� James was the only one either bold enough or young enough to voice the question.

  “I do not know,” Catriona said as if she thought he spoke of the bird in her tale. “Mayhap Durril had called it out of nothingness, and to nothingness it returned. Or mayhap ‘twas a magical falcon come only to save wee Martuska. ‘Tis for you to decide.”

  James shook his head, still searching for Calum with roving eyes, but finally he pinned Catriona with a perplexed scowl. “To come just when Durril screamed as he did—it could not have been pure coincidence.”

  Catriona shrugged. “Perhaps you are right.”

  “Ho,” said Cockerel, turning abruptly away. “Speak of the falcon, and see him land. ‘Tis too bad you did not fly in sooner, Sir Hawk. You missed the lady’s tale.”

  Against her will, Catriona turned toward Haydan. His hair was wet and dark, swept back from his sharp features, and around his immense shoulders, his cloak hung in damp folds.

  ‘Twas the same cloak that had sheltered her the night before. The very sight of him swamped her with memories that began at her belly and spread outward in hot waves.

  “Lady Cat,” James said, calling her back to the present.

  “What?” she asked, turning abruptly back to the king.

  “I said, Sir Hawk can call in his birds just so.”

  “Can he?” She felt breathless.

  “Aye,” James murmured. ‘Tomorrow we shall go hawking together.”

  She could feel Haydan’s gaze on her. Something pitched in her stomach. “Nay, I cannot,” she said.

  “Do you forget that I am the king?”

  “Nay. ‘Tis just that I have no wish to disappoint you at your birthday celebration. I must practice.”

  “I will not be disappointed. Not by Durril’s kin,” he said, and all around her there was agreement.

  Chapter 10

  “I felt it,” Marta said, her tone hushed in the darkness of their shared chamber.

  “What?” Cat set Calum on the top of the cage and turned toward her grandmother. “What did you feel?”