Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7

by Lois Greiman

  “My apologies,” she said.

  “Why are you here?” She could feel the words rumble from his chest, and tensed at the question.

  But she dared not show her nervousness, so she remained facing forward, trying to calm her nerves. “I am here because James asked me to stay,” she said simply.

  He was silent for a moment. Her nerves stretched tighter.

  “You did not enjoy the hawking?”

  She could lie, but it seemed that he would know, would feel it in the contact of their bodies, her back against his chest, her buttocks pressed into the tight valley between his thighs.

  “In truth, Sir Hawk, I do not like to see the defenseless suffer.”

  “But if the falcon does not eat, he suffers too.”

  “Perhaps I have a wish to see the hapless prey win sometimes. And see the fierce predator fail.”

  “The predator often fails.”

  “Does he?” There was too much emotion in her tone. She knew that, and yet she could not seem to quell it. She could only remain facing forward and hope he would not guess her feelings.

  “Aye,” Haydan said. “More often than not the quarry escapes.”

  “But what if the quarry is young and weak?” She could barely force the question from the constricted confines of her throat.

  ” ‘Tis true that the falcon sometimes steals the young of others,” he said, his voice quiet. “But there have been times that those same birds take the victim to their nests and do not kill them, but raise them to adulthood.”

  “Truly?” She turned. Her breast skimmed the coiled strength of his arm, their hearts inches apart, their gazes melded.

  “Are we talking about birds?” he questioned, “or about something of more import?”

  She tried to force out a lie, but his eyes were so intense that for a moment she forgot how. Still, her brother’s life depended on her subterfuge. “Birds, of course,” she said, and turned to hide her face from him.

  The muscles that surrounded her tightened almost imperceptibly, and for a moment she thought he would call her the liar she was, but instead he fell silent again and turned his mount onto a cobbled road behind a fat earl with his retinue of servants. Ahead, Blackburn glared down at her in looming disapproval, as if even it knew her hideous plans.

  “The dove does not have to fly alone. It might be that the hawk could help.”

  Her heart wrenched. “Help me with what?” she asked, but her tone didn’t achieve the flippancy she had hoped for.

  “I do not deny that I am a man,” he said softly.

  A thousand emotions flitted through Catriona. Fear, hope, and an aching longing to trust. But she must play the hand given to her, so she ignored the emotional and concentrated on the physical. Against her legs she felt the tautness of his thighs, against her breast she felt the strength of his arm, and against her buttocks she felt the hard edge of his desire. She turned to glance up through her lashes at him. “Did you imagine that I hadn’t noticed, Sir Hawk?” she asked.

  He tightened his jaw and raised his gaze from hers. “Nay, you have noticed,” he said. “And thus you do not trust me.”

  She frowned at his confusing words. “You think I do not trust you because of your sex?”

  “Is there another reason?” His gaze lowered sharply to hers.

  She shifted hers away. “Nay, of course not.”

  His muscles relaxed just a smidgen, though his thighs felt no softer against hers.

  “Since your arrival at Blackburn, how many times have you been forced to defend your virtue?” he asked.

  “Several times,” she said. “And you?”

  ” ‘Tis not a laughing matter.” His tone was tight with anger, his body the same.

  “You worry for me,” she whispered.

  She would not have thought it possible for his muscles to tense even more. “The king has commanded me to guard you,” he said simply.

  “Did he command you to worry?”

  For a moment he did not speak, but finally the words came, as if he could not hold them back. “Let me help, lass. I will not fail you.”

  How desperately she wanted a friend, needed a friend. And this man, this Hawk—what power she felt in his hands, what caring she saw in his eyes. He had helped her before. He had saved Rachel and her Liam. He was trusted by a dozen powerful clans—the Forbeses, the MacGowans, the king himself. Surely she could trust him too.

  ” ‘Tis my brother,” she rasped, but just then she sensed the sweep of great wings and heard a small bird’s terrified cry. Jerking her gaze upward, she saw Haydan’s peregrine slam into its hapless prey.

  The small bird spilled toward the earth and the peregrine swooped after it Haydan spurred his great horse forward, and in that instant, Cat recognized the victim as her own pet.

  “Caleb!” she cried.

  Haydan pulled his steed to a skittering halt. Catriona slid to the earth and ran toward the fallen finch.

  Frightened by the commotion, the falcon dropped onto the ground some yards away and glared at her intended prey.

  Caleb lay inert, his eyes closed as Cat scooped him into her hands.

  “Does he live?” Haydan was less than a stride behind her, his voice gruff. The falcon hopped sideways cautiously as he pulled his stallion closer.

  “I’m not certain.” Catriona felt tears tighten her throat. ‘Twas only a bird, a contentious bit of beak and feathers. And yet she could not bear to lose…

  “Give it to me,” Hawk ordered and ripping off a glove, reached for the tiny greenfinch. It looked small and limp against his square palm.

  There was a moment of silence then he said, “Mount my horse.”

  “What?”

  “There is still a heartbeat.” Drawing his stallion in on a tight rein, he nodded toward the steed. “Go straightaway to the physician. Tell him James sent you with the bird.”

  “But—”

  “Go!” he ordered and all but tossed her into his saddle before handing over the tiny finch.

  Chapter 12

  Catriona looked bedraggled and damp as she watched the king’s physician examine the wee greenfinch held by his slim assistant.

  Her brow was furrowed and her face pale. Haydan pulled his gaze from her with an effort.

  Calum or Caleb, or whoever it was that’d had the bad judgment of soaring from Cat’s window to find her, wriggled weakly.

  “How does he fare?” Haydan asked.

  “My patient?” The king’s physician said the word “patient” with a distinctive lack of respect and did not deign to turn toward Haydan. “Aye.”

  “A broken wing, I think. And perhaps a concussion.” The healer was as lean as a winter reed and just as bent, with a nose like a scythe and a personality to match. “You are aware, I expect, that this is a bird.”

  Haydan raised his gaze to the old man’s rheumy eyes. He was called Physic to his face. Behind his back, the names were not so kindly. ‘Leech’ was Haydan’s particular favorite.

  “Aye, Physic, I am well aware—”

  “And not a valuable bird,” the physician interrupted with a lift of his blue-veined hand. “I suggested, in fact, that we finish the job your falcon began and allow the pig boy to feed it to his swine.”

  Haydan glanced at Catriona. Her eyes were too bright, her brow pinched, but maybe he could have borne that. It was her hands that broke his heart, for they were clasped tight and white in her lap, as if there was nothing she could do—as if, for the first time in her life, she was helpless.

  “But the lady took offense to my suggestion,” Leech continued. “She said James insisted that I mend the beast. James, she called him. As if—”

  “Physic.” Haydan kept his tone level, though it was more difficult than he would have thought possible. “Do you, perchance, remember meeting my cousin, Rachel of the Forbes?”

  The old man’s anemic lips puckered. “The one they call the lady saint?”

  “Aye. That one. Perhaps you have hear
d of her healing skills.”

  Physic sniffed. “There are rumors.”

  Haydan allowed a bitter grin. “Be assured of this, old man. They are more than rumors. With a prayer and her armory of potions she could bring your shoes back to life.”

  “Do you have a point, Sir Hawk?”

  “Aye, I do. She is a friend of the crown and a friend of Lady Catriona’s. In fact, ‘twas Rachel herself who brought the lass’s brother back from the brink of death.”

  “I am quite impressed.”

  Haydan ignored the sarcasm. “Then add this to your list of thoughts to ponder—if Catriona but asked, Rachel would be here within a day’s notice. And once here…”

  He shrugged. “Who can say if she would stay?”

  The old man stared at Haydan for a moment longer then turned abruptly away. “I will wrap the wing to his body. It may mend.”

  ” ‘Tis good of you.”

  Physic sniffed as he lifted a linen strip from a table and began wrapping the bird. The process did not take long, for the patient was small and none too active.

  ” ‘Tis done then,” Physic said finally and nodded for his assistant to hand the bird to its mistress. “Keep him still if you can and…” For a moment he seemed to struggle. “Return him to me if he removes the bandage.”

  “You have my thanks,” Catriona said, cupping the finch gently to her bosom.

  “I do not want your—” Physic began.

  Haydan cleared his throat.

  “You are most welcome,” the old man said, his tone still acid.

  Putting a hand to Catriona’s back, Haydan ushered her from the room.

  The hallway was quiet, as was the girl. Haydan searched, for something to say, to break the silence, to reassure her.

  “You needn’t worry,” he said finally. “Physic’s skills are far better than his temperament.”

  He heard her sniffle, but her hair, still wet and wild in long tendrils of gilded sable, had fallen forward and he could not see her face.

  ” ‘Tis not too late for you to take back your words,” she said finally.

  “What words might those be?”

  “I believe you said I could charm any man.”

  Haydan chuckled, relieved simply to hear her speak. “I meant any normal man.”

  “Normal?” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  “Physic’s tastes run… in an unusual direction.”

  “What—” Her question stopped before it had barely begun. Then she turned to him, her eyes wide with surprise. “His assistant?” she asked, her tone shocked.

  “He particularly likes fair-haired lads. But you need not worry,” Haydan hurried to add. “He was rendered incapable of… making a nuisance of himself some years ago.”

  “Oh.”

  There was silence except for their footfalls before Haydan found his voice again.

  “I thought if you delivered the bird yourself, even he might be moved to decency. I fear I overestimated him. You have my sincerest apologies.”

  She turned toward him again, her eyes so wide they swallowed his world. ” ‘Twas you who convinced him to mend Caleb.”

  “Aye. And ‘twas me who failed to secure my falcon properly.” He paused. “I am sorry. I am not usually a careless man.”

  They had reached the door to her chambers. She turned back with a solemn face.

  “You are not careless, Sir Hawk. Indeed…” Reaching up slowly, she cupped his cheek with her palm. Feelings as bright as fireworks crackled through him, seeming to bring every dormant nerve ending to sparkling life. “It could be that I have never met a man so full of caring.”

  He tried to remain quiet, to back away, to run or think or… something! But he was rooted to the spot, frozen by the sadness in her eyes.

  “Then let me help you.”

  “You have helped me,” she said, holding the wounded bird closer to her breast.

  Haydan ground his teeth. “Mayhap you think men cannot be trusted. And ‘tis true that my behavior of the other night was…” He steadied his nerves as he remembered how she had felt in his arms, against his chest, against his heart. “It will not happen again,” he vowed.

  But somehow during his soliloquy she had moved closer still, and suddenly her lips touched his. Longing seared him like the touch of a hot lance, but he ground his hands into fists and remained as he was, unmoving, unresponsive.

  She drew slowly away.

  “Let me help you,” he pleaded.

  Her eyes were as bright as dawn. “I need no help,” she whispered, and disappeared into her room.

  “Lass!” Marta sat up in bed as Catriona closed the door behind her. “What happened?”

  Calum chattered from the top of the cage.

  “Everything.”

  Struggling off the bed, the old woman hurried toward her granddaughter. “What happened to Calum?”

  “It’s Caleb,” Catriona corrected, but her body felt heavy, her mind numb.

  “I don’t care if he’s the devil himself. What happened to him?”

  “The hawk. The hawk caught him. Just as he will catch me if I falter.”

  Marta shook her head in confusion. “I think too much time with these pale nobles has made you daft.”

  Details and fears and worries swirled together like dark water in Cat’s mind. “He asked me to sneak him from the castle.”

  “The Hawk?”

  “Nay. The king.”

  “God’s balls!” Marta’s voice was harsh in the dimness of their shared chambers. “However did you manage that?”

  “I managed nothing.” Going to the cage, Cat carefully set Caleb inside. Calum fluttered after to hover over his fallen comrade and Catriona. “I did not even suggest such an adventure,” she added. ” ‘Twas James’ idea.”

  “Then how did you answer?”

  “I fell into the burn.”

  There was a moment of perplexed silence, then, “Why?”

  “I did not mean to,” Cat said and began to pace. Her skirts, still heavy with water, wrapped about her legs, seeming to drag her further into fatigue.

  Marta watched her closely. “My great granddaughter fell?”

  “I am out of my depth, Grandmother, floundering. I do not know what to do.” She turned and dropped desperately to her knees, clasping Marta’s cool, gnarled hand as she did so “I nearly ruined everything this day. I nearly told him the truth.”

  “The king?”

  “Nay, the Hawk. He pulled me from the water, and I… I…” She searched for words to explain her weakness, but there seemed to be none. “What am I to do?”

  Marta remained silent, her hand squeezed tight over Catriona’s. “I see goodness in him, Catty,” she said finally.

  “Goodness!” Cat moaned. “Goodness is not on our side in this. Only necessity. I dare not trust him lest I end up like Caleb.”

  “The finch snared by the hawk,” Grandmother mused, glancing at the cage. “But the finch is not dead.”

  “Nay, not dead, but perhaps mortally wounded.” Catriona rose abruptly to pace again. “Certainly unable to fly. I cannot afford to be winged. Not now. Not yet.”

  Grandmother sighed, the sound rusty and low in the sinking light of the room. ‘Then what will you do?”

  “Tell me again that Lachlan is well,” Cat pleaded, her heart twisted into a small painful lump.

  “He is well, love. That I promise.”

  Catriona drew a deep breath, steadying her will, steeling her nerve. “Then I will plan to follow the orders given.” She whispered the words. “But until I am certain there is no other choice, I will search for the culprit. And toward that end, I will need your help.”

  “Lord MacKinnon,” Catriona said, stepping up to the young baron’s side. At Marta’s orders, she had bathed then slept for several hours. The arrival of dinner brought late and delivered by a servant bearing a well-laden board and two goblets, had awakened her.

  Sleep and a hot bath had revived her somewhat. She’d dre
ssed carefully, donning a deep blue gown with slashed sleeves that showed the white of her chemise beneath. She had dried her hair as best she could, then drawn it up to the top of her head with brass pins. It fell now in stray ringlets beside her ears and neck.

  She’d felt nothing but relief when she’d found no guard at her door.

  “Lady Cat.” The young lord looked surprised as he turned toward her, drinking horn in hand. ” ‘Tis late. I thought you must have found your bed by now.”

  “I could not sleep,” she lied.

  He glanced uncomfortably about the vast hall. “Mayhap you should not be here at such a late hour.”

  Indeed, she did not want to be. The great hall bustled with life, but most of that life was male. She could feel dozens of eyes turn toward her, even while two men, bared to the waist, wrestled near a side door while well-clad noblemen placed bets and yelled encouragement. Several board games were being played at once, and beneath a pair of crossed spears, a score of men were participating in a loose variation of a time-honored sport known as wench-lifting. Judging by Lady Fayette’s fey mood, she did not particularly care who carted her about and may very well have had an unusual prize in mind for the winner. Rory was nowhere to be seen, but Lord Hogshead seemed to have recovered from his earlier depression and was drinking and laughing with the others.

  “Are you not the wench-lifting type?” Catriona asked, glancing toward the mob.

  “Nay, I suppose I am not,” MacKinnon said, and scowled toward the crowd of revelers. For a while he was silent, then, “She is not as… She is not what she seems.”

  Was anyone? Catriona wondered.

  “Indeed,” he said, “Lady Fayette has a good heart. There was a time after my wife’s death that she cared for my daughters. They quite adored her.”

  For a moment he looked so melancholy that Catriona was certain that he could not possibly be the man for whom she searched. But in that instant a memory burned her mind.

  “You will not know us.”

  She tightened her resolve. He was probably not Blackheart, but his room companion… She skimmed her gaze over the hall’s occupants and found Lord Drummond. He was intent on the wrestling match and had not yet seen her. She felt a panicky need to keep it that way.