Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7

by Lois Greiman

  “Tomorrow?”

  “You’ll stand now. I’ll tell you in two years.”

  “Two years! I might well be a grandfather by then.”

  “You’ll not even be wed by then.”

  “I’ve heard one does not need to be wed.”

  “You’ve heard too much of late. Have you been talking to Kitchen Elsie’s lad again? Here. I’ll help you up.”

  “I can stand.” James did so without assistance, though he winced a bit before straightening. “I’ll not be returning to Blackburn yet, Sir Hawk,” he said arrogantly. Haydan cranked one brow up a notch, and in a moment James added, “Please.”

  “As you wish, then. We shall stay for a spell. At any rate, it looks as if our meal has arrived.”

  A troupe of servants was descending the hill toward them—cup bearers, servers, tasters, and pourers—and James was already hiking toward them. Hawk turned to speak to Catriona and stopped at the sight of her pale face.

  “What is amiss?” he asked.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered brokenly.

  ” ‘Twas my own fault. I should have been watching more closely.”

  “Nay, I—”

  “Did you tell him to strike the saddle with his nether parts?”

  She scowled at him, but her face had gained a bit of color.

  “The Stuarts are a hardier line than one might think.”

  She stared at him in silence for a moment, then, ” ‘Tis a strange thing to hear from you, Sir Hawk. I thought for a moment that you might well faint dead away at the sight of him on the ground.”

  Haydan scowled and resisted the desire to shuffle his feet under her scrutiny. “He is my king.”

  “I think he is far more.”

  He deepened his scowl, though intimidation had failed to impress her thus far. ” ‘Twould be my head if some ill befell him.”

  ” ‘Twould be your heart,” she countered.

  He considered arguing, but there seemed little point, so he shrugged. “I have no wee ones of mine own to fawn over.”

  ” ‘Tis not too late.”

  His heart rate kicked up again, and beneath his plaid, he could feel a familiar tightening. Good Christmas, ‘twas a sad state of affairs, when a wee scrap of a lass could set him on edge with no more than a bit of innocent talk of children. “I am an old man,” he said, reminding himself as much as her.

  “How old?”

  ” ‘Tis time to sup,” he said. Though he intended to hurry away, James had managed to walk with more ease than Haydan’s desire allowed him.

  The meal was sumptuous: mutton stew, white bread still warm from the oven, brie tarts, and cool, sweat mead. Although clouds began to gather in some earnestness, the air was warm and still.

  “So this is how Durril supped?” James asked, lifting his silver-gilded horn to have it promptly filled by a solemn-faced pourer.

  Catriona glanced at the liveried servants. “I think that generally there were fewer than a score of men to attend him on his journeys.”

  James scowled. “I would dine alone but I fear my council would not allow it. They are certain brigands would swoop from the sky and devour me like a kestrel does a field mouse.”

  “They are wise to worry,” Cat said.

  “But Durril did not.”

  “He was not the crowned king of the Scots,” she reminded him.

  “Aye, but even so, I wager he would not have allowed himself to be so…” He flipped a hand. His lace sleeve bobbled. “Coddled.”

  She laughed, both at his bitter expression and his words, for ‘twas not difficult for a vagabond like herself to understand why he chafed.

  “It so happens, Your Majesty, that Durril liked nothing better than to be coddled.”

  ” ‘Tis surely not true,” James argued. “Durril reveled in his freedom.”

  “Mayhap, but he also gloried in Endorai’s royal comfort.”

  James gave her a quizzical glance.

  “They became friends you know,” she said.

  ” ‘Twould make sense,” James admitted. “After all, he did save the prince’s life.”

  “Aye, but ‘twas more than that. They enjoyed each other’s company. Indeed, quite often they dined together much as we are.”

  “Out of doors?”

  “Aye, with servants and silver tableware and costly spices.”

  “And Durril enjoyed it?”

  “Oh, aye.” Catriona settled onto her haunches, curling her legs under her russet skirt. “Perhaps too much.”

  Off to her right, she could hear Hawk giving quiet orders.

  “Too much?” James prompted.

  “Aye, for he found that the abundance of food and wine made him sleepy and slow-witted.”

  “But surely the king’s guardians were there to keep them safe,” James said, and glanced surreptitiously at his own looming captain.

  “Aye, his guards were there, but they had no intentions of keeping them safe.”

  “Why’s that?” James asked, pausing just as he was about to sample a tart.

  ” ‘Tis like this,” Cat began, tucking her skirt beneath her legs. “The king’s master guard was called Adder.”

  “Because he was as quick as a snake?”

  “Aye, as quick—and as deadly.”

  “Tell me of him.”

  “His scalp was as bald as a serpent’s hide, and he wore a band of gold in the lobe of one ear. ‘Twas a gift from the prince himself for service well given. But in truth…” She lowered her voice slightly. “Adder did not love the prince. Indeed, he planned his murder.”

  “Nay!” The single word was breathy.

  “Aye, for unknown to the prince, Adder was a descendant of their arch rivals, the house of Ruble. Years ago there had been a great battle between the powerful clans. All the country thought the Ruble line was well rid of. But alas, long ago Adder had been born in the deep folds of the mountains and there he was hidden away.”

  “No one knew he had survived?”

  “Nay. None but those who cared for him. And through his growing-up years he was taught to fight and taught to hate, until finally he was old enough to work his way into the young prince’s employ.

  “Adder served the royal house well and grew trusted and admired, but all the while he planned the prince’s death until finally it seemed the perfect time.

  ” ‘Twas in a place much like this that he planned his revenge. Where the sun shone softly on their shoulders and all the world seemed blessed.”

  She glanced momentarily about, and James did the same before flitting his attention to Hawk, then quickly back to Catriona.

  ” ‘Twas a spring day. Winter was behind them and all manner of possibilities lay ahead. The world was being reborn, so they found a bonny spot high on a rocky slope that overlooked the emerald country beyond. Durril supped well, then leaned back to let the kindly sun warm his face. But in that instant…” She jerked, causing James to start also. “Durril saw a flash of steel near the prince’s retinue of guards. He leapt to his feet just as the first man fell, but it was too late. Already a band of desperate brigands was swarming into their camp. He yelled for Adder to stop them. ‘Twas then and only then that the hatred was revealed in the other man’s eyes. ‘Twas then that Durril knew the truth. Adder planned to kill the lad.”

  James tightened his grip in the blanket beneath him. “Durril will stop him,” he murmured.

  “But what could he do? Already Adder was between the lad and his mount, and Durril was unarmed. The traitor drew his sword. It was broad and curved and gleamed wickedly in the clear light of day.

  “It was then that Endorai too realized the truth. The man he had trusted like a brother had turned against him. Terrified, he backed toward Durril. But the Rom had no weapon of his own and no hope of matching Adder’s strength bare-handed.”

  Cat settled back as if the tale was finished, but James leaned forward in anticipation. “What did he do?” he rasped impatiently.

  �
�Who?”

  “Durril!”

  “Oh.” She shrugged leisurely. “He did the only thing he could do.”

  “Which was?”

  “He grabbed the lad.” She did so now, grasping James’s wrist in a tight grip. “And with one mighty heave, he tossed the boy onto his mount’s back.”

  James opened his mouth in a soundless mew of awe, then, “But Adder was standing between him and his steed.”

  “Aye.” She abandoned her grip on his arm.

  “Then how—”

  “Durril threw him over the traitor’s head. Adder screamed and tried to seize the lad. But Endorai set his heels to his steed. In an instant he was galloping for safety.

  “Screaming his frustration and fury, Adder turned back to Durril. All around them men fought, but ‘twas the battle between the Rom and the traitor that burned the hottest. ‘Twas Adder’s strength and hatred pitted against Durril’s speed and goodness.”

  “But Durril has no weapon,” James whispered.

  “No weapon but his wits and his swiftness. Adder slashed at Durril with his terrible sword, but Durril leapt over, the blade. The brigand slashed again, higher this time. Durril ducked below. But he was near the edge of the cliff with nowhere to run. Beneath his feet, tiny rocks rolled free and fell toward the lochan far below. Adder watched, and knew he had won. Durril had no way out, so the traitor grinned his evil grin and leapt at his hated enemy.

  “Durril was certainly doomed,” Catriona said, her words speeding along. “And in the moments when Adder was careening toward him, he saw his life slip away. But at the last instant before Adder struck, he threw himself to the earth. Adder skidded toward the edge of the cliff. He tried to stop himself, but his hatred was too powerful, his rush too forceful, and he fell, plummeting over the edge to his death far below.”

  James settled back with an audible breath of relief. “And Prince Endorai?”

  “He returned posthaste, leading a troop of his guards to save what was left of his men.”

  For a moment James was silent, then, “Does goodness and wit always triumph over hatred?”

  “You cannot win this tourney, Princess Cat. We are clever beyond your ken.”

  “I hope so,” she murmured.

  He grinned. ” ‘Tis a good tale,” James said and released his tense grip on the blanket beneath him. “If a bit unbelievable.”

  “Unbelievable? Whyever would you think so?”

  He gave her a look that suggested he was far too old to believe such nonsense. “No one could toss a lad over a man’s head and onto a horse’s back.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye, I am.”

  She shrugged as if unconcerned by his doubt and took a sip of mead from her leather mug. “I suspect it would be rude to prove you wrong then.”

  He stared at her in perplexity for a moment, but finally his curiosity won the battle. “Can you do it?”

  “You said no.”

  “Could you throw me?” he asked, excited now.

  From somewhere behind her, Sir Hawk cleared his throat. “Not with the Hawk circling overhead,” she said.

  The boy scowled then brightened. “Could the Hawk throw you?”

  “Me?” Memories of Haydan’s hands on her skin wanned her face. “Nay!”

  “But you said anyone could learn.”

  “I did not mean—”

  “So ‘twas all a lie for no good reason.”

  “Not a lie.”

  “Then show me.”

  She scowled, first at him then at Haydan, who had stepped up beside them. But the latter spread his hands in front of him and said, “Nay,” in a voice unmistakable in its determination.

  “He refuses,” Cat said, relieved.

  “Then perhaps you could toss him.”

  She raised her brows and gave him a look of wry disbelief. “I believe in good,” she said. “Not in fantasy.”

  “Galloway then?” James suggested. “Mayhap you could teach him the trick.”

  “Galloway?” She had not begun this tale so that she might be tossed about by some strange man who did not even like her kind.

  “Aye,” James said, and rising to his feet, looked about for the mentioned guard.

  “And what might you doing, lad?” Hawk asked, his tone deep and suspicious.

  “Finding a partner for Lady Cat.”

  A muscle jumped in the big warrior’s jaw. “I thought you had injured your nether parts, not your head. You cannot go tossing the lass about like an overripe plum.”

  James grinned—the imp king personified. “But ‘tis what she does. And Galloway is strong enough.”

  “Galloway cannot even speak to the lass without turning red as my blood. I’ve no wish to know what would happen if he attempted to lay a hand on her.”

  “One of the others then?”

  That same muscle jumped in Haydan’s jaw, and he mumbled something under his breath. “What’s that you say?” James asked. Haydan gave him a peeved expression. “You know well and good what I said, lad.”

  “Nay, I do not,” countered James. “I said I will do it,” Haydan gritted.

  Chapter 17

  This, Haydan decided, was the pinnacle of insanity.

  Hadn’t he learned anything yet? He had no strength where she was concerned. Last time he’d been daft enough to touch her, James had caught him half naked in the stable. In the stable! As if he was some randy stud horse chafing to mount his first mare. It was embarrassing, mortifying, insufferable… exhilarating!

  No. Not exhilarating. It was foolish. Idiotic. He was too old for such behavior. He knew that. She knew that. So why hadn’t she been outraged by his actions? Could it be that she was not simply flirting with him, but that she actually found him appealing? Might she be as attracted to him as he was to her? Mayhap she felt the same hard, unearthly allure that he did.

  But one glance in her direction told him no. He was a battered old warrior with little to show for his scares. While she…

  She was magic.

  “Sir Hawk.” Her voice was soft with that lyrical mixture of deep sensuality and youthful innocence. “I did not mean to draw you into this. Indeed, I did not plan to perform this trick at all. But if I must, I can practice it with another.”

  No, she damned well couldn’t. Not while he watched, at any rate. “I have no wish to see one of my men faint,” he said. His voice was admirably steady. Unfortunately, he feared the same could not be said about his hands.

  “Faint?” she said. Her lips curved up in a devilish bow.

  “You know exactly why,” he said. ” ‘Tis little reason for you to act coy.”

  “Ah, ‘tis because of my astounding allure.”

  “Just so.”

  “But you are immune?”

  Memories of the night in the stable popped into his head. And with it came a sharp ache in his loins. “I’ll try to remember my age,” he said dryly.

  “Which is?”

  “I would tell you, but I’ve no more wish to see you faint, than my men.”

  “It might well get you out of this performance.”

  The truth was, he’d rather pit his discipline against her beauty than reveal his age. Pride was a damnably heavy burden. “I fear your unconscious state would only delay the trick,” he said. “James might very well wait for you to awaken then insist that the show go on. Stubbornness is a hallmark of the Stuart line.”

  “Is that why you cherish him so? Because he reminds you of yourself?”

  “Are you implying that I am stubborn?”

  She canted her head at him. “We shall see if you accomplish this task.”

  “Let us not confuse stubbornness with foolishness.”

  “I never do. Squat down.”

  His stomach twisted at the mere thought of her touch. “Your pardon?”

  “Squat down so that I may step on your thigh.”

  There were many things he would like her to do to any number of his body parts. Stepping
on his thigh was not among them. “My thigh?” he asked.

  “Aye. I will step on your thigh, then up to your shoulder.”

  “Ah. And then?”

  “Then you straighten.”

  He gave her a narrow glance. “Forgive me. But I am uncertain what that will accomplish.”

  “Eventually you will straighten quickly enough to launch me from your shoulders and into the air.”

  “Ah yes. Something I’ve been longing to do since the beginning of time.”

  She laughed. ” ‘Tis for the king. Remember?”

  “Nay,” he said dryly. “But my forgetfulness may very well be caused by my astounding old—”

  “Thus far I am quite unimpressed,” James interrupted, scowling at them from some yards away.

  “Squat down,” Cat ordered.

  Haydan did so, feeling his knee crunch and knowing he was a fool for refusing to refuse.

  But her bare foot touched his thigh, torching a hundred hungry nerve endings and bumping his pulse rate into a gallop. She reached for his hand and he took hers. Her face skimmed past his. He felt her breath, warm against his cheek, felt her fingers tighten in his, felt her skirt brush against a hundred sensitized regions. But in a moment she stepped down.

  He released her hand with an effort. Their fingers parted. He managed to breathe.

  “You have…” She paused, but went on in a moment.

  “You have uncommonly good balance,” she said, wiping her palms on the skirt of her gown.

  “Did you imagine that I might crash over like a felled oak?” It was more difficult to speak than he would have imagined. Indeed, he had done nothing more stimulating than hold her hand, and yet it seemed that the very scent of her was enough to set him aquiver. It was that realization that made him only more determined to act nonchalant.

  “I did not know,” she admitted, “since you refuse to give me your age.” She stared at him expectantly, but he only scowled back, breathing in and out, in and out.

  “Are we going to do this trick, or did you only begin this in the hope of seeing me topple over?”

  “I do not think you would topple over if I weighed a hundred stone.”

  But she didn’t. She seemed to weigh little more than one of her foolish birds.

  ‘Twas not true. Haydan reminded himself. She was no delicate lass. Indeed, she could not be and have accomplished what she had in her meager lifetime. And yet… it seemed, in his demented state, that she was as fragile as a feather, and when she stepped back onto his thigh, the need to take her into his arms was almost overpowering.