Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  He ignored her and sprang. Unfortunately for him, the bed absorbed most of the energy of his jump and he fell short, scrabbling desperately for a paw-hold. He slipped off the edge of the table, taking the lace doily on top with him, along with everything else except the lamp. He landed on all four feet and rocketed off into the hallway as her alarm clock and the framed pictures she kept there bounced off the floor. The sound of cracking glass dropped her heart into her stomach.

  “Oh, no,” she moaned. She knelt by the night table and carefully picked up the debris. The clock survived unscathed, but several loops on the doily had been pulled askew and one of the pieces of glass in the folding frame had broken into three pieces.

  She knelt and carefully removed the shards from the frame. Her graduation photo, showing a younger and unbelievably fresh-faced version of herself was fine, but the other, of her parents’ wedding day, had a very obvious scratch across it. “Oh, Marco,” she sighed.

  She flipped the frame over and opened the tabs holding the photo in place, taking it out and trying futilely to smooth away the scratch with her finger. It’s not too bad, she tried to assure herself. At least it’s just on the background.

  The photo showed her parents leaving the church, descending the stairs between an astonishing number of guests arranged on either side. Most of them wore formal Scottish costumes or Air Force uniforms, since the wedding took place just outside Edinburgh while her father was on furlough. He wore the full Macmillan regalia, kilt and all, and Trisha recognized the tartan colors from Butler’s sketch. Her mother was in a long gown of white with a narrow plaid laid across her chest and fastened at her hip. Her tartan was different, green and blue with thin red, yellow, and black stripes, the Carmichael colors, she supposed. They look happy, she thought wistfully.

  She felt around on the carpet cautiously for any stray slivers of glass and set the clock and the frame back on the night table. She had no way to repair the doily, but it was just a cheap knickknack she’d picked up somewhere, so it wasn’t a big loss.

  She wasn’t sure what to do with the wedding photo, though. It wasn’t worth getting it professionally repaired, but she didn’t have any place safe to store it. Most of her pictures were in her phone or stored online somewhere. She hadn’t printed out a photo in years.

  Maybe Mom and Dad have a digital copy, she mused doubtfully. They got married in 1990, they had digital cameras back then, didn’t they? She wasn’t exactly certain about that but then an idea occurred to her. I can just take a picture of this and maybe someone can Photoshop the scratch out for me.

  She took the photo downstairs, surprising Marco lurking in the hallway and sending him skittering around the corner out of sight. “Yeah, you better run, you little butt,” she muttered.

  She retrieved her phone from the kitchen table and set the photo down in its place, hoping that the light was good enough for a decent image. She hovered over the picture, trying to center the image in the viewscreen without casting a shadow on it, and debated whether it would be better to just zoom in on her parents and crop everything else out. That might eliminate the scratch problem entirely.

  Finding the right magnification and orientation and angle all at the same time proved to be a tricky process, but she took several test shots, grimacing at each one as she tried to decide whether any of them would do the trick. One of them was zoomed way too far in, cutting off her father’s head and arm, but it showed her mother to perfection. She wasn’t a gorgeous woman by any means, but her smile just lit up her face as she looked over at her new husband. She didn’t wear any jewelry except the wedding band on her finger and the large brooch holding her plaid in place, but on that special day, she hadn’t needed any help to be beautiful. Trisha smiled to herself, wondering if her wedding, in the unlikely event she ever had one, would be as magical.

  She reached for the delete button to scrap that picture and try again, but then she hesitated. Her smile faded as she peered closely at the image, using her fingertips to enlarge it as much as possible on the screen. “It can’t be,” she breathed.

  She snatched up the photo and peered at it, trying to determine if it was just some trick of the light, but the original showed the same thing: a silvery circle with a greyish brown stone in the center. Her mother’s brooch was an exact copy of Butler’s sketch, right down to its angle to the camera.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. She fell into one of the chairs, feeling numb. “What do I do?” She could call Lionel, but that wouldn’t do any good. He wasn’t involved in the Quest, at least not directly. Nim and Butler were probably halfway to New York already and out of reach. That left her only one option.

  She scrolled through the call log on her phone, searching for the last New York number to call her. She found it and punched redial before her courage failed her. She listened to the ringing and then a short length of silence.

  “Hello?” Hawk sounded suspicious. “Who’s this?”

  “Um, this is Trisha. Trisha Macmillan.”

  There was a long incredulous silence. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I need you to come pick me up,” she told him. “I know where the cairngorm is.”

  48

  About twenty minutes later, Hawk trudged up the steps to Trisha’s door. It was snowing again and the tiny flecks were just starting to accumulate on the sidewalks. He stamped his feet on the porch and the door flung open before he could even raise his fist to knock.

  “There you are! What took you so long?” Trisha shoved a photograph in his face and he took it automatically, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. She danced in impatience, although some of that might have been because she was standing on the frozen porch in bare feet. “See? Do you see it?”

  “See what?” He held the photo further away and then turned it right-side up. “Is this someone’s wedding?”

  “Those are my parents! Look here, see?” She snatched it from his fingers and pointed to something in the center.

  “What am I looking at?” She wouldn’t hold the picture still and now it was too far away to make out any details.

  She tsked in exasperation and grabbed his arm to haul him inside. She completely failed to shift him and nearly lost her balance instead. “Come inside!” she told him impatiently. “I’ll show you on my phone.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door as she disappeared around the corner in the direction of the kitchen. He followed her stolidly, noting that most of the lights were off now and the pile of junk in the living room was missing.

  They nearly collided when he entered the kitchen as she was coming back out but they sorted themselves out. Trisha had her phone and showed him the screen. It had an enlarged version of the photo on it, centered on the woman’s hip. Hawk took the phone from her and peered at the image. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed.

  “See, I told you!” she said triumphantly. “Come on, we have to go get it!”

  “Do you know where it is?” he asked doubtfully.

  “It’s at my parents house! Probably.”

  “Probably? You don’t know for sure?”

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “I tried calling them, but there’s no answer. They’re probably still at church. That doesn’t matter, we still have to drive down there and get it anyway.” She practically bounced up and down on her toes, a far cry from the gloomy young woman he dropped off just a couple of hours ago. “Come on, what’s the hold-up? I thought you’d be excited!”

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think you’d – well, never mind. Where do they live?”

  “They have a house on the Shenandoah River, near the National Park. It’s not far.”

  Hawk looked at her with a doubtful scowl. “The Shenandoah National Park?” Trisha nodded. “In Virginia?” She nodded again, a little more hesitantly. “The Virginia that’s five hundred miles away, that Virginia?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s straight down I-95, mostly. I drive to their place
all the time.”

  “And how long does that usually take you?”

  Her eyes slid away from his face. “Um, nine hours.”

  Hawk sighed heavily. “Wouldn’t it be faster just to fly to DC and drive from there?”

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lionel still has my wallet,” she confessed reluctantly. “They won’t let me on the plane without my ID.”

  “Fuck.” Hawk rubbed his forehead. “Nim will be landing in New York in an hour or so. She and Butler can get there faster than we can.”

  “Mom’s not going to give up her wedding stuff to anyone who just walks up and asks for it. Dad would probably just shoot them for trespassing. I have to go.” Her chin jutted out obstinately and he shook his head.

  “Fine,” he told her resignedly. “Go get dressed.”

  “Great! I’ll be right back.”

  She bounded off and Hawk looked down at the image again. He tried to zoom in further, but it was as large as it was going to get. He flicked back through the gallery and found another copy, this one showing the entire photograph, and he expanded that image, peering at it closely. It didn’t show anything different, but Trisha was right: this had to be the cairngorm from Butler’s vision.

  He kept flipping back through the photos, but the other shots were just variations of the same thing. Then he found a completely different picture, one that caught his breath in his throat.

  It was a close-up photo of Trisha, a selfie judging from the position of her arm. She looked wide-eyed and serious, as if she wasn’t sure she was doing it right. Her bed was out of focus in the background and she held Marco against her chest, between her naked breasts.

  He stared at it for a long time and then slowly swept his finger across the screen, pulling up the previous image. It was similar to the last, except that Marco was on the bed behind her looking quizzical and her free arm was cradling her breasts. The angle made her nipples look especially large.

  I should stop, he told himself as his heart thumped loudly in his chest. These are her private photos. His finger moved of its own accord.

  The next one was off-center, taken in the mirror. She was bending over this time, looking doubtfully over her shoulder at her ass, which was blindingly white in the flash. Hawk saw the faintest hint of a tan line across her lower back, but nothing up higher. Does she sunbathe topless? he wondered. His mouth was suddenly dry.

  In the next photo, she was lying on her bed propped up on her pillows, one leg strategically angled to hide her pussy. Her arm was tucked back behind her head, pulling her breasts up higher and her tongue teased her lips. She had the same pensive expression, though, like she was trying to sort out where all her body parts were supposed to go. If she was planning to pose for Playboy, she hadn’t quite got the hang of it, but her awkward innocence was incredibly erotic.

  The next pose was almost the same, but now she held one of the largest dildos Hawk had ever seen. She just rested it between her breasts, but even the suggestion that she might have used it at some point sent a surge of heat to his crotch and he had to shift his cock around before things got too painful.

  Rapid footsteps on the stairs heralded Trisha’s return and he hastily flipped back to the first wedding image and set her phone on the table, plucking up the original photograph and studying it intently just as she came into the kitchen.

  “I’m ready,” she declared. “Let’s go.” She wore jeans and a faded blue hoodie with the letters VCU across the front. Her hair was done up in a ponytail and she had fleece snow boots on her feet. She looked like a college coed on winter break and his cock twitched again. He silently willed it to behave but it ignored him like it always did.

  He held his breath as she picked up her phone, but she just glanced at it briefly before tucking it into the front pocket of her hoodie. “Well?” she demanded, and then she looked at him more closely. “Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

  “I’m fine,” he said shortly, dropping the photo onto the table. “I’m just cold. I didn’t have time to pick up a new jacket.”

  “Oh!” In her excitement about finding the cairngorm, she obviously hadn’t noticed he was still just wearing a polo shirt. “I don’t think I have anything that’ll fit you,” she said doubtfully.

  “I’ll be fine. We’ll be in the car most of the time anyway.” He turned away, careful to keep the bulge in his pants out of her line of sight. “Let’s get moving. It’s a long drive.” If they didn’t stop for anything except gas and maybe a quick bite, they might get there by nightfall.

  “Okay.” She followed him to the front door and grabbed her winter coat, leaving her scarf dangling from the hook, but then she looked around hurriedly. “Oh, just a sec! Marco? Marco! Mommy’s leaving! Marco?” Hawk rolled his eyes but Trisha looked worried. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

  “He’ll be fine.” He opened the front door and a flurry of icy flakes swept in with the chilly air. “You’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I suppose,” she said reluctantly. She followed him out and carefully locked the door with a brass key she dug out of the front pocket of her jeans. He wondered where it came from if Lionel had her wallet and things, but he supposed it was just a spare key she had tucked away somewhere.

  He opened the passenger door of the Jaguar for her and she slipped into the seat with a murmured thanks, twisting around to drop her coat onto the rear seat. He got in the driver’s side and started up the car, immediately turning up the heat and using the wipers to sweep away the thin dusting of snow on the windshield. She glanced back over her shoulder as they pulled away from the curb, looking anxious, and then a frown creased her forehead.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, “what do you mean tomorrow? It’s not even noon yet. We have plenty of time.”

  He looked at her askance. “You said it’s nine hours to your parent’s place, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Each way?”

  She blinked at him and then her lips formed a silent O. “I knew that,” she mumbled, hunching down in her seat. Hawk chuckled quietly, his eyes dropping for a fleeting moment to the taut letters across her chest, and then he sobered and concentrated on the road ahead.

  It’s going to be a long drive, he told himself. This better be worth it.

  49

  Chantal pulled over to the curb some distance from Trisha’s house, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. She watched Hawk close the passenger door and walk around to the other side, her lips drawn back in a silent snarl. The snow covering the rear window of Hawk’s car prevented her from seeing if there was anyone else inside, but she guessed there wasn’t since Trisha had gotten into the front passenger seat.

  She shot a quick glance at Savard beside her, checking to see if he recognized Hawk. He frowned at the other car as it started up and pulled away, but he seemed closed in and distracted. He had removed his bandage over her objections and his wound was an ugly cavity in his temple, but at least it had closed over.

  “Why are we here, Cherie?” he asked. He looked more like his human self, now that he was up and moving around, but his movements were slow and hesitant.

  “Lionel wants us to kill that woman,” she reminded him again, worried about his memory. She already explained it twice since they left the house but he shook his head with a puzzled frown.

  “Why? Who is she?”

  “She’s trying to steal secrets from the Chevaliers. She’s working with Gavin Hawk.”

  Hawk’s name obviously struck a chord. Savard’s entire body tensed up and he bared his teeth. “Hawk,” he growled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “He has to pay for – for –” He looked at Chantal and his brows knitted together. “For you. He killed you. Didn’t he?” he asked himself, shaking his head slowly.

  “No, René!” she said hurriedly, grabbing his hand in both of hers. “I’m still here, I haven’t gone away. Hawk killed someone else, someone close. It was –
” She looked around desperately for inspiration and saw her own wide eyes in the rearview mirror. They narrowed thoughtfully. “It was Chantal, our daughter. Hawk killed our daughter, René, don’t you remember? She looked just like me, that’s why you’re confused.”

  “Chantal.” He stared at her and slowly anger suffused through his body. “I will kill him with my bare hands and feast on his beating heart.” His yellow eyes nearly glowed with hatred.

  “Bon,” she said with wicked satisfaction. Hawk’s car was almost out of sight and she pressed the accelerator to follow it. “And afterwards we will leave this place and go somewhere where no one will find us. We will make many babies together and begin a new pack, far away from Lionel and Gaspar and Viviane.”

  “Yes,” Savard breathed. “Yes, I would like that.” He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, as if just thinking about Hawk had drained him of all energy. He seemed fine otherwise, so Chantal pulled her phone from her pocket and called Lionel. He answered quickly.

  “Is it done?” he asked harshly.

  “No. She left with Hawk just as we got here.” Savard stirred for a moment and then subsided.

  “Damn it! That’s going to complicate things.” He was silent for a minute as he thought. “All right, we’ll just have to deal with it. Follow them back to the mansion but stay out of sight. When you get here, come around to the side entrance and join me inside. They won’t know what hit them.”

  Chantal’s lips stretched in a smile of anticipation. “Bon. I will let you know when we are close.”

  “Good.” Lionel hung up and Chantal closed the distance to Hawk’s car. It wasn’t the same one he drove to the mansion yesterday, but she supposed that one was nearly undrivable now, after their encounter.

  Traffic was light in the city center as they passed through, not surprisingly given the weekend and the wintry weather, but it made tailing Hawk more of a challenge, since she couldn’t always keep another car in between them. The snow both helped and hindered her efforts, especially now that the flakes were larger and falling more quickly.