Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  The interior lights came on when she yanked the door open, revealing a haphazard pile of luggage and bags instead of a body. She breathed out a sigh of relief but she still had no idea what happened to the driver or what to do about the SUV. They couldn’t just leave it there.

  She was about to close the door and run back to the house to fetch her father when she paused and looked at the luggage again. One small black bag on top looked awfully familiar. She reached out and picked it up, searching for a name tag. It hung from the clasp with the owner’s name clearly visible through the plastic window: Patricia Macmillan.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. She pulled it open, nearly breaking the zipper in her haste, and found her clothes and her wallet all tumbled around inside. She stepped back from the SUV and took another look at it. With the lights spilling out through the windows, the Range Rover’s green paint was clearly visible.

  She sucked in her breath to yell for Hawk but a bare hand suddenly clamped itself across her mouth and a strong arm pinned her arms to her side. She struggled to free herself, dropping her bag, but her captor was too strong.

  “Don’t move,” Lionel ordered quietly, “and don’t scream. You’re going to get in the car and you’re going to stay perfectly still and quiet, understand?” Trisha tried to jerk her head free but Lionel tightened his grip cruelly and she moaned in pain. “No nonsense, Trisha, or your parents won’t live to see the morning. Understand?”

  Trisha stiffened in alarm and nodded, just the slightest dip of her head. She had no idea if Lionel would carry through on his threat but she didn’t dare take the chance.

  “All right,” he told her harshly, “now get in and sit still. If you so much as breathe wrong, you’re dead.” He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, ready to slap it back into place if she tried to scream. When she stayed perfectly motionless, he released her and stepped back. She inhaled sharply, but her breath stuck in her throat as something hard and cold pressed against the back of her neck with a loud mechanical clack. “No heroics, Trisha,” he said. “I’d rather keep you alive but I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

  “Why?” Her voice was just the faintest squeak of sound. She slowly turned around, keeping her hands up, anticipating the deafening crack of a pistol shot at close range and wondering in a frightened corner of her mind whether she would feel any pain before she died. “What do you need me for?”

  Lionel looked completely different in the Range Rover’s harsh light, his skin blotched from the cold and his eyes hard and determined. The gun he held just a few inches from her face looked very large. “Chantal tells me that cairngorm you’re holding has something to do with Butler’s Quest. Les Chevaliers will want to have a look at it.”

  “Take it, then!” She thrust it out to him, her hand shaking. “Just leave us alone!”

  He took it with his free hand and held it up with a frown, turning it around to inspect both sides. His gun didn’t waver one iota. “You were looking at it before. Why? What was it doing?”

  “It – it had a light,” she stammered, “on one side. I thought it was pointing somewhere.”

  “Pointing?” He held the brooch in the palm of his hand and moved it back and forth. The stone gleamed in the light pouring from the Range Rover but did nothing else extraordinary. “Well, we’ll take a closer look when we’re done here. Get in.” He gestured with the pistol and Trisha backed up, colliding with the side of the SUV.

  “What do you need me for?” she asked fearfully, her heart pounding in her chest. “You have the cairngorm, just take it and go!”

  “You obviously don’t know how these things work,” he told her sardonically. “Magical items rarely work for just anyone. If you’re able to make this do whatever it does, we’ll need you too. Besides,” he cast a glance over his shoulder towards her parents’ house, “I need a bit of an insurance policy if things don’t go as planned. Go,” he ordered, but he didn’t seem to be talking to her.

  “What do you mean?” Trisha asked anxiously. A sleek black shape bounded silently out of the shadows, following the edge of the driveway for a short distance before vanishing between the trees. Chantal, her horrified mind identified, and she jumped forward to chase after her, only to be stopped by the bruising thump of Lionel’s weapon against her sternum.

  “Get in,” he said flatly. “It’s time to go.”

  Numbly, she stumbled backwards and fell across the seat, banging her head painfully against the edge of the opening. Lionel tried to close the door but her legs were in the way. At his impatient gesture, she pulled them in and, for an instant, time froze.

  The door was half-closed. Lionel’s fist, his fingers wrapped around the cairngorm, was pressed against the window. The edge of the door blocked his aim with the pistol. Her legs were pulled up to her chest. This was the moment. She drew in a lungful of air and shrieked as she kicked out and hit the door with both feet.

  “HAWK!”

  63

  Macmillan came back out as Hawk resumed his labors, slapping his gloved hands together.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “Donna put my gloves away when we were tidying up for dinner and then forgot where she put them.” He surveyed the area with his hands on his hips with an incredulous shake of his head. “Dang, you work fast. I think we’ve got enough to keep us going tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after.”

  “Sorry, I got into a rhythm,” Hawk told him ruefully.

  “I hear you. Hey, what happened to your arm?” With his sweater off, Hawk’s gauze-wrapped forearm was clearly visible.

  “I scratched it yesterday,” Hawk explained with a shrug. “Trisha fixed me up.”

  Macmillan grinned. “Just like her mother, that girl. All right, help me bring some of this inside and we can stack the rest on the porch for later.”

  Hawk nodded and drove the axe into the stump. He started gathering some of the wedges that had fallen at the edge of the clearing, tucking them into the crook of his arm, but he paused as he reached for the next one.

  “James,” he said carefully. “Come take a look at this.”

  “Hm?” Macmillan came over with a load of wood cradled in his arms. He leaned over to squint at the patch of snow Hawk was pointing at and whistled quietly. “Damn, that’s a big one.”

  “A bear?”

  Macmillan shook his head. “There’s no claw marks. Bobcat, maybe. We see them a lot in the winter.”

  Hawk knelt, setting his logs aside and reaching out to cover the track with his hand. It was larger than his outspread fingers. No bobcat was ever that big. “Do you get mountain lions around here?”

  “No. There’s been a few sightings in the park, but nothing official.”

  Hawk got to his feet, scanning the shadows carefully. Nothing moved. “I’m going to need to borrow one of your rifles,” he said quietly. “Your largest caliber.”

  Macmillan frowned, searching Hawk’s face, but then he nodded. He set his load down as well. “I’ll get two.”

  “No. Stay inside and make sure all the doors and windows are locked. Keep Trisha and Donna inside.” Hawk reached out and yanked the axe from the stump, the nearest weapon at hand. “Don’t come out, no matter what happens.”

  Macmillan looked like he was going to argue, but something in Hawk’s eyes convinced him to agree. He hurried back to the house and Hawk followed at a slower pace, his head swiveling back and forth as he listened. For a moment, everything was still.

  “HAWK!”

  That was Trisha’s voice, shrill with fear, but it came from the direction of the road, not the house. He whirled around and his heart jumped into his throat as a gunshot echoed sharply through the trees. He sprinted up the driveway, not daring to imagine what he might find up ahead.

  Branches exploded to his right and something incredibly large and fast roared as it bounded through the snow straight at him. Hawk caught a fleeting glimpse of ferocious yellow eyes as he swung the axe in a wide, whirring arc, striking for the creature’
s neck. His feet slipped on the ice, though, and he stumbled backwards, feeling the blade bite into something as he hit the ground hard.

  Savard shrieked in pain and landed just beyond him, scrabbling in the snow for traction as Hawk rolled to his feet. For an instant, they faced each other, man and man-beast. Savard crouched low, his fangs bared in a snarl, but he favored one of his legs. His other three were perfectly fine, though, and he coiled and leaped straight for Hawk’s face.

  Hawk spun aside and swung again and again his footing betrayed him. The axe scored a line along Savard’s ribs but that didn’t slow him down at all. If anything, it just made him angrier. Savard landed on three legs and twisted around in an impossibly acrobatic move, slashing out with claws the size of steak knives. Two of them cut through Hawk’s shirt like razors, leaving deep scores across his chest. Hawk staggered back, falling to one knee, and Savard crouched for another leap.

  Krack-kow! The large-caliber round caught Savard just as he left the ground, spinning him sideways and dropping him to the ground five feet away. He writhed in the snow, trying to regain his feet a couple of times before he finally got his legs under him. He snarled as he looked around for his assailant and his eyes blazed as they locked onto Macmillan standing in the open door to the house, his eye pressed to the scope of a Browning .338.

  Savard hunched over and charged, but not at Macmillan. Instead, he went for Hawk, bowling him over and crushing him under his body, too close for Macmillan to risk another shot. Hawk jammed the haft of the axe under Savard’s neck, stopping his snapping jaws just inches from his face. Savard’s claws scrabbled on either side of him, tearing through the ice to the packed earth underneath, as thick, hot blood dripped sluggishly from somewhere, making Hawk’s grip on the axe slick and slippery.

  Hawk struggled furiously, trying to get his legs up high enough to kick the therion off, but Savard was too heavy and wiry. He yanked the axe sideways, digging the corner of the blade into Savard’s neck, but it wasn’t enough to hurt him.

  In desperation, he let go of the axe with his left hand and drove his elbow into Savard’s injured foreleg. Savard yelped and collapsed on top of him and Hawk shoved him aside with all his strength, rolling away in the opposite direction and losing the axe in the process. He looked up just in time to see Savard rising over him with his claws reaching out to rip out his heart.

  Krack-kow! Savard flipped backwards and fell heavily to the ground, writhing like a fish in the bottom of a boat. Somehow he managed to get to his feet again and loped away, gaining speed with every stumbling, broken step. Hawk scrabbled for the axe and got to his feet, but Savard vanished around the curve without looking back.

  “God damn it!” He started after Savard but skidded to a halt at the sound of shattering glass somewhere behind him, followed quickly by the unmistakable boom-boom of a double-barreled shotgun. Both men spun around as someone or something shrieked in pain. “Go!” Hawk shouted. “I’ll get Trisha!” Macmillan hesitated and then quickly worked the bolt on his rifle as he ran into the house.

  Up ahead, Trisha screamed again as two more gunshots rang out, followed by a man’s wordless outcry and the sound of a heavy collision and crunching glass. Hawk sprinted towards them, following the dark splatters of blood in the snow and gritting his teeth against the sharp pain of his own wounds.

  Trisha was on her knees in the snow, silhouetted by the light pouring out of an SUV in the middle of the driveway. A man stood over her with a pistol in his hand, looking over the roof on the vehicle at the darkness beyond. The trail of blood led right to them and one of the SUV’s windows was crazed but otherwise intact, but Savard was nowhere in sight.

  Trisha saw him first, but her movement alerted the other man, who turned around and raised the pistol. Hawk came to a halt, gripping the axe in his white-knuckled hands. He knew that face all too well.

  “Let her go, Lionel,” he growled.

  “I don’t think so,” Lionel retorted. “Drop the axe.” Hawk just lifted it higher. “I’m not foolish enough to think a few bullets will stop you. She’s a different matter, though.” He swung his arm to the side and suddenly the pistol was pointed at Trisha’s forehead. “Drop it.”

  “Leave her out of this!” Hawk snarled. “This is between you and me.”

  Lionel sneered. “It’s never been about us, Hawk. Viviane and Nim are the queens. We’re just pawns in their game, you know that. Drop that axe. No, better yet, throw it into the woods.” Hawk’s nostrils flared in helpless rage, but he couldn’t ignore Trisha’s wide, terrified eyes. He turned and flung the axe end over end at the nearest tree. It struck blade-first halfway up the trunk with an emphatic thunk and hung there quivering. “Thank you. Now Trisha, get in and start the car. No more dramatics this time. You’ll be driving so I can keep an eye on you.”

  Trisha looked pleadingly at Hawk but he couldn’t do anything except clench his fists impotently. “Do what he says, Trisha. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

  She nodded, bright tears tracing down her cheeks as she slowly got to her feet. Lionel slammed the rear door closed and stepped back out of reach as she opened the driver’s door. Hawk looked around for something, anything, that he could use to stop him, but there was nothing he could do.

  “Don’t hurt her,” he warned Lionel. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

  Lionel was unimpressed. “We’ve been trying to do that to each other for centuries, Hawk. Why would this time be any different?” He gestured impatiently to Trisha. “Let’s go,” he snapped.

  “Hey! Leave my daughter alone, you bastard!”

  Lionel spun around and raised the pistol to fire, but there was no one there on the driveway except Hawk. He realized his mistake in an instant and turned back to aim at Trisha again, but he was a heartbeat too slow.

  Krack-kow! The biggest, angriest bee in the universe zipped between the trees and struck Lionel’s right arm, punching a hole the size of a finger through the door frame behind him and exploding the passenger side window on the other side. Lionel yelled and grabbed his arm, dropping the pistol as Trisha scrabbled frantically out of the way. Hawk charged Lionel, ready to beat him to death with his fists if he had to, as the distinctive clack of a bolt action chambering another round sounded behind him.

  Lionel looked around for his lost gun, blood dripping between his fingers, but he couldn’t find it in the churned-up snow. With a wordless snarl, he flung himself behind the wheel and started it up, slamming it into reverse without bothering to close the door. The Range Rover skidded backwards and then surged forward, almost striking Trisha with the door as it slewed around and accelerated towards the road. By the time Hawk reached Trisha’s side, Lionel was gone.

  He dropped to his knees at Trisha’s side, gathering her into his arms and holding her as tightly as he dared, heedless of his own injuries. She was shaking and sobbing loudly, barely able to get two words out in a row.

  “He – he tried to – to kidnap me. I kicked – kicked the door – and the gun went off. I – I – I thought he was – going to – to – kill me.” She gulped for breath and buried her face into his shoulder. “Then that – that thing – came out of nowhere – and – and he shot it – and – and – I don’t know where it went. It’s – it’s still – it’s still out there.”

  “Shh, it’s okay,” he told her, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now, you’re safe. It’s okay.” Slowly her trembling ceased and her breathing eased, but her heart still beat like a frightened songbird against his chest.

  “Trisha! Trisha, honey, are you all right?” Macmillan ran up to them, the Browning’s muzzle lowered but ready to fire in an instant. He swept his gaze around before dropping to one knee beside her. “It’s all right, I’m here.”

  “Oh, Daddy!” she wailed, abandoning Hawk and throwing her arms around her father’s neck, “I was so sc – scared!”

  “It’s all right, honey, you’re safe now.” Macmillan looked over at Hawk. “Right?”

  �
��I don’t think so,” Hawk told him grimly. “Savard and Chantal are still out there. Is your wife okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Donna jogged up the driveway towards them, the shotgun gripped in her hands. “I drove that whatever it was off with two rounds of buckshot right in its face,” she told them with grim satisfaction. “Trisha, dear, are you okay?” she asked with a softer voice. Trisha reluctantly let her father go and nodded, wiping her eyes with shaky hands. Macmillan helped her to her feet as he looked around. Now that the SUV was gone, it was nearly pitch-black out.

  “Care to explain what just happened?” he asked. “What were those things and what did that man want with Trisha?”

  Hawk let his breath out slowly. “That’s a long story.”

  “We got time,” Macmillan told him curtly. “It’s not like any of us will be getting much sleep tonight, I bet.”

  “He got the cairngorm.” Trisha’s voice was barely audible.

  “What?”

  “Lionel took the cairngorm from me. I’m sorry.” She looked miserable, as if she let them all down somehow.

  “Fuck,” Hawk muttered, shaking his head. “All right, let’s not worry about that right now. We still need to deal with Savard and Chantal.”

  “Are those the – the mountain lions that attacked us?” Macmillan asked doubtfully. “They have names?”

  “They’re not mountain lions,” Hawk said grimly.

  “That’s part of that long story you’ll be telling us later, I suppose.” Hawk nodded silently. “So what now?”

  “Let’s get everyone back to the house. Then I need to borrow that rifle.”

  Macmillan hefted the rifle in his arms. “I’ll take this one, I’m used to it. You can have the Winchester.” Hawk eyed him appraisingly for a moment and then nodded.

  They turned back to the house, Donna in the lead with the shotgun and her husband bringing up the rear like a platoon traversing enemy territory. Trisha walked beside Hawk, her hands tucked under her arms and her shoulders hunched.