Fire Hawk

by Justine Davis, Justine Dare

  She’d been staring at him, she realized. “I’m sorry. It’s just that . . . you remind me of someone.”

  Something flashed across his face that looked oddly like wariness. And the raven shifted upon his shoulder, as if she’d felt it in him. “Oh?”

  “Your father . . . does he still live?”

  The wariness vanished, and she saw a split second of pain in his expression before he shook his head. “He died a very long time ago.”

  The pain was gone, his expression neutral now, but she did not doubt that she had seen it, and she regretted having caused it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was foolish. The storyteller never mentioned a son, but I thought perhaps . . .”

  She let her voice trail off, feeling worse than foolish. They walked in silence for a while, until the raven made a harsh cry and stretched out her wings. Tal looked at the bird, then shrugged.

  “Go,” he said.

  The bird lifted off his shoulder with a strong flap of her wings and was gone. Jenna looked at him questioningly.

  “ ’Tis not wise to approach the camp of a warrior like Kane unannounced. His reactions are swift.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Jenna said wryly. She glanced in the direction the bird had flown. “The bird is your . . . messenger?”

  He glanced at her, that faintly amused expression back on his face. “Thinking I’m that sorcerer they called me?”

  “Are you?” she asked simply.

  He studied her for a moment. “The thought does not seem to bother you overmuch.”

  “I live in a place where we are given gifts daily that have no explanation most can accept. We have learned to accept what some would fear, because with it comes a peace that has been unbroken for generations.”

  “Until now.”

  “Until now,” she agreed. “But it will come again. I will see to it. Or I will die in the effort.”

  “You will not die, Jenna,” he said softly. “You will live, and your children after you, and their children, and their children’s children. It will go on, Jenna. Forever.”

  He said it with such certainty, with such conviction, that for an instant she saw it as he said, an unbroken line, descending down over the ages, into a future shrouded with the mist of the unknown, yet in this moment as clear as any sunny day in Hawk Glade.

  It will go on, Jenna. Forever.

  It was a tempting vision, and she felt a powerful urge to believe.

  But she knew that all the believing in mystical promises in the world wouldn’t save her people. Only she could do that.

  They walked out of the trees into the small clearing near the cave. Kane was there, tossing a scrap of something to the raven, who snatched it eagerly.

  “She’s a bit fierce today,” Kane said, his eyes still on the bird as he rose. “What has her stirred up so? Did you—”

  He stopped as he at last looked their way. Jenna saw the surprise in his face and guessed that he had expected Tal alone. He looked at them assessingly, and something else showed in his gaze for a moment, something she couldn’t recognize. She glanced at Tal, who again wore that faintly amused expression as he looked at his friend.

  “You look a bit fierce yourself, my friend,” Tal said to Kane. “And you have no reason. You should know that better than anyone.”

  Jenna had no idea what Tal meant, but Kane clearly did; to her amazement he flushed. He looked away, then back at them uncomfortably. At last his gaze flicked to the rabbits she held.

  “I thought you were going after pheasant,” he said.

  “I was. These are not from my hunt,” she said honestly.

  Kane looked at Tal and frowned. “Doing it for her will not teach her what she needs to learn.”

  “She saved my life,” Tal said smoothly. “It seemed the fair thing to do.”

  Kane blinked. “She what?”

  His gaze shifted to Jenna, and she blushed. “ ’Twas nothing, really, I—”

  “I beg to differ,” Tal said with some humor. “My life may not be worth much in the grand scheme of things, and there are times when I’d as soon it be done, but this was not one of them.”

  Jenna’s blush became a flush of embarrassment. “I did not mean that, I only—”

  “I know,” Tal said.

  “You’re serious,” Kane said, staring at them both. “What happened?”

  “I will tell you the tale,” Tal said, “for if I leave it to the lady, she will belittle her part in it out of existence.”

  Jenna knew she couldn’t listen, Tal was so overly grateful she would be self-conscious beyond bearing. She muttered something about cleaning the rabbits and retreated.

  “You can quit looking so stormy, my friend,” she heard Tal say as she walked away. “Were I to ever be affected by a woman again, I would hope it would be someone like Jenna, but ’tis not likely, so you have no reason to be jealous.”

  Jenna nearly stumbled as Kane muttered something in reply that she couldn’t hear. She recovered and hastened out of sight, and more importantly, out of hearing.

  Jealous? Kane? Over her? And his own friend?

  It was impossible, she told herself. Tal was mistaken. Kane had not even made a move to collect on their bargain. He did not even want her in that way enough to take what she had promised, so he could hardly care enough to be jealous. She doubted he would ever care about a woman in that way, enough to be jealous.

  Except, she thought, as a man might perhaps care about any possession he held as his. And she had agreed to be just that, his, for the duration of her time here. Could that be it, that regardless of whether he asserted his own claim, he looked upon her as his exclusive possession? To the point of expressing his displeasure to the only friend Jenna had ever seen or heard him mention?

  Besides, as well favored as he was, the beguiling Tal did not have the effect on her that Kane did; he was beautiful, but he did not make her stomach knot or her heart race. She was not sure what that meant, only that it was Kane alone who made her feel so.

  Perhaps she was not as free of that kind of passion as she had thought.

  The thoughts tumbled around in her head in a seemingly endless circle as she prepared the rabbits, only vaguely wondering what Tal hunted with, since there was no sign of a wound on either animal.

  When she was done, and she thought she could at last face them with no sign of her foolish thoughts showing, she walked back around the side of the rocky bluff that held the cave.

  Kane was alone.

  Jenna glanced around, but there was no sign of the rather mysterious Talysn ap Bendigeidfran.

  “Tal . . . he will not be joining us?”

  “He will not.” Kane sounded very odd, and he would not look at her.

  “I thought . . . he would stay. They are his rabbits, after all.”

  His head came up. “You risked your life for him. You did not even know him. Why?”

  “It is as I told him. I have had more than my fill of bullies of late.”

  “Is that all?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, wondering what he expected her to say. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were shadowed to the color of a stormy day, as if some demon were riding him hard. At last, she gave him the simple truth.

  “I guessed he was the friend you spoke of.”

  “You expect me to believe you risked your life . . . because he is my friend?”

  Something in his tone stung, and she drew herself up straight. “I don’t see a wealth of them gathered around you,” she said rather sharply. “I thought perhaps you might be loath to lose this one.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and she almost regretted her tone. Then an oddly regretful expression crept over his face. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

&nbs
p; “He is my only friend. If the truth be known, probably the only true friend I have ever had. I thank you.”

  Taken aback by his gentle tone, and aching at the sadness his words caused in her, Jenna spoke quietly.

  “You are welcome. Although I’m not convinced he truly needed what little help I rendered.”

  “Tal is . . . uniquely talented,” Kane admitted. He eyed her speculatively. “He said . . . you did well.”

  “I hit my target,” she said, then added honestly, “although not the exact part of it I was aiming for.”

  “Sometimes that is enough.”

  “I thought you would disapprove of my failure,” she said, genuinely surprised.

  “Your courage did not fail you. That is something that cannot be taught.”

  “I . . . thank you.”

  “You are . . . enough woman to do what you must,” he said, an undertone in his voice she could not name. But when she looked into his eyes, when she saw the heat there, she knew what it meant. “Tonight,” he said, his voice thick, rough.

  She lowered her eyes, and a shiver ran through her as she realized the waiting was at an end.

  Chapter 10

  SHE WAS LOOKING at him, Kane thought wryly, as if she expected to be jumped at any moment. Every time he moved, she tensed; when she nearly gasped as he reached for his cup of water, which sat near her right elbow, he wondered if he should reconsider.

  As if, he thought in sour self-realization, he could. As if he hadn’t already spent days on end fighting a raging need to take her without further delay. As if he didn’t know perfectly well he could not beat his inflamed body into submission one more time. It had taken every bit of his will, more than it had ever taken him to fight any battle on the field, to win the battle this woman caused in him every time he heard her soft, melodic voice, every time he watched her move, every time he looked into blue eyes more vivid than the polished stones he’d once seen, reputedly from some faraway potentate’s treasury.

  He’d never been a man to value possessions. He’d had a horse or two he’d held a certain fondness for, and the sword that old man in the northern lands had made for him was of such perfect balance he had guarded it with care before he had buried it along with all the trappings of his old life, but for the kind of trinkets other men seemed to prize, he cared nothing.

  And never, ever, had he felt possessive of a woman.

  Until today.

  Until Jenna had walked out of the trees with Tal close by her side, and he’d been seized with a possessiveness unlike anything he’d ever known. So strong was it that, for that moment, he had felt anger toward the one man he called friend. So strong was it, that that man had seen it clearly, and felt compelled to remind him he had no interest in such things.

  He would have been ashamed, had he not been so astonished at the feeling.

  It was then that he knew the game he played was over. He would wait no longer. He could wait no longer. And if his soul was damned to eternal flames for it, so be it. He was no doubt headed that way already; what was one more eon in Hades against all he already had in store?

  And the moment he’d decided, his body had raged to life with a fierceness and speed that had left him breathless. He craved this spirited woman as he’d never craved anything in his life except the peace he’d retreated to this mountain to find. And at this moment, watching the glow of the flames dancing on her hair, seeing the courageous tilt of her chin, the soft fullness of her mouth, the fearlessness that shone in her eyes despite her obvious nervousness, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t throw away the one to have the other.

  He tossed the remnants of his meal into the fire. Jenna jumped yet again.

  “Must you do that?” he snapped.

  “Do . . . what?”

  “Jump every time I move.”

  “I . . .” She looked down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. “I’m sorry.”

  Exasperation filled him. “Is the thought of fulfilling your part of the bargain so horrible?”

  She looked up at him then. “No. In truth, I am . . . glad.”

  Kane blinked. This, he had not expected. He had to swallow before he could speak. “Glad?”

  “The waiting . . . has been difficult.”

  “You are telling me this?” he muttered.

  “I would rather . . . have it over, than to have it shadowing my every step.”

  He wasn’t sure he liked the way she’d put that. “I know I’m hardly every maiden’s dream.” He just stopped himself from raising a hand to his scarred cheek. “A sword slash took care of what little I had of pleasing looks—”

  “No!” Her interruption was quick enough, and full enough of astonishment as to be oddly warming. “The scar, it does not mar you, ’tis only a minor thing.”

  “It is but one of many,” he said warningly, with an effort keeping his pleasure at her words from showing in his voice. “And the sum of them all is not a pretty sight.”

  “You are a great warrior,” she said simply. “What is more natural than that you bear the marks of one?”

  Right now he did not feel like a great anything, except perhaps a fool. He stared, as he never did, into the fire.

  “Tal seems . . . an honorable man,” she said tentatively.

  “He is,” Kane said, wondering with some irritation why she’d felt compelled to bring him up now.

  “He would never . . . tamper with what is yours.”

  His head came up swiftly. His eyes searched her face, looking for some clue to her meaning. He found none, only a woman with soft lips and vivid eyes watching, waiting.

  “Are you?” he finally asked, though he tried not to.

  “Some men feel women have no honor. They are wrong. I gave you a promise. I will honor it.”

  She looked up at him, her expression calm. He’d seen that look before, on the face of a man facing execution for refusing to tell the warlord Kane served the hiding place of his fellow villagers. He scrambled to his feet, startled and irritated simultaneously by the anger that shot through him.

  “Do they train you in self-sacrifice, these cherished people of yours?”

  She didn’t quail at his anger or his swift movement, merely held his gaze steadily.

  “No. But they teach the sacredness of a promise made, that it must be kept. That your word once given is the measure of who you are.”

  She’d told him many such things, the teachings of a wise, gentle people, people who had lived across the years in a way he would never have thought possible for men, in peace, in mutual respect and honor. At first he’d thought her lying, trying to win his favor. But he’d soon seen that lying was something she’d not learned to do; any time she tried she gave herself away with lowered eyes and the color in her cheeks. Then he’d thought her words merely tales, perhaps invented by her storyteller, but he’d come to realize these were not fantastic tales of some fanciful, perfect community, but merely the things she was used to, had grown up with.

  As if something in the way he was looking at her pulled at her, she rose slowly to her feet. Her eyes never left his face; her composure never wavered. It was as if what she’d said were in fact true; she would rather he take her now, rather have it over, than to have it hovering.

  The fire that shot through him at the thought of easing his body’s needs right now nearly wiped any misgivings away. He could not expect her to feel any differently, to look at this as anything other than a sacrifice she must make, an unpleasant price she must pay for his help. Yet he wanted more from her. He wanted her . . . not to want this, that was too much to ask, but at least give some sign it would not be a horror for her, despite his scarred face and body.

  And the fact that he wanted this at all shook him to the core. He was Kane, ruthless, cruel, savage; what cared he if
a woman he wanted did not want him in return? He took what he wanted, and it was her place to submit. He was paying Jenna as he paid any woman he took, ’twas only the coin that differed. And paying at all was more than most of his position would do. She should be grateful.

  She should be grateful. He reached out to pull her to him, to prove it. That he was not sure who he was wishful of proving it to was something he did not care to dwell upon.

  He’d meant to brand her with a kiss of possession, for he did own her. For this time, he owned her; she had surrendered to him any rights he wished. But the moment his hand slipped to the back of her head, his fingers threading through the silken fire of her hair, to tilt her head back for his mouth, what he’d meant to be an unrestrained declaration of ownership somehow became a soothing, gentling touch, a coaxing he’d not thought himself capable of. And when he kissed her, it was not the primitive claiming he’d intended it to be; that thought was lost the moment his lips came down on hers.

  For a moment she was still, almost stiff in his arms. This was not what he wanted, he thought. He wanted her as she was when he massaged her aching muscles at night, soft and pliant beneath his hands, succumbing to sensations he knew she, in her innocence, did not even recognize. That she felt them anyway, at his touch, had brought him a pleasure he’d never known before; he was not used to such an honest response from a woman. He doubted he’d ever received such a gift in his life.

  He did not deserve such a gift, yet she had given it to him. And rather than being satisfied with it, he had found he only wanted more. He wanted all she had to give, things he’d never cared about or asked for from a woman before.

  He moved his mouth slowly on hers, urging her lips to ease, to soften. He held her gently, his fingers flexing through the thick mass of her hair as they did when he rubbed her shoulders. He felt her begin to relax, felt her tense muscles begin to slacken slightly, and he pulled her closer, letting the heat of his body continue the cajoling his hands and mouth had begun.

  He flicked his tongue over her lips, tasting her, savoring a soft warmth that seemed hardly possible. She made a startled little sound, and he spoke to soothe her.