Claire Delacroix (28 page)

As if it did not matter that their friendship had ended.

Nissa picked up her skirts in her fists, sparing him a last word afore she left. “So, Ahearn, you are as heartless and selfish a cur as I so oft was warned. I always imagined otherwise, but then, my mother always said that I was overly fanciful and saw matters as they were not.”

He turned, astonished, but Nissa did not linger to savor his surprise. She marched toward the hall, where she would surely find Guinevere, her lips set as she fought her tears.

* * *

The Hawk’s kiss was powerful and splendid. Aileen closed her eyes as his lips captured hers and surrendered to his ardor. He caught her close and kissed her deeply. Her hand landed upon his neck and she felt the thunder of his racing pulse.

Encouraged by this sign, she opened her mouth to him and abandoned herself to pleasure.

The vision unfurled in her thoughts, as potent as the Hawk’s kiss though it was more fleeting. She saw Anna, dark-haired Anna with her ripe bosom and flashing eyes, her leather jerkin and high boots, a dagger with an odd hilt hanging from her belt.

No, Aileen was Anna, inside Anna’s skin with alarming speed, seeing through Anna’s eyes, feeling the fury of Anna at Magnus’ rejection, sensing the many wounds this woman bore. Anna stood beneath a tall tower with a broad dark lake at its base, and the moon was waxing full.

Aileen saw her hand, Anna’s hand, rise before her. She saw Anna’s fingers twist into the ancient hex gesture and she heard the viciousness in Anna’s tone as she began to speak.

Then the vision dispersed and there was only the Hawk, only his embrace, only his kiss. A thousand questions would fill Aileen’s thoughts later, but for the moment, she cared little for Anna and her woes. She wanted the Hawk’s kiss to never end. She wanted him to caress her as he had before. She wanted him to carry her to his bed and love her all the night long.

Aileen vaguely heard the hoots and whistles of the company, but she did not care. Indeed, she had nigh forgotten who awaited her in the hall, so lost was she in the Hawk’s embrace.

When he lifted his head, she tingled from head to toe. She could have melted into him, so languid did she feel, and she had no doubt that he could see how aroused she was. His green eyes glittered and he arched a brow, as if asking if she was persuaded of his desire.

“Come to my bed this night, my lord,” Aileen whispered, her words hot. “There is a matter left unfinished between us that I would see resolved with all haste.”

“As would I,” he murmured, his words husky. He released her, then claimed her hand and pressed a kiss upon its back, his eyes dancing wickedly. “Though haste was not within my scheme for seeing this deed resolved.”

Aileen gasped, then smiled, knowing that she flushed scarlet. The Hawk smiled, clearly well pleased with her response. He tucked her hand into his elbow, leading her courteously toward her father even as Aileen struggled to regain her composure. She had been thoroughly kissed and right beneath her father’s eye.

Her father, she immediately realized, was not so pleased as the Hawk.

Indeed, he scowled, and cast his cup of wine on to the board as they approached. “Have I come to a keep or a brothel?” he demanded gruffly. “Do you keep my daughter as your wife, or merely another of your whores?”

The whores in question giggled. Aileen glanced their way in time to see luscious Guinevere blow a kiss to the Hawk. He remained impassive, but Aileen’s heart sank to her toes.

How could she have forgotten that he had taken a whore to his bed the night before instead of his wife?

“How good to see you, Father,” she said with a tranquility she did not feel. She kissed her father upon one whiskered cheek and then the other and smiled for him. He wavered slightly on his feet and Aileen wondered how long he had been left alone to indulge in the Hawk’s wine. “It is too kind of you to journey this far to ensure my welfare.”

“What else could I do?” her father demanded with a bluster characteristic of him when he was in his cups. He touched her cheek with a rough fingertip, a rare sign of affection that further illustrated his state. “I feared for your life.”

“Yet despite expectations, I am well.”

Her father studied her with care, his voice dropping low. “Are you, Aileen?”

She felt the Hawk bristle behind her, insulted by the query and no doubt anxious to hear her reply. Every soul in the hall seemed to hold his or her breath, waiting for her reply.

Aileen turned and took her husband’s arm, smiling fully for her sire. “I am well, Father, and content with my new abode.”

She felt the tension ease from the Hawk, though doubted that any other would have noted a change in his stance. His gaze was fixed upon her, though, and Aileen knew his expression thawed slightly. Her father glanced between the two of them, then he finally nodded with resolve.

He lifted his cup and turned to the company. “Time it is then to toast the bride!” he cried. “This wedding feast is late, but no less heartfelt for all of that. Join me, all of you, in a salute to Aileen Urquhart, the new Lady of Inverfyre!”

The company cheered and lifted their cups, then drank heartily. They settled at their tables and began to chatter anew, the hall soon filling with laughter and the smell of the meat paraded from the kitchens.

Aileen took her seat and accepted a cup of wine, though she did not taste its richness. She felt the Hawk’s attention turn away, as one of his men came to ask something of him, and felt immediately bereft of his attention.

Her father seized the opportunity, leaning close and dropping his voice to address her alone. “We will speak in solitude, Aileen, and I will have the truth of your ordeal from your own lips. You shall have the chance then to speak freely.”

“On the morrow will suffice,” Aileen said with a smile more confident than she felt. “Let us savor the evening feast this night and leave such serious matters for another day.” Her father was reassured and turned to his meal with gusto.

Indeed, one would think he had not eaten in a week. He was more jubilant than Aileen had seen him since her mother’s death, outspoken and lavish in his praise of the comforts of Inverfyre even as his speech grew more slurred. He insisted upon singing a tribute to the roast venison when it was paraded from the kitchens and to Aileen’s mortification his men-at-arms encouraged him.

The Hawk and his men remained reserved, quiet and watchful. Aileen noted that although the Hawk oft lifted his cup to his lips, he never needed his wine refilled from the decanter. His men loitered in the shadows around the perimeter of the hall, making a pretext of joining the merriment by each holding a cup, but their eyes were as bright as cut glass.

There were two she did not know, though she guessed that the dark haired warrior with the enormous moustache was Fernando. He seemed to be of an age with Sebastien and the Hawk. There was a grim Scotsman in the same dark garb, whose eyes flashed with suspicion despite any friendly comments made to him. He seemed restless, even more restless than the Hawk’s other cohorts.

Was some matter afoot?

There were a surprising number of women in the hall, and worse, most of them were young and fetching. Their chemises gaped to display ripe cleavage and when they bent to serve meat or wine, Aileen feared their breasts would tumble from their garb.

The fighting men in the hall had similar expectations and watched avidly when the women bent near them. The women’s buttocks swayed as they eased between the rows of trestle tables and they squealed at intervals as they were evidently pinched. They laughed and teased as no lady of merit would have the shame to do. One even settled upon her father’s lap to feed him morsels from his own trencher.

Aileen watched the whores in the hall and the joy she had felt in the Hawk’s embrace diminished. Had he only kissed her thus to prove his possession before her father? His lack of interest now that the crisis was behind them said little good about his true feelings.

What if he did not desire her at all? She did not know if she had the audacity to offer herself to him again, and did not know how she would hold up her chin if he rejected her once more. She caught Guinevere’s gaze unwittingly and that woman granted her a smile so knowing that Aileen’s blood fair boiled.

No, she would not falter before this challenge.

As the meal was served and noise erupted on all sides of her, Aileen found fortitude in her wine. Her visions had told her that her destiny was tied to that of the Hawk, even if he chose to ignore such counsel. She knew that she had to persuade him to make this a marriage in truth and she could not dismiss that pulse of urgency that tormented her.

The answer was to force the man to consummate their match. it should not be impossible, though she knew little of such intimacy: Aileen knew he could not feign the enthusiasm she felt in his chausses when he kissed her.

She did not imagine that Guinevere with her languid grace and low laughter offered more abed than virginal Aileen could. Aileen drank deeply of her wine. She would have to seduce the Hawk, there was nothing else for it, and she would need fortitude and fortune in considerable measure to ensure her success.

Aileen decided that she would ensure that the Hawk had no choice but to meet her abed this very night. And if he did not, she would depart with her father on the morrow. That would show him the import of this matter.

Perhaps, though, a measure of encouragement was in order.

* * *

Aileen cleared her throat and glanced pointedly between the two men on either side of her. They regarded her with polite curiosity, though she expected the Hawk’s expression at least would shortly change.

“I have had an idea, Father, that would increase the comfort of your visit to Inverfyre.”

“Indeed? Truly all is most hospitable.”

“Ah, but I can improve your slumber this night. The Hawk has seen fit to grant me a lady’s chamber at the top of the tower, with a fine bed within it.”

“Ooooo!” the whore squealed with delight. “A bed, Nigel!”

“Aileen...” the Hawk murmured, but Aileen continued undeterred.

“I insist that you use my chamber this night, and however many nights you remain our guest,” she said cheerfully. She laid a hand upon her husband’s arm and took warning from his stillness. Her pulse quickened, for he was surely angry, but she intended to be certain that they shared a bed this night.

“I shall be slumbering in my husband’s bed at any rate,” she said, feeling herself flush. “It would be a waste of a good plump mattress for you to sleep on a pallet in the hall.”

“I thank you for your generous offer,” her father said, clearly pleased by the notion. “But what of your ladies?”

“This lady will be pleased indeed to share your bed, Nigel,” purred the whore, then kissed his ear. She whispered something that made Nigel chortle.

Aileen ignored the exchange. “I have few ladies as yet, Father. As you have doubtless noted, Inverfyre has been a warrior’s hall.” Aileen slid a fingertip down the Hawk’s arm, knowing she tempted his wrath but not caring. “My husband has granted me the duty of making a proper hall of Inverfyre, but one cannot force change in haste, particularly in the face of such numbers.”

“Indeed not,” her father concurred. The whore upon his lap gave Aileen a poisonous glance. “The Hawk has told me of his ambitions for a noblewoman’s touch upon his hall.”

“Indeed?” Aileen was surprised by this and looked to her spouse.

His expression was grim, his hot glance boding ill for Aileen’s scheme. “Indeed,” he said flatly. “I would have a word with you, lady mine. Immediately, if it suits your convenience.”

* * *

The Hawk’s wife was a madness in his blood.

He knew that he was bewitched and beguiled, and the worst of it was that he did not care. He was consumed with the prospect of claiming his bride abed, when he should have been ensuring that all was in order for this evening’s assault upon the MacLaren clan.

Instead he tasted her kiss upon his lips and felt her thigh pressed against his own and feared he would not be able to wait until the meal was completed.

He was a fool and he knew it. He had never probed her reasons for visiting the prisoner, much less what she had learned from the man. He thought of meeting her abed, and naught else, not even the battle before him this night.

And while he sat and boiled with lust, she gaily offered her bed to her father. His intellect argued with his desire over her plans—was she genuinely concerned for her father’s comfort, or was there a darker scheme at work?

The Hawk could not say. His wits were addled, of that there was no doubt, and he guessed that there could be but a single cure: he had to utterly exhaust his desire for his bride, for this alone would clear the fog of lust from his thoughts.

But first, he had to ensure she understood the folly of what she had just done.

If she did not know it already.

If she had not conjured this scheme apurpose to foil his own ambitions.

He claimed her elbow in silence and walked her from the hall, simmering even as she smiled and charmed every blessed soul in his company. They adored her, each and every one of them, and if ever he decided to put her aside for treachery, the Hawk had no doubt that he would have a revolt upon his hands.

They made the bailey, the sky overhead glittering with early stars, before she turned upon him. Her manner was markedly less sweet. “What complaint do you have with me?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

“Can you not guess the truth of it?” he retorted. “How could you grant your chamber to your father?”

“How could I not? He is aged, and unaccustomed to a hard pallet upon a cold floor! He has ridden hard to ensure my welfare.” She propped her hands upon her hips and glared at the Hawk, clearly unafraid of his temper. “Would you have my father shown poor hospitality, simply so that you can bed your whore more readily?”

The Hawk blinked in confusion. “My whore?”

Aileen scoffed. “Play no jest with me! I heard you roar when your whore sated you early this morn. I know you left my bed to find someone sweeter to warm your own.” She shook a finger at him as he gaped at her in astonishment. “Do not imagine that I am so slow of wit that I do not understand why Guinevere beckons to you across the hall.”