Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 (28 page)

Chapter 22

Nearly two full days had passed since Haydan had held Catriona in his arms. He stood in the lea of the stables now, watching as she turned Celandine loose inside a stone yard. The mare was healing well and frolicked now, kicking up her heels before running to the far side of the enclosure to call to the horses that were even now bringing their riders back from a hunt.

"What do you mean, your partner has left?" James asked. "You promised he would assist you with the trick."

More riders trickled back to the bailey. Laughter wafted on the afternoon breeze that had blown away the wilding weather, leaving sunlight in its wake.

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," Cat said, but kept her face averted even as a greenfinch flitted from the stable wall to a branch to her shoulder. "His departure could not be avoided."

"Of course it could be avoided. I am king." James pouted. "You must call him back and—"

Haydan stepped away from the building. " 'Twas a matter of life and death, Your Majesty," he said. And indeed, it had been, for his hand had felt so right against the Rom's throat.

Catriona turned abruptly toward him, her eyes too wide and the satiny skin beneath them dark with fatigue.

"Whose life and whose death?" James asked.

Haydan pulled his gaze from Cat with a solemn effort. "'Twas a family emergency," he explained. "I am certain you understand. After all, the king of the Scots must always concern himself with his people's needs first.''

"I understand naught but that you are keeping something from me again."

"What is it you would like to know, lad?" Haydan asked.

James frowned as if stymied by this rare show of compliance. "Who is going to perform the trick with Lady Cat?"

"As she said, the..." Haydan paused, hopelessly searching for a word more appropriate than "bastard" and trying to force his muscles to relax. "The
Rom
has gone."

"Then you must perform."

"I cannot." For she was lying, keeping something from him, planning something! What, he did not know, but he dared not let himself be distracted. And Catriona Baird was the very breathing essence of distraction. One touch of her flesh against his and all hope of coherent thought was lost.

"Then I shall have to choose another partner for her," James said and glanced toward the assemblage of hunters.

Haydan's gut clenched anew as he too skimmed the distant crowd. Drummond: with his devilish, half-lidded eyes and rumors of cruelty. Lord Hogshead: soft and undisciplined, but the only surviving heir to a wealthy title. MacKinnon, watching her with his mournful expression, while scandals whispered around him like malevolent ghosts. Shortsighted Ramhurst. Bitter Tremayne. Twisted Physic. Damnation! There wasn't a man among them that he'd trust with Catriona.

But the truth was darker still. 'Twas simply that he could not bear the thought of having her touch another.

"Well? What say you?" James asked.

Haydan turned his gaze to the king's, and deep in those mischievous eyes he saw an understanding far beyond the boy's meager years. So the lad was not so naive as he sometimes acted. He knew Haydan had feelings for Catriona, knew he could not bear to see another touch her.

"I say, such blatant manipulation is beneath your lofty station, Majesty," Haydan said.

James grinned. " 'Tis sadly true, I know," he agreed. "But 'tis my birthday."

Their gazes held. Seconds ticked away, and then James skimmed the crowd again. Haydan tensed like a drawn bow.

"Cockerel," James called finally.

Haydan lifted a dubious brow.

"You have need of me, Your Majesty?" Cockerel asked, hurrying up.

James shifted his attention from his captain to his guard. "Aye. I thought you might wish to perform with the Lady Cat at my birthday celebration."

The guard's dark eyes gleamed. A spark of a smile tilted his generous lips. "Perform?" he asked, glancing at Catriona. "Might you clarify—" he began, but in that instant Haydan cleared his throat like a menacing growl.

Cockerel shifted his gaze to Hawk's eyes. A moment

of frozen silence passed between them, and then 'twas Cockerel's turn to clear his throat.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," he said with a practiced bow. "But I fear I must decline."

"You cannot decline."

"I will not be able to join the festivities. 'Tis my..." Cockerel scrambled for an appropriate excuse. "My grandmother. She is ill."

"Then we must rush her to Blackburn for healing."

Cockerel winced. Hawk glared.

"I have injured my... knee."

" 'Tis a great coincidence. Sir Hawk has the same malady, and he was nearly able to perform the trick, even in his dotage."

Haydan shifted his glare from the guard to the king, then back.

"My arm!" Cockerel crowed, nearly giddy with the idea as he yanked up his sleeve to reveal a superficial wound on his forearm. "Galloway was too zealous during practice. I can barely lift it."

Silence echoed around them.

"That is the most pathetic excuse I have ever heard," James said.

"My apologies," Cockerel said, almost grinning again. "'Tis the best I can do under the circumstances."

James sighed as he turned toward Haydan, but beneath the boy's martyred expression was the shadow of an impish grin. "And who now is manipulative, Sir Hawk?"

Haydan inclined his head. "I have learned what I can from my king."

The lad's grin widened. "Then you'd best learn what you can from the Cat—for 'tis up to you to perform with her, Highland Hawk. And I'll expect it to be spectacular," he said and pivoted away.

The silence seemed heavy after the departure of the lad and his guards. From the top of a nearby rowan Cat's greenfinches piped up.

"I was worried about you." Catriona's voice was soft.

"Me?" Haydan turned toward her, but if she could feel his perusal, she didn't lift her face to his. "Why?" he asked.

"I did not see you all day. I feared your injuries may have been more grievous than you had let on."

Emotions burned through Haydan. She was a wee lass, barely more than half his weight and age, and yet she worried for him. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and he knew why she didn't turn toward him. She was hiding the reddened bruise that swelled above her ear and into her hair.

Anger sizzled through him like a wind-blown fire. Damn it to hell! He should have killed the Rom bastard while he had the chance.

But no, that would not have banished the sadness in her eyes. So what would? With aching tenderness, he remembered the night they had shared. For a short time she had been relaxed, content. He would give much to grant her that again.

Oh hell! Who was he fooling? He'd give his right eye just to feel that heaven himself. Temptation made him reach out. Good sense made him draw back. There was something afoot here, and he dare not miss it.

"Nay, I am well," he said, crunching his hands into fists by his sides. "And you?"

"I am fine."

She was not. She was scared. Of what? He'd kill to know. But he turned away. There was no hope of forcing her to tell him. And getting Marta drunk had not been one of his more stellar ideas.

"I need to speak to you," he managed.

She stared up at him, her eyes as mysterious as Highland mist.

"Regarding the other night," he added, yanking himself from the bottomless depths of her gaze.

"Aye." Her voice was breathy.

" 'Twas—" There were no words for what they had shared. There was no description. And yet he could not do it again. He could not! Not until he learned the truth, solved the riddle, saved her. But from what? " 'Twas wrong of me to take advantage of you."

"Advantage?" she repeated, and in her tone there was a breath of shock. Indeed, seeing her standing there as straight and tall as a reed, 'twas difficult to believe she was the sort to be taken advantage of. And when he remembered how she had touched him—seized him really... God help him!

"Aye. You were..." He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the tightening in his loins. "You were lovely—
lonely,"
he correctly quickly, closing his eyes against her beauty for an instant. "You were lonely. I was but available."

"Is that what you think of me, Sir Hawk? That every time I am lonely I find an available lover?"

"Nay!" Nay, indeed—she had been a virgin! The very idea that he had been her first made him shudder. All her wit, all her unearthly allure, all her breathtaking bold innocence had been his and his alone. He remembered the feel of her skin, the sound of her moan in his ear, the taut contraction of muscles around him, the—

He should not have lain with her, for now he could think of nothing but doing so again. And there was much else to ponder. "I place no blame on you, lass," he said. "I but meant..." He drew a deep breath. " 'Twas wrong of me, and I will not press myself on you again."

"Oh." She stared as if lost and disoriented, then, "Oh," she said, her voice stronger. "You are right, of course. We must not. I am sorry."

"Sorry?" The word escaped on its own. In his mind, she kissed him. The touch of her lips was an intoxicating as wine. "Would that I could be sorry."

"What?"

He straightened his spine and hardened his discipline. "I said, would you like to start?"

"Start?"

"Practicing the trick."

"Oh. Aye." Pulling the mare's rope from the post, she toyed with it for a moment. " 'Tis not a difficult feat, but 'twill take a bit of time. Shall we return to the glen where we practiced before?"

"Nay!" Haydan rasped. Damnit all, he would be lucky to withstand her charms here on the castle grounds with others about. If he were alone with her, God only knew what might happen. "Nay," he said, lowering his voice and feeling ungodly foolish. "There is an open area in the gardens where we can practice undisturbed."

"Good," she agreed.

They returned Celandine to her stall then walked together toward the garden. As luck would have it, they passed the guard who had lifted the portcullis when Haydan had gone to search for the Rom, but he said nothing, only stared in wide-eyed admiration.

They reached the relative privacy between the gardens and there the torture began with a few soft directives, a few quiet suggestions. 'Twas easy enough to lift her. 'Twas letting go that was hell. Each time his fingers brushed hers, it felt like unbidden fire. Each time he looked at her, the flame was fanned. Foolishness. Idiocy! He could not touch her, yet he could not stay away.

She slipped and he reached out, quickly cradling her waist in his palm in a wild attempt to catch her, to save her, to hold her safely against his heart.

Their gazes fused.

"Haydan!" She said his name in a breathy whisper.

He drew back with a snap. "Aye?" His voice sounded panicked, like a guilty lad fearing punishment.

"I have to go."

"What?"

"I must..." She wrung her hands then lifted one to her forehead. "I have a terrible ache in my head. I'd best lie down."

"Oh. Aye. You rest. I will see you to your chamber."

The journey to her bedroom was as silent as their journey to the garden had been. In a moment, they stood before her door.

He turned to face her. "Sleep well."

"What?" She looked disoriented again and nervous.

"Sleep well."

"Oh. Aye. My thanks."

He almost asked her again what was wrong, but he would not. Nay, 'twas his task now to find out on his own, so he forced himself to turn and walk away. But once around the corner all nonchalance left him. He hurried along, his mind rushing in concert with his steps.

He had very little time. In a moment he was in the barracks, beside Galloway's bunk.

"Wake up!"

The young guard sat upright like a launched arrow. "My lord captain. What—"

"I need you to watch the lady's door."

Galloway turned groggily toward the window. "The lady's—"

"Catriona! Watch her door. But do not stand directly by it. Stay in the alcove down the hall."

Galloway nodded. "In the alcove," he said and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress.

"And if she leaves," Haydan added, narrowing his eyes, "follow her."

"Follow her?"

Haydan leaned closed to the young man's face. "Is there some reason you keep repeating my words?"

"Repeating—nay. Nay, Sir Hawk," he stammered.

"Good. Then go."

Galloway stumbled to his feet.

"And lad," Haydan said quietly. " 'Twould be best if you did not fail me in this."

Galloway swallowed and hurried away. Haydan turned to do the same, but noticed Cockerel's dark, broad-brimmed hat hanging on a peg on the wall. Grabbing it up, he left.

Back in his own room, Haydan threw open his trunk and dragged a pair of dark hose from the depths. In a moment he had kicked off his boots, dropped his plaid to the floor, and replaced it with the hose. Then he glanced down at his shirt. 'Twas not a distinctive tunic, but still, she was accustomed to seeing him in it.

He dug inside his trunk again to produce a red doublet. It was slashed and puffed and ostentatious, and he felt like a crazed jester when he wore it. But it had been suitable for the king's coronation and it would do now.

Slipping it over his tunic, he fastened it in place then tugged on his boots.

In a matter of moments, he was stepping into the alcove beside Galloway.

"Is she still in there?" he murmured.

Galloway started. "Sir Hawk?" he asked, trying to gaze past the shadow of the hat's broad brim.

Haydan scowled. 'Twas good to know his disguise was suitable, but rather disconcerting to find out that the man he'd trusted to guard Catriona was an idiot. "Has she left yet?"

"Nay." Galloway shook his head and dragged his gaze from Haydan. "Nay. Where is she going?"

"I do not know."

"Then—"

"You may leave now."

"Aye, sir—" he began, but just at that instant Ca- triona's door opened. Haydan slapped his hand over the other man's mouth.

Galloway turned wide eyes toward his captain and froze, but Hawk only noticed the girl. One slim hand was set to the door handle as she glanced down the hallway. Hidden against the wall of the darkened alcove as they were, she failed to notice them. In a moment she slipped from her room, off in the opposite direction and around the corner.