Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 (29 page)

Haydan dropped his hand from Galloway's mouth and strode after her, but in a moment he heard footsteps behind him. Turning rapidly, he glared into Galloway's wide eyes. Haydan lowered his brows and sunk his head between his shoulders. 'Twas a stance that had served him well through the years. Galloway backed up a quick step.

"I'll just..." he whispered, nodding vaguely behind him. "I'll just return to my bed."

Haydan nodded once, then pivoted on his heel and continued on. When he reached the corner, he paused a moment before glancing around the turn. But the hallway was already empty, making him hustle to-catch up.

'Twas some heart-thumping minutes later when he spied her next and darted back behind a wall to prevent being seen. But eventually, with spurts and starts and a few well-placed windows, he saw her heading toward the stable. He hurried down the steps to find a circuitous route to the same destination.

Stepping quietly through a side door of the stable, he strode quickly down the hard-packed aisle and into a stall not far from Cat's gelding. Once there, he remained absolutely still, listening until he was certain Catriona was in a stall. She crooned a few words. Metal jangled. So she was planning to ride, he deduced. He would have to hurry to saddle his own steed in order to follow her, but when he stepped from the stall, he found her door was already swinging open. Turning his back quickly, he strode purposefully in the opposite direction.

Haydan did not know whether she saw him, but in a moment he was rushing off to saddle his own mount. It took him a few seconds to realize the folly of that idea. There was little point in changing his attire if he did not change his mount. In a matter of minutes, he was astride Cockerel's steed and trotting toward Blackburn's looming gate. Guards stood with their backs to the towering stone wall as Haydan stopped his mount inches from the pair.

"Did the Gypsy maid pass this way?"

"The—Sir Hawk?" the guard said, belatedly seeing through the disguise. "Sir Hawk, is that you?"

Haydan ground his teeth. "Did the Lady Catriona come this way?"

The guard grinned. "Business in the village again, Captain?"

Haydan straightened to his full height. Beneath him,

Cockerel's stallion chafed and pranced like an emperor's cocky destrier.

"When was the last time you were on duty to clean the garderobes, lad?"

The guard looked duly affronted. "The king's guards do not clean the latrines, Captain."

"Keep that in mind," Haydan said and lowered his brows, though he feared the full effect of his displeasure may have been lost beneath the wide brim of his borrowed hat. Still, apparently the man grasped his meaning for he straightened and nodded sharply.

"Aye, Sir Hawk. As for the maid, she passed here only minutes ago."

"Which way did she go?"

"Toward the village."

Haydan nodded grimly. 'Twas the same path Rory had taken, he thought bitterly, and setting his heels to the chafing steed, set off after her.

Chapter 23

Restive and temperamental, Cockerel's stallion half reared before dropping back into a high-stepping trot. The bridge rattled as they crossed. Haydan's teeth did the same.

"Calm yourself, you flea-bitten nag," he ordered, but the steed shook his head, tossing his heavy mane and breaking into a snapping canter.

Haydan settled back into the saddle and resigned himself to the ride.

'Twas not many minutes before he caught sight of Catriona. She was riding bareback, hence the speed with which she had managed to leave Blackburn. Her skirts were spread over the mare's croup as she cantered down the beaten trail. He pulled in his mount, but the stallion only cranked his neck down and kept up his pounding speed.

Haydan tightened the reins until finally the recalcitrant beast slowed to a decent pace, allowing the girl to stay well ahead of him. A copse of wild chestnuts and hawthorn crowded the road, which wound and curled like a dark ribbon through the verdant countryside. 'Twas some minutes before he came to the top of a sweeping hillock. Slowing his mount to an unwilling walk, Haydan searched the road ahead. It branched off below him, the right fork mostly hidden behind a copse of trees as it led to the village, the left more visible on its course to the woods beyond. He should be able to see her in a minute, and 'twas to be hoped that he did, for he wanted to know exactly where she entered the forest.

But the minutes ticked by, and he saw nothing but empty road.

The truth dawned on him abruptly. She was not following the Rom's path at all, but had turned off for the village.

With a soaring heart, Haydan loosed the reins and swept down the hill after her.

The noise and bustle of Burnsvale struck Haydan immediately when he passed the wooden palisade. He hurried his gaze about the crowded streets. A tow-headed lad was pulling a two-wheeled cart. A stooped gentleman was squabbling with a cobbler over the price of shoes. All around him, vendors were closing up shops and packing away their goods.

Haydan skimmed his gaze over the cobbled street. Just past the mill he thought he caught a flash of chestnut hide. Concentrating on that spot, he set his heels to his mount and followed. But by the time he reached it, Catriona and her mare were out of sight. He wended his way along, Cockerel's hat pulled low and his gaze ever moving, until he saw a hostler leading a flaxen-maned mare into the stable.

"Celandine," Haydan breathed. The stallion nickered and pranced like a one-horse parade.

Haydan swore in silence then glancing rapidly about, hurried into the stable. It was dark inside, for the sun had begun its dip past the western horizon and cast long shadows into the musty dimness. He had no time to delay.

In a moment he was free of the horse and scanning the crowd again. It did not take him long to find her, for she was like a princess among peasants. Poetry in her motion, magic in her wake.

He just had to keep her in sight while pretending not to. 'Twould surely not be such a difficult task, he thought, but suddenly he saw a familiar face.

Tipping his head down, Haydan pretended to examine the nearest wares until Blackburn's priest had passed.

"In need of a new chemise?" asked the wench behind the counter. Haydan glanced up. Above her own chemise, her bountiful breasts threatened to escape from the tight laces that pressed them high. Her hands were on her plump hips and there was wry humor in her eyes as she motioned toward the feminine garments. " 'Twould complement your hat, my lord."

"Nay," he said, and glancing sheepishly at the priest's disappearing back, he hurried on with the sound of the maid's chuckle following him.

For a few panicked moments, he feared he had lost Catriona, but finally he spied her stepping into the blacksmith's shop. He paused, but it was dark, and he could see nothing but the glow of coals in the open hearth.

Catriona stepped farther into the smithy's shop. All was dark and still but for the coals that glowed orange amid black in the circular hearth. Outside, she heard the friendly hum of townsfolk bound for their own firesides. Her soul cramped with longing. What she would give for the warmth of normalcy.

"So you have come."

Catriona jerked at the sound of the voice.

"Nay! Do not turn around. Not if you wish to live out the day."

She froze, her heart beating like a wild hare's in her throat.

"I have come," she said. "As you knew I would."

"Aye." She felt him step closer. "We knew. So..." She flinched as his fingers brushed her hair. "So eager is the Cat to please if one pulls the proper strings." His hand brushed her shoulder. She jerked, but his fingers clasped there. "The Cat is curious?
Now
you want to become acquainted. But 'tis too late for that, for the reward will come later." His breath hissed hot against her neck. She shivered, her stomach twisting. "Greater even than the promise of burying ourselves... burrowing deep... deep inside you. Soon, if we are resolute, we shall have the power we so richly deserve. Still..." He leaned closer, panting. She felt his face brush her hair, heard him inhale, and trembled at the sound. "Still, we are tempted." His hand slipped lower, over the curve of her waist and onto her hip. "What is your magic? Are you a witch?"

"Nay!" Her own voice was scratchy with fear, her legs wooden.

"Then why can we not forget you?" he asked, and curved his palm slowly over her hip and onto her belly.

She jerked out of his grasp but dared not turn around. "Mayhap 'tis because you have abducted my brother."

His chuckle was breathy. "Aye, we have your brother."

"Is... is he well?"

There was a pause, then, "Aye, he is well."

"How do I know that? How do I know you are not lying?"

"You do not."

"Then why should I deliver the king at all?" she whispered.

"Because you are the lad's only hope, and you cherish him above all others."

"I am no martyr." A sob burned her throat but she refused to loose it. She must concentrate, must think. "And I shall not deliver the king unless you swear he is safe."

Silence. She shivered.

"Swear it on your father's name."

"On our
father's
name," he said and laughed. "Aye. We swear it. He is safe."

"I do not believe you."

"He said you would not."

A tiny spark of hope glimmered in Cat's breast. She dared not breathe, lest she blow it out. "He did?"

"Aye. Bold little thing, he is. He said you would never believe he was unmolested, and that I should bring back a herring pie from the village, so we could feast together before I turn him free."

He was alive. He was well. Her hands shook with her certainty.

"We suspect we should beat him for his insolence, but he is such a pretty boy." He crooned the words. "And the guards think him quite clever. Indeed," he said, stepping close again, "They may regret hurting him. But if you fail..." His hands were on her hair again, stroking, caressing. "If you tell
anyone
... If you do not come alone... he will suffer in ways that you can only imagine and that I can only enjoy."

His lips brushed her ear.

She squeezed her eyes closed. "I cannot do it. I cannot bring him to you."

"Then why are you here?" Brushing her hair aside, he touched his lips to her neck.

She shivered and jerked. "I cannot. 'Tis treason," she whimpered, but he only laughed.

" 'Tis treason," he whispered. "But nevertheless, you have convinced him, have you not?"

She said nothing. In the smothering darkness, she could hear her own heart against her ribs.

"Aye, you have convinced him. For you are a witch. No man is safe from the temptation of you."

"But he is not a man. Just a boy."

"Aye. And even he is ensorceled," he said. Curling her hair about his hand, he tugged it aside and kissed the nape of her neck.

Her stomach roiled. Nausea swamped her, but she fought down the bile.

"When will you bring him?"

"On his birthday," she whispered.

"His birthday!" His hands paused against her hair. "How delightful."

"Where? Where must I take him?"

"All in due time, pretty Cat. You will know soon enough."

"I cannot deliver him if I do not know where to go."

"Ride south to the river, then west," he said, pulling her hair back. "Someone will be there to take you to us."

"I will not turn him over to you until my brother is safe," she rasped, fighting to keep her head upright.

For a moment she felt his anger roll over her like an evil cloud and then he laughed. "So proud," he said and slid his tongue along the lobe of her ear. "But what would you do if I refuse to let him go, Cat? Who would save you? Your Rom friend? The towering captain of the guard?" He laughed. "So forceful they are. But you have them in your power, and I have you in mine. So who is the master here?" he purred.

Her stomach roiled. "I... I will not give James up till Lachlan is free."

"James?" He chuckled low in his throat. "You call him James? But of course you do," he answered himself. " 'Tis why our wee plan will succeed, because you are who you are, angel or witch. We are not sure. But you are enticing." His fingers tightened in her hair, tugging her head back.

She gritted her teeth against the pain. "What will happen to him?"

"How tempted we are to taste your treasure," he whispered. "To bury ourselves in you. We wonder, would it be heaven or would it be hell?" he asked and pressed his crotch against her buttocks.

"Let me go!" Panic rose with the bile in her throat.

"We could take you from behind. We know what that is like," he crooned.

"Let me go!" She twisted away, but he had his fingers tangled in her hair, stopping her escape. She felt a draft against her buttocks. He pressed his erection up against her.

"Nay!" she rasped, and swinging her arm frantically backward, slammed her elbow into his face.

He stumbled sideways. Catriona scrambled away, spinning wildly out of the shop and gasping for air. A large man leapt toward her.

Haydan! Relief swamped her, but he ran past.

Not him. Not him, and 'twas a good thing it wasn't.

"If you tell anyone he will suffer."

Lifting her chin, she strode on, her heart like thunder in her chest, her stomach heaving.

A pair of fishwives turned to watched her. She kept walking straight ahead, refusing to look back.

The stable appeared finally. She found Celandine on her own and hurried from Burnsvale.

Darkness cushioned her. Quiet surrounded her. 'Twas only then that she gave in to the nausea.

Hawk strode into his bedchamber. 'Twas only when he'd shut the door behind him that he allowed himself to limp.

Damn his knee! He'd almost learned the truth.

Maybe.

Struggling to his bed, he eased himself onto the mattress.

He had no idea what Catriona had been doing in the smithy. Mayhap she had done nothing more than inquire about replacing her mare's shoe. But if such was the case, why had she cried out?

Though he had vowed to stay out of sight, pure instinct had propelled him toward her. Good sense had made him run past when he knew she was safe, though it had required all his self-control.