Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 (38 page)

But her hands had left the blankets and twisted in his tunic.

"I want you, damnit! Not because I owe you my life and my brother's life and my very own soul. I want
you.
Surely you would not be so cruel as to turn me away."

"I cannot—" he began, but she interrupted him.

"Perhaps there was a time when I was prideful. But I have little pride left, and so I tell you this. If you do not marry me, I will tell your family that I carry your child, and that you turned me out."

The air left his lungs in an odd mix of relief and pain. "You would not."

"I swear I would."

He tried to think of a way to dissuade her, for a
reason
to dissuade her. There were hundreds of them, he was certain of it. But just now he couldn't think of a single one, and Lady Fiona would never forgive him if he turned away the mother of his unborn child.

"You leave me little choice," he said, feeling foolish and giddy and strangely numb all at once. "I suppose I will have to marry you."

He watched her eyes widen and then her lips met his in a clash of warmth. He slipped trembling fingers beneath her hair, pulling her closer.

"Are you trying to kill him?" asked a calm voice from the doorway.

Catriona drew slowly away and turned. "Liam," she whispered. "He agreed to marry me."

"Of course he agreed to marry you. He is a martyr, not a fool. But you'd best cease kissing him. He already fainted once and if me wife finds you she will—"

"I did not faint," Haydan rumbled.

"He fainted again?" Rachel was through the door in a moment, her eyes intense as she scanned the room. "You didn't kiss him, did you, Catriona?"

"He said he would marry me," Cat breathed.

"There'll be no more of that," Rachel insisted. "Not until he is completely healed. He's not as strong as he looks, you know."

"He isn't?"

"How are you faring, old bird?" Roderic asked as he crossed the room.

"She was kissing him," Rachel chided.

"Quite well then," Roderic deduced and grinned.

"I told you so you would discourage him, Uncle," Rachel said. "Not so you would pat his back."

"I suppose this means you will not be performing this night?"

Haydan turned his gaze to the doorway, where James stood with Lachlan and another troublesome lad who looked to be his twin. "My apologies, Your Majesty. Mayhap Catriona will perform the trick with her brother."

"I think mayhap you got yourself wounded just so you would not have to perform," Shona said, stepping into the room.

"I think he did it for pity," Liam said, then shrugged at their quizzical expressions. "She was kissing him."

"Truly?" James asked, his eyes round.

"Well, 'tis about damn time," said Marta, tottering into the room. "The lass is beyond two decades of life, and not a lover to be had. Not until this one here."

All eyes turned to Haydan, and then everyone began talking at once as more family squeezed through the door until Rachel finally called for everyone to leave.

Haydan laid in the silent darkness, waiting until it finally came—the slight rustle of noise at his window.

It took only a moment until a shadow darkened his window, a little longer until it stood beside his bed.

"I am no martyr," he said quietly.

He felt the shadow start.

"What?" Catriona breathed.

"Liam said I was a martyr. He is wrong."

"Oh?"

She stepped into his line of vision and he turned slightly to see her better. "I will not let you change your mind, no matter what excuses you may have thought up."

She settled onto the edge of his mattress as softly as a sparrow. "About what?"

"Marrying me."

"You think that is why I came? To tell you I have changed my mind?"

"That and the fact that you seem to be unable to remain in your own chambers for the entire night, yes. But..." He drew a deep breath. He could not live without her. That much he knew. "I have given the situation a good deal of thought. There is little else I can do as I lie here, and I have decided that this is the best thing for you."

"Marriage?"

He nodded. "I know that I am neither wealthy or charming, or particularly bonny to look upon; and... well, you have met my family, such as it is." He sighed. They could at least have given her some time before they converged on her like a bad-tempered flood. "Neither am I a young man, and you are..." Her almond eyes gleamed at him in the darkness. "You are the Lady Cat." He tried to keep the reverence from his voice, but she was so near. He could imagine her skin, warm as sunlight, beneath his hand. "But I will offer what I can."

"Which is?"

"My protection."

"Ah. And you think that is why I wish to marry you?"

"Do you still?" He did not mean to voice the question, and certainly not in that odd, breathy tone, like a besotted lad awaiting a single word from his beloved. After all, she'd agreed to marry him once. He'd given her every opportunity to change her mind. He need not do so again and he would not. He was a selfish man at heart.

"Aye," she said. "I wish to marry you."

For a moment he forgot how to breathe. "Then you have my loyalty for eternity and beyond."

"I know," she said simply.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "And my sword arm to guard against all that may threaten you."

"What if I want more than your sword arm, Sir Hawk?" She leaned forward and kissed him. Flame touched his lips. "What if I want your kindness?"

It was difficult to breathe with her so near, but he managed. "I am not a kind man, Catriona. You should know that by now."

"Truly?"

"Aye."

"Then mayhap I shall marry you for your sense of humor," she said and kissed his bare shoulder.

He tilted his head back. "In truth, I have none."

She laughed. The sound was like the bells of Christmas or the song of birds at first light. Immeasurably soothing. "Then it must be your body that tempts me so," she said and slipped her hand down his chest.

"I have one of those," he rasped and pulled a sharp breath between his teeth.

"Aye, you do." She stretched out beside him, her breath warm against his bare skin, her fingers feather-soft as she traced a scar across his shoulder. "Am I hurting you?"

His chuckle sounded a wee bit insane, he thought. "Nay."

She was silent for a moment. "How did you know?" she murmured.

He stroked her hair for a moment, thinking, " 'Twas a fair enough lie you told about the medallion," he said. "And producing Drummond's piece—'twas all but a stroke of genius. But you gave in too easily. The Catriona I have come to love would have fought to the death before letting me deliver it to Blackheart alone."

"But I saw you leave the castle."

"I did not go far. Just out of sight, and then I waited. 'Twas following you through the woods that was difficult. But the finches are not known for their silence." He tensed for a moment. "I should have found you sooner. I should have known they planned to take Lachlan to the cottage where Rory had gone. But when you are near, I cannot seem to think of ought but..." He shook his head, his words a whisper in the darkness. "You should have told me, lass. It breaks my heart to think you endured that alone."

"I was so scared. So confused. Blackheart said I must tell no one, for the very person I trusted might be him. No one was what they should be at Blackburn. Not Physic, or Father Matthew, or Drummond—"

"Father Matthew?"

She lifted her gaze to his. "Might you remember when I went charging around the corner and you nearly beheaded me in the hallway?"

"Aye."

" 'Twas the priest I saw... coupling."

"Well, that's it then, lass," he rumbled.
"He'll
not be marrying us."

She chuckled, but the sound was jagged and uncertain as she turned her face back against his shoulder. "The Earl of Harrowhead, he seemed so—"

She shivered and he tightened his arm around her. "I should have known, lass. I should have seen through him. I had heard tales of his father's evil, but I thought he had weathered the storm. I can almost pity the poor bastard—a frail lad unloved by his father. It might turn any mind septic."

"It didn't you."

"What?"

"Your childhood was somewhat similar to his, it seems. But while he was all that is evil, you are all that is good." She shivered. "And I almost lost you."

He gazed down at her, letting the intoxicating emotions sink into his soul. "But you did not lose me," he said, and curling his fingers under, he stroked her cheek.

Silence settled in, soothing in the darkness.

"Samuel MacKinnon asked me to thank you," Haydan said. "For everything." A pause. "He blushed when he said it. Is this something I should worry on?"

"If you like." She sighed as she brushed her fingers, feather-light, across his chest. "Another wound."

He let himself be distracted, for he had a feeling that forever and always there would be worries where Catriona was concerned. "Aye. Another wound. I only hope it does not mar the perfection of my skin."

"Me too," she said and kissed a spot of flesh that was bared above a swath of bandage.

Peace flowed through him, but one worry niggled. "Tell me one thing, lass," he said, forcing himself to voice the question he was certain he should not. Leave well enough alone—she had agreed to be his. But honesty was a hard habit to break. "Do you marry me out of guilt?"

"Guilt!" Her gaze met his in the darkness. Against his shoulder, he could feel her heart beat in time with his own. "Nay, Haydan, not out of guilt."

"For gratitude?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Aye. Out of gratitude. Every day of my life, I will be grateful that you are the best, the kindest, the wisest man I have ever known. I will be grateful for the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand, the fact that you do not realize that you are too good for the likes of me." She pressed against him. "I love you, Haydan the Hawk. Not because of what you can do, but because of what you are," she whispered.

And as their lips joined, so did their lives.

Author's Note

James V was born in 1512 and crowned king of Scotland at seventeen months of age when his father died in the battle of the Field of Flodden. In 1525 he was seized by his mother's husband, the Earl of Angus, and kept in comfortable captivity while an English faction took over the government. Three years later, he escaped and seized the political reins. But for many years he would often disguise himself as a peasant and travel about Scotland visiting his people. I like to imagine it was my fictional characters who first introduced him to the wonders of being "average."

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