Night Hawk'S Bride (Tyler) (Harlequin Historical Series, No 558) (7 page)

“What matters is you, Marie.” Henry lowered his voice and closed the distance between them. “Look at your dress. It's covered with dust.”

“You
did
speak to him. What did you tell him?”

“A young lady your age wears her hair up and not tangling down her back like an urchin.”

“Papa, will you listen to me? You told Night Hawk about your dreams of a West Point graduate for a son-in-law, didn't you?”

Henry's face flushed. “I talked to him about the
horse, Marie. I don't want you getting hurt. You're to stay in the settlement where you're safe. School starts next week, and I want you to meet some more of the settlers' children this afternoon.”

This afternoon. When she was going to meet Night Hawk. White-hot anger lanced her like a newly sharpened blade. “I'm not one of your soldiers, Papa. Maybe if I say it enough, you'll eventually notice it. I'll do what I want.”

“I'm restricting you to the grounds.”

“You can't do that—”

“I
am
the colonel of this fort and I already have.” Anger flushed Henry's face.

He was right, and she hated it. She whirled away and kept going even when he called her name.

Tomorrow, she would make her way through the woods, along the lake and into the meadow to see Night Hawk. She had to make certain he understood that the colonel didn't control her.

She knew what was important in life, and she wasn't afraid. Not one bit.

 

Don't be nervous, Marie told herself as she hurried along the path by the lake. He was probably expecting her. He knew she'd come to thank him. He needed to know that whatever her father told him wasn't true.

Please, let him understand, she wished fervently as great blue herons startled into flight along the water's edge.

A shadow blurred across the trail ahead of her and barked a welcome. Meka! Her troubles lifted. Night Hawk was close, she was certain of it.

“Yes, I remembered a treat for you.” Laughing as the dog nearly knocked over her basket, she reached inside and offered a sugar cookie.

It was going to be all right, she told herself as Meka escorted her along the path. Night Hawk was waiting for her, and he would understand. Surely he knew Papa well enough to see how the older man would get carried away with his matchmaking plans. Their precious time together would not need to end.

Soon she climbed the crest of the hill and Night Hawk's land spread out before her with breathtaking wonder. She saw no sign of him. He wasn't where the horses grazed in succulent green meadows. The house and the stables looked empty.

Maybe he had gone to town. Maybe he had taken the road and she, the path, and they had missed each other. But even as those thoughts formed, she knew they were excuses, excuses meant to protect her foolish heart.

Night Hawk would have taken Meka with him. When he went to town, the dog remained loyally outside the fort, waiting for his master's return.

There was only one reason Night Hawk would have left Meka behind.

To escort her safely back to the settlement.

No, there had to be another reason. Instinctively Marie fought to find another explanation—any explanation. He'd gone to help a neighbor, gone to tend a horse at the fort, run an errand, needed to check on his niece. Anything that would make his absence only an absence.

But it was a fact. Whatever Papa had told him had
had a definite impact. How could she repair the damage?

She set her basket on the ground and curled up on the bottom porch step. Meka nosed the lid, trying to get into the cookies, and she scolded him. The big dog lay down at her feet, a true companion, and they waited together.

The white thunderheads speeding in from the south crowded out the hazy sun. Their underbellies turned dark with the promise of rain. The wind turned gusty, almost cold, driving the scent of ripe apples and plums from the nearby orchard.

Marie jumped when the first distant lightning bolt speared through the threatening clouds. The horses in the fields took off at a gallop, racing the perimeter of the pasture.

A curtain of rain brushed the tops of the distant hills. A storm was coming. Suddenly the rain fell in hard cold bullets that bent the grasses double and rebounded on the earth. Marie climbed the steps and sought shelter beneath the porch roof. Lightning flashed in eye-searing streaks, thunder boomed and wind drove the rain hard.

Still Night Hawk didn't return.

Marie waited until the lightning had passed and the wind slowed before she let Meka escort her home.

 

He'd been racing the storm when Shadow broke through the trees. Rain fell in steady sheets, but even through the downpour, his gaze found her. Head down, bonnet drooping from the rain, her skirts soaked and clinging to her slim hips and thighs, Marie made
her way through the wet meadow toward the lake and the trees. Toward the path that would see her safely home. Meka lifted his nose and scented the wind but remained by the woman's side.

Night Hawk eased Shadow into the trees and waited, protected from the rain by the sheltering maple but not from the pain in his heart.

She moved like morning when the sun was new, even in the rain, even when he'd disappointed her. She turned one last time to gaze at the house, to scan the meadows and hillsides.

He nudged Shadow farther back in the thicket.

She lingered, as if she sensed his presence. Even as the rain drenched her and the wind lashed at her skirts. Even as she shivered from so far away.

He felt the same cold move through him that appeared to quake through her. Like icy claws that scraped through flesh and bone all the way to his soul.

It's for the best, he told himself. But his heart didn't believe it.

He was no stranger to the difficulties of life. And no stranger to losing what could be.

In the space of a heartbeat, Marie hurried down the trail and vanished from his sight, just like that, like a dream fading at dawn's light.

Night Hawk didn't bother to lie to himself. To pretend she hadn't enchanted him. That she was like any woman and easily forgotten. He knew what she was—his guiding light.

Without her, his world would be dim and cold from this day forth.

T
he cozy, quiet sounds of children working out math problems on their slates filled the one-room schoolhouse. Marie paged through her primer, debating how big an assignment to give her next class.

The crisp autumn days were pleasant, and she knew many of the children still had chores to complete this time of year. The harvesting of the major crops was over, but hay still had to be cut and hauled, gardens harvested and fruits and vegetables stored and preserved.

A small lesson would be good. She closed the book and called the second math class to the front. Ginny Ingalls, Morning Star and Rose Holmberg clambered to the front, nervous over their lesson to come.

Ginny began solving the first subtraction problem given her. While Marie listened patiently, a movement through the window caught part of her attention.

Night Hawk rode his stallion down the street, back straight, shoulders set, hard jaw unflinching. The wind whipped his long black hair, and he and the horse moved as one. He was poetry and power, wind and
fire, and Marie's entire being ached with longing and loss.

“Is that right, Miss Lafayette?” Ginny asked, bringing her attention back to the three small children standing before her.

“Perfect, Ginny. Morning Star, let's see if you can solve this one.” Marie gave a second math problem, and Night Hawk's niece quickly answered.

If only there was a chance to get away, to steal the time to see Night Hawk.

A part of her feared he would remain in the shadows again.

 

He caressed his fingers down the line of her jaw, feeling a softness he'd never before known. A wisp of her dark, wavy hair brushed the side of his hand. Lust rolled through him as powerful as the leading edge of a tornado.

Like a tornado, he couldn't fight it. Couldn't outrun it. Couldn't defeat it. He ran the pad of his thumb over Marie's lower lip, petal pink and soft before he covered her mouth with his.

The brush of lips, the play of tongues, the mingling of breaths wasn't enough. He was rock hard and she was moaning, low in her throat like a plea.

She was softer than silk beneath her dress, where lace-edged drawers pulled away at the tug of his hands. He laid her down and they met like earth and sky, lightning and thunder, his hard shaft and her yielding flesh…

Night Hawk woke with a roar. Lust beat in his veins as he threw off the sheet.

A dream. It was only a dream and yet he could taste
the sweetness of Marie's kiss and feel her heat on his body. He was iron hard and aching for her, and he cursed the cruel fate that made her his dream and not his reality.

The night held the crisp hint of the autumn to come. The last of the apples and plums ripe on the tree scented the cool air as he stumbled out into the darkness. His erection strained against his drawers as he leaned his forearms on the coarse fence rail and breathed deep.

The solitary hawk circled high ahead, crying once, the sound of his loneliness shooting across the face of the full moon.

Why tonight? Why after all he'd given up and all his self-control did his mind betray him now?

He'd seen her today in town through the window of the little schoolhouse. That's what made him dream of her tonight.

He was a wise man, and so he did not think of her again. But he feared his body would remember this dream and his mind would never forget.

 

Marie bolted upright in bed. Her breath came in great gasps as if she'd been running for miles. She pushed off the muslin sheet and felt her way to the window, where the light of the moon tumbled between the billowing curtains.

The cool air smelled of the night, of mystery and promises made. What had she been dreaming of tonight? She could feel the image just beyond her reach, like a memory on the brink of being recalled.

A shadow flashed across the bright disk of the
moon, wings spread with majesty, and the bird's loneliness haunted her.

Would she be always alone? All her friends had married, finding men to provide them with security, homes and children. But there was more to life.

After she'd returned from his ranch the final time, her father had been outraged. A scout had spotted a twister north of Night Hawk's land. What if she'd been caught in it? Henry had roared.

Then school started, and she spent nearly every waking hour working. After classes ended, there was the schoolhouse to clean and lessons to plan. She had twenty children, nearly all of them at different levels and with different needs. Many could barely speak English.

She hadn't stopped thinking of Night Hawk. She wanted the chance to make things right between them.

Troubled, she watched the lone hawk glide across the golden moon.

 

The Saturday afternoon was hot, and she'd promised Henry she wouldn't go far. But before she knew it, she was at the lakeside where fragrant ruby berries were ripe and ready to pick. The trail that would take her to Night Hawk was not far away.

Maybe she'd finish filling her basket and then—

Something rattled the bush at her feet. She jumped back and the basket tumbled from her fingers.

It wasn't a snake or anything dangerous. The limb kept shaking. Curious, Marie knelt down and pushed the branch aside. She saw a huddled lump burrowed against an exposed root, shaking with fear. The breeze
ruffled against it, lifting soft down, and her heart stopped. It was an injured hawk.

Blood stained the ground, and Marie tried to ease into the narrow space. The bird lifted one wing and tried to flee, but it cried out in pain and collapsed. Breathing heavily as if certain it was about to be killed, it ducked its head, no longer looking at her, trembling so hard every feather visibly quaked.

Poor helpless thing. Maybe she could get it into her basket. She reached out, and it struck with its beak. Pain tore through her fingertip.

It was terrified enough of her to fight. She couldn't save it, but she couldn't leave it here. What should she do?

The hawk trembled harder, daring to gaze at her over his bloody wing.

Night Hawk. She was on her feet and running along the lake until she found the familiar trail.

Meka's bark welcomed her the moment she crested the last rise that gave way to meadow. Seeing the big dog loping toward her and the man turning from stacking hay made her skid to a stop.

Was she welcome here after what Henry had told him?

Fallen leaves tumbled through the air between her and Night Hawk, and the sun held a hint of a chill. She squared her shoulders and faced the man who approached, pitchfork in one hand, his shirt in the other. His bare chest fascinated her. How strong he looked with every muscle delineated beneath bronzed skin.

“I didn't think I would see you again.” He drove the tines of the fork deep into the ground with a pow
erful ripple of his biceps, then pulled on the shirt he carried. “You shouldn't be here.”

How many weeks had she wanted to explain? Now there was no time. “I found an injured hawk in the meadow by the lake. I thought you might know how to help.”

Night Hawk stared at her, his face a mask of stone, his gaze nothing but shadows. “Show me.”

She led the way down the trail and along the lakeside to where the bushes edged the sparkling water. With every step she took, she could feel him only a pace behind her, feel his stoic reserve and his powerful masculinity.

“He's here.” Marie knelt and pushed aside the low bough so that Night Hawk could see the hawk huddled beneath.

“Looks like he's taken a bullet.” Night Hawk knelt close. The iron-hard length of his shoulder and arm, thigh and knee pressed against hers.

Heat engulfed her. A thrilling spiral of flame and desire consumed her. The feelings inside her raged hotter and brighter.

Night Hawk calmly reached for the bird. Didn't he feel the conflagration that blazed between them?

“You mean someone shot him?”

“Maybe on purpose. Maybe not.” He crooned to the hawk in his native tongue, using low, soft sounds.

The creature tried to escape, but the moment Night Hawk held the bird in his hands, wings tucked down and legs held tight, there was no more struggle.

“More likely a duck hunter missed his target. Unfortunately for this fellow.” Night Hawk cradled the
bird to his chest and stood. “I'll take care of him. Meka will take you home.”

“But I—”

“You belong at the fort and not alone with me.” There was nothing polite in his steely stance. Nothing civil about the wind lashing his long black locks and molding his cotton shirt to his wide chest.

He looked like a warrior. She longed to deeply know the man. “Is that what my father told you?”

“He said many things.” Was that sorrow in his voice? “I agree with him.”

“Maybe I don't.”

Night Hawk cocked one brow in surprise.

“He doesn't dictate my life, although he won't stop trying. Did he mention wanting a West Point graduate for a son-in-law?”

A hint of a grin touched Night Hawk's mouth. “He did mention how important it was for you to make an advantageous marriage.”

“He wouldn't know one if it hit him square in the forehead.” Marie watched Night Hawk's stony visage crack into a hesitant smile. “How will you take care of the bird?”

“Come. I'll show you.”

Those words simply spoken made her spirits soar higher than any bird. Or ever would.

 

His body hadn't forgotten the forbidden dreams that had tortured him night after night. And as he tended the hawk with Marie at his side, he fought his hunger for her.

A desire tore at his steely control every time Marie's sleeve brushed him, every time a lock of her hair ca
ressed her face. Every time his gaze clasped on the shape of her mouth or the soft, round fullness of her breasts.

“You know a lot about birds.” Marie's fingertips brushed his as she handed him a strip of muslin soaked in herbs. “I've never known anyone who could handle a wild hawk before.”

“All it takes is knowledge.” Night Hawk swiped the bloody wounds along the bird's left wing. “I found a baby hawk when I was a young boy.”

“You had a pet hawk?”

“I raised her. I taught her how to hunt. And released her when it was time.”

“Did she ever return to you?”

“No, but I did see her now and then when I was on a hunt with my father.” Memories ached with both pain and warmth. “She would call to me from the sky and when I woke in the morning, she had left some of her night's hunt on the doorstep to my lodge.”

“So she did return.”

“Not as my pet. That was a long time ago.” He didn't want Marie to ask any more questions, for he knew where they would lead. Away from that treasured time of his boyhood to the turbulent years of the war when his people had won their battle for this land, but the cost had been high. Too high.

He could not think about those losses. Of the brothers who did not return, and his father, who paid with his blood for this land. This land Night Hawk would never leave.

“I've done the best I can.” He pressed the last of the soaked cloths to the wound and bandaged them.
“There's nothing more to do but wait. We'll see if he lives.”

“I'm glad I came for you.” Her fingers lighted on his wrist.

Her touch felt
right.
His heart thundered with the knowledge. His blood beat with it. He gritted his teeth to keep the moan of want trapped inside his chest. She was young and innocent. She had no idea how he felt, how a man felt when he thirsted for the woman who would make him whole.

“It's late.” Dusk was falling and so it was the excuse he used. “Your father will be displeased.”

“My father doesn't run my life.”

“I cannot afford to anger him.” Night Hawk untied the makeshift tethers. “You can't risk your reputation. What about an advantageous marriage?”

“Night Hawk.” Her hand found his. This time her touch was not a brief caress but a lingering claim. “I don't want what my father wants for me. The only man I will ever marry is the one I love with all my heart.”

She didn't want him. He was sure of it. She would never want him.

And yet her slim fingers slid between his and clasped tightly. Locking them together. Making him wish…

No. It was not to be. She was young and impressionable, that was all. He didn't have the strength for more heartbreak.

He pulled away from her touch, denying her claim and telling himself it was the right thing to do. “It's too dark to send you home with only Meka. Wait here while I call my horse.”

“You don't want me to stay?”

He fisted his hands, helpless against the hurt glinting in her eyes. Hurt that he'd put there by pulling away. By doing the right thing.

“It isn't what I want. It can never be what I want.” The competing forces of desire and integrity, of loss and yearning threatened to tear him apart. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to love her. He wanted to slake this carnal need for her once and for all.

She was too innocent to know about the desire tormenting him.

He escaped to the blue-gray shadows of twilight and let the cool wind drum against him. Even though he fought to control it, the fire within him raged.

Her skirts whispered behind him. “Will the hawk need care through the night? I could stay.”

“No. I will tend him.”

“But I wouldn't mind.” She stepped into the shadows at his side. “I found him. I feel responsible for him.”

“He is warm and fed because of you. You've done more than most. You're bleeding.”

She stared down at her fingers. He had to have noticed her wound earlier, when she held the basin while he cleaned the bird. It was too dark to see her wound now. “It's better.”

“I can bandage it.”

He led her to the house on the small rise, dark and lonely. She waited as he lit a candle and then another. Flame tossed gentle light across handwoven rugs and a polished wood floor, honeyed walls and carved furniture.