Lord of Shadowhawk

by Lindsay McKenna

  * * *

  Vaughn caught sight of a hut up on the last hill. A woman stood in the doorway. His blue eyes glittered. “Sergeant!” he barked. “Continue to pursue. The Kyle woman is up on that hill. I’ll be there.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Vaughn grinned, spurring his black gelding up the slope. Alyssa Kyle. Finally, he would have his revenge on her. Whose child did she have? His or Tray’s? It didn’t matter. By the end of the afternoon his half brother would be dead, a victim of mistaken identity. Alyssa Kyle would be dead, too, and so would the brat. The horse grunted and snorted heavily as he made it over the last crest, galloping hard across the flowering meadow toward the stream. With effort, the gelding leapt over the stream, landing and scrambling toward the mud hut not more than a quarter of a mile away.

  Alyssa’s face went white and her heart pounded wildly as she watched the progress of the English soldier. She held the pistol out in front of her, finger on the trigger. Terror ripped through her when she recognized Vaughn’s blond features. Her hands shook badly as she saw him skid the horse to a stop, mud and pebbles flying in all directions. He dismounted with lazy ease, his blue gaze never leaving her face.

  “Now,” Vaughn snarled, dropping the reins to the horse and halting a few paces from where Alyssa stood, “I have you, Irish bitch. Where’s that brat of yours?”

  “Stay where you are, Vaughn! I swear, I’ll kill you!”

  He eyed the pistol and slowly pinned her with his malevolent gaze. She was trembling so badly that the barrel of the pistol wavered. A slow smile crawled on his mouth. “When did you have the brat? Answer me!”

  “Three weeks ago. He’s mine and Tray’s. Do you hear me? Ours. Not yours.”

  Vaughn lifted his head, a pistol hanging in his right hand. “The brat’s in there?”

  Alyssa took a step back, her eyes large with anguish. “Leave us alone, Vaughn! Why are you chasing Tray? He’s done nothing! Nothing!”

  “Oh, yes he has. He’s alive, that’s the problem.” His mouth tightened as he glared at her. “Typical of the Welsh, my half brother came back from hell’s gate. Now, put down that pistol.”

  “N-no.”

  Vaughn studied her. And he hated her even more because she looked so damned beautiful and defiant, standing there before him. “I’m going to take you one last time,” he breathed.

  Tears sprang to Alyssa’s eyes, the pistol getting heavier by the second. “You’ll never touch me again. Never!”

  “You won’t shoot me, Alyssa,” he said softly, taking a step forward. “I saw you at that skirmish. You couldn’t shoot a man then. You shot the horse instead.”

  “Don’t!” The barrel of the pistol steadied.

  His smile widened and he advanced another step. “You wouldn’t shoot me. I’m a man. Not an animal.”

  Her face contorted and she took a step back, her eyes wild with confusion. “Take another step and I’ll kill you!” she cried.

  “All right, have it your way, bitch.” Just as Vaughn raised his weapon in a lightning-quick motion, he heard the bark of another pistol. White-hot pain ripped through his left knee and a scream tore from his throat. He toppled backward, the pistol flying out of his hand. Vaughn fell and writhed on the ground, holding the injured, bloody leg.

  Alyssa whirled to the right. Dev stood there, pistols in hand, his face devoid of any emotion. With a cry, she fled to him, sobbing.

  Dev held her briefly, never once allowing his gaze to leave the English officer groaning and rolling on the ground. “Come on,” he rasped, guiding Alyssa back to the hut. “Tray’s being pursued by the other soldiers. I have to help him.” He gently released Alyssa, striding over to Vaughn.

  Vaughn groaned as he rolled onto his back. He opened his eyes to see the barrel of a pistol staring at him. His eyes widened in terror. The Irishman leaned over and jerked him up by his hair, pressing the pistol to his temple.

  “Now you’re going to die,” Kyle snarled softly, “first, for murdering my wife, Shannon. And second, for raping my sister. I’m sending you to hell, where you came from….”

  “No!” Alyssa flew to Dev’s side, jerking his arm aside. “No more killing!” she sobbed. “No more, Dev. Please, for God’s sake.”

  He glowered at her, breathing hard. “He murdered Shannon, Lys. He’s going to pay.”

  Alyssa stood between them, her face taut and flushed with tears. “Tray was right—no more killing, Dev. Let the English ruin Vaughn. That’s a far worse death for him. Don’t you see? He won’t be able to stand living in disgrace. Please…”

  More pistol shots echoed from below and Dev snapped his head up. Tray would never be able to handle four soldiers by himself. Cursing, he glared over at her.

  “If he so much as moves while I’m gone, shoot him!”

  Shakily wiping the tears from one cheek, Alyssa nodded. “Be careful, Dev. God, be careful….”

  * * *

  Tray whipped his stallion between the high bushes, narrowly missing the trunk of an oak. The earth was muddy and dangerous on the steep hill they now plunged down to avoid their pursuers. A fallen oak three times the girth of a man loomed before them. Tray threw the reins high on Rasheed’s neck, bracing himself for impact. Instead, the stallion gathered his haunches beneath him, uncoiling like a spring at the last second. Grunting heavily, the animal lifted his front legs, carrying him and his master cleanly over the unexpected obstacle. Tray praised the horse, urging him into a gallop as they intersected a meadow before beginning their perilous descent down the next slope. More shots rang out behind him and he leaned forward, his face nearly touching his horse’s whipping mane.

  Tray risked a glance backward. The four soldiers were struggling with the oak in their path. None of their horses had the courage or the strength to leap the obstacle. Swinging Rasheed into a grove of trees, Tray circled back, remaining well hidden by the brush and shadows. He was breathing hard as he pulled the horse to a halt. The animal was breathing even harder, foam flecking his neck and hindquarters.

  “Stand,” Tray ordered the stallion. Obediently, the horse followed his command. Tray pulled out both pistols, getting ready for the cavalrymen to cross in front of him. The pounding of hoofbeats came toward him, and Tray lifted the pistols, aiming them at the approaching soldiers. He’d never fired a pistol from Rasheed and swiftly wondered if the horse would bolt. There was a great likelihood of it. Tray gripped the stallion tightly with his thighs and calves, drawing a bead on the English now within range of his pistols.

  Two sharp reports echoed through the meadow. And two horses suddenly dropped like felled oxen, throwing their respective riders clear. Tray shoved the pistols back into his belt. He had no time to put powder or ball into them now. Tray heard the two remaining soldiers shout to each other and he turned his horse around. His eyes widened as he recognized the gray Arab mare coming on the hill above them. Dev!

  Tray urged his horse into a gallop through the grove, the last of the English soldiers following him. They hadn’t seen Dev, who now was well within pistol-shot range. Within moments, two more shots were fired. Tray chanced a look across his shoulder. Relief slackened his tense features as he saw that Dev had killed the horses and not their riders. Reining Rasheed to a halt, Tray waved to Dev, who remained on the hill. The Irishman slowly raised his hand and turned the gray mare, disappearing quickly into the trees, heading toward the top of the mountain.

  Wiping the sweat from his face, Tray aimed Rasheed back up to the hut. Vaughn was nowhere to be seen and fear spread through him like a winter chill. He knew Rasheed was exhausted, but the overwhelming need to make sure Aly and his son were safe forced him to ask the animal to gallop.

  Alyssa gasped as she heard horses approaching. Vaughn lay in agony, still clutching his shattered left knee. She stood with the pistol in hand at the doorway to the hut. To her relief, she saw it was Dev and Tray. She allowed the pistol to fall to her side.

  Dev remained in the saddle after Tray had dismou
nted, his entire attention focused on Vaughn. A warmth spread through his chest as he saw his sister fly to the arms of the man who loved her so much. Maybe something good would come of all this, after all, he thought.

  “Help me!” Vaughn yelled hoarsely. “He shot me!”

  Tray turned, looking down at his half brother. “What happened, Aly?” he asked huskily.

  “Vaughn was going to shoot me. If Dev hadn’t been here, I’d be dead.”

  “After he raped you again,” Dev added grimly.

  “They’re lying, Tray! I swear—”

  “You’ve sworn an oath to the devil himself,” Tray snarled, glaring down at Vaughn. “And you’ve the devil to pay, once I get you to New Ross. You’re up on charges, Vaughn. Your career is at an end.”

  Dev grinned, keeping an eye on the meadow in case one of the horseless cavalrymen came up on foot. “You know, I think Lys is right, brother-in-law.”

  Tray lifted his head. “Right about what?”

  “I was going to kill him. I had put a pistol to his head and was going to put him out of his misery. But the more I think about it, the more I think Lys is right.” Dev held Vaughn’s black glare. “Not only will you be a disgrace to the Crown, but you’ll be crippled for life, Trayhern.”

  Vaughn gulped back nausea, pain shearing up through his shattered knee and leg. There was little blood now, only excruciating agony. “I’ll get you, Kyle. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll kill you,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

  Dev’s laugh was deep. “Then you’ll have to follow me to France, English dog. Come hobbling over on the cane that you’ll have to use from this day forward.” Dev’s face burned with hatred. “Your half brother may have been crippled from birth, but you’re the deformed one in the Trayhern family. You murder innocent children and women for sport, calling it right in the name of the Crown. Well, not a day will go by that I won’t smile and remember I put the ball into your leg that brought you to your knees.”

  Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Tray held her tightly within his embrace.

  “You’d better go, Dev. Those soldiers won’t be long in climbing up here.”

  Dev nodded, exhaustion shadowing his features. “I like this mare. Mind if I keep her?”

  Alyssa looked at Tray. Ghazieh had been her wedding present. She saw the beginning of a smile on Tray’s mouth as he looked down at her. Alyssa gave a nod of her head.

  “She’s yours. A gift from us to you for saving our lives.”

  Reining the mare around, Dev smiled at his sister. “May the wind always be at your back, Lys.” And then he focused his attention on Tray, a glimmer of respect in the depths of his azure eyes. “May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty, Tray.”

  “They won’t,” Tray promised.

  An ache rose in Alyssa’s throat as she watched her brother ride away. Away to an unknown future. Would she ever see Dev or Gavin again? But what mattered was that they would be safe in France. She turned, burying her head beneath Tray’s solid jaw, needing his strength. As she felt his arms tighten protectively around her, she thought of home, of Shadowhawk. There was happiness in that Welsh manor, and Alyssa yearned to return to the land that had given her new life.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Aly?” Tray’s voice carried to the stone balustrade outside their bedchamber.

  “Here,” she called softly. The mid-April evening was unusually warm, the apricot sunset a mere ribbon on the horizon now. Alyssa turned, a welcoming light in her eyes as Tray strode through the opened french windows and across the stone terrace to where she stood. He looked darkly handsome, attired in a pale blue shirt that brought out the grayness in his eyes. Had it been three days since they arrived back at Shadowhawk? She walked into his open arms.

  “Ah,” he murmured, fitting her along his length, “this is what I needed. Wanted.” Tray pressed a kiss to her hair. She looked exquisitely fragile, the white dressing robe in sharp contrast to the luxuriant length of her auburn hair, which tumbled in careless abandon about her shoulders and breasts. He inhaled her jasmine scent, starved for the touch and feel of her.

  “Did you kiss Griff good-night?” she asked, closing her eyes and allowing him to take her full weight.

  Tray chuckled. “The little beggar started to cry every time I walked away.”

  Laughter rose in her. “How many kisses did he steal from you this time before he gave you his permission to leave?”

  “Five.”

  Alyssa raised her head, a glint in her emerald eyes. “Now you begin to understand how he has wrapped me around his little baby finger.” And then she smiled wistfully. “Just as his father did,” she admitted, reaching up on her slippered toes to place a kiss on his shaven cheek.

  Tray joined in her laughter, rocking her gently to and fro while they enjoyed the splendor of darkness overtaking the dusk. “No, little one, it was you who snagged me. From the moment I saw you on the deck of that hellish ship, I was yours.”

  “That seems so long ago, Tray. Last March. A little over a year has gone by….”

  “The most important year of our lives,” he agreed, nuzzling her slender neck with moist kisses. His hunger for Alyssa had soared over the last week. He could barely hold himself in check for her sake. Dr. Birch had arrived at Shadowhawk yesterday and examined Griff and her. The Englishman grinned broadly as he dandled Griff on his knee, exclaiming how healthy the boy was. And Alyssa was fully healed, thank God. She moved her arms upward, sliding them about his neck. He groaned, feeling the hardness of her nipples against his chest despite the clothing between them.

  “I feel sorry for Vaughn,” she admitted. Tray had taken his brother to the English post at New Ross for medical treatment after seeing that she and Griff were safe at the farm in Barrow Valley. It had been Tray who had turned his half brother in to the authorities. Alyssa sighed, resting her cheek against Tray’s powerful chest. Tray had traveled to New Ross several times because of Vaughn. On his last trip, Alyssa had seen the strain around Tray’s eyes and mouth. Vaughn was being shipped back to London for trial. Eventually, he would be dishonorably discharged from the King’s army.

  Tray shook his head. “Don’t.” The word came out as a guttural growl. “No one brought the shame on his head but himself.”

  “I’m glad it’s over, Tray. I’m not like my brothers. I don’t want to fight any longer. I never thought I’d find myself protecting Vaughn as I did when Dev was going to kill him. I’ve seen too much blood spilled. Too many families broken apart by the fighting.”

  He soothed her with Welsh words of love, stroking the length of her long, delicately curved back. “Vaughn has to live his own life the way he sees fit. Dev and Gavin are safe. If they want to join the French army against the English, that’s their decision. As for us, we’ll stay here at Shadowhawk, raise lambs, fine Welsh cobs and—” he tipped her head up, his mouth slanting across her lips “—beautiful half-Welsh and half-Irish babies who will be as courageous and beautiful as their mother.”

  Alyssa smiled beneath the brush of his masculine lips. “And as gentle and strong as their father.”

  His gray eyes glittered as he studied her in the shadowed darkness, the light from their bedchamber spilling out onto the terrace. His hands followed the lush curve of her breasts, recently drained of their milk by their hungry son. He felt her tremble as he moved his thumbs in lazy circles around the pebbled hardness of her nipples. “I want you, Aly. Now,” he rasped thickly, drowning in the tenderness shining from her eyes. Her lips, still wet from his recent kiss, parted in answer and he scooped her into his arms, carrying her to their bed.

  He gently deposited her on the quilted bed and then shut the french doors. As he walked back to their bed, he divested himself of his clothes and boots. Standing naked before her, Tray saw the adoration in her face as her gaze met his. This woman, who sat like a small, fragile child on the huge expanse of his bed, made him feel whole. He no longer sh
rank inwardly as her hands lovingly massaged his deformed foot or the tightly corded muscles of his calf. His deformity didn’t exist in Aly’s world. He sat next to her and combed his fingers lovingly through her silken tresses. An overwhelming emotion flowed up through his chest.

  “I love you,” he breathed, framing her face, drawing her forward to meet his descending mouth. He felt her softness yielding to him, giving back as richly as he gave to her. A shudder wound through him as her small tongue traced the outline of his strong mouth, her touch reminding him of a delicate butterfly. His hands gripped her upper arms and he dragged her to him, crushing her against his naked body, reveling in the wonderful curves and ripeness of her form.

  “Love me, Tray,” she whispered tremulously. “Please, I need you so badly. I ache for you….”

  A tender flame burned in his eyes as he lightly kissed her feathered lashes, the tip of her nose and, finally, those wonderful, full lips. “You’re sweet meadow honey, Arhiannon. You’re life…my life…forever,” he murmured, pulling the sash free and drawing the folds of her robe aside.

  Firelight bathed her alabaster body and Tray felt his breath stolen by her exquisite beauty. Woman. She was all woman in a way that made him tremble with excitement and awe as he ran his fingers around the curved lushness of her breasts. Her nipples were hard and stained a dark pink, begging to be further seduced. Gently, he laid her back on the bed, drawing one into his mouth. Sweet Mother of God, but she tasted good to him. Alyssa arched unconsciously to him, her fingers digging deeply into his heavily muscled shoulders. He heard a small whimper of need rise in her throat and he teethed each nipple in turn as she thrashed more demandingly against him.

  He lifted his head, kissing her lips. “Now I see why that son of ours is so reluctant to leave your breast,” he murmured, smiling.

  “And if he finds you’ve stolen his milk, my lord, you will put up with that burgeoning temper of his.”