“Didn’t that fellow from Ceylon leave a store of odd things in the buttery? And I’m Lydia Douglas, by the bye, this rapscallion’s—”
“Mother—”
“Hush. You botched the wedding and you’re making a fine mess of things now, so just hush.”
Adrienne forgave him for almost everything at that moment, because he looked like a small boy as he blinked in silence. “My lady,” she said, attempting a curtsy and hoping she’d addressed Hawk’s mother correctly because she liked the woman instinctively, even if she had given birth to that overbearing womanizer.
“Lydia is fine, and if I may—Adrienne? Hawk told me it’s your address of preference.”
“Adrienne is wonderful. Coffee?”
Lydia laughed, obviously unabashed by this single-minded obsession. “I take it you’re used to having the strong brew of a morn. My healer tells me it has rejuvenating properties and is a natural energizer.”
“Yes.” Adrienne nodded vehemently.
“The buttery, Hawk,” Lydia encouraged her son.
“You’re going to let me go?” he asked caustically.
“Since when do you listen to me?” Lydia asked with a twinkle in her eye. “Take your new wife to find her coffee. And Adrienne, if you need aught else, even a commiserating ear, do find me. I spend much of the day in my gardens. Anyone can point you the way.”
“Thank you.” Adrienne meant it from the bottom of her heart. How nice it was to have someone extend a friendly welcome! Someone not male and beautiful beyond endurance.
“Come.” The Hawk extended a hand to her. Refusing to touch him, she said sweetly, “After you.”
“Nay, lass, after you.” He motioned. He’d follow the sweet curve of her hips past the horned minions of hell.
“I must insist,” Adrienne demurred.
“As must I,” he countered.
“Go,” she snapped.
He folded his powerful arms across his chest and resolutely met her gaze.
“Oh, for God’s sake, do we have to fight about this, too?”
“Not if you obey me, lass.”
Behind them Lydia half laughed, half groaned. “Why don’t the two of you just walk side by side,” she said encouragingly.
“Fine,” Adrienne snapped.
“Fine,” the Hawk snarled.
Lydia laughed until tears twinkled in her merry green eyes. Finally—a lass worthy of her son.
CHAPTER 8
SIDE BY SIDE. SHE DIDN’T HAVE TO LOOK AT HIM. THANK GOD for small favors.
“And here we have the buttery,” the Hawk said as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Adrienne’s spirits rose. Her nose twitched delicately. She could smell coffee beans, spices, teas, all manner of wonderful things. She practically vaulted into the room, the Hawk at her heels. As she was about to plunge a hand deep into the woven brown sack from which issued the most delicious aroma of sinfully dark coffee, the Hawk somehow managed to insinuate himself between Adrienne and her prize.
“It would seem you quite like your coffee,” he observed, with too keen an interest for her liking.
“Yes.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, impatiently, but the man had a lot of body to block her way with. “Move, Hawk,” she complained, and he laughed softly as he gripped her waist with his big hands, nearly circling it.
Adrienne froze as a scent even more compelling than her beloved coffee tantalized her nostrils. Scent of leather and man. Of power and sexual prowess. Of confidence and virility. Scent of everything she’d imagined in her dreams.
“Ah, my heart, there is a price—” he murmured.
“You have no heart,” she informed his chest.
“True,” he agreed. “You’ve thieved it. And last night I stood before you in agony whilst you ripped it asunder—”
“Oh give over—”
“You have odd sayings, my heart—”
“Your heart is a puny black walnut. Wizened. Shriveled.” She refused to look up at him.
He laughed. “Lass, you will keep me amused long into my twilight years.”
“Coffee,” she muttered.
“The toll troll must be reckoned with.”
“And just what does the toll troll wish?”
“This morn, ’tis simple. Other days it may not be. Today your coffee will cost you only a wee kiss.”
“You think to dole out the coffee to me in return for kisses?” she exclaimed, disbelieving. And in spite of herself she tilted her head back and met his gaze. Well, almost. Her eyes snagged and held about three inches below his eyes on his perfectly sculpted, beautifully colored lips. A man’s lips should not be so well formed and desirable. She forgot about coffee as she thought about tasting him, and her traitorous knees started to get all wobbly again.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged.
The bastard. He knew she wanted to kiss him.
“I know you don’t want to, lass, but you must if you want your coffee.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You don’t get your coffee.” He shrugged. “Really, ’tis a wee price to pay.”
“I don’t think this is quite what your mother had in mind.”
He laughed, a dark, sensual purr, and she felt her nipples tighten. God in heaven, he was dangerous. “My mother is half responsible for me, so don’t offer her up for sainthood yet, my heart.”
“Quit ‘my hearting’ me. I have a name.”
“Aye, and ’tis Adrienne Douglas. My wife. Be glad I seek only a boon for a boon and don’t simply take what’s mine by right.”
She grabbed his hand quick as lightning and deposited the requisite kiss on it, then flung it back down. “My coffee,” she demanded.
The Hawk’s dark eyes simmered with impatient sensuality. “Obviously, lass, there is much I need to teach you about kissing.”
“I know how to kiss!”
“Oh? Perhaps you should demonstrate again, for if that was your idea of a kiss, I’ll have to demand a more generous boon.” He smiled at her, his lower lip curving invitingly.
Adrienne closed her eyes to escape the sight of his perfect lips and realized the moment her lids fluttered shut that she’d made a serious tactical error. The Hawk cupped her face with his hands and backed her against the wall, trapping her with his powerful body. Adrienne’s eyes sprang open instantly. “I did not close my eyes so you would kiss me!” she exclaimed, but her denial lost its force when she met his gaze. His intense ebony eyes scrambled her wits, making her ache to accept the pleasure he offered, but she knew she must not. Adrienne tried to free herself from his grip, but his hands on her face were firm. “Hawk! I don’t think—”
“Yes, you do, lass, and entirely too much,” he interrupted, his hooded gaze mocking. “So stop thinking for a moment, will you? Just feel.” He kissed her swiftly, taking erotic advantage of her lips, which were still parted in mid-protest. Adrienne pushed at his chest, but he paid no heed to her resistance.
The Hawk buried his hands in her hair, tilting her head back to kiss her more deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth. His lips were demanding, his embrace possessive and strong, and when he leaned his hips against her body, he was insistently, undeniably male. He challenged her with his kiss, wordlessly demanding that she acknowledge the tension and heat that existed between them—a heat that was capable of incinerating a tender heart or welding two hearts into one. Desire shuddered through her so intensely that she moaned, confused and afraid. Adrienne knew it was dangerous to enjoy his touch, too risky to permit what could surely become addictive pleasure.
The Hawk’s thumb played at the corner of her mouth, pressuring her to surrender completely to his mastery. Aroused, curious, helpless to resist, Adrienne yielded. The kiss he rewarded her with made her tremble; it was a kiss guaranteed to strip away her defenses.
And then where would she be? Vulnerable again—a fool for a beautiful man, again.
Hawk’s hands slid from Adrienne’s hair to cup her breasts, and the e
nsuing dampness between her thighs shocked her into awareness of her eroding control. Adrienne jerked, determined not to be just another one of this shameless womanizer’s conquests. “Let me go! You said one kiss! This wasn’t part of the bargain!”
The Hawk froze. He drew his head back, his strong hands still cupping her breasts, and searched her face intently, almost angrily. Whatever it was he looked for, she could tell he wasn’t satisfied. Not satisfied at all.
He scrutinized her wide eyes a moment longer, then turned his broad back to her and scooped out a handful of coffee beans.
Adrienne rubbed irritably at her lips, as if she could brush away the lingering, unforgettable pleasure of his touch. As they exited the buttery and walked down the long corridor in silence, refusing to look at each other, the Hawk wrapped the beans in a cloth and tucked them in his sporran.
Just outside the Greathall he stopped and, as if tethered by a common leash, she halted in her tracks.
“Tell me you felt it,” his low voice commanded, and still they didn’t look at each other. She studied the floor for dust eddies while he studied the ceiling for cobwebs.
“Felt what?” She barely kept her voice from breaking. A kiss to build a dream on, big beautiful man?
He yanked her against his body; undeterred when she averted her face, he lowered his head and scattered kisses upon the high curves of her breasts where they pushed against the scooped neckline of her gown.
“Stop it!”
He raised his head, a snarl darkening his face. “Tell me you felt it too!”
The moment hovered, full of possibilities. It stretched into uncertainty and, in her fear, was lost.
“Me? I was thinking on Adam.”
How could a man’s eyes change from such burning intensity to such cold flat orbs in less than an instant? How could such an open face become so shuttered? A noble face become so savage?
“The next time you’re foolish enough to say that after I touch you, I won’t be responsible for my actions, lass.”
Adrienne closed her eyes. Hide it, hide it, don’t let him see how he affects you. “There won’t be a next time you touch me.”
“There will be a next time every day, Adrienne Douglas. You belong to me. And I can only be pushed so far. Adam can be sent away. Everyone can be sent away. Coffee can be sent away. I control everything you want. I can be very good to you if you’re willing to try. The only thing I can’t negotiate about is Adam. So be willing to try with me and all I ask is that you forgo Adam and never say his name to me. If you can grant me that wee boon, I will demand naught else but the price for your coffee each morn. And I promise you I won’t make it too high.”
The kiss was too high. Too dangerous in itself. “By what right—”
“By might. ’Tis simple enough.”
“Brute force—”
“Don’t bother trying to guilt me. Ask my mother. It doesn’t work.”
Well, well. No chivalry here, she noted. But all in all, the deal he offered was more reasonable than the myriad alternatives. He could demand all his husbandly prerogatives rather than one small kiss each morning. She could live through it. “A kiss each morning? That’s all you seek in return for my not mentioning Adam to you? And I get my coffee every day?”
“Stay away from Adam. Don’t let me find you near him. Don’t say his name to me.”
“For a kiss each morn?” She had to tie this down to the letter of his law.
“For a boon each morn.”
“That’s not fair! Just what’s a boon?”
He laughed. “Who told you life was fair? Who misled you so sorely? And considering that we’re wed and the alternative to my kind offer is sharing full conjugal privileges, what right have you to squabble over fair?”
“Well, you could pin it down a little for my peace of mind! Otherwise I’ll wake up dreading things unknown.”
His face darkened. “I seek to give her carnal pleasure and she ‘dreads things unknown.’ “Bitterly he turned away.
“I didn’t mean it like that—” she started to say, hating the bitter lines set about his eyes. She had put them there. But for her own safety, she had to keep them there, so she broke off quickly.
He didn’t hear her anyway, so caught up was he in his dark brood as he stalked away.
Much too late, as he faded out of sight around the corner, she recalled her coffee beans forlornly. They were tucked in that pouch he wore around his hips. And he’d relocked the buttery.
A shower. That was it. What Adrienne wouldn’t give for thirty minutes of steam rolling in thick clouds, a rich lather of Aveda soap, shampoos and body oils and a fluffy white towel to dry off with.
She paid careful attention to embellishing the finer nuances of her fantasy shower to keep her mind off Him while she located the gardens. She found them behind the castle; one had to cut through the kitchens to get there, or walk all the way around the castle—and all the way around was a long walk.
“Well, poke in a little more than your wee nose, I’ll say. I’d like to be seeing all of our new lady,” a voice beckoned from within the kitchen.
Adrienne stepped in curiously. The kitchen was unlike anything she’d imagined existed this far back in time. It was huge, well-designed, and spotless. The central focus of the room was a massive column fireplace that offered an opening on each side, quadrupling the cooking areas. A stone chimney climbed to a vent at the high ceiling. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the kitchen had been built as a freestanding addition to the castle proper, designed to be airy and well vented. Windows lined the two perimeter walls, counters of gleaming oak circled the entire area, and the floors were of palest gray quarry stone. No rotting foods here, no rodents or bugs, this kitchen vied with her own kitchen back home in the late twentieth century except it didn’t have a dishwasher. Stairs descended to larders, pantries were cleverly nooked into alcoves, and beyond the open windows sprawled lush gardens. Upon the sills sat tiny jars of herbs and spices.
“You find our kitchen passing fair?”
Adrienne nodded, awestruck, and turned her attention to the smiling man. He was tall and tanned, with a lean body and forearms that were heavily corded with muscle either from wielding a sword or working with his hands. His dark hair and close-cropped beard were both streaked with silver, and when his clear gray eyes met hers, they sparkled with curiosity and welcome.
“The Hawk designed it himself. From his travels. Said he’d seen wonders to make life far more pleasant, and used them all to better Dalkeith, I’ll say.”
The laird of the castle had been in the kitchens?
“He cut the counters and built the cabinets himself. Likes to work with wood he does. Busies his hands he says. Though where he finds time is beyond me, I’ll say.” The man rolled his eyes and folded his hands behind his head, leaning his chair back into a puddle of sunshine that streamed in the window. “Name’s Tavis, milady,” he offered. “Pleased to be welcoming you.”
“I’m Mad Janet,” she blurted in response to his kindness.
“Don’t know much about mad, but Lydia’s taken a liking to you and that’s one discriminating woman, I’ll say.”
Adrienne took another step into the kitchen; her eyes swept the room admiring the simple genius with which it had been designed. Everything tidy and easily accessible.
“Lydia is out back,” Tavis encouraged. She’s been expecting you for some time now, I’ll say.” He winked at her. “Don’t let these Douglas overwhelm you, milady. Stubborn, opinionated people they are, but hearts of purest gold. You’ll not find another like the Douglas in all of Scotia. Welcome, I’ll say, and if you need anything, you’ve only to come find Tavis of the tannery.” He flexed his strong hands. “I still make the softest hides this side of Uster. Perhaps on t’other side too.” Pride gleamed in his smile as he shooed her toward the door.
Adrienne stepped into the sunshine and breathed as deeply as she could. Honeysuckle, a beloved scent from her earliest youth.
Buttercups sprawled in golden beauty beneath the windows to her right and left. Lavender on the air, rugosa roses, and another earthy rich scent she struggled to identify. She heard the tinkling of water spilling into a basin. A fountain? Following the sound, Adrienne traipsed the stone walkways through towering bushes of rhododendrons, lush anemones, bluebells, and scattered forget-me-nots. Stone paths shot off in several directions, but the tinkling sound of water drew Adrienne unerringly. The Lady Lydia sat upon the ledge of a stone fountain that rose in four tiers, high above her head. A full-size stone dolphin poised atop the fountain, caught in mid-leap, spouted water from its open snout.
“Magnificent,” Adrienne breathed, and Lydia turned to greet her with a welcoming smile.
“My son is quite the inventor.” Pride was evident in every gentle line of her face.
“He did this too?” Adrienne grimaced.
“Most of the unusual aspects of Dalkeith are of my son’s making. When he traveled he sought the most advanced secrets of civilization to bring back to his people—”
“When he traveled the world seeking beautiful bed-mates,” Adrienne interrupted acerbically, recalling the words of the Comyn maids.
Lydia cocked her head, an amused gleam in her eyes. “Is that what they say?”
“Is that what he did?”
“What say you ask him yourself? But think well on this, Adrienne. What would people who didn’t know you well say of you?”
“Point taken,” Adrienne conceded, hoping Lydia never discovered her colorful past.
“Mad Janet,” Lydia observed softly. “You don’t seem a bit mad to me. Why did the Comyn keep you locked in that tower?”
Adrienne recited the words he’d pounded into her the day of her wedding. “I was too beautiful to risk his own men seeing. So he said.” She added her own words without thinking, “Truth is, I’ve never felt that way.”
Lydia snorted. “Have you never seen a glass?”
The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle Page 7
