“You didn’t eat lunch,” Hawk said flatly.
“Oh, and who are you to know?” she shot back. “Maybe I ate in the kitchen.”
“No you didn’t,” Tavis added helpfully. “I was in the kitchen all day, I’ll say. Plumb forgot to eat is what you did, milady. A time or two I’ve done the same myself, I’ll say, and the hungrier I get, the less I feel like eating. So you better be eating, milady. You’ll be needing your strength back and I’ll say that again!” An emphatic nod of his cheerful head punctuated his decree.
Adrienne stared at her plate, a mutinous flush coloring her cheeks.
Lydia glared at Tavis as she came to stand protectively beside Adrienne’s chair.
“I find I’m not all that hungry myself,” Lydia said. “What say you and I go for a walk in the gardens—”
“With the brute force trailing behind?” Adrienne muttered, glancing at Hawk beneath lowered lashes.
“—while my son gets some beans from the buttery and brews us a fine cup of coffee for our return,” Lydia continued, dangling the bribe as if she hadn’t been interrupted.
Adrienne sprang to her feet. Anything to escape his eyes, and coffee to boot.
Betrayal shone in the Hawk’s eyes now.
Lydia took Adrienne by the hand and started to lead her to the gardens.
“I’ll brew the coffee, Mother,” Hawk said to their backs. “But see to it that Maery has Adrienne’s things moved to the Peacock Room.”
Lydia stopped. The hand holding Adrienne’s tightened almost imperceptibly. “Are you quite certain, Hawk?” she asked stiffly.
“You heard her. She is completely recovered. She is my wife. Where best to guard her?”
“Very well.”
“Where’s the Peacock Room?” Adrienne spun on her heel to face him.
“On the third floor.”
“Will I have it to myself?”
“As much of it as I don’t use. ’Tis the laird’s chambers.”
“I am not sleeping with you—”
“I don’t recall asking you to—”
“You oversized, arrogant, conceited jackass—”
“Really, Adrienne, my son is none of those things,” Lydia chastened.
“No reflection on you, Lydia. I really like you,” Adrienne said politely. Politeness decamped abruptly as she glared at the Hawk. “But I’m not sharing your bed!”
“Not quite the topic to be bandying about over the dinner table, I’ll say,” Tavis offered, scratching his head, a flush stealing over his cheeks.
Hawk laughed and the dark rumble vibrated through her body, leaving her nipples erect and her heart hammering.
“Wife, you will share my room this eve if I must have you tied and carried there. Either you can suffer that humiliation or you can come willingly upon your own two feet. I’m not much concerned with how you get there. Just get there.”
Mutiny rose up in her breast, threatening to steal her very senses. Dimly she heard the door behind her open and shut and caught the scent of a cloying perfume that turned her stomach. Whatever the scent was, it reminded her of the orphanage; of attics and mothballs and days the nuns had made her scrub the floors and dust the heavy dark furniture.
“Lover!” came the cry of feminine delight from behind her.
Lydia’s hand tightened painfully on hers. “Olivia Dumont,” she muttered almost beneath her breath. “Dear heavens! I doubt I’ll see this day through sane.”
“Olivia?” Adrienne echoed, her eyes flying to the Hawk’s.
Olivia, the Hawk thought gloomily. This day was rapidly running the gamut from bad to worse. He refused to meet Adrienne’s questioning gaze. How dare she call him Adam in the midst of their lovemaking and then ask questions about another woman? She had no right. Not after she’d said his name.
Fury consumed him every time he thought about it.
Adam.
Images of his hands ripping apart the smithy flesh from bone comforted him for a moment.
Then desolation overwhelmed him. Now he had two problems: How was he going to make Adrienne want him? And what was he going to do with Olivia?
Fix Olivia up with the smithy?
That brought a grin to his face, the first in a while.
And naturally, Adrienne misunderstood it, thinking his smile was meant for Olivia, as did Olivia. As, it appeared, did his mother from the scowl on her face. Grimm cursed softly beneath his breath. Tavis shook his head, muttered a heated oath, and stalked from the heavily laden dinner table.
“Olivia.” Hawk inclined his head. “What brings you to Dalkeith?”
“Why, Hawk,” Olivia purred, “need you ask? I’ve missed you at court. You’ve been away from my … side … for far too long. I surmised I’d simply have to come collect you myself if I wanted you. So,” she finished with a flutter of lashes and a blatant come-hither look, “here I am.”
Hawk realized belatedly what a stupid question he’d asked as Adrienne fixed Olivia with a chilling gaze. Hawk knew from experience that Olivia could answer any question—no matter how innocent—with a loaded innuendo, but he’d shut the unpleasant memory of her antics from his mind the moment he’d returned to Dalkeith. It occurred to him that he would do well to resurrect those memories quickly. It would be unwise to forget Olivia’s penchant for troublemaking; the asp was in his nest now.
Olivia’s breath caught audibly as she stared at Adrienne.
“Greetings, Olivia. Have you come to speak with my husband?”
Momentarily free of Adrienne’s wrathful gaze, the Hawk preened. Husband, she’d said. And she’d said it possessively. Perhaps there was hope after all.
“We’ve spoken quite the common language in the past,” Olivia drawled. “A sort of wordless communication, if you catch my drift. Just the kind of talk the Hawk likes the best.”
“Put her in the Peacock Room then,” Adrienne spat over her shoulder as she tugged Lydia out the door and slammed it behind her.
CHAPTER 15
THE KING MAY HAVE RELEASED YOU FROM HIS SERVICE, BUT I would never dream of releasing you from mine. You’ve serviced me so well in the past, I swear, I’m quite spoiled.” Olivia wriggled closer on the low stone bench in the courtyard resting the curve of her ripe hip against the Hawk’s muscular thigh.
Lydia had returned alone to the house a scant quarter hour after she and Adrienne had left, shooting a smug smile at her son where he reclined at the great table with the infernal Olivia. Coffee forgotten, the Hawk had quickly steered Olivia to the gardens to see what his wife might be up to. When his mother looked at him like that, well, the woman had a mind like a well-oiled catapult, deadly in the attack.
So he had strolled Olivia through the vast gardens at a breathless pace, his eyes peeled for the guards trailing his wife. Nothing. Time and time again his eyes had been drawn northward, to the flickering rim of firelight at the edge of the rowans.
“May I assume we’ll entertain each other tonight as we used to, Hawk?” Olivia’s warm breath fanned his cheek.
Hawk sighed inaudibly. “Olivia, I’m a married man, now.”
Olivia’s laugh tinkled just a bit too brightly, reminding Hawk that she was a woman who delighted in stealing another woman’s man. The more difficult the man was to obtain, the happier Olivia was. Hawk was well acquainted with her peculiar game; she enjoyed hurting other women, crushing their dreams, breaking their hearts. Hawk suspected it was a revenge of sorts; that once a woman had taken her man, and she’d never gotten over it—had become a bitter, destructive woman instead. Once he’d finally understood, he’d felt almost sorry for her. Almost.
“She’s Mad Janet, Hawk,” Olivia said dryly.
“Her name is—” He broke off abruptly. He mustn’t give Olivia any ammunition. He took a careful breath and rephrased. “Her middle name is Adrienne, ’tis the one she prefers.” He added coolly, “You may call her Lady Douglas.”
Olivia’s brow rose derisively. “I shan’t call her lady anything
. The whole country knows she’s mad as a rabid hound. I hadn’t heard, however, that she was bearable to the eye.”
Hawk snorted. “Bearable? My wife is exquisite by any standards.”
Olivia laughed shakily, then her voice firmed sarcastically. “Well, and lah-de-dah! Could it be that the legendary Hawk thinks he’s in love? The roué of endless women thinks he might stop with this one? Oh, do give it up, mon chéri. It’s nauseating. I know what kind of man you are. There’s no point in affecting elevated sensibilities we both know you don’t possess.”
Hawk’s voice was icy when he spoke. “Contrary to your expectations, I am not the man I was at James’s court. You don’t know anything about me—other than the illusions you’ve chosen to believe in.” He paused a heavy moment to lend emphasis to his next words. “Olivia, there is no king here to order me to accommodate you, and I’m never going back to James’s court. It’s over. It’s all over.” The moment the words were said, Hawk’s heart soared. He was free.
“That’s all it was? You accommodated me?” Olivia demanded.
“You knew that.” Hawk snorted derisively. “I turned you away a dozen times before you went to James. Did you convince yourself that I’d had a change of heart? You know exactly what happened. It was you who petitioned the king to make me—” Hawk broke off abruptly, catching the glint of a silvery-blond mane in the moonlight a few yards from where they sat.
Adrienne approached, her arm tucked in the crook of Adam’s elbow, a splendid crimson cape thrown over her shoulders, the silk billowing sensually in the gentle evening breeze.
“Olivia.” Adrienne inclined her head.
Olivia snorted lightly and possessively grasped the Hawk’s muscled arm.
“Join us,” the Hawk said quickly, ignoring the sudden pinch of Olivia’s nails.
The thought of Adrienne walking off into the darkness with Adam did dangerous things to his head. Hawk frowned as he realized that it was likely as dangerous for Adrienne to be exposed to anything Olivia might say or do.
He certainly didn’t want the conversation to continue where it had broken off—not in front of Adrienne—without an explanation from him. He knew he had to gain control, but he had no experience with this type of situation. He’d never had an ex-mistress try to provoke trouble with his wife because he’d never had a wife before, and he’d certainly never been entangled in an encounter so rife with hazardous potential. His concern that Olivia might say or do something to hurt Adrienne unbalanced his customary logic.
Fortunately and unfortunately—depending on how he viewed it—Adrienne declined his offer. Relieved, Hawk resolved to pack Olivia off at the earliest moment possible then reclaim his wife from the smithy and have a good long talk with her.
“We wouldn’t wish to disturb your cozy tête-à-tête,” Adrienne demurred. “Bouche-à-bouche is more like it,” she muttered half under her breath.
“What did you just say?” Olivia asked sweetly. “Tu parles français?”
“No,” Adrienne replied flatly.
Olivia laughed airily and studied her. “You seem to be a woman of no few secrets, Janet Comyn. Perhaps you and I should have our own tête-à-tête and exchange a few of those intimacies. After all”—her gaze wandered possessively over the Hawk—“we share much in common. I’m sure you’d be fascinated to hear of the Hawk’s time at James’s court. He was quite the man about—”
“That would be lovely,” Adrienne interrupted her smoothly, terminating the flow of Olivia’s poisonous words. Her insides were already in a turmoil; if she heard much more, she’d either scream or cry—she didn’t know which, but she did know it wouldn’t be at all ladylike. “Some other time, however, Olivia. I quite have my hands full right now.” She wrapped her hands around Adam’s bicep, imitating Olivia’s clutch on the Hawk. Pressing closer to Adam, she let him steer her away.
“Smithy!” Hawk finally found his voice. He’d listened to the women’s conversation in frozen horror, struggling to conceive an entree into the risky repartee; but once again Adrienne had unwittingly spared him by silencing Olivia before the Hawk had resorted to stuffing his sporran into her scheming, lying mouth.
Adam paused mid-stride and moved closer to Adrienne. Her crimson cape flickered in the soft breeze and Hawk felt as if it was taunting him. Where the hell had she gotten that cape?
“My lord?” Adam smiled sardonically. His large, tanned hand rose to cover Adrienne’s where it rested on his arm.
“There are ninety-two horses I’m going to need shoes for. That’s three hundred and sixty-eight shoes. Get on it. This minute.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Adam smiled gamely. “Heating up a forge is just what I had in mind.”
Hawk’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Ninety-two! Hawk!” Olivia fanned her breasts. Her greedy attention had passed to the smithy and she was speculatively looking Adam over. Hawk watched as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “I knew you were wealthy, but that’s a lot of prime flesh,” she drawled, her eyes moving up and down, surveying the smithy from head to toe. She dragged her gaze away from Adam. “Perhaps you might spare a stud for me?” She looked sidewise at the Hawk beneath fluttery lashes.
“Definitely.” Hawk sighed as he watched his wife’s retreating form. “What do you think of our smithy, Olivia?” he asked cautiously.
What was she doing? Had she lost her mind? When Lydia had proposed that she seek out Adam and stroll the gardens with him, it had seemed like a good idea, although now Adrienne hadn’t the faintest idea why.
Because Hawk made her angry, that’s why. He’d dared think she was so stupid that he could pursue her and invite his mistress to visit all in the same day.
Once before she’d been just that stupid. Once, she might have convinced herself that Olivia was a troublemaking trespasser and that the Hawk was full of pristine intentions. Yes, once she would have believed that Eberhard really was going to the bathroom, leaving her in the main room of the party, while in fact he was stealing a quickie in the pool-house with a voluptuous socialite.
But she wasn’t that woman anymore. She never would be again.
Hawk, the legendary seducer of women, had spent the afternoon trying to convince her that she was the only one he desired, but by dinner a new woman had appeared. An old flame. And he smiled at her. He strolled in the gardens with her. He forgot Adrienne’s coffee for her. He was just one of those men who paid attention to whichever woman was in his face and willing.
Olivia was certainly willing.
And just why do you care, Adrienne?
I don’t care. I just don’t like being treated like a fool!
“The Hawk makes a fool of you,” Adam said softly.
Adrienne smothered a gasp. The man seemed to read her very mind. Or it was so true that anyone could see it, even the smithy?
“You deserve far better, Beauty. I would gift you with anything you desired. Silks for your perfect body. All the coffee beans on Jamaica’s Blue Mountain. Yet he gifts you with nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter. Means nothing to me.” Adrienne shivered slightly within the cape Adam had draped about her shoulders.
“It should. You’re the most exquisite woman I’ve encountered, winsome Beauty. I would give you everything. Anything. Name it. Command me. I will make it yours.”
“Fidelity?” Adrienne shot back at the blacksmith. Somehow they had reached the forge, although Adrienne had no memory of having walked that far. Her feet felt oddly light and her head swam.
“Forever,” the smithy purred, “and beyond.”
“Truly?” Adrienne asked, then kicked herself. Why ask? Men lie. Words proved nothing. Eberhard Darrow Garrett had given her all the right words.
“Some men lie. But then some men are incapable of it. Do you lie, sweet Beauty? If I asked you for fidelity and pledged mine in return, would you give it? Could I trust your words?”
Of course, she thought. She had no problem with fid
elity.
“I suspected as much,” Adam said. “You’re one of a kind, Beauty.”
Was she answering him? She hadn’t thought she was. Adrienne felt light-headed. “Where are the guards?” she murmured.
“You are in my realm. I am all the protection you will ever need.”
“Who are you?” Adrienne asked.
Adam laughed at her question. “Come into my world, Beauty. Let me show you marvels to exceed your wildest dreams.”
Adrienne turned a dreamy eye toward Dalkeith, but all she saw was a strange shimmer at the forest’s edge—no lights of the castle. The sound of surf filled her ears, but that couldn’t be. The ocean was at the west end of the bailey and she was at the north. Why couldn’t she see the castle? “Where is the castle, Adam? Why can’t I see Dalkeith anymore?” Her vision blurred and she was assailed by the uncanny sensation that somehow she was no longer even in Scotland. Wherever she was, it didn’t feel like a good place to be.
“The veil grows thin,” Adam purred. “Morar awaits you, lovely one.”
She was lying beside him in cool sand with no understanding of how she’d managed to get there. Her mind was impossibly muddled. A sense of danger, inimical and ancient, gripped the pit of her stomach. This man … something about this man wasn’t quite right.
“Who are you, really, Adam Black?” she insisted. Merely forming the words was a challenge, her tongue felt thick, her muscles rubbery.
Adam grinned. “You’re closer than you think, Beauty.”
“Who?” she insisted, fighting to retain control of her senses. The rich, dark scent of jasmine and sandalwood befuddled her mind.
“I am the sin siriche du, Beauty. I am the one for you.”
“Are you from the twentieth century too?” she asked dizzily. “What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so strange?”
“Hush, Adrienne. Let me love you as you deserve. You are the only one for me …” Too late he realized his error.
The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle Page 13
